Goa - !!!!!

The age old curse of the Goa monster has lifted. I only hope I do not speak too soon. 3 years since the day I stepped into college, I have been planning to embark on a magical journey down the golden beaches of Goa.

The real tragedy of my life resides in the fact that I’ve never seen the ocean.
Never.
So full of hope and expectations, I planed and I planed some more, bout how I’m going to catch a Volvo to Goa, rent a shack next to the waters, drink kings beers and read all the books I had not the courage to delve into. Wake up precisely at 12 in the morn/noon, swim, see a few great white sharks( but was told they kind of don’t like Goa too much), get seriously drunk and then puke out all the lobsters I had consumed before, and so and so forth.

Now I’m not the new-years-in-Goa type, I’d rather be there a few days after.
Love my space, my time, like some soppy infomercials. But its more personal. Being one, in the union of a few thousands, swarming the beaches and the parties, with exaggerated rates and deals, not my typical scene.

Thus, the 2nd Jan date with Goa.

Hope this works out, and I’m not too disappointed.

2.7 years of extensive experience in Mainframe Testing.

II really was not aware of this but as it turns out I have 2.7 years of extensive training, really, I do.

Some thing called “mainframe testing”.

I’m still grappling with this truth. To be very honest I don’t very much know what this really is, but as today the multiple cheers of the joyous ‘ Merry Christmas’ emulates from the collective voices of many a generations all over the spherical planet, I’m confident I can handle the real truth.

The real truth, mind you, not the unreal one.

Last night I really was very eager to go for midnight mass. Never been to one before. But unfortunately my aspirations of multi cultural understanding, from the respective view of a pseudo atheist were cruelly crushed.

After a few moments of visionary fog lifting, I came to the doorway of reason which told me that since Christmas denotes the birth of Christ and so and so forth, all this is actually bout J.C. but somewhere in the sands of the same festival, its been hijacked but Mr. Santa Claus. Its all but him now days, sure a few convent schools will put up plays depicting the manger, the Magi and the regular flowers. All parts played by grade 4 students, but they too on their return home wait for Santa to come bearing gifts.

So when did this hijack really occur. That is the question.

“mainframe testing”

Sounds very computer to me.

Where is your will to be wierd?

Its been a long time since I posted. A very long time actually. Delhi is over, Mumbai is over, Pune is the new city of joy. With its bad roads and non existent book shops, non a/c cyber cafes propagating online gaming, its trots along, peacefully. There is some soul here. Many will surely disagree, most likely, most will. Took me 3 years to reach this forlorn conclusion, yes, this conclusion is forlorn. Firstly this city is small. And is it tiny. The road density has its own private shoot-at-sight orders. It aims to kill. But then again that is the same old story of every small city deprived of a decent admin.

There is this inherent joy in complaining. Relieves us of the pressure of taking any potentially useful steps. The joy of pee-ing on the road and then critising the ‘Indian’ mentality the next time I cross the same lane that is now smelling of decomposing ammonia acids is liberating. (also for once the over eager chauvinists cant blame women at large. The absolute generalization fails, thankfully). Well, as a model citizen of this country I do not pollute public areas, at least not when I’m sober, but can this free expression of democracy be the true reason for the 13000 mark in the markets and a nearing 2 digit growth rate?

I wonder what my city would be without the thousands of two wheelers snaking its way through dead traffic, cursing and reving their engines…..

There is this area near college, where I happen to reside, thats popularly known as DBC. Short for Deep Banglow Chowk. It’s a typically crowded, shop infested locality where at first glance you’d wonder where all the flats are. The buildings are old, with rotting paint and exposed pipes and wires, trying desperately to show off the new coat of paint it just got(more often than not, it’ll be a bright flourescent yellow or such like) that will in all likely-hood be no existent by the next rain fall. Picture this: from my balcony you can see a green house with red lines meant for design purposes, to its left is a bright, sorry super bright yellow building , then a pink set of houses and lastly the balcony its self is blue with Hanuman orange doors and windows. There are a few coconut trees and a few palm trees, with enough imagination , we have an imitation of Goa(that’s mainly for the feel good factor).

DBC, always reminds me of Death by Chocolate in Corner House, Bangalore.

I live here, and I absolutely love this place, its convinient, close to therest of the world, as my room mate loves to say: its got the power of the three golden words – Location! Location! Location! But its more than that. Its home.

My greatest complain against Pune is the absence of western loos!! Why? Why? What is wrong with this world today. If you want a person to propogate nuclear disarmament , you’ll have to, I repeat, have to, give him his throne.

Every once in a while you rediscover this old passion. Some what like revisiting the childhood home, where you grew up and left behind for the big city. Not very unlike was the rediscovery of this place adjoining our college : the N.C.C canteen. It’s a magical place. I have wasted countless hours there, drinking its milky north indian chai and discussing the lousy ways in which our college operates.

Symbi! Oh Symbi!

There is this point in every humans life when they start question the standard replies to sterotypical questions. There is this lull, white noise, the requiem light, deafening and painful. Not loud nor silent, not even audible, a high pitch scream that only inaudible parts of our selves can register a response to. So I reached this point too. In my own time
and Assamese speed. Which is highly slow, by the way. I discovered that these were not my questions but of the city. The answers were somewhat fake. Disguised. Its said that deception is the best disguise, and its holds true here.

To put it simply, the way I prefer the Blossoms over all the Crosswords all over the sub continent, with its large glasses and fancy recliner chairs that beg you to stay and read is a marketing stroke of genius, the longer you sit there, the more your chances of picking up objects outside the agenda, but its substandard. Its like the notes I make to self or the New Years resolution that I’m going to make in 22 days. Its steel and glass.

Ever wondered how plastic cups starts leaking before the actually break.

Crash courses are another aspect of Pune that amuses me. It gives you a crash course in every thing , from friendships to wines, riding fancy bikes to auto tarrif cards readings. Its all here. I’ve spent 3 years here, 2 more are left, I often wonder, am I talking to my self again, like the first time I was going to get a tetnus shot, I told myself that the needle was too small and I was a few million times its size for fear to be a factor.

I forget the outcome of that needle chill.
Wisdom will come to me.

I will go jogging every morning.
I will have breakfast.
I will attend college
And get a first div.
I will not curse and I will clear German.
I will sing only while bathing.
I wont watch too much t.v.
I will wonder.
I will laugh at the newspapers optimism.
I will start drinking coffees instead.
I will start answering sterotypical questions
from the day after tomorrow.

On The Road : The Movie

Francis Ford Cappola is producing On the Road. Finally!

I’m a Cappola fan. Since Apocalypse Now to The Godfather Trilogy right down to eagerly awaiting for the Good Shepard. The guy is a genius. American Graffiti .. wow!!

That said , 2009 On the Road should be out. Long time , yes, but we’re getting there.

I’ve been listening to some music that I think will make a difference in the coming ages of development… I've tried to make a short list of the best i've explored so far...

1. Gillian Welch
2. Nick Drake
3. Jeff Buckley
4. Josh Ritter
5. Ryan Adams
6. Jonathan Rice
7. Talk Talk
8. Alexi Murdoch
9. Iron and Wine
10. Vashti Bhuyan
11. Patty Griffin
12. Massive Attack
13. Damien Rice
and lastly... no. 14 - James.. they are like U2 with out the ego.!!

p.s. Sorry , could not keep it short.

I never understood why when you died, you didn't just vanish, everything could just keep going on the way it was only you just wouldn't be there. I always thought I'd like my own tombstone to be blank. No epitaph, and no name. Well, actually, I'd like it to say 'figment.'

- Andy Warhol.

India : dulce et decorum est

Part I.

What is that song you protest?
Who was the painter you paid?
To paint pretty golden coins for your collection;
After the morning sun is down
Below the gulfs of a country born
Whilst the world was sleeping.

India, when will you treat your mirrors with respect?
India, When will your children treat with you with hate not love?
Or did they do so just yester night?
I told you how the books I read were in bad English,
Bad context,
And bad taste.
India , I told you I threw away every novel where you were critized.
India, all I have to offer you are words,
If I’m a little richer, maybe some scotch.
I know you don’t drink, they tell me you don’t smoke either
But then, why India, does your health fail you so often?
Me and my friends were all born after you
And will probably die before you,
Yet we pray for you, cry with you,
Run after you and sweat for you,
But somehow I don’t remember bleeding ,
Do you?

India,
All your states are flawed .
Your head and arms are smoldering
While your feet are submerged in water.

Part II.

Assam, when will you learn from our mistakes?
Please accept me
For then only will I know you exist.
Bengal , when will you get over your rightful superiority
That flourishes in your coffee houses?
Delhi, how rich are we?
Maharashtra, when will you get over Bombay ?
Karnataka, whats in a name?
Punjab, how many cars are too many?
How do you survive with such large hearts?
Rajasthan, when will you respect Venus?
Bihar, when will you grow tired of cowsheds and fodder?
And begin remembering what you really were.

India, why am I oblivious to the rest?
India, why do they have brown eyes?
India , how fast can you talk without losing breath?

I love you but then you always knew that.

How are the Tatas right?
Why is slavery not dead?
And did you maliciously pretend to the contrary?
India, why are your novelist entrapped within the cities?
Why can I only read Amitav Ghosh?
India, is the media conducting a pig circus?
Should we put them, on trial?
The greatest fashion trend was the death sentence,
But now its way too passé.
India, Should I write you an electronic mail?
Please don’t return to sender.
My red haired friend was right:
We are a country of thinkers not tinklers!

Part III.

India, are you unconstitutional?
Are these really modern times?
India, when will you repeal the AF(SP) Act
Please do repeal the AF(SP) Act.
Most of us really don’t like it all that much.

India , should I become a defense lawyer?
Will you cherish me more then?
India, did you vote for the Republicans or the Democrats?
Did I tell you?
I prayed for the nuke deal.
But I do abhor smoking.

India, where can I buy homeopathic medicines?
I desperately need R-49.
India, wanted to register a complaint
My local store has run out of MBAs and LLMs.
Though, I actually wanted a DSC.
India, Dr Sen just told me that the Sensex is suffering from insomnia.
Should I give it some sleeping pills?
India, lets collectively veto all fashion shows,
I find the models too striking!
Lets reinvent the dhoti.
Yes! Lets reintroduce the dhoti!
No, I’m no super patriot,
Nor am I political.

The vote banks!
That’s the real democracy.

India, have you heard Joan Baez sing
‘We shall over come’?
You should give her an honorary citizenship.

Part IV.


India! Oh India!
We are frozen between ice sheets;
Melting - the heat of the Moon!
Floating inside airwaves and neon sunshines;
Shining gold coins for memory,
Shiny silver coins for reflection.

The seasons are changing colours;
Electricity is gaining spark;
Cynicism is dying a slow death
and under water exaust fans are taking pictures,
Of gold fish and gold bullions
some where very far.

Country born; country died;
Country torn; country tied.
Country! country! country!
Yielding its weight,
along side blindfolded time.

miguel pinero.

Dedicated to those magnificent black women & their blond wigs

Black woman with the blond wig on

you're living an illusion.Think that head blanket

bought from macy's on a lincoln sale

will make the residents of forest hill

slay out a black carpet to their blond streets

because you have some blond horse hair on?

Black woman with the blond wig on

are you playing James Bond in blond

secret agent in charge of repression

congo blood?

Black woman with the blond wig on

is it your greatest desire to appear on t. v.

welcome to

I've got a secret

commercial?

"Here I was with $60 one day and all of a sudden somebody was giving me $15,000 . . . . I was being asked to lecture at Princeton, at Rutgers, at Pratt Intitute. Here I have no education whatsoever and I am working as a mentor to . . . top students . . . . What the hell am I doin’ here?"

Is the intellect only a concept?

She was a smart girl, I can vouch for that much. But how much of her did I really envision from my own mind. My minds a bitch. No, it really is. Does these funny funny things to me. Could never figure out why. I kept it busy , with books and music,lots of movies and 'intellectual' convos. All it ever did was make a mesh of things.Put one into another, wired it up, squeezed it into fallow lines, of soft age and many more irksome things and ideas.

It made me a believer of her ways. Simple, made up, passionately defended and highly honest.
I had to stop and wonder, is abstract poetry really better than the rhyming lines. Was Leonard Cohens' work ever fanthomable to Ogden Nash? I mean, honestly speaking the "intellectual" is a 12 lettered word. Now that confuses me! How much of it is actually a concept? I always believed that our pet best friend: God: is nothing save an over simplification of an cosmic concept, a phenomenon. I'm not trying to get ahead of my self here, but it made sense to me. Are we in a massive fit of self denial doing or rather pushing a concept forward into an arena that was made for much simpler times, if not more occupiable times.

The her in the former paragraphs refer to a girl we all met a few centuries ago. She walked towards us with her pregnant arms wide open. Wanting and trying, vehemently to embrace her in her ways. She liked the name reason for herself. It at times makes me trip , over a tear drop she left behind that never dried, because we all some where, sometime, denied to her her name.
And called her other names behind her back, and I found out just a few moments past, that I too had called her a name, branded her , branded it, the intellect.

____Go!

"But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

No word nor sigh ever meant more to me that these words of Kerouac, here he is explaining the essence of the Beat generation.
I say we should all be mad- mad as birds.
Would'nt you agree.??.

Winter walks.

"The only excuse God has is that he does not exist."

- Stendhel.

soft punishment for gods.

would you punish through the symbols of guilt.

Oρφεύς)

The colours of character of one as strong and mournful as Orpheus are laden with potent and inherent sentimentality. It is the reason for music to cry. He played the lyre, he charmed the world, the underworld, Hades and Persephone, brought back Eurydice from where people had lond ceased returning . But , it was lost. All was a flashpoint in the ripples of the communion of Dionysus. A glance was the counter price for his music.

"Dancing maenads , dancing maenads, please don't dance too low. No song nor line, no light nor hue, can ever sing that song you love."

The symbolism of orpheuses head on the lyre after being killed by the meanads of Dionysus, floating through the rivers filled the senses of a person I never knew with the colour of sorrow.

In the memory of symbolic gestures we never forget, but seldom see, I salute not Orpheus, but the "hue" in his mythology. The tint in the complexity of being.

Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks

All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river,
she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears,
she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes,
she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love
,her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again swam towards emptiness,
swam towards death. _Pablo Neruda

"Would you reach out your hand to save a drowning man if you though he might pull you in.?"

A very humble question asked by Dylan in this movie.
Got me thinking, for a few moments atleast. After a lot of deep thought, and i mean real deep, I finally got my answer:
I in most probability would'nt, but surely I'd throw him a rope.

The summer we seldom had.

Its a very tried and tested fact that humans love writing, about themselves, their h and a's, lovers, haters, mothers - fathers, any one or anything that simply envokes. Envokes anything!
But, the henious but,
all of those who quite dont , how do i phrase this, 'cut it'..?? Where do they go? The simple summer of wisdom that we never had. Its all worked up over the course of a life time never lived.
Its rather sweet really, some what like the bees that love flowers but cant stand perfumes.
All summers we never had.