Strength

It is the single most important virtue in our lives. The strength to motivate ourselves, the strength to have a vision of a better life, the strength to work, the strength to let ourselves hang loose, the strength to open up to others, the strength to deal with the darkest secrets of others and ourselves. It is strength that you need when you must deal with deprivation and scarcity. It is strength you need when you must deal with temptation and seduction. It is strength you need when making moral choices. It is strength you need when you are the one called upon to take care of others, be those others a family of three or a society of a million.

It is the one thing I pray for. It is the one thing I never want to run out of. Both physically and mentally, I want to be strong for myself and all others whose lives I touch in the smallest way. It is the one thing I wish upon every person in this world. The strength to take a stand, to be themselves, to resist peer pressure, to fight, to care, to love. That's all we need. Strength.

Chaos and Fractals

I am now going to slump back into one of those philosophical musings that I sometimes do. The fact that this time philosophy not only coincides with but mingles and is born from science is in itself an event worthy of mention. Fine!, so the geek-o-meter on this post is set to high. I admit and embrace my geekiness.

I recently have taken a class that required me to understand the physicist's version of what chaos is. I also learned about what the Butterfly effect is and how any of this makes any difference to me. I got hooked. Not just because of the far reaching consequences of understanding chaotic systems, but also the elegance that lies within one. The patterns that are evident beneath and its effects on our understanding of the Universe.

All my friends who have had anything to do with physics, will know what I mean by a deterministic system. Determinism is the basis of a lot of physics. All systems that are deterministic show a very defined relationship between cause and effect. This is a part of Newtonian physics. We believe that if we can understand the initial conditions of a system, and mathematically compute all its interactions, we can reasonably predict the outcomes down the line. The path of planetary orbits were calculated this way rather reasonably.

However things were not quite as simple as they seemed. Since measurement is one of the cornerstones of science, a lot depends on the accuracy of these measurements of the initial conditions. Earlier it was thought that a very small discrepancy could hardly affect the outcomes of the systems. However Edward Lorenz in 1961, found out that that was entirely wrong. Some systems, especially weather systems, show very remarkable sensitivity to the initial conditions. So remarkable in fact that it lead Lorenz to hypothesize that the fluttering of the wings of a butterfly could change the conditions enough to create a cyclone in the future. Thus giving birth to the term, the 'Butterfly Effect'. (Women, stop thinking of Ashton Kutcher now!)

Such systems, showing this sensitivity were called chaotic systems. This chaos however again has nothing to do with the frenzy associated with the lay use of the word. Scientists soon found some patterns hidden within this chaos. These were termed as 'attractors'. The famous 'Lorenz Attractor' actually does look like a butterfly weirdly :)

Image on the left, is a plot of the Lorenz Attractor taken from Wikipedia. Patterns in chaos meant something very interesting. We may have a problem predicting systems right now, but if patterns exist, then can't they be explained by some sort of equation? Finding equations is apparently the no. 1 preoccupation of physicists.

Now comes the more interesting part. People who have fallen asleep can wake up now. What is a little more fun about these patterns in chaos, is the structures they create. Some attractors were found to consists of self similar structures known as fractals.

Fractals are probably one of the most fascinating geometries in the world. What is meant by self similar is that every part of the fractal when magnified consists of the entire structure of the fractal. This keeps on going ad infinitum till it is resolved to its smallest structure, and it creates insanely beautiful things. To put this in perspective, DNA is a fractal. So are mountain ranges, coastlines, snowflakes, etc. Nature abounds in examples of fractal geometries and scientists are extremely excited about that.

Why am I excited? and why do I subject you to this lecture? Well its a two part answer. Fractals and computer generated fractal images spoke to me, like no other art form has ever done. Every new image I see just makes me gasp in wonder. It opens up lines of thought I did not think I was deep enough to have. I am going to attach a few images. You will see for yourself, the beauty of these images.

Secondly, this is one scientific theory that makes sense to me. I can understand why anyone would pursue a lifetime trying to understand this. It epitomizes all that I believe science should epitomize. It is truly inter disciplinary. It has repercussions all throughout the physical world, from space to DNA. It is just beautiful and elegant. These I believe are reasons enough to care.

I shall leave you with some gasping and awing. Here are a few images of fractal art I found.


The above image is entitled 'Spectral Staircase'


This one is called 'Birds of Paradise'.

The resolution is not the greatest on these as they are on the post, so do click to enlarge. I am adding the URL to the site where you can see these and many other fractal images created by this artist. http://content.techrepublic.com.com/2346-10878_11-33277.html?tag=gald

Also I will give you the URL to a website where you can download a fractal creator if you would like. You can actually feed in basic equations to create your own fractals and can select color schemes etc. http://www.majorgeeks.com/Fractal_Forge_d4493.html

To all the people who's website links and images I have used, please don't be upset. None of this is for profit. In fact I just thought it would be great to let people know about this.

So, I am expecting comments, I hope I get some. Don't think of this as a boring science lecture. I encourage you to explore these topics. I do believe they hold a fascination for anyone, not only those connected with science.

Embracing Bollywood

For some of you out there, this post is going to seem really out of character for me. After all the cribbing and snuffing of Karan Johar and his lot, people may have started to think that I do not care for our movie industry. That I spurn Yash Chopra for James Cameron. But today I want to put these speculations to rest. Whatever our problems, however scarce actual scriptwriters are and however much the other ones spend on old Hollywood DVDs, I still embrace this industry as an integral part of my growing up and I publicly acknowledge that I am grateful for it.

Right from the old scratchy black and white marvels, such as CID and Bhoot Bangla, through the piled up hairstyles of Sharmila Tagore, through the faux western piece of genius Sholay, through the young heroes debuting in QSQT, MPK and Baazigar to their eventual stardom and to some nuanced performances in new age movies. All through this, I have enjoyed the ride.

Our family was one that enjoyed their movie watching experience. The world of movies was therefore open to me at a very young age. Such was the prodigious nature of the love, that all forms of cinema were equally revered. I saw Hrishikesh Mukherji gems like 'Satyakaam' and 'Chupke Chupke' with equal interest as Manmohan Desai films like 'Amar Akbar Anthony'.

There are many things in Indian cinema that require you to suspend your belief. For e.g. Sanjay Dutt driving in a car on Marine Drive singing a song and as he is just about to reach Nariman Point, the scene suddenly changes to the serene mountains of Switzerland. Switzerland!!.. Somebody show me that shortcut!

But there has to be something said about the magic of the movies. There is stuff for every one's tastes. Middle aged heroes pretend to be 20 years old and go to college, but that it seems is exactly what 16 year old girls want to see. For the older folk, there are stars like Om Prakash and Utpal Dutt. For adults there are some very serious and surprisingly insightful moves like 'Arth' and 'Ardha Satya'. For the housewives trying to escape into worlds that don't involve cutting vegetables and shouting at bais, there are the super luxurious Chopra productions and now the Johar movies. Like I said there's something for everyone.

I realize that for me, the more important thing is the stories. I realize that my all embracing and somewhat eccentric tastes do have a very common core. The story. I am a sucker for two types of stories. The complete formula stories (Sports movies, Love stories, Mysteries) and the complete opposite, which says hell to formula, we'll have some innovation please.

It seems weird to think that I can enjoy both equally. But there is a weird sense of rhythm and comfort in the formulaic tearjerker or inspirational film and a sense of excitement and newness to the other type of movie.

I will leave you with a list of the ten best Hindi movies I have seen (in no particular order). It'll be great if you guys can comment and lemme know about yours. This post is about nostalgia. It'll be great to sit and reminisce, even if it is in the comments column :)

Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar
Sholay
Andaz Apna Apna
Satyakaam
Golmaal
Namak Haram
Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa
Lagaan
Abhimaan
Muskurahat

Conventional Wisdom

What would the world be like if no one told us what it is like? This is not as absurd a question as it might seem. What would things be like if we had to discover everything by ourselves. If no conventional wisdom existed, if no one had theories, if no one told, taught, dictated or ordered. Quite unimaginable isn't it?

We are a society you say. We are curious, we ask, we learn, we have an innate need to spread knowledge, spread the word. All this is true, and may even be the answer to why conventional wisdom exists. But what if it didn't?

What if everyday was a discovery unto oneself? What if no appropriate feelings or words existed, but the ones we utter? What if?

It would definitely not be a functional world. No civilization would exist, no society and no greatness. We would be like animals I guess (I don't know of course, but maybe). Its just a state of mind we can imagine ourselves in. Imagine us as free from all rules, all theories. There is nothing but our minds.

I wonder if in such a case, I would have the potential to figure things out for myself. To understand that there is a force that pulls me to the earth. To figure out words and communication. I wonder if all that knowledge is even necessary for me to have a fulfilling life. This is all a fantasy, but one that is unusually freeing for my mind.

I mention this just to illustrate the power others' thoughts have on our existence. We live and die by others principles. We fight for others' beliefs, we kill for the appeasement of others. Wars are fought on the dictates of others. Peace is sought for the happiness of others.

This is not however a correct representation of our lives. Free will is what separates us from just becoming other people's playthings. We make a choice to believe. We make a choice to agree, to dissent, to love and hate. What is still ours is our ability to analyze and understand others' thoughts.

You must therefore understand that though we are indebted to others' lives for our daily wisdom, we are ultimately responsible for our actions resulting from it. We cannot be sheep, we cannot just follow. Even if we rely on others' work, we must take the responsibility to make our own choice.

Suidae

For all those non-biology majors and for a large portion of even the biology majors, let me inform you that the title of this post means 'Pig'. Yup I am going to talk about our porky friends. I have been requested to do so by a dear friend, who I know was making fun of me, but challenged me to a write off nonetheless.

I started to think of what I can write of concerning pigs. Well, for one I think that we do them an injustice by associating their name with many negative things. 'Sweat like a pig' is a weird phrase, I've never really seen a pig sweat, and have no idea if the their dermal excretions are abnormally high. Also, the association with filth and dirt. I mean yeah, a pig does get caught with its nose in a garbage can an inordinate number of times, but hey, one man's meat etc. etc.

Most of the times I find pigs slightly snooty. Have you seen a family of pigs running along a street. It looks like Ma pig is out shopping and the procession of youngsters behind her, just give the impression of a cavalcade. What makes them seem snooty I guess is the fact that they don't seem to believe in the need for communication with mankind. While a dog is most happy to display its feelings to us, by barking, snarling or drool grinning (a very unique doggie trait), pigs seem to be content just staring at you. There doesn't even seem to be the slightest curiosity. It seems like a calm patience, but still makes you realise you're not really welcome.

Greed is another of those famous pig characteristics. Pigs really do seem to enjoy their food. I think that just shows hearty well being. Greed? am not so sure.

The pigs in India tend to be dark and hairy. They also seem to adore the outdoors and are frequently seen roaming around streets miles away from any pigpen. The pigs outside in the western world seem slightly more subservient to mankind. Confinement is no problem as long as the grub is good. They also have that pink color that seems to make those little piglets so adorable.

So what do these porkers mean to us then. Not much I think. These seem to be proud animals not really suited for domestication. Not in the way pet owners want them to be. (I have heard pot-bellied pigs do make good pets, but this is in general). Their tie with us is only for the food. Sadly. Because they do seem like animals I would like to know. I am glad toy makers seem to revel in the image of the pig. They do have a fascination for children and child-like adults (namely me). I do not think I would have given so much thought to the pig if it wasn't for my friend's assignment. Makes me think of the other zillions of subjects I haven't thought about.

Thanks be to him, and to you for reading this.

Randomness

Thoughts range free now. Pretty much at randomness. How much of what we say or write is really our own and not filtered thoughts of others? Is it possible to have an original thought?

It is great to be inspired by words and deeds, it is great to emulate (or is it), but is there a special area where you create the deeds, you inspire the words? Is that what the goal of life should be?

Lots of questions huh? Well when the mind roams in randomness, I still find more questions than answers. I guess the turning point will arrive when the answers take over my brain and surprise me with their clarity.

I think very seriously that that is the ambition of my life. I have tried to reconcile my goals within the parameters of money, fame, charity, virtue. Don't get me wrong, I want all of those in plenty, but the one ambition that is constant, that does not shift or change is that of knowledge. Of original knowledge. Something that is not just an interpretation of other people's words, but an original thought, a private glimpse at the truth.

People want many things in their lifetime and things achieved before they die. Ever since I was a kid I remember that my one wish was that all will be revealed before death. That I will know.

To tell you the truth, this monologue was inspired by the silliest of things. I was going through some of my friends' 'about me' columns on a networking site. So many had quotes from different sources, some credited, some not ( a pretense of ownership?). I cannot help but wonder whether this is incomplete, the act of describing yourself through other people's words. They never knew you. They never went through the many circumstances you alone have faced. One must understand oneself in order to write such things.

I am trying not to be judgmental. And I do understand that what people write in these columns is generally of no importance whatsoever. But I can't help but think, so many experiences, so many perspectives. Maybe it would be one of the greatest things in the world, if everyone could express themselves. Originally.

writer's block!

A blank page is the scariest thing for a writer. The potential of that page can scare the living daylights out of anybody. Ideas are scary things too. You believe that there is so much you want to communicate, to tell. To teach, to show, to relive, to vent, to explain, to entertain, to give respect, to show love.

There's so much to talk about, to write about. Emotions under a skin thin surface wait to make themselves known.

What does hold the author back? Fear again. Fear that people don't want to hear you out, that people don't care. Fear of being misunderstood, fear of misinterpretation. Fear is a funny thing, that it can be as much of a motivating factor as that of a constraining one.

I am scared of writing again. After so long. I worry too much. Yet I am scared that the little that I have to tell, the small things that I think are worth other people's attention and opinion, will remain forever inside.

I will change with time, my perspectives and ideas will change. But the feelings I have right now, the truth I sense right now, I don't want it to be lost just because I couldn't communicate it.

Here's to overcoming fear, and celebrating thoughts! In other words, 'I'm back!' for better or worse.

Earth Day is April 22nd

Earth Day is coming up. There will be some publicity leading up to it, I'm sure. Companies will start talking about what they are doing in order to help the environment. Hastily drawn plans will be shown to the public as established conduct. Government agencies will appoint scientific communities to get together and give reports on the conditions of the planet. Non-government agencies will protest the opinions of these scientists and work on scare tactics to get the people moving.

All these things will happen. Everyone will come forth with their opinions and there will be so much talk.

Yet somehow, all this talk every year not only seems to dissipate when the hype dies down, but also to not address many key issues.

I understand that the people in power matter. These are the people who can make decisions regarding their country's stand on the Kyoto Protocol, or whaling or water quality regulations. These are the people who make a difference with the stroke of a pen. It is imperative for a country's future that issues are brought in front of these people. But what about just the common man?

I know that efforts are being made for almost the past 20 years to get the common person involved in ecological conservation. However it seems to me that more than half of what is presented to the public is a smokescreen and the rest is presented on such a large scale that the public cant help but think that the problem is too big for them to do anything about it. Let me explain myself.

The smokescreen bit is done by corporations. Especially corporations that are perceived as commercial polluters or have a product whose identity is tried up with pollution (e.g. oil companies, automotive companies, chemical companies etc.). During certain times of the year, like when Earth Day is nearing, these companies will do their best to show the public all that they do and have done for the environment. Of course I cannot claim that it is all a smokescreen, but there are many companies that trump figures, rustle up spur of the moment ideas, run charity marathons etc. without really putting real effort in their conservation actions.

The other problem I have is that the public is confronted with humongous issues. Global Warming, Ozone Depletion, Rain forest Loss, these are huge things. This globe is complicated and vast, but the human population has become large enough and influential enough to cause huge scale problems in the entire ecosystem. This sounds extremely daunting and leads to the relegation of these issues into a phenomenon which Douglas Adams has so concisely called 'Someone Else's Problem'.

Since we as individuals cannot deal with such a large scale, we think of these problems as solvable only by someone else rather than ourselves. If the issue is not local then that intensifies this feeling.

I think that there is a key to this. Some people are discovering it and using it aptly. It is as essential to think about the whole issue as it is to think about bits and pieces of it. These bits and pieces are not that daunting and can be presented as doable tasks for even the individual. The importance of conservation should not just be presented on the scale of a forest, but also on the scale of tap water while brushing.

People need to be educated about the small things that make a difference. The idea of waste is generally perceived on an immense scale. Why not talk about waste in terms of the number of thermacol glasses? The need of the hour is still education. We have not yet gone past this stage. There are too many things happening on a daily level that lead to immense wastage and go under the radar because of the fact that they are habits.

We are a people addicted to waste. Addicted to oil. Weaning may happen in two ways. We may end up buried in our waste and out of oil and be shocked into adapting. Or we may slowly, gradually rid ourselves of our needs, check into rehab and learn to adapt to newer things and better lifestyles. By the time we run out of oil, we will not need it.

Its our choice, not as nations or organizations, but as individuals.

HORN OK PLEASE

Thank you

springy thoughts

We of the tropical blood, where seasons don't really change but rather merge into one another, creating a blur of gradual and temperate climate changes, will never quite understand or come to terms with the drama of the seasons here.

Here the weather in each season not only has its unique flavor but it also arrives in a triumphant fashion bringing change of all kinds in its wake.

Spring has arrived, or something like that, since we are still expecting snow. But for all practical purposes, today was the day of cotton tee shirts and short pants. Brilliant sunlight and azure sky. Its been a while since we saw anything but grey and white.

I always wonder about these people who can sense weather. They say the air has a peculiar smell. They differentiate the amount of moisture in the air just through their noses. They can feel a shift in even the minutest temperature. I would love to be able to do that.

I stood today in the blazing sun taking a deep breath of crisp air. It did not feel really different, but maybe I imagined it did. Maybe I imagined that faint scent of lavender. Imagination or not, just a change in weather can hold sway over a person's outlook.

For the first time in many months, I felt a sense of renewal. I am starting to understand what these people in the northern climes feel. Why there are books like 'wind in the willows' and 'all creatures great and small' that extol the virtues of spring. They talk about the burst of fresh vigor, the birth of tiny creatures, the rebirth of the plants and ultimately the rebirth of their souls.

I never understood this sitting in the sweltering heat of a Mumbai summer. There we have just summer and the monsoon. And in the monsoon, when its not raining its as good as its summer.

Both climes have their pros and cons. The smell of wet earth that rises when the first rains hit a parched landscape is just as precious to me as now the feeling of renewal brought on by the warming power of a waxing sun.

I suppose we will always be a product of what is around us.

P.S. I know that world cup has started. I am so bloody excited, but I have no place to watch it! :(

sunshine

i want someone to bring sunshine, laughter and flowers in my life.

i want a dog.

Morality

I know that this is too big a topic to be talking about on a mere blog post. I don't think that I can write all my thoughts in a mere post, but there is a particular side of this topic that I would like to talk about.

People think less of me because I openly talk about that oh-so-forbidden topic of sex. Don't misunderstand me. I do not belittle or ridicule it. I do not use it to tease or harass others. I am just open about it. The fact that it exists and is probably the most basic and sacred need of humanity.

But people think this openness is amoral. Amoral?? I don't get that. Talking about sex and not being shy to confront it does not make a person amoral. I do not believe that acting coy about the topic, giggling about it or acting shocked at a discussion on sex makes a person (esp. a girl, lets say very esp. an Indian girl) morally superior.

I am now going to make a list of what I believe is actual moral behavior.

Not interfering in peoples' personal lives or ridiculing them because of their personal idiosyncrasies is moral.

Not causing harm to an individual out of vindictiveness, amusement or simply apathy, is moral.

Knowing swear words does not make you amoral. Not understanding the extent to which the use of these words can hurt a person, using them without any provocation, deriding people behind their backs with these words is very amoral.

Empathizing with people, working with them, caring about their needs is moral behavior.

Understanding how powerful an emotion affection and attachment is and never using these to your personal advantage is moral behavior.

Knowing how precious trust and love are. Knowing never to misuse them. That's moral behavior.

Society and people have put up boundaries on acceptable behavior for a reason. It is a way to have discipline while still preserving individuality. However, some norms are outdated and some thoughts are to be rethought.

I do not know what I have accomplished by writing this down. I do not care.

Be careful what you wish for

I sometimes wonder whether the human condition is ruled entirely by desires. Its quite possible. The reigning emotion at any given time in a person's head is a need or a want. Mostly a want, needs are not that pressing.

We want more love, attention, money, clothes, a new stereo (ouch I'm behind times, I meant iPhone), more of everything that makes us feel good. Or maybe not. I know a lot of people (namely me) who seem to want things that make them miserable. The stuff fulfils a want and gives momentary gratification. For some people (me again) that is enough. That is what makes the day pass, that is what makes every night bearable.

I think that that is perhaps because wants and needs aside, fear perhaps is also a competitive reigning emotion. In fact I think fear trumps almost all the time. We fear what we can become. Both good and bad. We fear the pain and stress it takes to do us good, to make us be healthy. We fear vice, but vice can be comforting too. Its easier to fear amiguous good than to fear definite bad.

Our wants and wishes are thus probably misdirected or misguided. We tend to want somthing that seems to be for the best, but is ephemeral. I am not saying all of us are like this. I actually do know some clear thinking people who know what is good for them and stick to it. But for the most of us I think that the line between good and bad is not that clear.

I think that the only quality that can triumph in this mess is courage. That is never easy to come by. We all have a store of it but the weird thing is that to summon courage you first need some of it. A courageous person is the one who can blot out fear from his mind about his own self. Make peace with his wants and clarify his needs. A person who can clearly see the right path and not fear the pain associated with it.

This is difficult. I have just mused on it, just thought about it. I hope I have the courage to do something about it.

My 2nd New Year blog

well.. a happy new year to u all..

lets all hope this one works out..

Dream

Awake. I had a start. The heart's beating wildly. It'll take a little time to settle. Meanwhile, why did I get up? I wasn't having a dream, I would remember. They're generally vivid. The curtains are apart though, maybe there was a light outside.

It seems dark enough. I doubt it's beyond 3am right now. Wait, no. I came in at 2. Oh, and then, ah, there she is. Well, didn't think she'd be here again. She'll be out by first light. She always does leave before I wake. I do remember tonight though, that's almost a first.

I guess I must draw the curtains. No, too lazy. The moonlight does make a very dramatic pattern on the wall. It's interesting the little things you are willing to pay attention to when you want to distract yourself from the pain. Did I take my medicine tonight? God, I hope so.

There are cars outside. I guess it must be closer to 4 then. I really must sleep. That won't be too difficult. It's easy to wander in your mind. It's just when the pain obscures the thoughts that it's difficult.

In fact its one of my favorite pleasures; falling off to sleep. The feeling of weightlessness and senselessness just before the sleep takes over your mind. It's a wonderful place where emotions and feelings have no place. There's no guilt there, I love that. I hate that I have to long for it most nights. That's where she comes in I guess. I put an arm around her, like so. Yes, the warmth helps.

Eyes shut now, let my mind go.

Sunshine.

I guess I want to be happy tonight.

The dreams seep into his sleep like a mist through the forest. His dreams of sunshine could only last that long. Those are the ones your consciousness makes up to help you drift into a slumber. Once the dreams took hold of him, there was no sunshine. A slight drizzle perhaps. A gloomy cloud and countenance. He was in a hurry too. Was it one of those dreams where he misses the train? No. The pain never allowed easy dreams.

He was on one though now, a train. The landscape rapidly changing around him. In his hand, a bunch of roses. Red. He thought. It was a favorite habit of his. Thinking about colors in his dreams. He never thought it possible to see any then. Roses though, why?

He looked around him. He was in a second class compartment. The people came to his notice just then. Not that they were noticeable. They were all around and yet nowhere. It was as if he were indifferent to them and yet acutely aware of every nuance of their existence. They weren't significant. Not to this plot.

The landscape became darker and bleaker. The trees began to blur with the sky leaving a feeling of melting colors. Distances were dissolving. They seemed not to exist.

Then there was no train, no trees, and no people. He was by himself, the roses starting to wilt. He noticed the edges of the petals turning a dark brown. Yes, colors existed. So did smells. A sharp smell of formaldehyde hit him like a truck. Staggering slightly against the pungent blow, he tried to orient himself.

There was a grave. Oh, I'm dreaming of her. A crack running through it though. Right down the middle. He calmly bent down on one knee, and placed the now dead roses near the grave stone, the crack in the earth not bothering him in the least. He ran his hand along the crack, fingering the loose earth tenderly like a lover's back. He bent down, taking his face near the earth, lips just millimeters away. Turning his head, he listened with his ear to the ground.

Heartbeat. Steady heartbeat. Slow, rhythmic heartbeat. Lulling him into safety, into sleep. Getting faster. Almost imperceptible that, but its growing faster. The beats growing louder and faster by the second. Then the breathing. The shallow forced breathing. A lover's breath, faster and harder with every passing second. Closer, closer, so close he could feel it on his cheek.

Awake. Damn the girl. Her face is almost on top of mine. Have to gently push her away. What's that smell? Can you have smells left over from dreams? She's not her though. No, she could never be. I would be at peace with her. But the smell. And she's cold. Her feet are like ice. No, it must be the air conditioning acting up again. Why doesn't she just pull the blanket? Now I have to hold a stiff piece of ice. She's rigid too.

No, I think I'm dreaming. Dreams and waking are just merging now. That happens. Right? Yes, just dreaming. Just dreaming.

No! This is getting weird. I can feel the damp. The moist earth is invading the sheets. Please, just dream. I can feel the slimy mud between my toes. Something climbing up my calves. Cold wet tendrils creeping up like ivy on a wall. I can just shake them off can't I? If I could move. Please, just dream.

He couldn't shake this off. Not this dream. The cold tendrils took over his body in the form of cold sweat. There was fear now. A freezing hand gripped his heart. Memories flooded his senses. Not dreams now. These were images he'd seen. He'd feared.

The images flashed across his mind. Her body, naked and glistening in the tub. The moonlight marking the patterns of the blinds across her stomach. Within the mosaic of light and shade, he made out the tracks of blood. The already thickening stream trickling from above. The roses fell from his hand as he saw the gaping wound in her neck. Her head hung limply sideways over her shoulder and her long hair obscured almost half the side of her body.

His knees gave way almost the same moment he retched all over the cold, gleaming tiles. He heard somebody shut a door somewhere in the house and that spurred him into action. The rest was a blur of police sirens and the cold steel of the morgue.

Why did he have to keep remembering that time? His dreams seemed to be monopolized, his pain exploited. She'd died. In pain definitely, in fear decidedly, maybe she felt some pleasure. Maybe.

He'd loved her. Adored her beyond reason and hope. But she'd left. She wasn't the one who now lived with tortured images constantly in her head. Not the one who carved her initials over and over again till the wood splintered. Not the one who feared sleep. Feared dreams. Not the one who constantly needed a buzz, a haze, anything that would obscure the present.

He'd loved her. The love had soured though, curdled with resentment till a deep seated hatred had overtaken his heart. A wave of revulsion swept through his senses. The smell permeated through the room again and he felt sick to his stomach. He hated all that was a part of him now. All that now made up his life. The girls. He hated them now for making him need them. The smell why is it here?? She's cold too.

Those days all over again. She'll always be there. She'll always haunt me. She's here! She's here again!

Rising from her cracked grave. Bringing a chill I've never known before. I haven't felt this cold before. Its like my innards are crystallizing. Honing my pain to a sharp point. To the blade of a knife. A thin razor edge. A razor edge of hurt, of anger. An overwhelming urge to lash out, to squeeze.

Her cold rigid throat. Her slit throat. My fingers could wrap around it easily. Then all that's needed is a gentle, yet insistent pressure.

I slowly increase the force. She feels it. Her mouth open. Eyes wide in fright. And then the body arches, and the hands reach up to mine. Thin fingers cannot compare to my hold. The legs are thrashing now and the eyes have panic in them.

The panic slowly resolves into resignation as my force increases. Insistent. And then she gives up. She's limp all over again.

The cold retreats, the warmth envelopes me.

Relax. Just dream.

He woke up finally late that morning. The open curtains allowing a noonday sun to blaze into the bedroom. He was perplexed. She was still there. She always left by first light. She was still there this day. He shook and shook her.

And then he saw his fingerprints on her neck. They had turned purple.

war

Grey the day is and black the night will be,
Shades of despair tinge the world now,
Laughter dried up and there's no harmony,
They wait just for the end now.

Memory shows colors of bright oranges and red,
A shadow of hope flickers within the breast,
The living wonder and now pity the dead,
For their mind is filled with glory and fest.

Memory betrays them to the core,
It is cruel and twisted and treacherous,
For what they remember will wait for them never more,
For they themselves grow murderous.

Grey is their countenance and fey is their mind,
As they bring daggers to each others hearts,
For the lack of colors brought things to a bind,
For the pain needed to be spread, to be torn apart.

Art or something like it

What is art? What does it mean to be creative? To be expressive? To capture the soul, the essence of a moment?

I doubt these answers lie within any cortex of the brain. They are not answerable through logical analysis or rationalizing. Yet all of us know these answers. They are as tangible as the taste of salt in the air near the sea. They are as indescribable, as enticing and as invigorating. I think they lie within the heart, or more likely the soul. There is a little jolt of pleasure one feels when one sees an object of true beauty. A brief but very certain moment of recognition, when one understands what the artist conveys. If the artist is good enough, this moment can last a lifetime and within it capture a deep understanding of ourseleves.

A timeless masterpiece of art is a thing of wonder. We all know life can be tremendously beautiful. Whether it be the moors at twilight, the Sahyadris at evensong or a beautiful lady captured in a moment of mysterious laughter. These are things we as lay people see everyday and appreciate to the best of our abilities. The thoughts that pass through our mind are preserved and treasured. Some of us go far enough to encase them in words, song or image. Some of us manage to convey that moment of wonder well enough for people to appreciate and share our understanding.

And then there are some that can bring that wonder right into our lives. They can capture that breathtaking moment with such vividity and clarity that they bring to us and our souls the very moment of life they entrapped. We live through them. We love through them. We discover parts of our lives through them.

Our understanding and interpretation varies. The relevance of these images varies from person to person. The note that is struck within the soul varies. But we know when we see these true works of art. We know they are beyond interpretations and understandings. They stand alone as expressions that touch our lives. They mysteriously change something within ourseleves just a little. A little tweak that leaves us the better to have seen, the better to have experienced.

The fact that a stroke of paint, a block of marble can influence us so profoundly. It may be evidence for a facet of humanity that cannot be explained by biochemistry. That cannot be predicted or determined by genes. That in itself, makes us free.

A bottle of Prozac (TM ,Regd whtever)

First up, if anyone noticed, there was a long hiatus on this blog. Dunno why, guess I just didnt want to write. Anyhow, if anyone missed it, I'm back.

This was not supposed to be a post, rather a private letter to a private friend. But then I thought about it. This is probably the happiest letter I have ever written. And anyhow, why only do things am comfortable with? How about openness for a change. How about letting it all hang. Letting me be me in front of more than just myself.

So this being my one outlet, here I am.

Weird things had been happning lately in my life. Things that made me feel guilty, small, scared and very badly hurt. Things that made me question fundamental things about myself. My neediness, my weakness and my loyaty. Stuff that I am ashamed to say I didnt handle very well. That cost me a few tears and maybe a frienship. But the same stuff was instrumental in making me now the happiest I have ever been . Happy sounds like a small silly word. But believe me, you feel the true calm happiness can bring and the lightness it gives to your soul. It brings a smile involuntarily to your lips. A spring in your step. Makes you sing RHCP while walking down Chesterfield hallways at the top your voice. It makes you jubilant when you have missed an assignment deadline.

Now I know that if you are actually reading this post, you must be wondering what amazing thing happened to me. Lottery winnings? an engagement ring? Well to tell you the truth, nothing like that happened. Nothing physically happed to me. What did happen was that I changed. No one but I can tell you that, but I changed. Something very basic got rewired within me.

I found something strong within me. I am happy because I found friends and I am jubilant beause I realised my happiness does not depend on them. My smiles are no longer in debt of the people I love, neither are my fears. They no longer make me, I make myself.

I found a happiness that was my own. Something I have never felt before in my life. My heart used to skip for a phone call, for an email. But never for my own prospects. Never for my own ambitions.

I have found both. I have found I have possiblities. A little late at 24 I suppose. I know I will now go further, higher, and be stronger. (was that just the Olympic slogan?? no... I dont think I put in faster)

I love my friends. Old and new alike. I never thought I would make new friends. I was happy with what I had. Never thought I could get close to anyone again, or that anyone would get close to me. It works both ways. But I realised that people are just that. People. They are the same and it takes time to understand that. It took me time to accept them and in the process I have now accepted me. This time it didnt take me long phone conversations, approvals, validation or compliments. It did take some advice but more than anything it took me.

I am now dangerouly close to loving myself. This is what it must feel like on a bottle of Prozac!

Narcissa is me

Aditi, meaning free, unbound. Boundless heaven as compared with the finite earth. A Vedic goddess representing the primeval generator of all that emanated. The eternal space of the boundless whole, the unfathomable depth signifying the veil over the unknown.

The Rig Veda describes her a the mother of all gods; it is named Devamatri, mother of all gods, or Swabhavat, that which exists by itself. She is frequently implored for blessing children and cattle, for protection and forgiveness.

In the Yajur Veda, Aditi is addressed as the supporter of the sky, the sustainer of the earth, the sovereign of this world, and the wife of Vishnu.

Aditi gave birth to 8 Adityas of whom the 8th one, Martand is the present Sun of the present solar system. Besides being the goddess who mothered 8 Sun gods, she even represents Prithvi, the mother earth, Vach, the goddess of speech who articulates speech into creative impulse, she is also identified with Akasha, the all-perading substratum of all manifestation, and with Nirvana, liberation.

Psychologically Aditi is the supreme and infinite consciousness.

I had to put this on my blog, cos well who else would put it up. I dont know how much a name influences a person, or makes any difference in the way anyone looks at them. But I do know one thing. It makes me feel special to know what my name represents. I like thinking that the utterance of my name evokes images that are powerful and limitless. Being free, unbound and limitless, thats what I am supposed to represent. I doubt am even a fraction of a milimeter down that road, but it does give me a road to set upon.

Disregard

200 lives, gone. 200 families destroyed. In a city like Mumbai, that's not really a horrific statistic. Here people die every day. On the streets, in their homes, in hospital rooms. 200 more. Why is it significant?

Is it because it happened so fast, in a matter of minutes? Is it because it was so terrifyingly random, (it couldve been you or me you know) ? Or is it because there seems no purpose, or seen in another way, the purpose is so unconnected with the people who died.

I still do not know who is accused of this, who did it and for what. I still cannot fathom many things about this incident. It has gotten me thinking more than anything about the disregard for human life. Both by the terrorists, and by us.

I wonder who exactly has benefitted by this ( i know very well who is scarred). What did they get out of it? Was it to scare us? Was it to bully us? Was it to test out their new timers?

I was not even in town when it happened. And yet the incident has upset me deeply. In 93 I lauded the Mumbai spirit of getting back on their feet and off to work. Now I hope it takes some time to reflect, to mourn and then to fortify.

The spreading of terror is course a tactic that has borne results in many areas around the globe. But in Mumbai, I have not yet understood what ends the 93 bombings met and have not understood what the purpose is now. I thought terrorists wanted their cause to be known. Then again, maybe I'm just ill-informed.

The bombings last tuesday have made an impression on me. Snapped something within me. I think it had to do with faith in good. I never thought things like these could happen without provocation. Please help me understand how those 200 people provoked the terrorists.

I know a lot of people back home are targetting particular communities over this. I personally believe that is a childish thing to do. Unless the person you accuse has had anything to do personally with the bombings, accusing them based on their religion is selfish since you just wish to satisfy your desire of placing blame.

I admire us Mumbaikars when we say we are not scared. But I hope we start learning to fortify ourseleves, our lives. I hope to god, the people who govern us take sensible action not just inflammatory talks. Because we can excuse our citizens for being scared of terrorists, but how will we live if they start getting scared of their politicians.