Does it need one... I refuse to give one!!!

I wish I could define an excuse which explains in a single word of how busy I have been. My mind has been goading me and there is so much I want to write about but time just does not seem to be grateful to me. Even now I try to grasp with what should I write about. I guess I just want to write a verse... The metaphors and the meanings may be personal and may not even explain to the layman what I mean, but I want a catharsis and only this verse will help me to do it...

Sold out is my show,
The actors have made their bow,
Men and women clapped,
They cried and they laughed,
Some snickered,
Some bickered,
But they stayed through it all.
My show is sold out.
And I am left on the stage.
Where is my part-
The role I designed,
the role that sets me apart.
When the audience is gone,
Who shall I play it for?
The lights are off,
The stage is dark,
Who shall say now-
My show was a sold out.
When they leave the hall
I play the best part of all,
I play my self
And only one shall see me now,
My mirror on the wall,
To me, my show will again be a sold out.

58 days

58 days without any posts-No it's not loss of interest or lack of creative juices. In fact the 58 days have been a period without any lazy Sundays or for that matter any lazy day. New assignments at job, a promotion, a trip to home, two Grishams, shedding around 10 kg of weight, search for a new place to stay, conflict of head and heart, news of Dad's health, unprecedented expenses, Diwali celebration and today an early morning where the 58 days of memories boiling in the cauldron of the restless mind wants to release on the screen. If I got down to weave all my recent experiences the result would be perhaps an interesting novel. OK if not interesting, a bad-seller none-the-less at least a novel.

Exposition for such a long narrative is always a problem. I guess I can begin with Grisham since reading is something I would otherwise be doing all the time, if I was a lucky 'rich unemployed son-of-an-industrialist-with-3-contributing workaholic elder-sibling' (The lack of English terms to describe crazy imagination has been always appalling.)

John Grisham- I was hooked onto him when I read into him for the first time in "The Runaway Jury". Unlike Sheldon's dramas and thrillers, that would rightfully do well as a Hollywood flick, Grisham's novels retain a classic touch of a slow narrative which, I find appealing. The protagonists of his novels are contemplative and ironically dispose themselves very well in a delayed narrative that begs the readers to follow each line as the author would want it to. Read "The Chamber" and you will understand what I mean. A few months ago I had picked up an omnibus of two of his recent novels- "The Brethren" and "A Painted House." A trip to hometown meant that I could relish the investment over the journey and stay. I began with "The Brethren." Divulging very less of the plot, I will simply rate the novel a 5 out of 10, because though a very interesting thriller, I found it as a run-of-the-mill stuff. Scheming judges, a US Presidential candidate, an intelligent and crippled CIA director, an unusual secret and a very well devised scam-perfect ingredients for the Hollywood flick(I checked on the net and as of now no news of any producers wanting to produce it. Maybe someone should read this blog!!!)

It is "A Painted House" that managed to stimulate me into an intellectual orgasm. This is not the usual Grisham-"A Painted House" is perhaps Grisham's attempt of a memorable Classic that would one day qualify for literary interests. Set in the Southern US city of Arankasas in 1952, the novel is a pale but firm shadow of two of my favourite classics- George Eliot's "The Mill on the Floss" and Harper's " To Kill a Mocking Bird" I don't know if the latter classics were revolving in his mind, but I were him it certainly would. Unlike his other novels, "A Painted House" has a narrative of a young 10 year old-Luke Chandler and his decriptive experiences gloss the tense, deep rooted worries that occupy the adult mind. At the same time Grisham manages to unfold the topical issues of the state and its inhabitants during the era. The cotton plantations, the look-out for labour, the Mexicans, the impending threat of weather and floods of the great Mississippi, the worries and orthodox views of farmers vis-a-vis farming versus working in the city etc are issues that blend very effectively with personal issues like being educated in the city, a child's outlook to the fragmentation of Christianity, adolescence and the love of baseball through the eyes of the ten year old Chandler. And to envelop everything, the icing in the cake is the metaphor of a house being painted. What Grisham manges to do int this novel, is to take the readers into a world which is real. For instance the worry of families whose relatives were part of the great American Vietnam mission and the fierce support for every body's personal baseball favourite teams is in the pulpit of the narrative. Read the novel, not because of the beautiful things I have written, but because it will stimulate you, keep you alert-much more than any thriller.

I did feel in one case that Grisham hurried the ending but that's my personal opinion like all of the above. One should read the novel and experience it for all that matters. The novel has been adopted into a CBS television movie/telefilm for "Hallmark Hall of Fame." Go ahead, pick it up from the shelves.

Next time-"A new place to Stay"

Wish you were here...

I have heard this so many times but I just do not seem to grow out of it. Unfortunately not being an intense listener of songs I always had failed to comprehend the lyrics of this masterpiece. Listen to this now... and read the lyrics... awesome!!! Indeed something around me make me "Wish you were here" too.
And the best part of a youtube embedding... Click on the tab "Menu" in the bottom right corner and you will find a list of other Pink Floyd great master pieces.. right there leaving you "Comfortably Numb" :)


So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

The Electron

Spiralling across the cosmos
the mind-its epicenter
Fears no invasion,
the electron is the key
my soul
In it's path
I vanquish them all!!!

I guess thats how I feel immediately. Things are moving fast around me . I wonder if I am keeping up the pace. At this moment I feel like the electron pushing itself through countless directions and in this process creating energy.

By the way Preetika shared a very nice thought for the day today:

Confucius said

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall"

Not at all confusing , is it??? :)

Read and Write

"The truth is, it's not a great career move to create a readership and then, in effect, abandon them. "- Dan Simmons

Remember the first time you wrote a verse/prose or perhaps painted a picture. Beyond the self satisfaction of creation what was the next thing that gave you goosebumps- appreciation or criticism from your audience. No matter what was the reaction but the bottom line was the thrill of being recognised for an act of creation. It is so inherent that even as the most detached, inconsequential (sorry to use this term) or introvert author, you might yet, want a readership or recognition. My guess is we all go through it. For my matter, even I do, though the entries are only into a blog. Somewhere I feverishly wish that more people read what I have to say and also leave their feedback.

Bouquets and brickbats are never worries. Readership is. I would sometime think over this and worry that maybe my entries are not attractive enough to pull in readership. Thankfully, I do not continue to think the same today after I came across the quote by Dan Simmons. Very simply said but immensely thought provoking. It also reminds me of a movie "Finding Forrester". If you all have not watched it, then you must. Sean Connery in it. (Awesome movie and its a kind of serendipity when I realised that the makers of this movie are also the makers of "Good Will Hunting". Both these movies are my favourites.) Anyway, like I was saying readership, therefore should be the last thing in your mind if you are writing. One should write because he/she enjoys writing. The act is to write without any pretensions; express what is in the mind. The editing can happen later and readers will follow even later. Marquez does this and I guess all who want to express do the same.
Three cheers, Mr Simmons. Let me sum it up also with another quote of yours

"There's a unique bond of trust between readers and authors that I don't believe exists in any other art form; as a reader, I trust a novelist to give me his or her best effort, however flawed."

Haiku 2

It came, touched me
I was touched
Am overpowered by emotions.

The above are some very personal feelings of a moment that came and left an indelible mark in my mind.

I love Haiku.

Haiku

Hmm I was reading into the Japenese form of poetry- Haiku. (Follow the link) Interesting! Few of my attempts are below:

Waves

From waves near and far
Voices and news I hear
The mobile, the television and the transistor.

Love

Blind as the bat
scurries like the rat
shatters like glass!

Comfort

Food, water and roof
Vehicle, garden and golf
The green in the pocket buys them all.

Do let me know if you liked them...

Of Molars, Incisors and Dentists

Last week I visited a dentist. I cannot exactly trace the period when I had last visited one but it was certainly a long, long, long... time ago. Why do I have the dentist phobia is also something I cannot recall. Only that my association with dental patients have always resulted in an understanding that these lot of doctors can be very 'painful.' Friends holding their mouth with miserable expressions before and after visiting a dentist had an 'Ally Mcbea'l effect on my imagination. I began to regard dentists as a species who in their 5-6 year period of studies learn and master the art of masochism. Such was the phobia that I refused to get one of my upper molars checked for severe ache and I bore it for days striving on dozens of brufens. When the pain subsided and after a few months a small section of the tooth also broke off, I became an advocate of "no dentist but self help of one's own enamels." This was a few years back. Last week was different.
Simmi and I had an argument over something and I wanted to reach home late. I really do not know what was cooking in my head when I parked my bike close to the dental clinic. Of course there was this pressure that one of my incisors was infected, that I could not chew well from the right side, also that two of my left molars had very visible "CAVITIES" (yeah that's in upper-case) and a reminiscence of my tooth ache was haunting one of the lower molars. (phew and I thought I will never have to visit a dentist)
I very surreptitiously entered the clinic. My mind was racking for excuses to avoid a confrontation. The empty reception was a good excuse and I was about to leave when I heard a lady call -"Yes, Can I help you?"
The next thing I remember is me addressing her about my tooth problems and a while later seated on the dental chair for a routine examination.
"Open your mouth wide," she asked.
For a moment I thought that, "This is it. I should immediately leave."
Miraculously I held on and after the examination she dropped the bomb.
"Binodan, 8 cavities and probably 2 RCTs that will need immediate action," Aarika expressed in boisterous voice.
I seriously wondered what's the need for the excitement unless that every time a dentist examines the enamels he/she digs into it as unto a gold-mine. Of-course that each filling is at Rs 500 and the two probable RCTs are pegged at Rs 3000/- each are the finer details that she would explain later. (So you see where the gold mine analogy fits)
At that moment noting Aarika's chirpy voice I guessed that they would be painless rendering and promptly agreed on a sitting for Saturday.
After the examination I felt proud of myself. It took me courage under "the dentist's lamp" to overcome a phobia.
So what happened on Saturday is something I will chip in another entry. Though I still uphold the courage, I have some very descriptive moments to share when Aarika had lowered the drilling machine into one my molars. ;)

Fat-boy-Slim!!!

I have been putting on weight. It has been close to two years that I have realised this, but yes I have been gaining some grams every month in this period. It was/is not alarming as yet but yes it has begun weighing on me physically and mentally.

I weigh some 89 kg, which according to some (very unreliable!!!) medical sources in the net, is close to a 25 kg overweight problem, vis-a-vis my height. (which again is on the average side at 5' 7") I avoid being bogged down by any information on obesity or for that matter even with the 2 pair of favourite jeans that apparently refuse to rise above my thighs. (yet I have preserved them with a vain hope that I will fit into them someday. Sigh!) With a 36" waistline I do not exactly look very athletic, though in my virtual profiles I choose the latter description without batting an eyelid. I even carefully chose a photograph which makes me look slimmer for the profile.

Every morning I wish (and also believe) that I wake up a little slimmer but sadist around home and office are quick to puncture my reverie. I even had stuck cutouts of Yoga exercises on my cupboard thinking that a few breathing exercises will slim me down. I have realised that I also need to practise them and not just stare at the postures for the desired effects!!!

Simmi is very unabashed abut my efforts. If you ask her of any distant possibility of me slimming down, you will be met with a hysterical laughter. She also has gifted me a white T-Shirt- body hugging which naturally makes me look sillier than I usually am. (Thanks to my chest which stands out like-you know what...) She expects me to wear it and expects that I will slim down caring for her sentiments with the gift. My sentiments are perfectly present with the gift but the effort associated with them seem to be uncalled for.

At office Vipin tells me that I remind him of Lord Ganesha. (very funny Vipin!!!) Ravneet and her gang keep enquiring when will I deliver and if it would be a boy or a girl. (Sheesh!!!)

But friends, all said and done I have realised that indeed I need to slim after I rummaged through some of my not very long ago pics. Keeping these in mind I solemnly promise myself to begin a disciplined work out... from tomorrow (now I have been saying this from sometime).

No I will, I promise... In a months time I will put up an entry and tell you of the kilos I have/will shed!!!

70 kg here I come!!!!

"Tintern Abbey"

"FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length

Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs

With a soft inland murmur. -- Once again

Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,

That on a wild secluded scene impress

Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect

The landscape with the quiet of the sky."


I have not been very appreciative of romantic poetry or for that matter to be more precise, of Wordsworth and the poet's "emotions recollected in tranquility." However, I had to submit to the Laureate's sentiments during the recent Khandala trip. Though the pretext was of a Marketing meet (which did take place) the real pleasure and high was Khandala and its weather.

In an essay to the "Prelude" Wordsworth lays down certain principles of poetry. Poetry, according to him should be a "spontaneous overflow of emotions recollected in tranquility... in the rustic's language." I would have continued to believe the same until I read T.S.Eliot's poetry and his criticism of the former's love for emotions in composing poetry. In those spurt of juvenile and ambitious aggression, I was more drawn more towards Eliot. Therefore, very expectedly Wordsworth and his coterie took a backseat. Eliot appeared more real because he addressed issues which were topical. His symbolism and the attempt to encompass the history of literature in poetry were immensely seductive for me. Yet, a repetitive argument in mind ensued between expressions of spontaneity and calculated expressions. The Khandala trip resolved the argument to a large extent.

Of course, Khandala might not be unknown to you all. Bollywood must have certainly driven a lot of imageries of the valley's beauty in your mind. For those of you, who have visited the place nothing better can be said other than your own expressions of the picturesque landscape. The lofty hills and graceful wisps of fog awakened in me the most subtle and 'romantic' imagination. The showers and the view from Shaheen's bungalow into the majestic mountains lent a gothic sentiment in me. With power/electricity playing truant and the night being strewn by candle light the sentiment only grew more and more overpowering. Amidst sips of scotch and touch of the icy wind, my mind explored a raw feeling of being alone and being one with the power within Mother Nature.

The defining moment of realisation, however occurs many hours and miles later when my flight takes off from the Mumbai airport. The deafening roar of the flight, increasing pressure on my Eustachian tube and shut eyes suddenly brought Khandala live in my mind. The fog touched me again and the overpowering moments of the darkness of the nights in the hills inspired some instant words from me.

"Pardon me," my co passenger repeated twice, shaking me to open my eyes to meet the bland and empty look of an air hostess.
"Did you say something?" he enquired.
"Nothing," I mindlessly expressed.
"I am told Delhi is 35 degrees," he went on.
I nodded, silently trying to acknowledge that 'I was not a game for a conversation.' Indeed I was not. I wanted to go back to my reverie, to my Byzantium. (Yeah, I use the term so deliberately now) I could not. Not for many days till today, when I write this prose. And even as I was half way through this prose the words I spoke in the flight in that heightened state reverberates-

"For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude;..."

Wordsworth again. Sigh! I must admit some "spontaneous emotions are best recollected in tranquility"
Cheers to romanticism!!

Putu

Hey I adopted a Giant Panda as a virtual pet in my blog today! Simmi christened him Putu. So, if you are reading this then be kind enough to feed Putu his regular feed of grass brfore you log off. All you need to do is click onto the tab "more" and a bamboo shoot will appear. Click on the icon and then feed Putu!!!

Kanika introduced me to this virtual pet adoption. She has a really cute piglet in her blog- POKY!!! Now before you guys sign off let me clarify what's my ideal of adopting a virtual pet and that too a Giant Panda!
No prizes for guessing "Why a Giant Panda?" Precisely, because this cute little grizzly is on the verge of extinction and maybe the only ones left for care and adoption will be the ones like Putu, in a virtual world.
The other reason to vindicate my adoption is Discipline! Why discipline? Well, if you have a pet for real then you'll understand what I mean. Pets are the best way we can learn to discipline our lives, regulate ourselves and not to say even learn to emote. In my instance to begin with, before I adopted Putu I nose dived into some eco read about the Pandas -their eating and living patterns. Ofcourse, in a virtual environment the things would be different, but if for a moment I was to adopt a Panda for real then this is perhaps what my routine would look like:
Morning: Feed Putu
AfterNoon: Feed Putu
Evening: Feed Putu
Night: Feed Putu
Midnight: Feed Putu
Dawn: ....
Yes, my friends the giant panda lives a life that we all aspire- "Eat, Drink, Sleep, Eat, Drink,..." Sorry for the pun but I guess "Leading such a life is dangerous and therefore the Pandas are moving towards extinction" :o)

You can log into this site (mighty useful) and find more about Giant Pandas and his family...

By the way, I also stumbled into this interesting trivia as to how these grizzlies got their genric name. Quoted below:

"Giant Panda
Understanding the derivation of the word "panda" is not a black-and-white issue. The first appearance of the giant panda in literature occurred more than 3,000 years ago in The Book of History and The Book of Songs (the earliest collection of Chinese poetry), which both referred to the creature as pi and pixiu. The animal then popped up in Er Ya, the first Chinese dictionary (221–207 BCE); The Classics of Seas and Mountains, a famous geography book (770–256 BCE); and The Annotated Readings of the Book of Songs (475–221 BCE). These books gave the panda three new names—mo, zhi yi, and bai hu—and described the creature as a white fox, a white leopard, and similar to a tiger or a white bear.
As if the identity of this bamboo-eater wasn’t confused enough, the giant panda in later literature also received the names of meng shi shou (beast of prey), bai bao (white leopard), shi tie shou (iron-eating beast), and zhu xiong (bamboo bear). To this day, the Chinese name for the giant panda is still under dispute. Is it a banded bear (huaxiong), a catlike bear (maoxiong), a bearlike cat (xiongmao), or a great bear-cat (daxiongmao)?
The academic community even had problems deciding on a name. Attempting to give the giant panda its first scientific name, Père Armand David placed the species in the bear genus, Ursus, and labeled the species Ursus melanoleucus in 1869. About a year later, Alphonse Milne-Edwards correctly placed the species in its own separate genus and christened the animal Ailuropoda melanoleuca, meaning "cat-footed, black-and-white animal." This Latin name has stuck.
Altogether, the creature has received nearly 20 different Chinese names, yet none resembles "panda." One of the few known candidates for the root of the word panda is pónya, possibly derived from a Nepali word referring to the ball of the foot--perhaps a keen observation of how this bear eats bamboo with an adapted wrist bone that functions as an opposable thumb and sixth digit. Other writers believe that "panda" came from wah, the Nepali name for the red panda (Ailurus fulgens), and originating from the childlike sound that this species sometimes makes. The ultimate answer, however, may remain as elusive as a wild giant panda in a forest of bamboo.
—Alex Hawes and Matthew Huy"

Yeah and "What's in a name"- Right!!!

Indra Vihar-House no 297 Chapter 1 : Etiquette

The coterie of friends in the house only increased every weekend. House no 297-Indra Vihar, North Campus, Delhi University was a haven (can be read as heaven) for a many motley lot of Assamese boys that immigrated to Delhi for their 'higher' education. My first visit to the house was a pretense and also my initiation into the lives of many people who would go down the memory lane as great friends. Sajid, a friend, occupied the first room with another great guy- Som Pal. Bipin Gogoi occupied the room in the middle and Pemba occupied the the innermost room (I would like to refer to this room as the most interesting room and also the common room for all guys who visited with their girl-friends). The house would confirm itself to all expectations of the typical bachelor suite. The first time I entered, I was greeted by an intolerable stench from the bathroom. On a more intrusive inspection and query I learnt that Bipin had left some of his clothes in a bucket to be washed for a week.
"So?" I quizzed.
"No, he has left it to be washed and the maid who washes our clothes has quit," Sajid informed me.
"And we perhaps forgot to tell him about it," Sajid continued seeing the "So?" look on my face yet again.
"Perhaps!" I shuddered. The stench and the nonchalance with which, Sajid told me the reason mixed into a terrible cocktail in my head.
"How can Bipin be so callous about his clothes and how can these guys roll around on their beds without winching their nose in the stench which was only getting stronger," I thought to myself.
I restrained myself from probing further thinking it would be uncouth to do so.
Etiquette is a funny learning imbibed into us through our upbringing. While we swear by it when we age and climb into the more sophisticated layers of society, it certainly is a deterrent to friendship during your college years. This exactly was my case then, as I watched Sajid roll into the corner of the bed letting out a yawn. Cropped hair, Oval face, average height, charming smile (the kind which will allow you to be comfortable) Sajid is someone I knew through my earlier set of roomies- Allan Saugat and Asif.
At this moment, clad only in undies, Sajid was not the attractive self as described. I thought it was blasphemous to sleep in your undies alone. And here I am, seated next to someone who with his complete nonchalance to my thoughts was puncturing my paradigms of etiquette.
"Are you comfortable?" Sajid quizzes me, wondering where was I lost.
"Yeah, am fine," I replied snapping out of my philosophical reverie.

(So folks that is it for today. Next: "Bipin Gogoi"

Lonely Road

Today is a Monday. Yeah, correct and I have the proverbial "Monday Blues". I aimlessly was flirting with my mails, chatted up with friends and now finally am taping the board, wondering where will this lead me to. To my right Venkat is listening to "The Clash"-" a punk rock band from the "60's and the 70's". Before you marvel over my knowledge of this music, I guess I should set the record straight- I am not the real music buff, it's Venkat! Yeah, he is really into classic rock and I thank him for introducing me to new bands like the "Wolfmother" and (wait I can't even remeber the name of the others he had mentioned). Venkat hails from MICA- (Mudra Institute of Communication Ahmedabad- abrreviation for people like me who keep thinking the 'A' stands for Advertising). So he is the MICAn in our office and like many creatures from this 'land' he brings in, what I proverbially like to term as 'stoic bloc of knowledge.' Why 'Stoic?' Well, simply because they (these creatures), know a lot of what they ought to know. Pardon my 'foreplay' with the words but that is something that best explains people from MICA. Before I begin to dissect them I think I should get back to Venkat. (Pardon me pal, but I just thought to write about you in this entry. All cynical and 'not so called for statements' can be attributed to creative liberties and sensibilities)
Venkat looks after the web business of Music Today. His story for joining MT- "Online Marketing" and "NBD" (Well if you could peek into my mind and imagination right now , you can see me rolling in laughter. The reason would be 'politically incorrect' for me to state.) Now then, ofcourse I do not want to describe his job here. I would stick to describing him. Physically- 'hmmm,' he is like 6'5" (What???) Yes, thats him tall and lanky (I refrain from the word 'skinny', since it can hurt sensibilities ;)) He is quiet an enthusiastic guy with a jest for theatre and other related artistic activities, which allow my wavelengths to gel with his. Infact, he is also performing the role of the 'Madman" in "Accidental death of an Anarchist".
There is something about some people which make them interesting. Qualities like knowledge and good communication skills allows an involved audience and Venkat always has us all ears. So this is about his communication and before I forget, Venkat has also introduced to me good ol' Rajnikant and ofcourse he innumerable antics and stories of this actor. I was supposed to watch 'Sivaji' with Venkat as a translator but I missed it. ( Yeah!!!)
Does the above entry make you feel that I have held back in my dissection. Well, yes somewhere down the line writers like me, (hope there are not many) censor their emotions so that the reader is not offended. Talk about being politically right. Yes, that's what we need to be always-politically upright! My Bosses are. They are so right that I wonder if they can ever bend.
Sometime back I had composed a verse titled "Corporate Knightmare". I am attaching the verse below. It's always a solace for my heart to read it. And that's how I sign off for now... and "oh! Venkat- hey sorry dude, like you see/read- You were an excuse for me to arrive to this emotion. I used you as a filter to arrive to this. But the excuse for all this is as always- "creative sensibility"!!!

In the days of corporate knights,
No round tables but Claustrophobic cubicles.
The monotonous humdrum of air-conditioners
Cool us, the perpetual sinners,
Some arses are licked,
Some arses are kicked,
When the young ones whine and grind,
The elders take the shine.
Some wait for a bone to be thrown,
Some snatch the achievments alone.
When the lady flips or slips,
Knights with hankys arrive to rip.
Growth is a mundane term.
Manipulation is the norm.
"Look there is a rainbow outside"
A fresh look and its a screen saver's light
Yet I slogwork like a dog,
At the end of the day,I know I am away from all that lot;
Happy in my plateau(no promotoin you see)!
I still say on face that my elder is an empty top!
I lay the rules,
Questioned by fools,
Accepted by the top shots,
As my elder's thoughts.
I still do not care,
My wit and thoughts will have its share.
I am no Iago,
Neither am I willing to be Othello.
I rather be the king
Of my own ring
And when they shall know the truth
I will be the man with the boots.
No hurry to reach the summit
I will be there without skipping my heart beat.
"You'll not be in the race," some say.
I will not follow the pied piper into the bay!
His music might not lure me,
Its my grail that I only see.
If you follow the words above
there will be no miracle, no olive leaves, no dove.
But an oar you will see,
And in an island of your own, you shall be!
Binodan (23rd Nov)

Fierce Grace

Aha This is something that Priyanka Nandy aka Tania had asked me to write about sometime back and I kept denying myself the pleasure and the orgasm of composing lines for such a lovely oxymoron. But just as things would be and with no definite explanation of why I want to write about the same, on a continuous note of my stream of thought the composition begins:

The darkest hour of the night,
Streamed by the distant moonlight.

My overladen heart,
Pierced by the most insignificant dart.

The calmest breeze across the ocean,
Unfurl my deepest blue emotions.

And yet I ask why
The mind laments ?
No dewdrops of solace,
But a gripping tale of fear and disgrace.

A history of inconsequential events,
Trace my being and presence.
No thought precedes the other,
Every speck of emotions takes the mind further.

Did He hear what I have to say?
Or Is it just a picture to whom I pray?
Across the window there is a room,
I can see the gay spirits and hear the tune
Not the one of the lady blowing into the flute
The lonely tune,
My mind is mute.

Galloping from far away,
A sound pierces the dreary night
The silhouette of a wild horse,
Now rise above the sky.
The streams of the dawning sun,
Break my solitude bare.
The wilderness of her flying mane,
Caress my dying shame.

In her pursuit I start yet again amazed,
haunted,
By her Fierce Grace.

Cheers!!!

Theatre Ahoy!!

"Now that is quick," I can actually feel that you are saying this considering that this post is immediately after my yesterday's. Yes, that I am not the active kind in blogging, this will be indeed regarded as quick. However, we all have spurts of emotions and this present log is associated with the most inherent passion of mine-Theatre.

Oh yes, theatre! (and thanks to some pesky and noisy friends like Venkat and Sameer, I was stuck on the latter phrase for two mins and thought to drag you-my esteemed readers into the same emotion of the 'pause' and 'wait'. Cedric Watts terms this as a delayed decoding process) Aha I will return and begin after the smoke ( I really dont know how to decode this in the blog) ................................................................................................................

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I intentionally have left a trail of dots to signify the hour-long smoke cum lunch break that I took on behest of Sameer. "Mighty irritating." Is that what you are thinking? Well you should not because if I were you, I would be wondering why am I not talking about thetare as the title suggests.

Yes ,Theatre. I have been always into it and though for very long the calling has been keeping off, destiny was not far away. I heard the 'calling' again when Kanika invited Venkat and me to be a part of a theatre group, she was in the process of establishing. Disowning all the personal and physical (sin of sloth) hurdles I did manage to attend the first meeting one Saturday, at a Cafe Coffeday, in Janpath. While I was driving myself to the rendezvous, I kept thinking to myself whether I am actually ready for this. On a very sublime level I knew that theatre is very interesting and will shape my creative curiosities into something concrete. But deep down I was being nagged by the fact that might govern so many of us when we try to place ourselves into a situation of responsibility-"Will I be responsible enough". Many traffic lights later, as I manouevered and parked my Discover into the parking lot, I was telling myself-"No wishy washy promises, Binodan. If it's theatre then you better be in it"

Kanika, Venkat and I met, we discussed and we proposed( as in ideas!!!! duh) and after some points I suddenly realised that 'it' was happening. Though I did not exactly dig the script but I was for it. Very soon by the next meeting I realised that more people were wanting to be involved in it and that was really a good sign. But the acid test was to observe sustenance. And the test began from the very next meeting. (By now we had already decided to do a a ready script and since we were focussing on subversive theatre the obvious choice that I had was "Dario Fo's" "Accidental Death of an Anarchist"). In this third meeting I saw new faces and a few old ones. People spoke of problems with time,venue and commitment. Sigh! The ghost of Khalsa was revisiting me. Yes, we faced the same problems in Ankur-the dram soc of Khalsa. This time, however, I was determined and perhaps in the face of this theatre group I was fighting my own battle of incosistencies. So when we met last Sunday in Lodi gardens for our first reading, even though the presence was less- (only six of us) I went ahead with the reading without losing hope. I can sense it-I have entwined myself to this fatal attraction of the stage with vociferous sentiments, and I plan to stick to it for long.



The extra space above is deliberate again. I guess the whole entry was getting emotional.
This is what I love the most of creative sensibilities- the crescendo, the pitch, the thrill which gives you goosebumps and a chill through your spine. Aha from my ship I can indeed see the stage- " Theatre Ahoy!!!"

30th May

I know it has been long and like stated earlier-Yes I have been too lazy and preoccupied to punch into my blog. I even broke the promise to myself that I will be regular but what the heck. Here I am again and I begin off with a little 'long' ago memory of my birthday. Oh yes 30th May was my birthday. "How old" did you ask. Well, I have walked 26years on this earth. (25 to be more precise considering that one year I was cradled in arms). Oh yes, there were celebrations and thanks to Orkut, there were wishes from all quarters. Birthdays allow one to feel ery special and I guess mine was no exception. Be at home or at office all stood by my side, sang for me and also polished cake on my face. (Some pics below will certify that). I always get a little philo about birthdays and celebrations but being human I enjoy it tremendously. The evening was with Simmi and it could only get better. Now, when I come to think of it everyone who made me feel special shared the emotion that "Yes Binodan we care and we want a party", Cheeky, yes, and yes many parties are due but like I always say... Parties happen always and so it will for all the well wishers!!!!

A highlight of the Orkut wishes was a thank you note that I very egotistically take pride of of showcasing hoping that the poetic skills are appreciated. I have laced it along with this post and reiterate my thanks to all!



"Thanks



So that was my day,Some butts and many hugs to say.

Thank you Simmi for being the first to begin my day

Abhishek the beers are for you still there

Purbasha, my lovely sis you indeed scrapped before anyone dares

And from Dubai, Abhi you also made me special all the way

Leena thank you in the proverbial way

So also to Riaz in the Australian bayMadhushruti

Ofcourse the party is due

Pallavi friends like you are few

Ratnadip you are indeed of the langotiya yaars and years (pun intended)

Rahul Mathur- of the best NIILM dosts and yaars

Roshni- a double whammy my sis, message and scrap and the 10p call

Arushi, Meha might have missed it but not you-the real friend of them all

Priyanku-missed the 26 pegs but loved your skull

Sudarshana from JNU-you make the wishes and chat more fun

Pratik wished me the bottles of beers,to you I say I say cheers!

Anmol I am fine and loved your thoughts dearLata- For your feelings-Thanks you

Bubbly ba wished me from Bangalore, with a "dog named Boo" [;)]

Sharmee-My black velvet lady-Special wishes 4rm u

Barnalee bou, will celebrate with you all tonight, Apu you can also be a part of the Assamese cuisines delight!

Kartik-Your guitar and smile rocks my scrap book

Akshat-your wishes aerodynamic made my day fly off all hooks

Nadeem You remembered, a long wish-

Thank youMerlvin my mate . my sherrif and 'the voice'-

Your energies were with me day and night

Isha- a lovely message a lovely scrap and ofcourse my digital designs dear

Jasmine- A wish from you and tweety was more than just mere

Allan- Big wishes from the big man, you are a sonuvagun

Gunjit-main kaha ji thank you ha jee,

Kameene mera B'day mein last wish kiya ha jee

Pooja- legal wish from the legal eagle

Mitasha-grace defined, Patiala Peg thanks the Red wine

And lastly Bijal you are not late

Your wishes were always in my plate

Swati a day late but your wishes count a lot, mate!

So thats it, I think I have not given anyone a miss

And so I thank you all and promise you that I treasure you all!!"

Rantings of a Sunday Morning

I woke up early. Not that I did want to laze a little longer on the bed, but the 'innocuous' door bell rung twice incessantly. We have one of those loud 'self service restaurant' kinds and each ring is loud enough to remind you that somebody totally unwanted will be at the door on a Sunday morning. My hunch was right as I opened the door and some gardener was in the gate wanting to know if we needed any new saplings for the tubs. "Saplings," I thought to myself even after I refused with a feverish shake of my head. For God's sake, we only have three tubs and rest that lie unattended are reminiscences of our landlord's wife who loves plants.

We have recently shifted to this new flat. It's a regular three bedroom flat but definitely with good interiors. The floors are tiled, walls painted and cupboards in good shape. We did not have to think twice before we agreed to take this 1400 square feet space for rent. In Delhi, with scorching long summers, a ground floor is a boon and this only facilitated our decision. So here I am on an early Sunday morning surveying our new home and refusing a gardener who still stands on the gate and assures me that we certainly need to spruce up our greenery. He points to our neighbour residing opposite and tells me that it was he who has made their garden. I look at the garden and see it more as a dense forest that has been shaped. I shudder to think that our home will be the same and I finally vocally express my dissent to the fellow. He leaves with a promise to come next Sunday again. I sigh!

Closing the door I contemplated sleeping but gave in to my body who for once refused to lie down on the bed. It's an irony that on a Sunday I am all active and ready to run a mile while the very next day -Monday, my body feels like an un-oiled machine, refusing to budge from the cosy comfort of the bed. I made myself a cup of tea and as I sipped the liquor I began flipping through the newspaper. This, my friends, is how I began my Sunday and will fill in more of what happened as the day progressed when it progresses. Right now after my tea and a movie-"XXX' (The Vin Diesel flick, before you all think I am a perv) on Star Movies I began flirting with my blog-space again. No apologies, for a completely mundane entry but that's how a Sunday is and if I oil my imagination a little bit, I would rather key in the short story that I have in my mind right now. "Yawn," that will take some time. I wish to flirt with some music now! Have a good Sunday! (that is for myself too)

Why Unapologetic?

A little intoxicated and a little morose- a perfect moment to punch my thoughts into this space that I have created sometime back but never got the opportunity to express myself. While the world is wrapping themselves into technology and 'penning' their thoughts and expressions through the keyboard I still am (somehow) loyal and a fan of good old pen and paper. A reason perhaps why I have not been able to key in more than my profile entry here. I had begun ambitiously with an earlier blog www.canvasNreflection.blogspot.com but the infrequent visits and my truant memory got better of my creativity- I forgot the goddamned password and am reduced to only reading the two entries, which I had assumed would be an ideal beginning to my literary 'masterpiece'. Oh yes, like some hundred thousand aspirants I too would love to write a book and ambitiously have laid down many plots and murdered many too, but perhaps drawing a parallel to O'Henry's "The Last Leaf", I still have a blank canvas (or rather a screen) infront of me.
It's not often that I feel the impulse to write. It is a sudden sensation. Often it goes through a catharsis because I end up thinking about the frills associated with the creative thought and thus the expresion dies. However, when I begin to punch in without wondering much where my thought is driving me to I often do end up 'composing' something. My poetries are often materailised out of such moments. At the end of it, to be honest all said and done, I am unapologetic about my guilt of failing to write something that will make me happy. But I know I will and perhaps this entry will mark the beginning!