Some things are gonna change here now.
After having a grand readership of perhaps 2, possibly 3 people, I think I'm going to go public.
This is going to be accompanied by a change in material, no more angst ridden, self-loathing/self-pitying, hopeless romanticism. I'm going to try for a series of informed and inspired articles that people might actually want to read, and put up samples of some of the stories I have on the chopping board, and write about possibly political stuff.
Maybe put some background music as well. Something soothing but awesome sounding.
Cheers, my nonexistent readers.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Doppelganger
Dark strands twist 'round her head,
it is slightly turned, familiar, hostile.
A face lies hidden in shades of shadow,
With pleasure, the delusion fills in details.
A moment's glance? Or not even that-
Is enough to send shivers up the spine.
In the moment sown, a seed of doubt,
blossoms in a fertile mind, in darkness.
Can I not free myself of this insanity?
While the mind preaches its wisdom
Something refuses to listen, with malice,
For it knows that it can only bring pain.
I have no reason.
And many reasons.
I sit in wait again, aching in search
of the face of the doppelganger.
To redeem myself, or merely
to feed so delicious a madness.
The same mistake perpetuates itself.
And I sit back, and let it happen.
it is slightly turned, familiar, hostile.
A face lies hidden in shades of shadow,
With pleasure, the delusion fills in details.
A moment's glance? Or not even that-
Is enough to send shivers up the spine.
In the moment sown, a seed of doubt,
blossoms in a fertile mind, in darkness.
Can I not free myself of this insanity?
While the mind preaches its wisdom
Something refuses to listen, with malice,
For it knows that it can only bring pain.
I have no reason.
And many reasons.
I sit in wait again, aching in search
of the face of the doppelganger.
To redeem myself, or merely
to feed so delicious a madness.
The same mistake perpetuates itself.
And I sit back, and let it happen.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Creature of the Night
I've been awake through the nights, studying or mucking about for so long, and finally I'm bored of math. So today I went outside.
What kind of world do we live in? This is supposed to be the darkest hour of night, but the sky is painted with a sombre red. I can forget that the colour comes from the burning lights of the city because there are trees clad in darkness as far as the eye can see. The eye can see so much, as if it were merely early evening.
There is a poignant moment here, as I imagine a world that lives under the red sky. It would be a darker place. Imagine a world in which the sky is a limit, and not infinity, embodiment of a dull hatred instead of lazy independence.
There are many who would choose that sky over our own, because infinity and freedom can be terrifying things.
Have I already taken my first steps into it?
Wild dogs howl close by- are they really strays? They sound like wolves- and the screech of a drunken driver floats from far away.
But right now, this malicious sky sits framed between trees, the cold black wind blows through me, incredible, the wind of night is different from the wind of the morning, and the scene is... beautiful. I would capture the sight but only my eyes see in the night, cameras are built for the day, useless.
But still, this red sky, a bland curtain, is nothing compared to what lies beyond it, a jewel of endless blue that continues to elude me here.
What kind of world do we live in? This is supposed to be the darkest hour of night, but the sky is painted with a sombre red. I can forget that the colour comes from the burning lights of the city because there are trees clad in darkness as far as the eye can see. The eye can see so much, as if it were merely early evening.
There is a poignant moment here, as I imagine a world that lives under the red sky. It would be a darker place. Imagine a world in which the sky is a limit, and not infinity, embodiment of a dull hatred instead of lazy independence.
There are many who would choose that sky over our own, because infinity and freedom can be terrifying things.
Have I already taken my first steps into it?
Wild dogs howl close by- are they really strays? They sound like wolves- and the screech of a drunken driver floats from far away.
But right now, this malicious sky sits framed between trees, the cold black wind blows through me, incredible, the wind of night is different from the wind of the morning, and the scene is... beautiful. I would capture the sight but only my eyes see in the night, cameras are built for the day, useless.
But still, this red sky, a bland curtain, is nothing compared to what lies beyond it, a jewel of endless blue that continues to elude me here.
Friday, March 20, 2009
It rained.
Heh.
There were showers in the morning.
The first time in several months now. I must've been listening to rain as I slept, because I don't have a headache like I usually do when I wake up.
I walked in the morning breeze, letting the icy tinge to the wind numb my skin, let's see what I manage to do today.
I'm am torn between sarcasm and sincerity, and commenting on the irony of my sole use of nature imagery in recent times, (The world seems to have a sense of humour, does it not?) so I'll do both.
(Sarcastically)
Thanks for the rain. That's just what I needed. -_-
And
Thanks for the rain. It's just what I needed.
There were showers in the morning.
The first time in several months now. I must've been listening to rain as I slept, because I don't have a headache like I usually do when I wake up.
I walked in the morning breeze, letting the icy tinge to the wind numb my skin, let's see what I manage to do today.
I'm am torn between sarcasm and sincerity, and commenting on the irony of my sole use of nature imagery in recent times, (The world seems to have a sense of humour, does it not?) so I'll do both.
(Sarcastically)
Thanks for the rain. That's just what I needed. -_-
And
Thanks for the rain. It's just what I needed.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
No more
No more
Searching for words,
Each Needless clash of blades
leaves another cut on the skin,
Needless lacerations.
Tired, weak and lost, one continues,
To search for words to set things right,
Left open to interpretation, selflessness
is selfish, despondent, a failed light.
Now I won't fall for it... your cruel trap,
... is just another attempt to drive me insane,
These words carry false feelings, these remnants
of a butchered ego, they sound so vain.
There are blinds on the window, and blinded
I listen, lifetimes have passed since I last heard rain.
This silence,
I find,
has always carried the answer,
I have
Little to lose, but nothing to gain.
And no reason to endure this pain.
Searching for words,
Each Needless clash of blades
leaves another cut on the skin,
Needless lacerations.
Tired, weak and lost, one continues,
To search for words to set things right,
Left open to interpretation, selflessness
is selfish, despondent, a failed light.
Now I won't fall for it... your cruel trap,
... is just another attempt to drive me insane,
These words carry false feelings, these remnants
of a butchered ego, they sound so vain.
There are blinds on the window, and blinded
I listen, lifetimes have passed since I last heard rain.
This silence,
I find,
has always carried the answer,
I have
Little to lose, but nothing to gain.
And no reason to endure this pain.
Kicking The Habit
This post is different from all the others.
The ones up till now have all been hyperbole and conjecture, this one is a vector (ok, tempted to use the word (<_<)) carrying pragmatic, practical, useful advice.
Addiction is a complex issue, the reasons vary, as do the means of feeding it and of course, how the results affect the rest of your life. It always changes you, and the change is pretty much always for the worse. It will erode you, and eventually you will need to overcome it to avoid crashing and burning.
'Overcome' isn't the right word, actually. You escape. You can say that you 'overcame' an addiction only after much time has passed and you no longer remember the circumstances that led to your escape.
The best way, no, the only way of escaping an addiction is by going Cold Turkey. To those not familiar with the metaphor (slang?), it means that you give up everything at once, utilize a moment of fierce willpower and not wait for it to be made ineffectual by a moment of weakness, and make the change as drastic and painful as possible.
This is opposed to 'phasing out' something.
To put it simply, 'Phasing out' never works. When you say that you want to phase something out, it is simply a way of masking your insincerity- you're not really going to quit- but you'll be able to say that you're making an effort. This is merely for the sake of one's self-satisfaction, or delusion, whichever level of politeness you prefer. We humans are built to change only when forced. All of you going from 2 packs a day to 1, stop kidding yourselves.
Degradation can happen over time, but trying to improve yourself (What word shall we use for it? Upgradation? Recycling?) requires an uncompromising, determined, effort.
I was twelve when I looked at my Pokemon game clock- which had clocked in 270 hours and was waiting for a special event that happened at 300.
A sudden rush of blood to the head (Wait, Yes! That's the Coldplay song! Finally I remember it, I've had the lyrics in my head for a year but didn't remember the name!- "...I'd buy a gun and use it to start a war, if only you could give me something worth fighting for...", uh, anyway-)
A sudden rush of blood to the head made me do the math. 8 useful hours in a day. 4 hours of free time. 35 days of my life wasted, (That would be more than enough to get me into any college of my choice now), 70 days of my free time which could have been spent writing my novel, or learning to play tennis or the flute or the guitar or trying to work on my drawing- I hadn't drawn anything since leaving junior school. And what did I have to show for it? A level 98 Rayquaza and my prized team of hacked pokemon?
Fuck Pokemon.
I'm taking my life back.
And that was the beginning of my fight back. (And also the beginning of my fierce hatred of pokemon, which would probably mark the start of 'adolescence' for me.) I erased those 270 hours, for they would have only leeched more had they remained.
There is no scope for sentimentality here. I've come a long way since then, fought against both addiction and lethargy, failed often, but somehow eventually dug my way out.
The only advice is this- If you really want to quit, you're going Cold Turkey. Right Now. Don't think. Just fucking DO IT.
Edit:
Yes, I'm an expert regarding the matter. You don't have an excuse not to listen.
The ones up till now have all been hyperbole and conjecture, this one is a vector (ok, tempted to use the word (<_<)) carrying pragmatic, practical, useful advice.
Addiction is a complex issue, the reasons vary, as do the means of feeding it and of course, how the results affect the rest of your life. It always changes you, and the change is pretty much always for the worse. It will erode you, and eventually you will need to overcome it to avoid crashing and burning.
'Overcome' isn't the right word, actually. You escape. You can say that you 'overcame' an addiction only after much time has passed and you no longer remember the circumstances that led to your escape.
The best way, no, the only way of escaping an addiction is by going Cold Turkey. To those not familiar with the metaphor (slang?), it means that you give up everything at once, utilize a moment of fierce willpower and not wait for it to be made ineffectual by a moment of weakness, and make the change as drastic and painful as possible.
This is opposed to 'phasing out' something.
To put it simply, 'Phasing out' never works. When you say that you want to phase something out, it is simply a way of masking your insincerity- you're not really going to quit- but you'll be able to say that you're making an effort. This is merely for the sake of one's self-satisfaction, or delusion, whichever level of politeness you prefer. We humans are built to change only when forced. All of you going from 2 packs a day to 1, stop kidding yourselves.
Degradation can happen over time, but trying to improve yourself (What word shall we use for it? Upgradation? Recycling?) requires an uncompromising, determined, effort.
I was twelve when I looked at my Pokemon game clock- which had clocked in 270 hours and was waiting for a special event that happened at 300.
A sudden rush of blood to the head (Wait, Yes! That's the Coldplay song! Finally I remember it, I've had the lyrics in my head for a year but didn't remember the name!- "...I'd buy a gun and use it to start a war, if only you could give me something worth fighting for...", uh, anyway-)
A sudden rush of blood to the head made me do the math. 8 useful hours in a day. 4 hours of free time. 35 days of my life wasted, (That would be more than enough to get me into any college of my choice now), 70 days of my free time which could have been spent writing my novel, or learning to play tennis or the flute or the guitar or trying to work on my drawing- I hadn't drawn anything since leaving junior school. And what did I have to show for it? A level 98 Rayquaza and my prized team of hacked pokemon?
Fuck Pokemon.
I'm taking my life back.
And that was the beginning of my fight back. (And also the beginning of my fierce hatred of pokemon, which would probably mark the start of 'adolescence' for me.) I erased those 270 hours, for they would have only leeched more had they remained.
There is no scope for sentimentality here. I've come a long way since then, fought against both addiction and lethargy, failed often, but somehow eventually dug my way out.
The only advice is this- If you really want to quit, you're going Cold Turkey. Right Now. Don't think. Just fucking DO IT.
Edit:
Yes, I'm an expert regarding the matter. You don't have an excuse not to listen.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
And Fate appears to deliver a Crotch-Kick
A few days ago I was in the middle of a walk in the Lodi Gardens with my father. To avoid boredom, I was talking.
The conversation drifted from the basics of economics, to the hypocrisy of all market ideologies, to the toxicity of the US corporate setup, to the stagnation in Indian politics. Somehow, I couldn’t help bringing the conversation to my future, and the prospect of growing up.
I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past few weeks, but there are some issues still left to deal with.
I can’t imagine working in an office. My cousin came over recently and talked about his job in IT- he described it as intellectual grunt work. The fact is- if I go into Engineering- IT becomes the only job prospect available (Yes the others are still there, but they don’t pay you anything.). Also the great college experience I’ve heard so much about goes to hell when you have to do five times as much work as your peers to simply stay afloat (I’ve already done that for the past 2 years thank you, 4 more- no way!)
I was, and still am, fairly passionate about science. When I studied history, I was more passionate about it than the people around me, the same with economics as well as biology.
This raw passion for the pursuit of knowledge is a noble ideal- and one that many have commended me for, but for all practical purposes it is worthless. What use is this zeal if it stops just short of working for my bread?
The only thing I can possibly imagine doing is writing. “To be a Writer”- that was my answer when I was asked in fourth grade, back when an answer was easy to give, many career options have preceded and succeeded it, but this is the only one that has lasted. I am frustrated because circumstances have led me to believe that I have enough skill to have a chance to make it.
I am angry because I see no reason for me to be unable to do it, and yet there seems to be no way for me TO do it either.
I am frustrated because my parents can only see me being a manager or investment banker or bank manager! They’ve known me for such a long time, and yet they cannot make out the utter disdain I have for such people! They have money, but little else.
I am desperate when I see people who don’t need to stress because they’ve gotten their SAT results. They will go abroad, study in exotic places with less competition, never have to worry about the things I will, and probably end up earning more than me.
And I, the perfect one, who has done everything asked of him and much much more, will be stuck in some ‘safe’, boring, purgatory after doing through years and years of hell.
IIT, IIM, Corporate, or like my father rambled- IIT, MIT, Harvard Business School…even if I had the intelligence, and somehow accumulated enough extra-curriculars to somehow scrape myself through that- it would be an incredible waste of cash- I would be simply be a hideously educated unemployed man hitting thirty.
My parents misunderstand when I tell them that I want to be rich. I do not want money for the sake of money… there are many people who do. What I want is to harness the power to affect change that money provides.
I wish to be rich and yet I deride the arrogant rich, their every act of immodesty is an affront- testament to the triumph of greed over humanity.
And love. This is selfish, yes. I don’t think my parents care about my love life, nor should they really… just wait though...
I reveal fears that all I’ll end up being a beacon for chicks who are just after cash- or the target of parents in search of a ‘safe’ option.
I am not ‘safe’, damnit- I am fire in the shape of a man.
My parents’ reply – “Focus on your career, don’t worry about that- worst scenario, we’ll find someone for you.” AAAARGH, that doesn’t HELP!
I don’t know which is more offensive, the nonexistent career that I already hate- or the possibly unintentional assumption that I’ll be desperate to settle for whatever leftovers they bring me. (I mean no offence to people who have arranged marriages, it’s your choice. It isn’t mine.)
In any case, it’s easy for them to tell me not to worry. They ended up marrying someone they loved, and had sufficiently cute kids of different genders that went on to score lots of marks. If there is a definition of ‘Winning Life’, that’s it.
It’s hard for me, though, because I still haven’t found a reason to live and I know I won’t find it in a ‘safe’ career or a hollow relationship. I’m going to keep looking though, sorry, because if I can find it then everything else will be inconsequential.
My father’s advice to me was simple. Take life as it comes. Be happy with not knowing what is going to happen. Focus on what is before you even as you prepare for the future. You have plenty of things to look forward to.
That is the way life is meant to be lived.
I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my ideals, I said to him. He told me that he thought I could.
The things I have to do about now are…
Get into college.
Celebrate after 12th March, play my favourite games on the damn PS2.
Hit the gym and work my body out of its lethargy.
Learn to drive.
Finish learning how to ride a bike, and play the guitar.
Swim, play squash, tennis, basketball like I’ve got nothing else to care about.
Look forward to the trip to Bali in June. (W00t! WOOOHOOOOOO!!!! YES! AWESOMEEE!!!)
I was finally pumped. Ready to climb over anything that was put in my way. I was not going to fall by the wayside with a trip to Bali waiting for me on the other side- resorts are as close to heaven as you can get to on earth.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
So I’m sitting here, I need to finish four mathematics papers today and I’m not even halfway done and ‘today’ is already over, it’s almost 1 AM, working piss-harder than ever before, with little to no real hope, convinced that I’m a sad little creep, and I’m still happy. Strange, uncharacteristic optimism here.
Today my IITJEE entrance card came in the mail. It said that the counseling dates had accidentally been written wrong in the previous reference material, and the counseling was in June and not in July, coinciding almost exactly with the Bali trip.
Oh well, just one less thing to look forward to.
This was what I had in mind when I coined the phrase ‘Fate appears to deliver a crotch-kick’, which will henceforth be used to describe situations like these.
More than anything else, it is Fate’s kicks that make me question my atheism.
The conversation drifted from the basics of economics, to the hypocrisy of all market ideologies, to the toxicity of the US corporate setup, to the stagnation in Indian politics. Somehow, I couldn’t help bringing the conversation to my future, and the prospect of growing up.
I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past few weeks, but there are some issues still left to deal with.
I can’t imagine working in an office. My cousin came over recently and talked about his job in IT- he described it as intellectual grunt work. The fact is- if I go into Engineering- IT becomes the only job prospect available (Yes the others are still there, but they don’t pay you anything.). Also the great college experience I’ve heard so much about goes to hell when you have to do five times as much work as your peers to simply stay afloat (I’ve already done that for the past 2 years thank you, 4 more- no way!)
I was, and still am, fairly passionate about science. When I studied history, I was more passionate about it than the people around me, the same with economics as well as biology.
This raw passion for the pursuit of knowledge is a noble ideal- and one that many have commended me for, but for all practical purposes it is worthless. What use is this zeal if it stops just short of working for my bread?
The only thing I can possibly imagine doing is writing. “To be a Writer”- that was my answer when I was asked in fourth grade, back when an answer was easy to give, many career options have preceded and succeeded it, but this is the only one that has lasted. I am frustrated because circumstances have led me to believe that I have enough skill to have a chance to make it.
I am angry because I see no reason for me to be unable to do it, and yet there seems to be no way for me TO do it either.
I am frustrated because my parents can only see me being a manager or investment banker or bank manager! They’ve known me for such a long time, and yet they cannot make out the utter disdain I have for such people! They have money, but little else.
I am desperate when I see people who don’t need to stress because they’ve gotten their SAT results. They will go abroad, study in exotic places with less competition, never have to worry about the things I will, and probably end up earning more than me.
And I, the perfect one, who has done everything asked of him and much much more, will be stuck in some ‘safe’, boring, purgatory after doing through years and years of hell.
IIT, IIM, Corporate, or like my father rambled- IIT, MIT, Harvard Business School…even if I had the intelligence, and somehow accumulated enough extra-curriculars to somehow scrape myself through that- it would be an incredible waste of cash- I would be simply be a hideously educated unemployed man hitting thirty.
My parents misunderstand when I tell them that I want to be rich. I do not want money for the sake of money… there are many people who do. What I want is to harness the power to affect change that money provides.
I wish to be rich and yet I deride the arrogant rich, their every act of immodesty is an affront- testament to the triumph of greed over humanity.
And love. This is selfish, yes. I don’t think my parents care about my love life, nor should they really… just wait though...
I reveal fears that all I’ll end up being a beacon for chicks who are just after cash- or the target of parents in search of a ‘safe’ option.
I am not ‘safe’, damnit- I am fire in the shape of a man.
My parents’ reply – “Focus on your career, don’t worry about that- worst scenario, we’ll find someone for you.” AAAARGH, that doesn’t HELP!
I don’t know which is more offensive, the nonexistent career that I already hate- or the possibly unintentional assumption that I’ll be desperate to settle for whatever leftovers they bring me. (I mean no offence to people who have arranged marriages, it’s your choice. It isn’t mine.)
In any case, it’s easy for them to tell me not to worry. They ended up marrying someone they loved, and had sufficiently cute kids of different genders that went on to score lots of marks. If there is a definition of ‘Winning Life’, that’s it.
It’s hard for me, though, because I still haven’t found a reason to live and I know I won’t find it in a ‘safe’ career or a hollow relationship. I’m going to keep looking though, sorry, because if I can find it then everything else will be inconsequential.
My father’s advice to me was simple. Take life as it comes. Be happy with not knowing what is going to happen. Focus on what is before you even as you prepare for the future. You have plenty of things to look forward to.
That is the way life is meant to be lived.
I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my ideals, I said to him. He told me that he thought I could.
The things I have to do about now are…
Get into college.
Celebrate after 12th March, play my favourite games on the damn PS2.
Hit the gym and work my body out of its lethargy.
Learn to drive.
Finish learning how to ride a bike, and play the guitar.
Swim, play squash, tennis, basketball like I’ve got nothing else to care about.
Look forward to the trip to Bali in June. (W00t! WOOOHOOOOOO!!!! YES! AWESOMEEE!!!)
I was finally pumped. Ready to climb over anything that was put in my way. I was not going to fall by the wayside with a trip to Bali waiting for me on the other side- resorts are as close to heaven as you can get to on earth.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
So I’m sitting here, I need to finish four mathematics papers today and I’m not even halfway done and ‘today’ is already over, it’s almost 1 AM, working piss-harder than ever before, with little to no real hope, convinced that I’m a sad little creep, and I’m still happy. Strange, uncharacteristic optimism here.
Today my IITJEE entrance card came in the mail. It said that the counseling dates had accidentally been written wrong in the previous reference material, and the counseling was in June and not in July, coinciding almost exactly with the Bali trip.
Oh well, just one less thing to look forward to.
This was what I had in mind when I coined the phrase ‘Fate appears to deliver a crotch-kick’, which will henceforth be used to describe situations like these.
More than anything else, it is Fate’s kicks that make me question my atheism.
Heroes of Our Time
Something a little... naive... written in the hours between night and dawn.
-----------------------------------------------------
It’s not something I’m told often, and then when I am, it is served deep-fried in derision.
“Who do you think you are- someone special?”
“Why do you want to attract people’s attention- huh?”
“What do you hope to accomplish by acting like that?”
I’d like to think that I am a modest person. I’m not a saint or anything, I like to boast occasionally when an opportune moment presents itself, but
I realize that I am defined by what I do, not by what I say.
It stings when someone accuses me of being a prima donna… I know that it isn’t true… but not quite.
It’s true that I don’t want to be seen.
Even I don’t like looking at my own face, so I see no point in subjecting others to it. It’s just a confused, random mess that I got in (*Terrible Metaphor Alert!!!*) cosmic tombola (<0>_<0>)
I don’t see myself in it. Except the eyes… tired, sunken, unexceptional… dangerous, that is me.
But I do want to be heard.
I want to fuss, argue, fight, debate, win, lose, and yell until everyone else is yelling too.
It’s another subconscious decision, I suppose. When you are silent you are ignored. When you are ignored you are considered weak. Being considered weak can make you feel weak and if you feel weak, you ARE weak.
This is how I look at it-
If my argument holds merit, and it carries behind it the weight of my convictions- then it will be heard, for I will have only given form to some latent emotion.
If it does not, it will be unable to propagate… and unable, hopefully, to cause lasting damage or distortion before being consigned to the trash heap of destiny.
So speak, and don’t make it easy for those who would prefer you weak.
The next time you see me trying to pick a fight, it is not because I wish to impose my opinion on people- it is because I want them to fight for what they believe in. After all… if something is not worth defending, if it unable to stand up to harsh scrutiny, how can it be worth obeying…?
I have a ‘hero complex’ of sorts, and I am agonizingly aware of it. While some people must have thought it they really wouldn’t mention it to me.
I’ve kept it to myself, mostly, I mean, wouldn’t it just be ridiculous for a grown (apparently) man to be thinking with this kind of obvious naivety in the face of a world that is both cruel and unrelenting…? That many of my role models are abstractions, characters, not real people…? … People just aren’t good enough.
Sometimes I live these fantasies through my imagination, my writing, but by mere definition this self-indulgence is a shackle that must be broken before I can do something more.
I realize that my capacity as a ‘hero’ in real life will be limited to getting killed/fired/arrested/beaten-up pointlessly, and then forgotten. But a little fatalism seeps in here, after all- the only thing I have to lose is my life, my only reason to live is boredom, it would not be so bad to bleed for something, someone… instead of bleeding for nothing.
This complex makes me do things that really aren’t my natural motivation. They just seem to be the kind of things a good protagonist would do. It makes me feel that people need help, that they need to be saved.
Maybe they do, but people choose whether or not to be helped, they choose their saviour.
I realize that it is unfair. Humans are imperfect, self-serving beings, so can’t I be selfish this way?
Ah, you must be wondering- Didn’t this moron say that he wasn’t a Prima Donna? He is.
I am not a Prima Donna. The flaws that accompany this complex need to be addressed, but some… ideals that are inherent to it still hold value- and they apply for everyone.
I don’t think that I am special, that the world revolves- or should revolve, around me.
But I don’t think that I am powerless either.
Many are.
You are not.
There is only one… gift, one right we all have… It is the only thing we will ever have, it is the only thing ANYONE has ever had, and it is an incredibly powerful thing. We get choose to be who we are.
This life- this blank slate is for us to fill. This is your story, and you are the protagonist.
What man can claim to have controlled anything other than his own being?
What man dare tell you that your life is not your own?
Remember this, and hold on to it forever. The question is not whether you will be remembered. The question is whether you will remember what you’ve done.
Will you be proud of what you are? Granted my life has been relatively short- but I’ve never been proud of doing nothing, of being a witness and not an actor, of being lazy, incompetent and useless, and something gives me the feeling that this is not going to change any time soon.
As I write these words I only become more aware of the impotency of my existence, but for some reason it drives me to write more.
How long do you plan to lurk in the shadows- waiting for your chance, waiting for your destiny? Every day lost to idleness, to weakness, every day that will not be remembered, is effectively a day of death.
Yes, the books you read, the movies you see, begin on premises enforced by fate- but your story has already begun. The hand of Fate has been in play in your life all along, how long will you deny it?
Everything that you choose to do stays with you forever, damn well better make it worthwhile.
Look into the mirror. What stares back at you is a stranger, but look at it anyway. Look at what everyone else sees. You might accidentally see a flicker of yourself, and if you find it- carry that fire within your eyes.
They will be ones who have had a hint of their power over destiny, utterly conscious of the price they have paid for it- They will have built their own wings alongside chains. They have chosen to fight for this world- or for one that does not exist yet, the heroes of our time.
-----------------------------------------------------
It’s not something I’m told often, and then when I am, it is served deep-fried in derision.
“Who do you think you are- someone special?”
“Why do you want to attract people’s attention- huh?”
“What do you hope to accomplish by acting like that?”
I’d like to think that I am a modest person. I’m not a saint or anything, I like to boast occasionally when an opportune moment presents itself, but
I realize that I am defined by what I do, not by what I say.
It stings when someone accuses me of being a prima donna… I know that it isn’t true… but not quite.
It’s true that I don’t want to be seen.
Even I don’t like looking at my own face, so I see no point in subjecting others to it. It’s just a confused, random mess that I got in (*Terrible Metaphor Alert!!!*) cosmic tombola (<0>_<0>)
I don’t see myself in it. Except the eyes… tired, sunken, unexceptional… dangerous, that is me.
But I do want to be heard.
I want to fuss, argue, fight, debate, win, lose, and yell until everyone else is yelling too.
It’s another subconscious decision, I suppose. When you are silent you are ignored. When you are ignored you are considered weak. Being considered weak can make you feel weak and if you feel weak, you ARE weak.
This is how I look at it-
If my argument holds merit, and it carries behind it the weight of my convictions- then it will be heard, for I will have only given form to some latent emotion.
If it does not, it will be unable to propagate… and unable, hopefully, to cause lasting damage or distortion before being consigned to the trash heap of destiny.
So speak, and don’t make it easy for those who would prefer you weak.
The next time you see me trying to pick a fight, it is not because I wish to impose my opinion on people- it is because I want them to fight for what they believe in. After all… if something is not worth defending, if it unable to stand up to harsh scrutiny, how can it be worth obeying…?
I have a ‘hero complex’ of sorts, and I am agonizingly aware of it. While some people must have thought it they really wouldn’t mention it to me.
I’ve kept it to myself, mostly, I mean, wouldn’t it just be ridiculous for a grown (apparently) man to be thinking with this kind of obvious naivety in the face of a world that is both cruel and unrelenting…? That many of my role models are abstractions, characters, not real people…? … People just aren’t good enough.
Sometimes I live these fantasies through my imagination, my writing, but by mere definition this self-indulgence is a shackle that must be broken before I can do something more.
I realize that my capacity as a ‘hero’ in real life will be limited to getting killed/fired/arrested/beaten-up pointlessly, and then forgotten. But a little fatalism seeps in here, after all- the only thing I have to lose is my life, my only reason to live is boredom, it would not be so bad to bleed for something, someone… instead of bleeding for nothing.
This complex makes me do things that really aren’t my natural motivation. They just seem to be the kind of things a good protagonist would do. It makes me feel that people need help, that they need to be saved.
Maybe they do, but people choose whether or not to be helped, they choose their saviour.
I realize that it is unfair. Humans are imperfect, self-serving beings, so can’t I be selfish this way?
Ah, you must be wondering- Didn’t this moron say that he wasn’t a Prima Donna? He is.
I am not a Prima Donna. The flaws that accompany this complex need to be addressed, but some… ideals that are inherent to it still hold value- and they apply for everyone.
I don’t think that I am special, that the world revolves- or should revolve, around me.
But I don’t think that I am powerless either.
Many are.
You are not.
There is only one… gift, one right we all have… It is the only thing we will ever have, it is the only thing ANYONE has ever had, and it is an incredibly powerful thing. We get choose to be who we are.
This life- this blank slate is for us to fill. This is your story, and you are the protagonist.
What man can claim to have controlled anything other than his own being?
What man dare tell you that your life is not your own?
Remember this, and hold on to it forever. The question is not whether you will be remembered. The question is whether you will remember what you’ve done.
Will you be proud of what you are? Granted my life has been relatively short- but I’ve never been proud of doing nothing, of being a witness and not an actor, of being lazy, incompetent and useless, and something gives me the feeling that this is not going to change any time soon.
As I write these words I only become more aware of the impotency of my existence, but for some reason it drives me to write more.
How long do you plan to lurk in the shadows- waiting for your chance, waiting for your destiny? Every day lost to idleness, to weakness, every day that will not be remembered, is effectively a day of death.
Yes, the books you read, the movies you see, begin on premises enforced by fate- but your story has already begun. The hand of Fate has been in play in your life all along, how long will you deny it?
Everything that you choose to do stays with you forever, damn well better make it worthwhile.
Look into the mirror. What stares back at you is a stranger, but look at it anyway. Look at what everyone else sees. You might accidentally see a flicker of yourself, and if you find it- carry that fire within your eyes.
They will be ones who have had a hint of their power over destiny, utterly conscious of the price they have paid for it- They will have built their own wings alongside chains. They have chosen to fight for this world- or for one that does not exist yet, the heroes of our time.
Anathema
My net went bye bye.
Just a column of words I feel like using, but am too lazy to actually write something that could handle them all.
Anathema
Justice
Anarchy
Redemption
Feral
Repechage
Lapis
Aegis
Sigil
Rapture
Sleight
Rend
Radiant
Gradient
Ambient
Deviant
Savant
Reaper
Chevalier
Tempest
Testament
Riviera
Seduction
Pyre
Adept
Astray
Satiate/Sate (… why do these two exist simultaneously?)
Craven
Valiant
Basil Thyme
Photon
Flux
Protean
Bane
Latent
Sacred
Anima
Just a column of words I feel like using, but am too lazy to actually write something that could handle them all.
Anathema
Justice
Anarchy
Redemption
Feral
Repechage
Lapis
Aegis
Sigil
Rapture
Sleight
Rend
Radiant
Gradient
Ambient
Deviant
Savant
Reaper
Chevalier
Tempest
Testament
Riviera
Seduction
Pyre
Adept
Astray
Satiate/Sate (… why do these two exist simultaneously?)
Craven
Valiant
Basil Thyme
Photon
Flux
Protean
Bane
Latent
Sacred
Anima
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Fur Elise
I won't say I'm much of a classical music person- but this song has haunted me for the better part of the last decade.
Knowing my past record- this is probably an overrated, 'pop' piece, heh.
I thank the one who introduced me to these new renditions.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Stupidity
I fear stupidity.
This is a complete, debilitating entity. I don’t mean to exaggerate when I say this, but my fear deserves its own ______phobia word.
I fear stupid people, I am afraid of being stupid and I am afraid of doing stupid things accidentally.
Stupid people… are dangerous. But the real reason perhaps, is that I see precious little that separates stupidity and madness. Ignorance is not an excuse. You are simply someone who fails to do the right thing when you had to.
It makes me lose faith in humanity.
I believe that what I am is a culmination of a lifetime of dedication to my curiosity, my ideals, and my pride. I didn’t suddenly pop into existence with a 140 IQ and a small article about everything in the world written in my head. People just say ‘natural talent’ or some shit like that to excuse them from having to make the effort to change.
I’ll tell you this right now- I have no ‘natural talent’. I eat more than you, but my body’s metabolism does not burn fat faster than yours. Everything you see is simply an extension of my stubbornness, my refusal to accept the cards life has dealt me with.
I would like to think that there isn’t much that separates us. As a scientist the extent of our similarity is probably more disturbing than our disparities.
But it’s hard sometimes.
My grandparents in their most senile moments will be five times more lucid than my maid. The things that I take for granted- a basic understanding of probability, an understanding of cause and effect, initiative- in other words- common sense- don’t seem to apply.
For example, she fails to have food ready for me and my sister before we leave for school- and attracts my mother’s ire for the same, so she makes it AFTER we’ve left and convinces herself that the fault lies with the children who left before she decided what to cook- that it was not in her power to get this right in the first place, and therefore she is not at fault.
Apply this (absence of) logic to every sphere of a person’s life and you will understand the reason I am depressed.
I’m not trying to be mean to the poor woman, but my soul seethes at the thought of someone willingly relegating themselves to incompetence. Do we really need this kind of delusion? It’s the same thing the rest of us do when we refuse to look at our mistakes with a view to fix them- and try to have no expectations, and thus never be disappointed.
This lady does not consider herself capable of making two decent sandwiches in an hour.
In her life she has been unable, or unwilling, to learn Hindi as we know it and still speaks in some obscure dialect that no-one really understands- her children need to translate for her.
The image of the Ouroboros comes to mind, the snake that feeds on its own tail. The symbol stands for the circle of life and death… but what I see is a lot less complex, a lot more cynical.
If I had never had any formal education, would I be like that too? Surely not- man had his ingenuity long before we invented schools, right?
A while ago, the maid asked me and my sister to help her daughter. Her daughter had failed her math exam and had a month to prepare for the re-test.
At first I was angry, it was this woman’s fault for neglecting her daughter’s education in the first place. She was making her do chores in her own home while she worked in ours. You can call it child labor by proxy.
She cannot imagine her daughter being able to accomplish… anything.
She treats her the same way that she treats herself.
Now we’re supposed to have a magic solution to that?
We were up for the challenge, though. 96 and 100 percent in math respectively, with my sister literally being the highest scorer in the nation. Surely we would be able to teach this 8th grade kid enough to pass… or at least give it a good shot.
The daughter was an enthusiastic worker, and we had known that we would have to teach her from the ground up. She was being taught algebraic identities.
(a+b)2= a.a + 2.a.b + b.b
I felt a little nostalgic here. At some point I must’ve had trouble understanding this as well. I didn’t expect her to get everything in the first try or appreciate the ingenious way in which the ancient Greeks practiced their algebra.
My sister didn’t really know how to start, I’m the one who usually tries to explain myriad miscellaneous things to people who don't understand it.
I asked her to do a few two digit multiplication sums just to see if her basics were fine.
They weren’t.
She managed to get ‘most’ addition problems right, managed to screw up subtraction, division and multiplication. Polynomials and Linear Equations are a far cry from 25*16.
There was no way for us to start with class 8th material, so we started the only way we could- by teaching her things she should have learnt five years ago. She was enthusiastic with the classes, although not particularly interested in studying- maybe it was just a way for her to get out of working at home. Even though her basic math was improving, I tried make her interested by telling her that all of what was being taught was not some random junk- but had utility in everyday life. (Even lectures on how shopkeepers swindled people with poor arithmetic!)
There was really no hope for us as we struggled to get her started on 6th grade algebra.
I gave up.
I cited my reasons- that my own exams were coming up, and I had to study too.
I still gave up.
I was just a kid damn it. Not a miracle worker. I can’t teach someone high school math when they don’t know matter at a primary school level! How the hell have they kept allowing her to pass up to eighth grade- she should be in sixth!
My sister didn’t give up. She has a lot more faith in the ability of people to rise up through sheer effort, I think. Even when our student had no chance of success, she kept trying everything in her power to help her. She gave her homework, checked it every day, and even tried to teach her about the identities (Just memorize them!),
Our student failed, she could not have passed anyway.
But I wonder, about those school teachers that must have taught her. If they had been half as good, half as interested in teaching as my sister was- that girl would not have been in this situation. Nor, perhaps, would be so many others… people with potential that is never nurtured.
I remember volunteering for the neighbourhood programme of our school before I lost faith in that as well. (Most of the money they collect goes to buying food from the canteen, a classic example of preNEPesque socialist/public-sector waste of money. Stupidity.)
There was a kid there- he couldn’t have been more than eight. He was drawing a motorbike even as the others around him struggled with flowers and grass. I daren’t try to draw my own bike next to his- I might have ended up shaming myself.
How was I supposed to tell him to keep drawing? You can be a great artist- you’ve got talent, real talent. If you nurture it, you can fight your way out of this hell you’ve been born into.
Don’t do what the other kids do… some of these kids were found, and mind these children are not even in their preteens, getting high on a weed. Not marijuana, literally a weed. On doing some further research, I found that a poison released by the plant made them feel less hungry. The kid gave me the same look I would’ve given to someone like me when I was eight, and ran away to get another piece of paper to draw another bike.
There are gems hidden here, but surrounded by so many ‘bad’ influences that it seems like only a miracle can save them.
I haven’t lost all hope yet though, because of one guy. He used to be a kid in our school’s neighbourhood. It was here that he started learning the Tabla. This guy fought his way out though- ended tutoring students of this school in math- to repay a guy who had taught it to him when he had needed it.
Now he’s the lead singer and ‘drummer’ of a rock band that uses several Indian instruments in conjunction with an electric guitar. They haven’t hit gold yet… but with their quality they shouldn’t do badly at all.
In the mean time, Let those government school teachers come up with more verbosity about the lack of interest government school students have towards academics, as they lie back and draw fat paycheques.
EDIT:
My sister says that I am mistaken to think that the girl failed, says she passed her re-test.
This is a complete, debilitating entity. I don’t mean to exaggerate when I say this, but my fear deserves its own ______phobia word.
I fear stupid people, I am afraid of being stupid and I am afraid of doing stupid things accidentally.
Stupid people… are dangerous. But the real reason perhaps, is that I see precious little that separates stupidity and madness. Ignorance is not an excuse. You are simply someone who fails to do the right thing when you had to.
It makes me lose faith in humanity.
I believe that what I am is a culmination of a lifetime of dedication to my curiosity, my ideals, and my pride. I didn’t suddenly pop into existence with a 140 IQ and a small article about everything in the world written in my head. People just say ‘natural talent’ or some shit like that to excuse them from having to make the effort to change.
I’ll tell you this right now- I have no ‘natural talent’. I eat more than you, but my body’s metabolism does not burn fat faster than yours. Everything you see is simply an extension of my stubbornness, my refusal to accept the cards life has dealt me with.
I would like to think that there isn’t much that separates us. As a scientist the extent of our similarity is probably more disturbing than our disparities.
But it’s hard sometimes.
My grandparents in their most senile moments will be five times more lucid than my maid. The things that I take for granted- a basic understanding of probability, an understanding of cause and effect, initiative- in other words- common sense- don’t seem to apply.
For example, she fails to have food ready for me and my sister before we leave for school- and attracts my mother’s ire for the same, so she makes it AFTER we’ve left and convinces herself that the fault lies with the children who left before she decided what to cook- that it was not in her power to get this right in the first place, and therefore she is not at fault.
Apply this (absence of) logic to every sphere of a person’s life and you will understand the reason I am depressed.
I’m not trying to be mean to the poor woman, but my soul seethes at the thought of someone willingly relegating themselves to incompetence. Do we really need this kind of delusion? It’s the same thing the rest of us do when we refuse to look at our mistakes with a view to fix them- and try to have no expectations, and thus never be disappointed.
This lady does not consider herself capable of making two decent sandwiches in an hour.
In her life she has been unable, or unwilling, to learn Hindi as we know it and still speaks in some obscure dialect that no-one really understands- her children need to translate for her.
The image of the Ouroboros comes to mind, the snake that feeds on its own tail. The symbol stands for the circle of life and death… but what I see is a lot less complex, a lot more cynical.
If I had never had any formal education, would I be like that too? Surely not- man had his ingenuity long before we invented schools, right?
A while ago, the maid asked me and my sister to help her daughter. Her daughter had failed her math exam and had a month to prepare for the re-test.
At first I was angry, it was this woman’s fault for neglecting her daughter’s education in the first place. She was making her do chores in her own home while she worked in ours. You can call it child labor by proxy.
She cannot imagine her daughter being able to accomplish… anything.
She treats her the same way that she treats herself.
Now we’re supposed to have a magic solution to that?
We were up for the challenge, though. 96 and 100 percent in math respectively, with my sister literally being the highest scorer in the nation. Surely we would be able to teach this 8th grade kid enough to pass… or at least give it a good shot.
The daughter was an enthusiastic worker, and we had known that we would have to teach her from the ground up. She was being taught algebraic identities.
(a+b)2= a.a + 2.a.b + b.b
I felt a little nostalgic here. At some point I must’ve had trouble understanding this as well. I didn’t expect her to get everything in the first try or appreciate the ingenious way in which the ancient Greeks practiced their algebra.
My sister didn’t really know how to start, I’m the one who usually tries to explain myriad miscellaneous things to people who don't understand it.
I asked her to do a few two digit multiplication sums just to see if her basics were fine.
They weren’t.
She managed to get ‘most’ addition problems right, managed to screw up subtraction, division and multiplication. Polynomials and Linear Equations are a far cry from 25*16.
There was no way for us to start with class 8th material, so we started the only way we could- by teaching her things she should have learnt five years ago. She was enthusiastic with the classes, although not particularly interested in studying- maybe it was just a way for her to get out of working at home. Even though her basic math was improving, I tried make her interested by telling her that all of what was being taught was not some random junk- but had utility in everyday life. (Even lectures on how shopkeepers swindled people with poor arithmetic!)
There was really no hope for us as we struggled to get her started on 6th grade algebra.
I gave up.
I cited my reasons- that my own exams were coming up, and I had to study too.
I still gave up.
I was just a kid damn it. Not a miracle worker. I can’t teach someone high school math when they don’t know matter at a primary school level! How the hell have they kept allowing her to pass up to eighth grade- she should be in sixth!
My sister didn’t give up. She has a lot more faith in the ability of people to rise up through sheer effort, I think. Even when our student had no chance of success, she kept trying everything in her power to help her. She gave her homework, checked it every day, and even tried to teach her about the identities (Just memorize them!),
Our student failed, she could not have passed anyway.
But I wonder, about those school teachers that must have taught her. If they had been half as good, half as interested in teaching as my sister was- that girl would not have been in this situation. Nor, perhaps, would be so many others… people with potential that is never nurtured.
I remember volunteering for the neighbourhood programme of our school before I lost faith in that as well. (Most of the money they collect goes to buying food from the canteen, a classic example of preNEPesque socialist/public-sector waste of money. Stupidity.)
There was a kid there- he couldn’t have been more than eight. He was drawing a motorbike even as the others around him struggled with flowers and grass. I daren’t try to draw my own bike next to his- I might have ended up shaming myself.
How was I supposed to tell him to keep drawing? You can be a great artist- you’ve got talent, real talent. If you nurture it, you can fight your way out of this hell you’ve been born into.
Don’t do what the other kids do… some of these kids were found, and mind these children are not even in their preteens, getting high on a weed. Not marijuana, literally a weed. On doing some further research, I found that a poison released by the plant made them feel less hungry. The kid gave me the same look I would’ve given to someone like me when I was eight, and ran away to get another piece of paper to draw another bike.
There are gems hidden here, but surrounded by so many ‘bad’ influences that it seems like only a miracle can save them.
I haven’t lost all hope yet though, because of one guy. He used to be a kid in our school’s neighbourhood. It was here that he started learning the Tabla. This guy fought his way out though- ended tutoring students of this school in math- to repay a guy who had taught it to him when he had needed it.
Now he’s the lead singer and ‘drummer’ of a rock band that uses several Indian instruments in conjunction with an electric guitar. They haven’t hit gold yet… but with their quality they shouldn’t do badly at all.
In the mean time, Let those government school teachers come up with more verbosity about the lack of interest government school students have towards academics, as they lie back and draw fat paycheques.
EDIT:
My sister says that I am mistaken to think that the girl failed, says she passed her re-test.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Lost things...
Broken wings... talons torn,
The sky is close to heaven,
float, before the storm,
... Wait, that rhymes... and my haiku is now just a particularly lazy person's verse.
I miss those days when I could make these in seconds... and they were better ones, I think.
Now I can tell you the the names, electron configurations and magnetic properties of any metal you can think of! But I needed to check wikipedia to confirm the number of syllables in a haiku.I wonder what else I have lost, and more importantly, what else will I lose in the time that swiftly approaches?
Should I start talking in Iambic pentameter? Just to regulate the amount of crap I regurgitate?
The sky is close to heaven,
float, before the storm,
... Wait, that rhymes... and my haiku is now just a particularly lazy person's verse.
I miss those days when I could make these in seconds... and they were better ones, I think.
Now I can tell you the the names, electron configurations and magnetic properties of any metal you can think of! But I needed to check wikipedia to confirm the number of syllables in a haiku.I wonder what else I have lost, and more importantly, what else will I lose in the time that swiftly approaches?
Should I start talking in Iambic pentameter? Just to regulate the amount of crap I regurgitate?
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