Brave new world

It was already a new year and 10 days into it , he realised it was gonna be an eventful one…nothing was constant he was dealing in dynamicism…and all those last few months efforts were now paying of… he was up at 4 am in the morning, having failed to realise that he missed a good movie by Vishal Bharadwaj, and ideally that would have been a perfect sequence watching Vishal Bharadwaj followed by Martin Scorsese and may be over the weekend he would have topped it up with theatre show, some Portuguese one…He wondered how the fuck one comes up with subtitles in theatre. He remembered old days in Hyderabad, when for the first time he went to theatre knowing that it Anurag Kashyap’s production , only to be smitten by french indian – kalki. It was surreal , and he often wondered how Kalki was his favourite in bollywood industry , which was basically filled with bimbos with fake size , and a model figure and who the heck cared for acting. He might have gone on and on , mentioning the new breed of actors, directors in Bollywood.

But then there were few definitely. There were quite a few things on his plate, he tried to emumnerate them, he silently ventured up through stairs only to realise all the devils in the house were finally sleeping, there was some sleep around the corner of his eyes and if one would have looked through an opthalmoscope, pun, one might have found some of it. Was this ending as another of the post where the author reminiscences and reminisces , and after jotting paras of bullshit smugly gets back to his bed…oh how he missed his bed, he had gone fucking tired of sleeping on floor or getting relegated to couch, but may be it was for good. He realised there are things one must do for the family…

Also his trips to India have always been eventful, be it silently gazing at the albatross (or were they seagulls ) on the ferry to Elephanta caves, only in the midway he realised that he has been duped by promise of shivlinga… the one that he intended to see was Ajanta, nonetheless who cared…there was as always mad rush at Gateway of India, people flocking around , and he …he was still searching around for dustbin. He suddenly realised that the darkness was eerie, and it was only disrupted by the typewriter application he has installed on his macbook air, yeah he was a bloody show off. He was still struggling with this Screinever software, lets play Mozart …no Beethoven for the tired eyes and soul…there came the first yawn of the night…was it you, Beethoven…I mean its been just 1:56 minutes… he was hungry …no he wanted something to chew on…which would have meant brushing for second time this night… man would anyone back home realised that it was Fur Elise when door bell rang in teenage.  It was seriously odd time to play and write, but then the desolation of a writer. Also weren’t early morning moments best ones to write… He tweeted some self proclaimed tweet and wondered about the world imagined by Aldous Huxley and George Orwell…twitter …he was definitely from Aldous Huxley’s brave new world… ( his friends in United states timezone were pinging him or what sapping…oh boy !! The music was surreal, it calmed his senses , encited that calm feeling where you just wanna close your eyes and shuffle through memories or just lay there on sand… he was calmed and ready for his sleep 🙂 He also thought that it would be good to finally get that Sandman comics series , and better start reading Neil Gaiman until someone corners him. <Wink wink> But aint Neil Gaiman godlike, what was that quote on new year … the piece that makes you oddly optimistic about life…and also his new year wishes for his fellow

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.
…I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you’ll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you’ll make something that didn’t exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.
And for this year, my wish for each of us is small and very simple.
And it’s this.
I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.
Make your mistakes, next year and forever.


le train de pensées (the train of thoughts)


Act I, Scene 1
Monte Carlo, Monaco

She was sitting all by herself, as lull as the wooden bench she sat upon, while the world went by. It was the busiest corner of Monaco – garden overlooking the grand casino. The pigeons frolicked around, incongruous of her intent gaze which had infinite sadness ! He slowed down his pace, wondering what was wrong with the lady on the only bench in park. Had he known french and been more gregarious, he would have chatted casually, but nien !
He quickly concluded that the high, fast pace life of this part of the world had its own victims. The septuagenarian walked slowly across the road for the chihuahua was not helping.It wanted to smell some litter and the old chap dragged him forward mocking his strength. As he was jotting it down, it occurred to him why there were so many old folks with pets ? Other than the ‘purse keeping’ the pet was in vogue and unè fashion statemente

Act 1, Scene 2
Train to Nice

La belle on his right was fervently playing with the squashed cigarette, she would take out mirror frequently and adjusted some feature of her visage that probably she thought was inadequately worked upon. She continued fidgeting with the tobacco stick, and rushed with a force as train came to halt in “nice-riquer”. Smokers often have a limited chalance for anything when they are seized by insatiable desire for Nicotine
The train continued its journey parallel to ‘the azur coast’. The empty seat was taken by the young couple, the boy looked in mid twenties and was holding the stick, probably a sports’ injury, and his girlfriend failing to find any empty seat happily sat on his lap. the couple was happy as couples in love are, they laughed , they kissed and joked around , there was a general bon homie around.
The writers attention shifted to his nearly dead legs, with all the walking and that too in hiking boots , which he had proudly purchased once his old faithful Caterpillars  gave away, after five years of service. To say that he was sad, losing them, would be an understatement. Yet he was at peace with his new palladiums, well enough of materialistic divulge. Coming to Côte d’Azur had rekindled the lost writer in him , seeing the french culture experiencing their mannerisms, idiosyncrasies , he had ample stuff to jot about (and probably that’s why Anurag kashyap came to France to finish his script for GOW-2).

Act 1, Scene 3
Protagonist Mind
-“But milord that was Paris , the writer here in question didn’t even want to go to Paris and instead resorted to staying in French Riviera , as English would have said”
– Sustained ! Do you have anything to refute that
– Yes , milord ! Isn’t Paris clichéd
– but that’s like jumping to preconceived conclusion . Camus wrote in Paris , so did miller and others writer that you swore to ??
– yeah may be , but given the short duration and his agnosticism to urban landscapes …
And for the same reason he didn’t like Monaco it was like urban
– or he felt like bourgeois there ?
– may be , but the fact remains same, he would have ..

Did Antibes passed by !!! Fuck !!
There was adrenaline flashing on a distant building in neon lights and it wasn’t antibes , inot or valentine-louset-place. Something French.


PS : I hope readers will ignore the not-so-pathetic titular attempt of luring French crowd.


Wasn’t there someone named John Galt?

It was three hours since mid noon, roads were desolate and asphalt shining bright. It was dry with thermometer reading 40 degrees. The usual clutter of Godowlia and flood of juntaa was missing. There were few fruit vendors braving the summer sun to quench the primal need of roti-kapda-makaan.  Policeman from the security forces guarding the entry-exits, tussling against the afternoon ennui , dozing on and off. Their metal chamber was cooled by an old rusty pedestal fan which creaked in rebellion, asking for a voluntary retirement. Apparently although it was three am  the galis were cool like a tropical forest clearing canopied by old houses from either side, strewn with organic and inorganic refuse. He ventured deep into Vishwanath gali. A bull greeted him, with a vigorous swaying of his horns, ‘wanna tussle?’

“Fear not , it won’t hurt”, someone added from an adjoining clothes shop, sensing his uneasiness and probably knowing that the lad wasn’t frequent to galis.

He had learned the typical sound made by cowherds in Rajasthan to guide cows around. He tried and inferior version of this acquired learning , and surprisingly it worked. The bull calmly retreated to its own world.

There was a rush of old memories, they moved around in his head. The idli guy at the entry of gali. The sweet shop ‘Kunju Saav’ which made sweets specific to vrat, and what a diversity he had. A small shops selling local handicraft goods , benarasi sarees and brass utensils. There was another one which sold beads and rudraksha beads. He tried to remember when was the last time he was here, but his memory failed him. He ventured into the rudraksha shop.

“No no, not from Nepal. We buy directly from Indonesia. Nepalese rudraksha is dwindling, Indonesia is filling in the gap”

Do you have 1-2 faced rudraksha bead?

Actually there is nothing like one or two faced bead, its very rare. Usually people go for 16-17 faced one”

Oh really ! Can I have a look ?

He observed the 16 faced rudraksha bead, and tried to understand the hullabaloo around it.

One hour later he was back to Godowlia chauraha, the rising body temperature got him into a state of trance, there was quietude and everything became slow the way he liked. There was rush now and the road was like a mad rush to eternity. Everyone wanted their five minutes of heaven.

Scene 2

There was an old couple trying to pull a cart loaded with long bamboo stems. It was way too bulky for them and their age didn’t help them out either.  She felt sorry for them when he was still surmising the precarious swinging of the loose end of bamboos, might hurt someone or scratch the automobile.  The on goers drove cautiously around it , muttering under their breath. He silently admired her sensitive side,  may be he had lost touch with his emotional side and cared more for logic and reasoning. He remembered quote by ayn rand

You know how people long to be eternal. But they die with every day that passes. When you meet them, they’re not what you met last. In any given hour, they kill some part of themselves. They change, they deny, they contradict–and they call it growth. At the end there’s nothing left, nothing unreversed or unbetrayed; as if there had never been an entity, only a succession of adjectives fading in and out on an unformed mass.


For what was logic sans emotions, it was a chicken-egg question . Yet when he saw the front tyre of hand pulled cart hobbling up in the air from weight, and the old sexagenarians struggling against inertia,  it caught him offguard. His old sweating wife struggling, yet pushing it from behind.  But as often it happens we let these moments go and rather than helping the troubled , we keep it in our head. Alas ! C’est la vie

May be when they say karma et al it might be true, who knows. He was just trying to rationalize his inaction.  Wasn’t there someone named John Galt?

Foreign native digressions

He was hesitant to go inside, it had started to get too nostalgic in there. A calm yet shrieking silence prevailed around post marriage ceremony, only challenged by the faint but constant hub dub of an electric generator. There were few cars coming and going , their harsh headlights tearing through the darkness. From his childhood days, he hated the lacklustre, the unceremonious wrapping up of an event. Guest departing, tents getting wrapped up , long haul trolleys taking away the furnitures and lights. The place which was teeming with laughs and smiles, of heavy perfumes and ittar, would be as desolate and quite as morgue.  He remembered that a similar sight would conjure up after college festivals and events.

– Probably thats what happens when one dies – packing up ! But as they say cest la vie (such is life).

But there was not much digression on cest-la-vie, for the latest blinding light was of his friend’s car. Thus ended his brief moment of epiphany, and thanks to apple’s smartphone ( and a pinch of right hemisphere), he saved some of it in words.

 Little did he know that ditto same feeling would impunge his first week  after his vacation in India. Singapore felt too dull, like a saltless cuisine , after his India trip. The hum-drum, the halla, the liveliness was in stark contrast to this nation’s systematic inertia. He missed his homeland.
Today :
The ennui at office reminded him to similar bored feeling during his school days. It was like revisiting the same monotonous routine after eons, yet he was able to pinpoint the same old ennui of school days.   The sad part was that everyone seemed oblivious to the fact , no one was complaining. May be it was classic case of stuck in ‘Maya’ as they describe in Hindu scriptures. But this corporate ‘maya’ was strangling him. A throbbing monotonicity was building up in his brain challenging him to ‘turn on, tune in and drop out’.
Rewind to 19 days back 
2 Feb
He was flummoxed at the ensuing crowd, and the majestic evening scenery at the vast banks of Ganges.  Although only 1 hour before he was proclaiming my gonna-be-atheist attitude to an old friend, yet the whole scenery of the Kumbh Mela captivated and enthralled him. He had read somewhere that Kumbh’s attendance exceeds over 50 millions devotees. !!
– Fucking big number!!
So far this vacation had been a calm composite one. He had expected India to surprise him after 13 months abroad, but it didn’t.  Things move too slow in this part of the world.  Only thing out of place was his initial  urge to get down from taxi and start dusting New Delhi’s flyover railings. The dust has been overwhelming. It took him some time to grow accustomed to Indian capital, and by the time he got down near Akshardham Temple, his original self had been returning. It was good to see advertisement hoardings in Hindi. Some familiar and some new faces on print ads. Someone reading this might reduce the feeling to oh-yet-another-foreign-return-banter. But truth has been told. Delhi had disappointed him lately, and it was his first time that he was more than glad to leave Delhi, without hanging around for few days.
Moving across towns and cities of Uttar Pradesh, which might as well be least developed state of India, with reins in hands of goons and dons, there seemed to be no respite in sight. Owing to recent happenings (read Delhi gang rape ) the Indian within him had been tortured, and was now raring to come out to do something. He was quickly shuffling through stacks of ideas to an extent that he had started romancing with an idea of writing civil services exams, but leaving the perfect-Singapore life needed some more weights on the scale.
The sun was high, and there was a some breeze that one encounters during winter end in India. It was serene and the flannel shirt provided a much needed sheer. His mind was largely blank, and he was enumerating an acquaintance he made in high-court-city of east UP. How he is pursuing a goal to become a IAS officer? To which came an expected reply, “it’s useless, the unlimited power corrupts the officers”.
14 Feb
Fast forward to Varanasi. The traffic was going berserk and random. It would have flabbergasted NNT. A particular gust of dust cloud blinded him beneath his rimmed glasses. He was recuperating with the dust, when a truck horn jolted him and responded with a cuss. In spite of all the bodily unpleasantness, his heart was at peace. His soul was at ease. It had been …some 395 days… since he had last came here, and he had missed these blaring horns… the humdrum, the liveliness… the random bovines on roads, and the extreme motion which would have looked like a vigrous brownian motion from a great height. Singapore seemed like a distant utopia, he read someone blaring out on Singaporeans, hating their kiasu spirit et al, in last month’s GQ issue.
“I should now really get that power goggles for driving here”, he thought, finally clearing the dust off his eyes.  (Btw still need to get hands on that last copy of his mother’s novel  “heat & dust”). A different feeling had dawned when he met his college friends after ages, few after what…5 years…his mind was like…dude is this it? But then by that time effects of Shiva’s Prasad also had started empowering his thinking.
Near Dasaswamedh ghat there was infinite queue of juntaa and faith,thanks to Kumbh mela. All for, ten seconds of ‘darshan’ of deity. Although having been brought up in the religious capital, logically his emotions were not justified. But few years away from this religious capital of India, had instilled seeds of doubt, rather questions  in his mind. Now he had started dissecting religious beliefs with a logical reasoning, and quite often they had been defeated with logic. Yet the faith is one thing which has defeated many atheists and non-believers. (And then ofcourse there was ongoing MahaKumbh)
Buying books at his favourite book store near Assi Ghat, he lamented yet another aspect being missed , the literary and artistic upper hand of the city. Being a bibliophile buying a book in ‘x’ dollars would fetch 4 books in equivalent INR , and much better ones than those available back in videsh…    (to be continued)

Choose life !!

The time was running too fast. It has been already 3 weeks into 2013, and he was lackey, it was like he was still referring to a slow wristwatch. Only seeing at calendar made him realize ..Whoa !!

Although there were quite a few happenings, he thought of chalking out prospective blog posts
the great midweek hangover of Thursday, and how I got over it
Band of brothers
mylo-xyloto HD
Dr. house
weekend trip to HK/Macau

He took a deep gulp from his coffee mug, the coffee was dark and sinful. It was early in the day, and his mind was already asking him what-is-life questions? Why people marry, isn’t that a vicious circle, you are born, spent like quarter of century loitering around in social norms, then fall in love, get married , create offsprings…take care of them and then die peacefully (well the last part is pretty much probabilistic)

Suddenly Irvine Welsh makes sense, surprisingly without the drug culture portrayed in Trainspotting (fugging nice movie it was !! )
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, an…

The song “my body is a cage” also gets relevant.
But the big question still persists, maybe this is what they say in self-help book, you will wake up one day on your bed, look around yourself and think “what the fuck am I doing with my life?”. No don’t get me wrong, that morning is still waiting. I think I read it first in a book a CEO friend gave me, I am missing the name…(check Goodreads) …see that’s what social media and internet age has done with us millennials. We have answers for almost anything, give us five minutes, and we can read through Web Pages and give tangible answers. But something that is amiss is….well…if I would have known it, then I would qualify for a millennial. May be spirituality … may be more tangible expression of religion, now being agnostic, it defeats me sometimes when people get overly attached to religion and start basing most of their actions on it. Or when they give me that-look , when I say something that agnostics/atheists say.
(coffee sure makes mouth dry, shouldn’t we have extra-hydrated-coffee)

Well the good thing is that Quora launched its blogging platform, so that saves me from hunting around for a perfect tech blogging platform.
Get my musings of my left brain here
If I am moody enough to start updating one more blog…another good news is being in India for 15 days, I can again take on pledge of updating 15 posts. Should be a good incentive ?
As one of my friend says, thats what happens when you move into corporate , (as if I was writing prolifically when I wasn’t in corporate )

Trainspotting - choose life

For the lack of a better title !

For lack of a better blog title, I present to you 7 different subtitles…

16 September :Happy Cup-Express.Healthy. Tasty

Something was amiss since morning. Even the regular afternoon dose of caffeine could not counteract that feeling. He concentrated hard, and ran through his chronicle for the day, nothing in particular. Contrarily he should be quite happy, getting new books is always satisfying, and that too a book for a buck, that should have made him smug. He looked across the table, to find coffee mug scribed with “Happy Cup- Express.Healthy.Tasty.”, and something, probably same thing scribed in Chinese.

Something was fuzzy and shaky inside. He was torn between in choice of his books, reading ultimate classic Joyce, and then all of a sudden reverting gears to theoretical physics of Feynman. Was that the cause of amiss thing? Probably not. Another sip of iced coffee. Oh didn’t I mention , that in this part of world they served black coffee with ice, which was all good, until your coffee gets over, and all of a sudden you are searching desperately for leftover traces among the ice cubes. Slurrrpp. Nothing…slurrp…slurrp…still nothing. Like a drowning man gasping for air, your brain knows that the content is over, yet your mind wants to get every last trickle of that black caffeine.

17 September: Moviephile?

meaning : A lover of movies

Dude! look at my dvd collections, I’m such a moviephile.

(source UrbanDictionary) Change dvd wid torrent

Now I would have loved to review two brilliant movies that I caught over the weekend, Anurags of our time, Basu’s Barfi and Kashyap’s GOW-2. Yet how different the both films are from one another. Barfi is a romantic movie, with magical execution, amazing cinematography and adept acting. I should have told you that a beautiful cinematography and camera angles biases me, and Barfi has lot to offer with its artistic tone. The alluring, nostalgic beauty of amro Darjeeling, and the rush and art of amar Kolkata. Recently Kolkata has been muse of various movie director. The chase sequence have been executed to perfection. Barfi was spell bounding, and philistines might even find it slow, but who cares.

Coming to GOW2, I waited for eternity for film to release for nri crowd, I wonder translating all those cussing would have taken hell lot of time. Nonetheless the movie was here, in all its entirety and chutzpah.

20 September : Subtleties of human consciousness

It is quite amazing how fast a human mind can think. No? Just try to remember the fast dream sequence you have during those 10 minutes of snooze alarm. The conscious and subconscious will concoct a terrific mix for you. Yet that 7 hours of sleep would not suffice from him, and just for the sake of experimentation he walked off from his morning yoga routine. Truth be told, he was not as chirpy as his yoga days. Consequently his muscles were languid, he was more like a lazy bum, but you know how lazy and at peace goes hand in hand.

The usual running down the subway stairs, two steps at a time, might have came across as precarious to others, but he had practiced it way too long to err. Few customary prerequisites were to be followed though, don’t attempt doing this with a loose footwear. Also best is to try on deserted flight of stairs, else the inertia is too large to push an unsuspecting soul out of the way. Probably both, pushed and pusher, will land stumbling down the stairs.

24 September :Engineer at grand prix

So yeah it was an experience. The buildup for the day was going on from last few days. And when the day arrived, we were ready. It was a hot, humid afternoon in Singapore, the sun was shining, and the humidity was torturing. Yet it could not deter the enthusiasm of the fans. We all were greeted with roaring of Ferrari engines – an ongoing Ferrari championship. It was humbling to see drivers revving their Ferrari engines and I could only imagine what an F1 cars would be like.

And believe me the roar of F1 engine was amazing, and loud really loud, (its anywhere greater than 85dB, which is like 6-7 levels up from conversation noise.) F1 cars are the marvel of engineering, with V8 engines generating a horse power of around 800, with 20,000 rpm. It is amazing, right out of some science fiction.

1 October : Caffeinated Yogi

-Yoga became his new caffeine.

That has been his motto for last 2-3 weeks, early morning yoga was rejuvenating and gone were the days of gulping 300ml of black coffee early morning. Not that he detested drinking coffee, and he had started to miss his daily dose too. But this particular morning was a slow and very slow. The late night sports following, made morning late. His new caffeine did not worked today, as during a particular asana ( he slept off. LOL.

Consequently it would take another 2 hrs to get his senses rolling, based on past records and present conditions.

The sand beneath his feet was cold and wet. He stood there, and let sand take his weight, shifting few cm down, when the wave came – a small one though- it traveled through his feet, and he was transmogrified. The air smelt of salt, the sun was setting, only complain he had of flotilla of cargo ships on the horizon. The country did not provide virgin beaches and unadulterated horizon. One could travel to its neighbours and be amazed by the sheer beauty that nature has bestowed on them.

3 October : Aamro Beatles

Best Beatles song (for me, till now). No I haven’t listened to whole discography 😦

My alibi, you see, I have been saving few bands for later years .

  1. Hey Jude
  2. Lucy in the sky of diamonds
  3. Blackbird
  4. I am the Walrus
  5. A day in the life
  6. Eleanor Rigby
  7. Sgt. Pepper lonely heart club band
  8. With a little help of my friends

PS: I should have added simon & garfunkel , same era naa?

4 October : Pheww

Nokia x2 vs iPhone 5

Welcome to 21st century, son !!

(this will/should be covered on new technical blog I am planning to launch since last few months)

Half hearted attempts !

There was an inexplicable urgency. He wanted to get to his modern day version of pen and paper and jot down lest the thoughts would be lost amid fanfare of diurnals.

The anecdote dates few years back,and nights were long and nights out were in vogue. Salad days is what they say.
And as expected as it happens often, he did not heed to urgency and words were lost. He sat there staring blankly at the screen, and rummaging through his thoughts. The splitter-splatter of rain was his only companion offering some condolence.
It was a cold morning, the ground was strewn with mist, and dew adorned the leaves. The clock read  5 o’clock and he was some seven hours early from his usual waking up time, which made him groggy, disoriented and sleepless. Yet as was customary for the old house in Kalimpong, early morning came with morning walks and jogging. Midway of his gigantic yawn he thought  what others would be doing now. Back in his hometown by the ghats, his mom and dad would be still asleep, or probably dad would have got up. In the religious end of the city people would have started flocking the ghats for their morning dip in holy river. It cleansed them of sins and may be sleep too. He shivered at that religious prospect. Back in his school, the corridors would be desolate, with some lost chap squandering in dark corridors for his room. It was usually during early morning that the squandering lot descended from Kailash. Yes the grass was a popular pastime, which started late at night, and ended in wee hours of morning, and almost always it would be accompanied with riffs on guitar along with majors and minors.

-Lets go
He was jolted out of his dream,He yawned for hundredth time, and unwillingly tied his worn shoelaces. Air stuck him as cold, deep in his spine, yet there was something unearthly about it. It was pure, pristine and virginal. There has to be something when Thomas Jefferson said
-The sun has not caught me in bed in fifty years.

They slowly moved on to the meandering asphalt path, Kalimpong being a hill station was blessed with nature, and had a certain peace which usually medical practitioners recommend to chronic patients. The canopy of trees lining the path was further thickened by the mist, which intensified the aura of gaia. He at that time would have never thought of all things he this would come first in his memory when thinking of his days spent there. Mind has its own strange ways.

10 hours later, he was back on his scribbing pad, with Clint Mansel Lux Altera playing in background.It created a false aura, of something grand happening. Suddenly the prospect of reading Mr. Barnes looked more rewarding than jotting down stream-of-consciousness writing like Joyce. Mr. Joyce had taken an interrupt with Mr. barnes around. Another incentive which moved the scales in favor of latter was that book was 150 pages only ! And 150 page novel won the man booker, he had to check it out first. (The guy doing media and communications had a knack of suggesting good books).

Agnosticism ?

The nostalgia was so thick and heavy, that he had wiped his face off it. He was back to his swinging chair, and lukewarm water, and sore throat. He wanted to become a writer after almost satisfying his left hemisphere with electrical engineering masters. Thankfully his mind was not very keen of getting in four years of life-loss. He romanticized with the idea of academic career, but it looked very mundane and boring to him, and he gave up on it even before he had finished his masters. Oscar Wilde had murmured in his ears, “Anything that is worth learning can be learned outside school.” His mother also warned him once.

-why do you want to get degrees and degrees on your CV, a classmate of mine got degrees in 3-4 disciplines, yeah he might be brainy but to what avail. It was more of soul-searching for him in course books, and academic corridors.  Don’t try to be that.

 It was logical, getting a degree is not an answer to  “i still haven’t found what i am looking for”.  To speak the truth he wanted to write. Write as classical as Joyce, as emotional as Ishiguro, as sarcastic as DBC Pierre and Upmanyu Chatterjee, as epic as Tolkien, and yet have his own style and panache. These would become his idols; or rather they already were his idols. Ever since when he was ten,  deep sea adventure of Jules Verne enthralled him, he was smitten by magic of words, first it was crush, then it evolved into beautiful love, a lifelong relationship.

It would immensely please his grandmother, that little boy was reading Hindu religious books, well truth be told, the boy was enthralled by the story the books provided, the epic stories of kings, gods and demons were way too interesting. In the same spirit he would delve in biblical stories, and make his teachers at catholic school happy. The moment the story got over, he could not fathom the way religion ruled onto people mind and heart. He experimented with devout religiousness and when he did not like it, he altogether shunned it. Religion was like a love-hate relationship for him, and so he anointed himself as agnostic rather than an atheist.

Quite often his dinner table remarks on old texts and religion came as surprise and shock to his more religious friends. He had his own deep concept of some power, and the current existing religious concepts were just like a story, or some alien conspiracy theory as mentioned in the documentary he was watching this weekend. Yet the mythology intrigued him, and he would like to search for similarities between Hinduism, Greek, roman, Christianity and Islam, rather than focusing on differences which everyone did inadvertently or otherwise. Imagine by john Lennon should have been his war cry. (He also cursed his word processor, which pointed out every now and then, that the name of religions should be in Caps.)

Amnesia for words :|

It isnt usually like this. Writers know that writing is their best fall back, but then taking a gap of 80 days to scribble something. It very well might be my longest gap. The inequities of fight between right and left brain is to be blamed.

I dont even gather how last days have been, yes ms got finished, gave exams amidst an ongoing internship, and then founders institute came in. It has been a rush, a mad rush. So all I can think for a post is a weekly chronicle. Not done dude !!

loading <Afflatus>…

I may write about Steve Jobs biography that I am halfway through, that yes Jobs was a asshole, and a sucker for his artistic taste, which made Apple so unique. Or the joy of seeing particle accelerator other day, it was a sheer eloquence of science. And then there is an infinite gyaan to be ushered on entrepreneurship, technopreneurship and startups. Behold. It is like pulling words from a tug-of-war with, well Hercules.

Or may be I should start delving on what is next from Ishiguro I should delve in? Or shall it be ‘the last song of dusk’, atleast the writing seems to be good. “but always listen to your balls”. Reminds me of Upamanyu Chatterjee. A customary visit to my table will reveal that I have nothing to read, except Mr Jobs, Ulysses – which I am always afraid to start, whether I will be able to do justice to the elegance of this masterpiece. And then ofcourse there is Startup Weekend, TI datasheets. <stop> And what the heck is DBC Pierre doing these days, cant he write something new 😐

May be I need another day or two of silence, away from world wide web or something. Or may be you can just concentrate here, instead of calling shenanigans. Oh so you google writers block, and get…

The only light came from the kitchen sink from the hall, it was rebellious and wanted to tear apart the dark and photon-derelict ambiance that the protagonist aimed to create. On the brighter side it created silhouette and shadows which gave a queer sense of belonging and he was lost in words.

He has been lying there on couch since morning, how could someone have missed him?  He frantically searched around on internet, and got some snippets for those lost at words.

“The scariest moment is always just before you start [writing]. After that, things can only get better.” – Stephen King
“Well, yes this has some logic”, and he rolled over his post to reconfirm. He wished to sign off from the post with a red marker, on a white board, when the smell of it intoxicates the owner for few milliseconds, and he stays in that transcendental trance state. The quick flex of metacarpals, <or is it metatarsal, some one from medical >and flourish of ego, and comes the signature. Too bad these stupid wordprocessors and online blogs dont have this.
So yes I sign off in less dramatic way with someone called Norman Mailer
“Writer’s block … is simply a failure of ego.”   Let me get my ego succeed and I will be back.

PS: For improved relevance replace writer with blogger, writing with blogging

Blog at

Up ↑