There's always so much to learn!

I’ve been off this blog a long time now! I’d blame that on “writers block”, but then who’d believe me? Anyway, I seem to have lost my ability to write those sad excuses for poetry somewhere in Bangalore (I personally believe it’s lost somewhere in the annals of Nanjundaiah Bar & Rest). A place which was recently re-painted and re-furnished, only to have a board – which lasted a fortnight, saying “Nanjundaiah Bra & Rest”, but that’s another story).

I’ve been following the blogs written by some of my more verbally gifted friends like Punk a.k.a. Varun – Roll number 53, and Mutha a.k.a. Prashant – c22amarrahein. The latest batch of their blogposts particularly piqued my interest, and got me to write something in the same vein. So I’ve decided to post incidents from SIES, from which i learned something important.

This is the first such incident:

Moral: When you feel you've run out of expletives, just make some up.

This one occurred approximately around the time the English Tutorial thing happened (narrated on Roll number 53 – seriously, visit that link).

Set – 1^st floor, the classroom right next to the stairway.

Cast – Mutha, Punk, me, Vivek, Shrikant, Rajamani.

Well, the story begins with just the 6 of us lazing around an empty classroom, just post college hours (I believe it was after college hours, one can never quite be sure of that). A few hours ago, in between classes, the infamous “Badgandy” (I’m not sure how that’s spelled) had decided to confiscate mobile phones, and Mutha’s was one of the very few phones actually confiscated. As expected, this meant Mutha wasn’t in the best of moods. He was hurling curses (non-expletive curses) at Badgandy. Vivek and I found the situation much too hilarious to contain our laughter and we were in splits. Punk and Shrikanth were trying to devise strategies to get Mutha’s phone back. Most of these were non-real world strategies, and some included drugging Badgandy, or placing a mass order for his Nirali Prakashan Math Tutorial Book etc. In the meanwhile, Rajamani decided to leave. One often doesn’t bother with asking Mani why or where he is going. Destiny often decides his paths for him! So Mani packed up whatever little belongings he had brought with, and split.

It was couple of minutes later that we realized Mani had forgotten his newly received ID card on the desk. Now we’d all received our ID cards just recently (about a semester late) and the newly stringent vigilance at the entrance disallowed students from entering the college without the ID. Being the caring friends that we claim to be, we decided to inform Mani that he’d left the card in the classroom. Since he’d already left, and none of us was in the mood to follow him and return the card, we decided to do the next best thing. The classroom we were occupying, overlooked the college gate on one side, and we were sure to spot Mani as he exited the college. I took the initiative, and climbed on top of the desk next to the window, and began shouting Mani’s name. I was at one point screaming at the top of my lungs, when finally Mani came into view. Hurling his customary abuses (which is often the way he begins a conversation), Mani stated that one of the Chembur people should take the ID card home and that he would pick it up on the way to college the next day (an odd request, considering Mani usually visited the college only once a week). Around this time, the conversation had reached a considerably high decibel level, which irked the already irked Mutha somewhat. He then went on to inform me that I should keep it down so as not to get into trouble. Given that Mutha was already angry around that time, his commands were at a higher decibel level than the conversation I was having with Mani from a one storey distance.

Mutha’s fears were soon realized when the peon (MAMA) decided to barge in to the classroom. There were always a countless number of Mamas patrolling the college, but none had ever got in our way before. Mama then demanded our ID cards (which he was intending on confiscating) and reprimanded us for climbing on top of the benches. “tumlog itna bada ho gaya hai, abhi tak Bandar jaisa karta hai, sharam aana chahiye, abhi main tumlog ka ID cards lekar Badgandy Sir ko dene wala hai”.

Around this time, the much spoken about bio-chick (mentioned in Roll number 53) walked past, and I lost interest in the conversation. I having spent all this time perched atop the bench, decided to descend and walk wilfully towards the door. On my way there, Mama demanded that I submit my ID card, at which I stated disinterestedly that I had not received it from the college office. Mama didn’t really want to argue about the efficiency of the SIES administrative office, and decided not to press on further (they weren’t exactly famous for their efficiency). I walked away preoccupied while he moved to the next person. Vivek who was standing just behind me, was next in line. I think I noticed him putting the ID in his bag while Mama and I were having that conversation. When Mama asked him for his ID, he said he hadn’t brought it along today. Quick to spot a lie, Mama asked him how he had been let inside the college campus without his ID, at which he replied that there was nobody checking at the gate when he entered. Mama couldn’t possibly attest to the efficiency of the watchmen at the gate, nobody could attest to that (they spent most of their time in the “AANDRE” lane smoking beedis [source of this information à Richie). He let Vivek pass, getting angrier every second.

Onward to Mutha, who even before being asked, meekly submitted the prize. Around this time, I was already almost out of the class, but I believe I heard Vivek let out a muffled expletive directed towards Mutha. Soon after, Mama, now feeling slightly confident, asked Shrikant and Punk, both of whom made up some excuse and walked away. Mama, having realized that for all the effort, he only had one card to show; walked away unhappily. Soon after, I having walked some distance away trailing the aforementioned bio-chick, returned to hysterical laughter in the class-room. I attempted to ask what had happened, nobody answered, basically because they were rolling around the room laughing!

After enough coaxing, Mutha (almost foaming at the mouth) decided to inform me.

Disclaimer: The language used here is not for the weak of heart. Mutha does not use common expletives, never has, never will. Mutha uses barnyard animals to invent his own expletives. I sometimes believe he makes them up on the spot.

Mutha “That bloody Mama, he took my ID card”

Me “ (laughing hysterically) I noticed that, why the f**k would you give it to him”

Mutha “abbey usne bola de to maine diya”

Me “nobody else gave it you numbskull”

Mutha “kya karu, he said give to i gave, bloody Mama!!!”

And before i could say any more, the barrage began

Mutha “That bloody Mama,

Sh*t of a Pig

D*ck of an Ass

P*bes of a Hippo

Ba*ls of a Bitch

F*ck*ng Oedipus (unfortunately, i had no idea what this meant at the time. I tried to ask, but there was no stopping him. Many years later, i found the information here)

This went on for what felt like 2 hours, when he finally stopped, only to restart the narrative with a new object of discussion – Badgandy.

“That F*ck*ng Badgandy, may his a*s be screwed by a male rhino, may he get raped by a bisexual horse (i never horses came in that well, type). Blo*dy d*ck of a gharial (a type of crocodile i once saw at Corbett National Park), I’ll shove a snake up him. I’ll puke on him.

And, well, so on.

Anyway, the story ends with the rest of us, laughing about this for the next 1 week. Mutha, unable to retrieve his ID the same day, had to come to college the next day without it. I have no idea what exactly happened at the college door the next day, I hadn’t turned up. He apparently got it back with some effort that day. Anyhow, all this just leads to my main point. What I learned that day.

While standing there, trying to concentrate on what he was saying, i learned one of the most valuable lessons of my life. That I would never, ever run out of abuses EVER! I could now spend the rest of my life knowing that “you f*ck*n bl*wj*b” isn’t the most difficult word to beat in the English language. It can most certainly be beaten with “F*ck*ng Oedipus”.

My suggestion to those few that are reading this, next time you come across somebody you really want to curse, but are afraid to do so, call him/her an Oedipus, lets see how many people know what you’re talking about (well, enough to take offense atleast).

That settles it for now.

Of Doors & Perception

I dont know how this is relevant to anything, but it just seems too interesting to overlook. 

Though the title for me would originate from Jim Morisson, to him from Aldous Huxley, and to him from William Blake's "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" : - 

"If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern."

Other stuff from there:

• To be shaken out of the ruts of ordinary perception, to be shown for a few timeless hours the outer and inner world, not as they appear to an animal obsessed with survival or to a human being obsessed with words and notions, but as they are apprehended, directly and unconditionally, by Mind at Large— this is an experience of inestimable value to everyone and especially to the intellectual.

• "Is it agreeable?" somebody asked."Neither agreeable nor disagreeable," I answered. "it just is." Istigkeit - wasn't that the word Meister Eckhart liked to use? "Is-ness." The Being of Platonic philosophy - except that Plato seems to have made the enormous, the grotesque mistake of separating Being from becoming and identifying it with the mathematical abstraction of the Idea. He could never, poor fellow, have seen a bunch of flowers shining with their own inner light and all but quivering under the pressure of the significance with which they were charged; could never have perceived that what rose and iris and carnation so intensely signified was nothing more, and nothing less, than what they were - a transience that was yet eternal life, a perpetual perishing that was at the same time pure Being, a bundle of minute, unique particulars in which, by some unspeakable and yet self-evident paradox, was to be seen the divine source of all existence.

• I strongly suspect that most of the great knowers of Suchness paid very little attention to art.... (To a person whose transfigured and transfiguring mind can see the All in every this, the first-rateness or tenth-rateness of even a religious painting will be a matter of the most sovereign indifference.) Art, I suppose, is only for beginners, or else for those resolute dead-enders, who have made up their minds to be content with the ersatz of Suchness, with symbols rather than with what they signify, with the elegantly composed recipe in lieu of actual dinner.
  

• The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend.
  

Confusion - Part I

He waited in confusion,

Lost in his own thoughts.

The details were blurry,

The damn math was all wrong.

 

He waited in confusion,

Perplexed at his ignorance.

He knew not, for what he waited.

He tried not to remember.

 

The children played and shouted outside.

He marveled at their nonchalance.

He wished he were as free,

He wished he didn’t have to wait.

 

Though he continued to wait,

For something, or someone.

Was it a loss of memory,

Or did he not know at all?

 

He waited in confusion,

The truth must be out there.

It had to be found.

Or else he’d drive himself crazy.

 

The anxiety was real,

But he couldn’t fathom a reason.

He pondered for long, very long.

But the answer still eluded him.

 

He waited in confusion,

Wishing this was just a dream.

But he knew it wasn’t, and that this wouldn’t end.

He knew that the wait, was to be perpetual.

 

 

I miss being together.

(To Nupur)

I miss every moment that we shared.

The time we laughed, the time we cared.

When everything was only, happiness and glee.

The time we were joyous, as we could possibly be.

 

It didnt have to end like this.

I dont want it to be this empty abyss.

I love you now, and will continue to.

Our vows i wish, will always hold true.

 

There was a time, when we couldnt be seen apart.

A time when choices, we made from our heart.

Back when we didnt care how people judged us.

A time when we weren't unhappy, thus.

 

If only we could go back to the way we were.

If able to pardon when we both did err.

The world would seem happy, forever again.

Forgetting everything, no loss, no gain.

 

We both made mistakes, i now accept.

We knew we did it, we know we wept.

I miss being together, i miss that life.

Let's end this pain, let's end this strife.

 

We both changed, as time makes you do.

But love shouldnt change, it should hold true.

I'd die for you, i'd kill for you.

Know that, my love, take my cue.

 

Let's go back, to the way we were.

Let this agony never recur.

I know you feel my pain, i know you care.

You care too, for the love we share.

The Walker

The walker goes on his way.
The dreamer, the watcher.
Leaves shrivel and flowers wither,
Under his neverending footsteps.

The walker sees all that is to be seen.
Omnipresent he may appear.
He cares for nobody.
Inciting no joy, only a foreboding fear.

He tramples Mother Earth disdainfully,
As he searches for his destination.
Long has he explored, never to find it.
Ever will he search, all of creation.

The path to freedom is not to be found.
His will begs him to end the trauma,
His refusal is instant, the soul is still incomplete.
Endless will his quest be if it is unfound.

What is it that he hopes to find?
What is that final destination?
It is unlikely that his observers can fathom.
Doubtful still, that he knows for himself.

The walker fears no death, only welcomes it.
For it is that which shall put him out of his misery.
He requires and demands no quiescence,
The road does not end till it is found.

The walker goes on his way.
The dreamer, the watcher.
Unconcerned and perfunctory.
His quest is still incomplete.

I hear the rain again.

I hear the rain again.
Continuous, uninhibited, free.
Your thoughts flood my mind.
I feel the pangs of your memory.

The distance does me no good.
I am enveloped by the longing.
Conversations deceive me not,
I desire your presence for evermore.

I hear the rain again.
Bringing back to me recollections
Of when we were together, and happy.
Real but so unreal.

I feel like a vase, hollow and empty.
I seek you vainly, even memory escapes me.
Why my love, why must it be so.
To rot in this farce of virtual togetherness.

I hear the rain again.
New wishes, new hope.
The strength to break the bonds of this uncertainty.
A new lease of life to this love.

Come back to me,
Even if for a fleeting moment.
Like the rain that falls around me and then disperses.
Permit me this one true wish.

Drifter

Sometimes i feel i just wanna drift
Into the unknown, "uncharted territory"
I am loathed to do the same - again.
That aversion to normalcy, to the ordinary.


“I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps "Oh look at that!" Then- whoosh, and I'm gone...and they'll never see anything like it ever again... and they won't be able to forget me- ever.”

I know what I must do now, I’m finally clear.
I’ve got a lot of people to thank for that. But there’s still a long way to go.
It’s like the feeling I always get the wheel of my car leaving home with thought of the Mumbai-Pune Expressway coming up.

“Minor” setbacks, which seem minor now that I’ve seen suffering of a much greater degree. They seem finally like a hurdle I can jump over – cuz jumping high has never been easy given that I’m slightly on the shorter side. But I can live with that, and I can now be sure that I’ll cross those hurdles/setbacks.

There’s a new feeling inside of me, an uncanny aura around me, which I cannot describe.
“Love cannot save you from your own fate.”

Now I’ve got places to go, people to see. There’s a lot more on the horizon that I can see now, that I didn’t allow myself to see before. Which is weird, considering I’m not really myopic. It all seems brighter now, I can take the setbacks, I can survive them, and slowly overcome them. Life is good again. It’s not the results that matter sometimes, it’s the emotion you have inside of you that counts.

Charles Darwin –
“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.”