Monday 31 December 2012

Festiwitti # 4 : Goodbye to 2012





Goodbye, 2012. You had us on a see-saw all year.

You kept us on tenterhooks for 355 days, wondering whether we’re all going to die. In the meantime, you showed us that Felix Baumgartner, at least, isn’t afraid to ! You took away Verghese Kurien,Yash Chopra, Rajesh Khanna, Jagjit Singh, Ravi Shankar, Jaspal Bhatti, among others. You gave us Gangnam Style, and made sure one billion of us participated in the viewing of that particular bit of madness. You gave us Hurricane Sandy , and you gave us Narendra Modi and Barack Obama – again ! You finally got Qasab his just desserts, but you left Nirbhaya’s justice for the New Year.

In 2013, what are you going to do for us ? What are you going to take away ? Please give us more hope, and less heartbreak; please ensure more hilarity, more humility, less hedonism, more humanitarianism, less haste…..please warm the globe less and our hearts and our hearths more…..please restore faith, and dispense with futility.

Happy New Year to all the people in my blogworld. Here’s hoping that the coming year brings you fun, freedom and fulfilment.

Sunday 30 December 2012

Salad #17 : Archimedes' Principle Revisited


In the mid-eighties, my preoccupation with the human mind, its complexities, its aberrations, its machinations and its unpredictability, bordered almost on the obsessive. Although I was barely 22, I was struck by the number of unhappy people I met, and of the degree of the absorption of those people in their own unhappiness. Out of those encounters and the accompanying conversations and resultant thought processes, was this article born.

I request the reader’s forbearance for what will probably be the longest post on this blog. The only reason that I am sharing this, a full 25 years later, is that I am convinced that it still continues to be relevant.

At some stage in my early adulthood, I actually did want to be a psychiatrist or a clinical psychologist; I abandoned that objective very quickly because it was prevailed upon me that to embark on that career was to invite a life of destitution and penury.

Read on, dear visitor. And do leave a comment at the end on this article’s relevance. Thank you !

“Archimedes’ Principle Revisited”
or
“Metaphysical Physics – With a Dash of Geography” (1987)


“ When an individual is immersed in self-pity, the volume of the individualism immersed is equal to the volume of self-respect displaced “

1.
       PURPOSE


I have mused, on many an occasion, about the precise connection between self-respect and self-pity, about where the former ends and the latter begins; and I have had little difficulty in convincing myself that the two are indeed directly an irrevocably linked, that the decadence of one leads to the nascence of the other, and that the second stage is not possible without the first.

The purpose of examining this basic principle from a metaphysical perspective and in the context of the late twentieth century, is to advance the suggestion that this is a real phenomenon, that every person experiences it at one point of time or another in his life, and that the concept deserves a judicious amount of thought.

2. DEFINITIONS


Self-pity
is a state of the mind characterised by the presence of a perpetual and lugubrious preoccupation with oneself, in a manner that seeks to explain that the protagonist has been severely and undeservedly wronged, and that all the other characters in the scenario are the villains of the piece.
Self-respect
, on the other hand, is a state of the mind characterised by the presence of an equable awareness of oneself as an individual who matters in the scheme of things; in a manner that precludes the possibility of extreme egoism or excessive superiority, but simply incorporates the acceptance of one’s virtues and vices – to the extent one has realised them – with satisfaction, and even a microcosm of complacence.


The equality referred to in the enunciation of the Principle above seeks only to be philosophical – and therefore is immeasurable and has no mathematical connotation whatsoever.

The principle is best explained by considering a diagrammatic picturisation. One of the causes of self-pity is paranoia: please consider the case-study “then diagram” just after the conclusion of this section.

A “then diagram” is a drawing of a mental state that can only be executed by a person who has experienced that which the drawing seeks to explain; and by the same token, can usually only be comprehended by a person who has had a similar experience (no presumptive aspersion on you, reader !)

A “then diagram” is distinct from a “when diagram”, which is a projection of a perceived future happening (I have done a couple of these); and from a “now diagram” (which is the picturisation by a third party of a current happening.



3. “THEN DIAGRAM” – THE ZONES

The Zone of Megalomania and Extreme Egoism is that area which obviates the possibility of any self-respect or self-pity, for the simple reason that they are not attainable. A mind that resides in this region is secure in the knowledge of its own superiority and untouchability; the person concerned can never feel sorry for himself – only for others…….and the question of self-respect does not arise, as the turgidity of the ego leaves no room for that noble feeling. The Revisited Principle therefore discounts this Zone.

The Zone of Self-Respect and Individualism is the perpetual residence of the thinking mind, and it is this Zone which the Revisited Principle considers in the first instance. A mind inhabitant in this Zone enjoys the feeling of living in a mental Utopia, with an approach that is distinctly positive but does not go to extremes.

When any of the conditions required for continuity in this Zone fall short of fulfilment, the mind enters the Zone of Self-Pity and Nihilism. In this area, rational thought does not exist, and the mind perpetually fights to stay on the surface of a seething quagmire of confusion, uncertainty and adverse attitudes. Success or failure in this schizophrenic battle determines the entry of the mind into the lower Zone.

The Zone of Perennial Vegetability – or the Kitchen Garden – marks the beginning of the end of the mental decadence initiated by the mind’s admission into the Zone of Self-Pity and Nihilism.

4.
       “THEN DIAGRAM” – THE LINES

The Line of Superiority is the metaphysical equivalent of the Arctic Circle, and separates the Zone of Megalomania from the Zone of Self-Respect; or, in other words, separates those who are normal thinkers from those who imagine that they are supernormal thinkers.

The Line of Inferiority  is the metaphysical equivalent of the Equator, and is the tightrope between mental equilibrium and neurosis.

The mind that lies between the above two lines is what is usually classified as a “normal” or an “average” mind.

The Line of Irreversibility is the metaphysical equivalent of the Antarctic Circe, and is the borderline between neurosis and the first tentative advances towards flaccid insanity.

The mind that lies between these two lines is unstable, but not irredeemably so.

5.
       CASE STUDY: ACUTE PARANOIA

These, then, are the stages of paranoia. The alphabets indicated are as in the diagram:

A:  The stage of distinction (“I matter !”)                   
 In which an individual is secure in the knowledge of his self-respect, and proceeds unworried along his routed course

B: The stage of disillusion (“So what ? Everybody else matters, too !”)
In which certain circumstances come about to make the individual stop dead and wonder whether his routed course is the right course

C: The stage of distortion (“Some of them matter more !”)
In which the individual convinces himself that the routed course is the wrong course

D: The stage of disturbance   (“I matter least !”)
In which the individual finds this conviction beginning to affect his mental equilibrium, and feels the first stirrings of pity at the fact that, while all men are unequal, some men do appear to be more unequal than others

E: The stage of disembodiment (“I don’t matter at all !”)
In which the individual loses control of rational thought and begins to draw several conclusions – all of them wrong – from the circumstances surrounding his problem.

F: The stage of disintegration (“Why me ?”)
In which the individual begins to cave in on himself, since the ramparts of his self-respect have proved too ephemeral and flimsy to withstand the continuing assault of self-pity

G: The stage of dissociation (“Who am I ?”)
In which the individual, having comprehensively abandoned his own identity, begins to search for it all over again

H: The stage of dysfunction
In which the individual discovers the he who seeks, does not always find; and succumbs to the forces that contrive to drag him into the no-man’s land beyond the Line of Irreversibility.


6.      ENDNOTES

The metamorphosis explained above is not entirely irreversible. The presence of latent willpower, a supportive soulmate or a genuine, concerned friend have been found to be invaluable in bringing the discomposed mind back to the land of the living, even as late as Stage F.

Beyond F, however, the rot is usually found to have been set in too deep.

At Stage H, the volume of individualism immersed is metaphysically equal to the volume of self-respect displaced (and replaced by self-pity). The mind that once reposed squarely between the Lines of Superiority and Inferiority, now reposes equally squarely between the Lines of Inferiority and Irreversibility, with a possible final extension into the Kitchen Garden.

QED.

The gradual reduction in size of the rectangles depicted in the diagram denotes the notional shrinkage in the intrinsic value of the mind as it passes through the successive stages.

Let not the facetious tone of the Revisited Principle (in relation to its enunciation, that is ) bias the reader in favour of the viewpoint that what s/he is reading is fictional. There have been detractions from medical exactitude, but these in no way interfere with the validity of the concept.


[ Reproduced in original and unexpurgated form from “Brain Waves” by O.D.Nanus © 1987]

Saturday 29 December 2012

Salad # 16 : Still Life

Still Life (1984)

Starry night
quiet
as the flow of a teardrop
down the laughter lines
of an aged face
That is the way it was meant
to be
but no, not here.
A night
that would be silent
broken
by the anguished howl
of a whelp in exquisite
torment;
by the monotonous
clang
of the watchman's baton
making contact with the weathered 
steel
of a telegraph pole;
by the abrupt wail
of a sleeping
child
writhing in the agony
of some meaningless
nightmare;
by the strident chirp
of a cricket, and
the sated burp
of a horned toad.
The clamour deafens me
I cannot sleep 
I am too alive.


Salad # 15 : Dire Straits

Like everyone in my generation, I was very taken with the music of Dire Straits in the '80s.......one favourite was the song "Where do you think you're going ?". I used to sing it to myself very often, until one day, an entirely different set of lyrics formed themselves, so I decided to put it down on paper.

Dire Straits (1986)

Where do you think you're going
Don't you know it's dark outside
Do you know what you are doing
or are you taking yourself for a ride ?

Do you understand the changes
that time has wrought upon your soul ?
Do you see your friends are all strangers
because your relationships were never whole ?

You think there is no reason
why you shouldn't go on as you are
You say this is the season
to hitch your wagon to a star

Where do you think you're going ?
You're living in the past
Your decadence is showing
Your indifference is vast

You're fast approaching the time when
your mind will start to rot
Your field of vision willl be blue, then
and the water will be hot

Where do you think you're bound now ?
You're almost ripe to be put on the shelf
There's still time - turn around now
Come back - and look into yourself

Friday 28 December 2012

Festiwitti # 3 : New Year ? Nothing new, yaar !

New Year ? Nothing New, Yaar !

Nothing new ? Is that so ? No, you're wrong. 2013 is a year that deserves special treatment.

Why, do you ask ?
Simply because, for a while there, the Mayans had us making like the Gauls, and believing that the sky might just possibly fall on our heads in 2012. And  that obviously didn’t happen, so it’s time to celebrate; to make 2013 a landmark year. By doing something (or possibly, many things) differently….or by doing different things.

To start with, let’s get the date right, huh ? Let’s not spend the first week of 2013 writing the date as xx/ 01/2012 and then saying “Oh, crap !” and scoring it out.

And then, take a look at which ones among this list of possibilities is yours to explore:



1.   Make a bucket list
The movie may have made this activity famous, but it’s been around for a while before that. You’ll be surprised how path-breaking and how liberating this activity can be. Sit down and make a list of the 10 (or 20, or 50) things you’d like to do, or the places you’d like to see, or the people you’d like to meet, before you kick the bucket. Make the list as extravagant as you like, taking care to ensure that each item on it is achievable , given the right focus. This will give a new fillip to your efforts, a new strength to the path you’re already taking.

2.  Tell your boss to go fly a kite 
Seriously. Once in a while, you need to have a little chat with him or her that isn’t linked to a performance appraisal. In all probability, there’s a lot you need to say. So flesh it out in your mind, and then just go say it. Check out how liberated you feel at the end of it.

3.    Explore your latent talent
Sure, you have talent – almost everyone does. It’s just that you simply haven’t tried looking at it, because you think your metier lies elsewhere. Step out of yourself for a bit and take a good look. Do you write ? Now’s the time to start a column, lots of people will want to know what you know. Do you like teaching ? The country needs you. Do you play a musical instrument ?  Upload a video on YouTube. DO something, don’t just let your talent lie there.

4.    Do something socially meaningful
Support a cause.  Financially “adopt” a child.  Donate to a charity. Join the “Teach India” initiative. Lend your skills to an NGO on an honorary basis. Do something that will make a difference. Merely because you wish to do it.  Merely because you can. And see how good it makes you feel.

5.   Rekindle the spark
Benjamin Disraeli once said that “it destroys one's nerves to be amiable every day to the same human being”. All equations between people tend to get frayed with time, either because of inadequate nurturing or for any other reason. Likewise, it’s possible that your relationship with your partner has been taking a beating in the recent past.  Treat each point of discord, each misunderstanding, each argument as a log of wood – pile the lot together and set fire to it. Bask in the warmth and use it to rekindle the spark between you. It’s never too late, but it does need one person to take that step.

6.   Pamper yourself
Tired of doing things just because they’re expected of you ? Of slaving yourself half to death meeting people’s expectations, whether at work, at play, or at home ? It’s a part of life, believe me – we ALL do it. So keep it in suspended animation for a while. Focus on the things you would like to do to make YOU happy. An expensive spa treatment. A trip to London.  A Bose stereo system. A week of lying back in your armchair and going through a pile of twenty books. Think of the five things you’ve denied yourself for the past five years, and gift them all to yourself this year.

7.   Test your will
A bad habit hasn’t been born yet, that can’t be kicked. If you have one, try getting rid of it NOW. Not as a New Year Resolution (that will ensure that you never do it !), but just to show yourself that you can, and you always could, but just chose not to, all this time.

The list is endless. If you decide to try this out, make sure you share your experiences in the comment box below !

And in conclusion, here's a final thought....



Hello, dear readers and friends
Pause and reflect, as another year ends
Whether you've done all you said you would
Whether everything that's happened has been good
Whether the stumbling blocks have given you food
for thought;
and if not,
whether in fact they should !

In 2013, it does behoove
all of us to greatly improve
on our resolutions of the previous year;
on the time we spend with near and dear;
on our efforts towards a good career;
and on the route that we must follow
to reach the end of the rainbow.

In the mad rush to achieve our ends
We'd do well to remember, friends,
that - although it's always great to gain
nothing's greater than being humane !

All the very best to you, readers – here’s hoping your 2013 scintillates !! Happy New Year !


Salad # 14 : Camouflage

Camouflage (1984)

Characters
in a masquerade
Cowards
who hide behind masks
fashioned at
home
Facades
of blank indifference
harbouring appalling
complexities
Insecurity
Inadequacy
Inconfidence
Such things cannot be
revealed
since jeering laughter
is unpleasant to the
ear
No one bothers -
would you ?
Like a rusted guard-rail
that few care to
electroplate
these people slap on
another
coat of paint
and go about looking
bright
and new
and false
until it wears off

Wednesday 26 December 2012

Salad # 13 : Poetry Redefined


In the ‘80’s, I wrote volumes of prose and verse on what I thought poetry was ! I put one in “ Candid Camera “ (Salad #1); here’s another sample…..



Message in a Bottle (1985)

Emotions
brewed by events uncertain
fermented by time
distilled in the depths of the soul
bottled within the heart
cased in a recess of the mind
displayed in the midnight of the eyes
sold to a senseless consumer……

That is poetry.






Raison D’etre (1986)

The urge to express….
The urge to depress….
The urge to impress ?
 Poetry – the urge
              - the surge
              - the purge
              - the dirge  

Monday 17 December 2012

WanderLust # 1 : Susegad

WanderLust

I was inspired by a friend to add on a new section this month - a travel blog. Why not, I thought to myself - even if I don't travel much, and even if I don't have holidays exciting enough to write about. At least I have something to say - and I insist on saying it, and can only recommend Voltaire's advice to you: that you may not agree with what I have to say, but you could consider defending to the death my right to say it !!

Chapter 1 : Susegad
A "private" beach

To tell it in Wikipedia's words:  "Susegad" is a concept often associated with the Indian state of Goa. Derived from the Portuguese word socegado ("Quiet"), it is normally mistaken for the relaxed, laid-back attitude towards life that is said to have existed historically in Goa, a former Portuguese territory. What Susegad actually means, according to most experts is a contented form of life existent in the state. Goa is described by a Sunday Times writer as "South Asia’s Latin Quarter: indulgent, tolerant, capricious, steeped in a tropical lassitude and wedded to the sea." The concept may also carry negative connotations such as "indolence" and in recent years it has been suggested that the relaxed Goan culture of Susegad has given way in the face of modern stresses.

Well, not everyone can tell it like Wikipedia. Goa, an hour away by air from Mumbai, is, not unlike Mauritius, a land of lavish hotel properties, wide open spaces, beaches of all shapes and sizes, and hordes of tourists.

I don't know much about the backpacker's Goa; I know even less about the fishing-village-visiting-resident Goa. But I DO know about the corporate Goa, and the hedonistic visitor's Goa. So.....here are a few do's and don'ts - not necessarily written in the traditional way.

Church of St. Francis of Assisi
  1. Assuming you're travelling from Mumbai - please, please don't try driving there. The roads are crap, the traffic is horrific, and you might like to look at topping up your life insurance and updating your will before you leave.
  2. If you're the wallow-in-the-sand variety, remember that there really is no such thing as an exclusive beach. The five- and seven- star properties do try and invisibly ring-fence their bits of sand, but it's not really allowed.
  3. Unless you want to be wrung out to dry, do not hire a car / SUV through the hotel at which you're staying. Bargain with the taxi guys just outside, but make sure you keep the hotel informed.
  4. The much-hyped Goa River Cruises still aren't expensive, but the VFM ("value for money") coefficient has taken a terrific beating in recent times. You can skip this one.
  5. Britto's at Baga Beach still serves up a mean set of dishes - if you don't mind eating with your feet on sand, in a  non-air-conditioned environment.
  6. To feel like a millionaire, stay at the Park Hyatt; to try and become a millionaire, stay at the Cidade de Goa (they have a casino); if you can't decide what you are but still like to live high off the hog, stay at the Fort Aguada; and if you're confused, there's the Kenilworth, the Marriott, the Renaissance, and any number of other fancy properties to choose from.
  7. You're welcome to try the watersports, but not if you're squeamish. There was this father of a teenaged daughter who sprinted back from the water to the hotel, yelling, "that guy sexually touched my daughter on the jet-scooter !" The purveyors of Goan water merchandise are all male, and some of them may be lusty. Keep your hair (if you're male), and your chastity belt (if you're female), on.
  8. There are beaches everywhere. Naturally, they all have sand, in varying degrees. They also have rocks, vendors, flea markets, con men, Russians, drugs, watersports, insalubrious elements and fishing boats. Define what you want from your beach, and visit only those that will give you the necessary levels of nirvana.
  9. Do see the churches - some of them are outstanding. They're everywhere, and many of them are World Heritage Sites.
  10. Finally - Goa is a place to relax. Try not to do too much. It's a lotus-eater's paradise. That's what "susegad" is about.
I'm not an authority on the place. For those who are Goaphiles, my apologies if I have inadvertently offended you - you're welcome to add your contribution.

Friday 14 December 2012

Salad # 12 : Elegy

Elegy (1985)

This is the tale of a woman who lived in sin
Walked the streets of town with a dissolute grin
Wearing rag-doll clothes and the scent of gin
Making pennies off the men she invited in

She was born at Christmas, on a cold, cold night
Came into a room that was devoid of light
Her father was a seaman whose ship had moved on
'Twas on the floor of a brothel that she was born

Her mother was careful to raise her child
Into a flaxen-haired temptress who'd drive men wild
When the girl came of age, she was turned out
Into the bold bad world, to see what men were about

No male she met felt anything but
the depth of emotion reserved for a slut
They didn't realise that she was just
a girl playing games with the force of lust

A decade went by, her hunger had grown
Fed by the indifference of the men she'd known
The only set of values that she'd ever seen
Rested snug in the pants of every man's gaberdine


Tired and old and ravaged by disease
Left to her by the men she had tried to please
She eventually turned over and fell asleep
In a hole in a churchyard, six feet deep

The men whose bodies that she had wed
Paid for a gravestone, the epitaph read
" Here lies a woman who spent life giving
Yet only in death has found the joy of living "


Thursday 13 December 2012

Festiwitti # 2 : Silent Night, Holy Smoke !

This article was published in the Telegraph magazine, Kolkata, India, on December 25, 1989. But i'm not posting it under the "Salad" section because I think this one is still, well, green.......

Christmas.....and all that ! (1989)

When we were very young, so young that we weren't even sure what age was all about, Christmas had no meaning: it was just another night during which the grown-ups were invariably out, and we were tucked into bed and told to keep quiet and fall asleep quickly if we didn't want the Indian equivalent of the bogeyman to come along and spirit us away.

Then we grew a little older and read about Dennis and Joey, and realised that Christmas meant snowballs and evergreen trees, stockings pinned up before a fireplace that wasn't lit, and a big fat red man who came calling on a reindeer-drawn sleigh with tons of gaily-wrapped presents in the boot. And we wondered whether we were being deprived, because we never saw the man; we never got any presents; our experience of snow was never allowed to extend beyond the visual; and the only stockings we had were kept under lock and key because they related to school and didn't merit the kind of cavalier treatment Dennis the Menace saw fit to mete out to them.

We grew older still, began to ask the right questions, and suddenly knew a lot that hadn't earlier occurred to us. We were introduced to a phenomenon called pneumonia, that dictated that snow and susceptibility must never be allowed to come together. We were informed that there are Christians and Catholics and Protestants and others, and that those 'others' were not privileged to receive the attentions of Santa Claus, nor were they bound, morally or religiously, to partake of the traditional festivities. We were taught that it smacked of cupidity to expect presents on days other than one's birthday, and refused to subscribe to the dictum that it is more blessed to give than to receive. And we tried and tried but could never quite tell the difference between reindeer and sambhar, until we were eventually informed that one has to visit the right country to be able to understand the distinction.

And Father Time watched all this with a growing sadness until, sick to his stomach with it all, he, like James Hadley Chase's Miss Shumway, waved his wand and brought us the kind of Christmas we were finally able to understand.

We know now that it isn't Christmas, the day, that is particularly important or significant, but more Christmas, the season. We know that this season means iridescent lights on Park Street. We know that it means cotton-wool beards on cardboard cut-outs in display windows. And we know that Christmas means that enterprising shopowners covertly hike prices by 50%, and then overtly reduce them by 25%, and then yell "Discount !" until they're blue in the face.



We know that the onset of the Christmas season means that we must get our black ties and pin-striped suits out of the mothballs and give them a thorough airing, since we'll be using them on and off for a couple of weeks. We know that we'll have to make out a mailing list and spend a small fortune on greetings cards, not because the fires of Bethlehem glow warmly in our hearts, but because a respected gentleman a few years back wrote volumes on something called "public relations", and we know from experience that he was talking sense.

We sing Christmas carols with an elan that we really have no right to feel, because the tune that is running through our minds at the time is either "Careless Whisper", or "Oye Oye", or the Moonlight sonata, according to taste. For most of us who are still in our prime, Santa Claus is experienced through a leather-clad performer on a decibel-packed stage, or a dinner-jacketed evening at a club, or an amber-coloured decanter that has no bottom.

We each do our own thing, singly or in groups, until the clock strikes midnight, and then say "Merry Christmas !" to each other in a manner that suggests that we wouldn't have minded saying "Happy Holi !" instead, had there been a logical enough reason for it. Nobody says "Yo, ho, ho !" any more, because he doesn't want people to think he's drunk. Very few people think at all of Jesus - "I'm an atheist, thank God !" they say, for Dumas made it fashionable. And those who do observe the midnight mass and the Christmas spirit whisper, sotto voce, to Our Mother of Perpetual Succour to gloss over the sins of their hedonistic brethren.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it's over, and we move in weary droves to our respective beds, ever mindful of the fact that New Year's Eve is yet to come and we need to conderve our reserves of energy. And as we tuck ourselves in during the wee hours, we fancy we hear a plaintive wail in the darkness:

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, some are tight
Divine decadence ?
Let there be light......




Festiwitti # 1 : Jingle Bills, Jingle Bills

It's back again ~ the Resolution Season, that splendid time of the year when we begin to ponder about what has been and what could be, and try and define parameters for what will  be.

Things have changed.

These days, our children inform us, with the extreme restraint that only the young can exercise in the presence of the hopelessly middle-aged, that "Santa Claus is for babies ~ he doesn't really exist". These days, garment store prices are marked up before they are marked down, and an animal called Cover Charge makes eating at restaurants an unviable proposition.

These days, there are fewer plums in the plum cakes, and the wines are so inadequately aged that one wonders how the grape grew to  fruition in the first place. These days, the party music is so loud that conversation doesn't reign, it pours; not that it matters, because any form of movement other than walking and running qualifies for the description of a dance. Those courageous enough to attempt conversation at social gatherings, speak into a mobile rather than to another human being.

These days, we have the "e-sentiment" - since email and e-greetings are universally free. These days, Santa Claus, had he been one of us, would have been tempted to say "Boo, hoo, hoo, and a Merry Christmas".

amidst the work, the food, the drink
do you sometimes pause, look back and think
 that another twelve months have blundered past
 leaving you musing, quite aghast
that you, again, have not quite met
 that long-awaited, elusive target
 of improving the quality of your life ?

 Good luck. Don't forget to hang up your Christmas stockings (mentally or otherwise) ~after all, it still remains true that it is usually when one asks, that one receives.

My best wishes to all of you for a joyous festive season. Here’s hoping that your 2013 is at least half-full rather than half-empty.



Salad # 11 : On Bombay

All of 33 years ago, I wrote a small essay inspired by a walk through a Mumbai (it was called Bombay then) side-street. The imagery that was brought out in this piece has continued to colour my writings right to the present day.

Bombay: A Jaundiced Perspective (1979)

Bombay. Undoubtedly, a beautiful metropolis. Again undoubtedly, a tarnished metropolis.

Bombay. Pockmarked all over with an awesome multitude of squalid lanes.......lanes that abound in repulsive sights, disgusting sounds and nauseating smells.

You pause at the head of one of these lanes. Dank, gloomy, but it looks safe enough, so you stride in , skirting a seated cow chewing the eternal cud. In the shadows, a long, undulating form glides noiselessly into a convenient hole. The all-pervading stench of putrescence hangs in the air.

You pause again, uncertainly. To proceed or not to proceed, that is obviously the question. Shrugging then, you take a tentative step forward. A dark cloud of mosquitoes rises, wraith-like, from a black pool of stagnant water ahead. You grimace, and tiptoe delicately over it. So far, not much sound to disturb the silence.

The mundane sounds begin a little further on. The discordant howling of a hungry infant sets your teeth on edge, and you wince on hearing the coarse bickering of two nearby women. The stink of garbage has vanished as if it had never been; instead, the sickly-sweet odour of animal excreta and dire poverty assail your sequestered nostrils.

You grimace again, and move on; A rabid mutt glares balefully at you in passing, and you give it a very wide berth indeed. All other sound is drowned out for a moment, by water from a Municipal tap splattering noisily into a steel pail.

An inconspicuous little shoplet tucked into the remains of a head-high wall, almost escapes your notice. The seedy proprietor, doubtless a dealer in doubtful commodities, eyes you with open curiosity as you sidle by. Raucous laughter from the depths of a doorway assaults your eardrums.......immediately after, a falsetto giggle pierces the air.

You are nearly at the end of the lane. With some relief, you increase your pace. A light, musty odour is the only smell that now prevails. Filthy urchins materialise from the gloom and fall in step behind you, following you for a few yards, dragging their feet indifferently on the pitted tar surface of the road.

A couple of long, purposeful strides. You are out of the street now, and exhale a long breath of relief. Bathed in glorious May sunshine, you pause for a moment to soak it in.

You have moved from black onto white.

Check.


Monday 26 November 2012

Tobackoff #6 : Anniversary

Hello ! Just a brief note to say that today is the second anniversary of the day I quit smoking. 

Unlike year 1, I had a great deal of exposure in year 2 to sidestream smoke - at pubs, offices and reunions with smoker friends. Nary a sign of temptation, so here's hoping the effects have permanently worn off.

That was the good news. The bad news is that I have about 12 kgs to lose, and I need to get back into  a cupboard full of clothes that has been stashed away for the time being. The other bad news is that the medication-based pulmonary cleaning process looks like taking many more months !

It's a good idea not to smoke. Really. 

And if you do, it's a good idea to stop. Really. The discomfort may be intense, but it's very brief. And the aftertaste is incredible. Try it.


Tuesday 2 October 2012

Dressing - Prelude

I'm sorry I've been out of circulation for a while. It's also because I've been out of sorts.

Seriously, have you read about this male menopause thing ? I have no idea whether or not the term is a work of fiction : but i can tell you that the manifestation is all too real ! Like an approaching hurricane , the symptoms and the reporting come in much earlier.

But I digress, my apologies. I start a new series this month. I needed to call it " Dressing " because it is above, over and beyond " Salad " - I mean, what else could I call it ?

And what is it going to be about ? A series of biographical cameos. Perhaps mine, perhaps someone else's. Written in the first person, and very singular.......

I'm not sure whether you'll like it; but I can assure you it will be something very different.

Wait for it !!










Wednesday 12 September 2012

Salad # 10 : Condescension

Yes, I decided to call it "Salad" instead....."From My Salad Days" i way, way too long. I'll probably update all the pages, too.

Here, then, is another one of those outbursts against a certain category of people whom I seemed to find almost everywhere.


Condescension (1985)

Know this: that there are those in this world who would make you feel as though they are conferring a sultanate upon you, every time they speak;

Know this: that they are frauds, and that their supercilious attitude is but a moth-eaten pathetic cloak for their own abject insecurity;

Know this: that they live within the confines of a nebulous nimbus that is exclusively their own, and know nought of the world below;

Know this: that they mean to demean you; and that they will succeed, if you are not forearmed.

Con-descension.

He who does not scorn to descend, will invariably descend to con.

Wednesday 5 September 2012

Salad # 9 : Love Song to a Stranger

I'm still looking for someone to put music to these words :-)

Whispers in the Wind / Love Song to a Stranger (1986)

Call, so that I may steal your voice
Write, so that I may feel it
Call, so that I may reveal my love
Write, so that I may conceal it

Come, so that I may hear my heart
Go, so that I may fear it
Come, so that I may revere the pain
Go, so that I may clear it

Awake, so that I may sight your wrong,

Sleep, so that I may right it
Awake, so that I may highlight my weakness
Sleep, so that I may fight it.

Salad # 8 : Another Medley

Quite apart from the fact that I've always wanted to showcase my older writings, I find it's actually fun to let 'em loose on an unsuspecting readership which comprises people in their teens and twenties who have been brought up on a diet which was largely bereft of introspective reading material. The thing, you see, is that a great deal of technological advancement may have happened in the past thirty years - but the vagaries and the machinations of the human mind, and the unpredictability of the human thought process has, in the main, remained the same. So I would like to think that what I wrote in the 80's can still be considered relevant. There's time and room enough for the 21st-century writings to come in......

Here, then, are three strands of thought from an 80's collection called "The Metaphysics of Behaviour" -


Treadmill (1985)
Letting yourself be taken for granted is like volunteering to become the soles of someone’s favourite shoes – you’re constantly stepped on until you get worn out.

 

Metamorphosis (1986)


“Oh, you’ve changed !” he said to me, on our meeting after two years. I didn’t think I had, which set me thinking: what is this thing called change ? What does it do ?

Change is dynamic.
Change is absolute, not relative – it never pauses long enough to permit comparisons.
Change is continuous – at any point of time, it is more accurate to say “You are changing”, rather than to say “You have changed”.
Change is undetectable as it happens.
Change is gradual: a whitewashed wall growing yellow as you continue to gaze upon it.
Change is as spontaneous as it is involuntary; as involuntary as it is inexorable.

Change, in fact, is stranger than fiction.


The Other Cheek (1986)

One of the major indices that determines the depth and quality of a friendship is not, as is popularly believed, what one gives, and is given; it is what one forgives - and for what one is forgiven.

Saturday 18 August 2012

Salad # 7 : Autopsy

I wrote this in 1984 shortly after witnessing an accident in Kolkata, in which a dog was run over and killed by a speeding truck, competing with another for road space.
Autopsy (1984)
Two trucks rumble
down a city street
pockmarked
with scars of the past.
Two trucks
and hardly enough space
between them
to slide in a
banana.
The bitch, in repose
some distance off
gets unsteadily to
her feet, her middle
heavy with the weight
of her litter.
She makes for the sidewalk….
what sidewalk ? This is Calcutta.
The trucks
pick up speed, each trying
to overtake the other
oblivious
to any other presence
before them.
A blare of horns
A screech of brakes
A minced oath
A muffled yelp
One trucker forges ahead
the other curses and resumes
pursuit.
The bitch lies a long time
mangled, like
wrung-out laundry.
Still, dead mother.
Still-born puppies.
It is evening; the carcass
has since been thrown into
an open drain
for carrion
to preside over it.
The Municipality, you see
is on strike today.
Soon, there is nothing left:
a few bones maybe, as after
a chicken dinner.
What did you expect :
A procession ?
A burial ?
A period of mourning ?
There is no place here
for dogs
there are far too many already
most of them
on two legs.

Friday 10 August 2012

Salad # 6 : Imagery

I was lucky with my English teachers.......they hammered home the point that the language was infinite in its variety, and that it was important, when describing something, to make the subject come to life through the use of appropriate and evocative words. I tried to do this all the time, and the results were sometimes offbeat.

Imagery (1985)

The growth of a tendril
towards a source of light;
that is the meaning of existence

A thread of cotton
on a sea of quicksand;
that is the power of flattery

The action of a flame
on a candlestick;
that is the price of degenerationa

The purposeful crawl of a black widow spider
across its web;
that is the folly of love

The frenzied flapping of a flamingo
adrift in a slick of oil;
that is the futility of hope

Salad # 5 : Hurt

HURT (1985)

I've never been able to draw, but that never stopped me from trying ! Take this representation, for instance. I called it "hurt", and couldn't write about it without drawing it first. The result was very basic, almost childish - but I found it minimalist, and I liked it; which is why it appears on this page today !


The wall. It's YOU. It's the foundation of your existence, and stands for everything you hold true. It is, in fact, everything you stand for.

The tomahawk. A verbal or behavioural wound that some callous soul inflicts upon you. Your hurt gushes free, deep and red.

The legs. Has the rest of you slipped behind the wall ? Not likely - the wall IS you, and you can't slip behind yourself. Or can you ?

You are disembodied. Disoriented. The pain is too much to bear.

The camera. Your audience. There is always a person - sometimes more than one - to watch you at your nadir, to see you sinking into yourself.

There is always a person to laugh.



Salad # 4 : A Man & A Woman

A Man and a Woman (1986)

This is something I penned in 1986, a reflection on the complexity of  the man-woman relationships I had witnessed, been told about or personally experienced.....


The moth and the naked light
The river and the land
The firefly and the moonless night
The seashell and the sand

The stubble and the razor blade
The tempest and the skiff
Bright sunlight and adjacent shade
The climber and the cliff

The artist and the drawing board
The foetus and the womb
The tuna and the fishing rod
The mummy and the tomb


 
The puncture and the tyre
The water and the fire
The leaflet and the dew
Your reflection and you

The indifferent, the rejected
The untouched, the dejected
The sharpened, the blunted
The hunter, the hunted

They’re all hurting
They’re all flirting

Monday 6 August 2012

Book Post # 3

Here we are again, then - five more books from my collection, reviewed briefly for you.

11.  Sad Wind from the Sea by Jack Higgins
With Jack Higgins'  fan following firmly established, his publishers have decided to dig into his archives and fish out all the manuscripts earlier published under his other pseudonyms, Harry Patterson and James Graham. And so it is with this book - we are informed that this was actually the first Jack Higgins novel. Readable enough, but it lacks the style and depth of storytelling that characterised later books. It’s not difficult to work out why Higgins wrote under so many different names.

12.  Absolute Power by David Baldacci
After reading thousands of fiction novels over a 30-year period, it was refreshing to find, after a very long time, an author whose style is so racy that his books are quite impossible to put down. I did 1100 pages (two novels) in less than a week, and I'm looking for more. Definitely recommended as a stressbuster - whether on flights, late at night, waiting for interviews :-), or in the car on the way to work

13.  I, Lucifer by Peter O’Donnell
Peter O'Donnell can be alarmingly addictive. A writer with an uncommonly slick turn of phrase, a perpetually present sense of wry humour, a great storyteller and resoundingly original......you don't get villains like these in any action novel, nor do you get such detailed research in what appears to be an ordinary set of action stories woven around one character. I know a surprisingly large number of people who are Modesty Blaise fans and quite proud to admit it. That perhaps explains why Crossword  Bookstore has put on sale a retrospective, the entire set of novels, which has made these books available on Indian shelves after a very long time.

You can say it's not your type of read - but you won't say you dislike it. Guaranteed

14.  How to be a Brit by George Mikes
No, it’s not pronounced like "bikes" – this author is Hungarian, so you need to say "Mikesh".

"How to be an alien" is George Mikes' definitive work, and this one isn't all that far behind. I read this 10 years before I actually went to England; read it twice while I was there; and I've just finished reading it once again, chortling every few pages. Whether or not you’ve met and interacted  with a Brit, this is a hilarious read

15.  Trojan Odyssey by Clive Cussler
With Cussler, you get two for the price of one, with each book - a great deal of maritime history and oceanographic lore, along with a cracking good story. This one is not among his best, but is still a good read. I'm actually just finished reading it for the fourth time, over an 8-year period.

Wednesday 1 August 2012

Salad # 3 : One-Liners

1984, 1985 and 1986 were prolific years. The reason wasn't hard to find - I'd just moved to Kolkata after 5 years on the trot in Mumbai, and was in the throes of a major culture shock. Here's another sample of the kind of stuff I turned out:


Mirror, mirror
An ego is to a man what a compact is to a woman

Altar ego
The normal male will occasional speak of his “flings”; but somewhere in a closet in a shrouded corner of his memory, you will find a skeleton: that is the story of his “flungs”

Turning pointYou know you’re at the crossroads of life when you try to cross a person on the sidewalk -  and he zigs when you zag

Self-pityHave you ever heard the night laughing at you ?

Apologies to LongfellowLives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives so base
And, departing, leave behind us
Egg all over someone’s face

Salad # 2 : Converbs

Converbs (1986)

  • Beauty is grin deep
  • Look before you weep
  • Beneath the rose lies the scorn
  • All that glitters, embitters
  • A rolling stone gathers no boss
  • An ounce of prevention is cheaper
  • Mendacity is the brother of deception
  • A bird in the hand is worth two in the bordello
  • A thing of beauty is a ploy forever
  • If at first you don't succeed - cry, cry again
  • Money is the shoot of all evil
  • Speech is silver; silence, impossible
  • One swallow doesn't make a dinner
  • Time lies
  • The female of the species is headier than the male
  • He who laughs last, is laughed at by the rest
  • Better to have loved and lot than never to have lost at all
  • Hitch your wagon to a star - you'll be taken for a ride








Salad # 1 : Medley

Here are some random thoughts set down in a sheaf of writings in 1984-85.


Message in a Bottle
Have you ever thought of a wine shop as an anthology, where each bottle is a poem ?



Candid Camera
To those who ask me whether I write poetry, I always say yes.
And then the next question is generally about whether I do free verse or blank verse.
A combination, I say: and they look confused. I wonder why !
I call it "frank" verse.
Isn't poetry - at least, these days - mostly about the truth ?
Isn't it invariably about the way the poet sees the truth ?


Subsoil
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
It will happen someday to the best of us
Is this why some people shake with mirth
As they trample their contemporaries into the earth ?


Plastic Surgery
You can smell contempt
It seeps out through one's pores and spreads
A steaming film that covers the veneer
Like mascara, it is black
Like lager, it is cold
Like granite, it is hard
And it doesn't come off


The Primeval
In every woman, there's a little bit of man;
In every man, there's a little bit of wolf;
In every wolf, there's a little bit of hate.

Book Post # 2

I thought I would mention a few more books, some of them curiously different. I will add more soon, since I'm on a re-reading spree (much more fun than a reading spree, I assure you) these days.

6. Godel, Escher and Bach : An Eternal Golden Braid  by Douglas R Hofstadter
This is one of those books which you would normally overlook on a bookshelf -not least because it is heavier, thicker and larger than the average dictionary; and in the process, you would miss an astonishing experience. Rarely have the principles of Zen Buddhism been explained through a series of conversations between Achilles (he of the heel) and the Turtle (he of the hare); and rarely has any treatise on philosophy invoked a musician, a mathematician and a three-dimensional artist in a single book. Absorbing reading. If you pride yourself on being a different kind of thinker, I would recommend you peep into this book: peep may well lead to keep.

7. Two States :The Story of My Marriage  by Chetan Bhagat
A remarkable fellow, Chetan. His most hyped book was easily his worst - "Five Point Someone" definitely lacked a something illa illa something. On the other hand, Two States, probably his least publicised book (at least, before someone in Bollywood decided to make a movie out of it), is the one to recommend to readers who want to know what his writing is all about. You don't have to be IITian or an IIMite to appreciate it, but you do need to be Indian. This is a love story about a male and what used to be referred to at the IIMs as a "non-male", though that description clearly doesn't apply to the female lead in this book. There's something in this tale for everyone, I'm sure that even my grandmother would have seen the funny side, had she been alive today.

8. The Golden Rendezvous  by Alistair Maclean

When I was just 13, I met an Admiral's daughter who said to me, "You haven't really read anything until you've read Alistair Maclean". I lost track of her some 30 years ago, so I've never had the chance to thank her for a sublime understatement. Alistair Maclean, a Glaswegian professor who copyrighted many of his books under the name of A.G.Gilach, was an exceptionally gifted writer who could make metaphors do a breakdance. You may or may not like his plots or his characters, but you will have no choice but to agree that few people can do what he does with the English Language. This book, if you will pardon the deplorable wordplay, is a golden example. READ !

9. Notes to Myself : My Struggle to Become a Person by Hugh Prather
I was gifted this book in 1983 by one of the most remarkable people I have ever met.....which is perhaps appropriate, because this is easily one of the most remarkable books that I have read. The illustrations are an inspiration, a single dark leaf and a light leaf on each page, curved at just the right angle to suit the mood of the text. This is one of those books that you read and mutter to yourself, every hundred lines or so - "Good Lord ! My sentiments exactly ! Why didn't I write this book ?"

Tell you what: walk into any bookstore; pick up this book; open it at any page, and read what's on the page; do this for another two pages; and if, after that, you don't buy the book, do let me know !


10. The Other Side of Me by Sidney Sheldon

Most readers of fast fiction have been Sidney Sheldon fans at some point of time or the other; those who weren't, may have seen one or the other of his movies. This book, written like a novel but conceptualised like an autobiography, reveals, to our surprise and delight, that Sheldon was so much more than just a fiction writer - he even won an Oscar ! Worth reading for the detailed insights into the man and his life.

I think 5 books at a time works well ! More in the next, then......

Tuesday 31 July 2012

Book Post # 1

LinkedIn, a professional networking site where I spend some of my spare time, has an interesting option called "Reading List", which allows you to  select a book and post a comment on it. I found that a great new way to suggest books to people, so I thought I would transfer some of those "teaser" reviews to this blog. A word of warning, though - I have very different tastes, so I pick all sorts of books......read on !

1. Beyond Desire by Pierre La Mure
Perhaps the saddest part about the writings of this brilliant biographer-novelist is that you can't find his books anywhere: they're either out of print, or they're not in stock - which is a tragedy indeed, because few narrators have managed to bring the past of great people to life the way he has. This novel is about Felix Mendelssohn's relentless search for that definitive Bach composition, the Passion of Our Lord According to Saint Mathew, and his efforts to make it available to the world. A gripping narrative, told with infinite skill, that will make you yearn to read it again, just after you've turned the last page.

2. The Chosen One by Sam Bourne

Gone are the days when the President of the United States was a hallowed figure, making a guest apppearance at the tail end of the book - these days, he has been brought down to the level of a mere mortal, and occupies a large chunk of the book. In this taut thriller, Sam Bourne, a gifted writer who is just about four books old, takes us through the innards of the Presidency and its frailness. A compelling read.

3. Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

The world waited a long time to get another Jules Verne, and couldn't cope with the one that arrived. Had it not been for Steven Spielberg, Michael Crichton might have sunk without a trace - which would have been a tragedy of enormous proportions......concepts such as those described in "The Andromeda Strain", "Westworld", "Sphere", "The Terminal Man" and, of course, "Jurassic Park" will not be seen again as the output of a single mind. The films, although brilliantly made (some of them directed by Crichton himself), capture only a small part of the complexity of the original. Read this book first, but if you don't like dinosaurs, choose from the array of subjects available from Crichton's collection.

4. Twisted Tales from Shakespeare by Richard Willard Armour

Richard Armour takes humour to a new level altogether - and for those who have read Shakespeare (even if it is only for the school final exam), this is a classic revisitation of his plays. The style is very different - each play is summarised in a few pages, with piquant illustrations; and the summary ends with a series of rhetorical questions that are more hilarious than the summary itself. Richard Armour has written a slew of such books - other memorable ones include "It All Started with Eve", "It All Started with Columbus" and "The Classics Reclassified". Long out of print, these books are almost impossible to find at a retail outlet - I had to get them in the second-hand mail-order market in the US. Richard Armour is a must-read for all those who thought that P.G. Wodehouse was the last word in humour and sarcastic takes.

5. Shout at the Devil by Wilbur Smith
You haven't really understood what the word "elemental" means until you've read Wilbur Smith - he makes the earth, the sea, the sky, the wind rear up and slap you so hard in the face that you're still recovering from the shock, years later. A compelling storyteller who builds an epic in 500 pages, combining the complexity of human depravity, the starkness of an Africa squeezed bloodless by war, and the intricate web of human interrelationships, in a collection of words that leaves you breathless with wonder, pain and longing. This is one of his better books - other masterpieces are "Hungry as the Sea", "Eagle in the Sky", "Gold Mine", and "The Diamond Hunters". But to experience the definitive Wilbur Smith, read his Sean Courtney Trilogy - "When the Lion Feeds" / "The Sound of Thunder" / "A Sparrow Falls"

Do I hear agentle snore or two ? Right, then - I'll leave the other reviews for later !