This Blog is so, so dead;
No posts, post mortems,
Words, deeds, thoughts.
No more life that flicks
In and out like the swinger
Of some pendulum clock.
It is dead and done,
Gone forever to the lands
That are farther away than thought.
Ten lines for the dead.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Electronics and The Art of War
A friend once asked me," You are an Electronics Engineer. What is your contribution to humanity?" I did not know what to say and had no retort, because he was a doctor. I mumbled something about the telephone and the internet, but that answer did not satisfy either him or me. I was unsure about the moral credentials of my profession.
Historically, the evolution of Electronics was in close association with armed conflicts all over the world, especially World War(II). Even today the biggest chunk of the funds for research in Electronics and Telecommunications comes from defence and allied organisations. For instance, in India we have DRDO and ISRO. ISRO is not in defence as such, but the importance of satellite communications in times of war( and in times of peace) must not be underestimated. How many spy satellites does India have? Surely, not zero?
Even in classrooms we are reminded of the strong bond between electronics and war. A Prof was once explaining how Circuit A was better than Circuit B: when used in the apparatus for firing at aeroplanes, Circuit A would bring down double the number of planes that Circuit B did, and in half the time."That's how they brought down the Germans in WWII", he explained, looking gleefully at an enthralled audience. The audience consisted of a class of India's most brilliant
students in India's most famous institute. And they were enthralled. I was not feeling buoyed at all; for me, a plane is not just a metal foil rolled out to optimize its aerodynamic capabilities-it is a flying box containing living beings, human beings in fact. But to all others the plane was a metaphysical entity, a problem to be solved. That day I got an inkling of how scientists involved in the Manhattan project would have thought about the nuke. It would have been a paper entity, just numbers and more numbers. After all, it was not detonated in their backyards.
Some people claim that computers and mobile phones have made our lives better. Have they? True, a lot more information is available, cheaper and easier than it was in the past. But that's about all, I guess. These days people have friends who they rarely see (or even call) but 'meet' on the web. The 'human' aspect in relationships is dying out, in some sense. We are all nodes in a gigantic network, with six degrees of separation. Sometimes I think of Communication as some kind of Orwellian device, increasing distances between people while loudly proclaiming that it is decreasing it. Not to mention how all of us have come to become users of technology, though as to how it works, we are absolutely clueless. An electric bulb is a simple device,a nd anyone who wants to learn how it works can do so in very little time. Not so the shiny Laptop or the new multimillionpixel camera phone.
Of course, there are spinoffs. Like monitors that talk to help visually challenged or illiterate people; solar devices that will save power and help keep us going. But the fact remains that they are spinoffs, they are offshoots and not the ends. The same technology that guides a missile to its target can help guide a lost child to her house. But do we really need GPS to move around in our world, in our streets and in our homes?
I am not judging; it is not a question of good or bad. I feel like an instrument of war, and I do not like it.
Historically, the evolution of Electronics was in close association with armed conflicts all over the world, especially World War(II). Even today the biggest chunk of the funds for research in Electronics and Telecommunications comes from defence and allied organisations. For instance, in India we have DRDO and ISRO. ISRO is not in defence as such, but the importance of satellite communications in times of war( and in times of peace) must not be underestimated. How many spy satellites does India have? Surely, not zero?
Even in classrooms we are reminded of the strong bond between electronics and war. A Prof was once explaining how Circuit A was better than Circuit B: when used in the apparatus for firing at aeroplanes, Circuit A would bring down double the number of planes that Circuit B did, and in half the time."That's how they brought down the Germans in WWII", he explained, looking gleefully at an enthralled audience. The audience consisted of a class of India's most brilliant
students in India's most famous institute. And they were enthralled. I was not feeling buoyed at all; for me, a plane is not just a metal foil rolled out to optimize its aerodynamic capabilities-it is a flying box containing living beings, human beings in fact. But to all others the plane was a metaphysical entity, a problem to be solved. That day I got an inkling of how scientists involved in the Manhattan project would have thought about the nuke. It would have been a paper entity, just numbers and more numbers. After all, it was not detonated in their backyards.
Some people claim that computers and mobile phones have made our lives better. Have they? True, a lot more information is available, cheaper and easier than it was in the past. But that's about all, I guess. These days people have friends who they rarely see (or even call) but 'meet' on the web. The 'human' aspect in relationships is dying out, in some sense. We are all nodes in a gigantic network, with six degrees of separation. Sometimes I think of Communication as some kind of Orwellian device, increasing distances between people while loudly proclaiming that it is decreasing it. Not to mention how all of us have come to become users of technology, though as to how it works, we are absolutely clueless. An electric bulb is a simple device,a nd anyone who wants to learn how it works can do so in very little time. Not so the shiny Laptop or the new multimillionpixel camera phone.
Of course, there are spinoffs. Like monitors that talk to help visually challenged or illiterate people; solar devices that will save power and help keep us going. But the fact remains that they are spinoffs, they are offshoots and not the ends. The same technology that guides a missile to its target can help guide a lost child to her house. But do we really need GPS to move around in our world, in our streets and in our homes?
I am not judging; it is not a question of good or bad. I feel like an instrument of war, and I do not like it.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
MIdnight Madness
It is not yet midnight
But soon it will be.
The moon will come and go
But still here I'll be.
When will these wretched exams be over? This place is full of them. And I am flunking them all. I am losing so much sleep and still getting nowhere. And people all around are studying to their death. Sometimes I think IISc is a pressure cooker. Day by day I am being reduced to stew. The madness has begin to show, and it has begun to grow.
But soon it will be.
The moon will come and go
But still here I'll be.
When will these wretched exams be over? This place is full of them. And I am flunking them all. I am losing so much sleep and still getting nowhere. And people all around are studying to their death. Sometimes I think IISc is a pressure cooker. Day by day I am being reduced to stew. The madness has begin to show, and it has begun to grow.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Guru
In memory of one of my teachers, this is called 'Guru'. I should have put it up on Sep.5( Teacher's Day), but many other things stood in the way. The picture is a stylized(and very inaccurate) representation of a Koodiyattom performer.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Weapon of Mass Destruction
This is the yellow book
that i use
for killing cockroaches.
Kill? No. Rather i
Smash them, or think i do
And then throw the rascals out
And they pretend to be deceased
Till i turn away and vroom!
They fly back in.
This little book,
18cenimetre by 15 centimetre
has seen a lot of cockroach blood,
or whatever that flows inside them.
To them i must be a King
of genocide, wiping out their
species in a swipe, doing things
that no nuclear war can.
I abhor cockroach.
The sickly smell of a roach
inside my skull drives me mad.
The thought that one may even some close
to touch my lips, or worse, kiss!
I'd rather kill them all.
The yellow book lies silent.
Inside you may see a bit of math
And a lot of the nonsense that passes
for college. Outside you
can see roach debris,
Sticking and stinking to high heaven.
that i use
for killing cockroaches.
Kill? No. Rather i
Smash them, or think i do
And then throw the rascals out
And they pretend to be deceased
Till i turn away and vroom!
They fly back in.
This little book,
18cenimetre by 15 centimetre
has seen a lot of cockroach blood,
or whatever that flows inside them.
To them i must be a King
of genocide, wiping out their
species in a swipe, doing things
that no nuclear war can.
I abhor cockroach.
The sickly smell of a roach
inside my skull drives me mad.
The thought that one may even some close
to touch my lips, or worse, kiss!
I'd rather kill them all.
The yellow book lies silent.
Inside you may see a bit of math
And a lot of the nonsense that passes
for college. Outside you
can see roach debris,
Sticking and stinking to high heaven.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Dreams and Debris
Muni Looking at the Sky
Santa 'Claws'
And a few elements of romance...
Contours of an Embrace
Kiss of the Masks
Vrinda
From Vrindavan, the playgarden of Krishna.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
A Kilo of Nostalgia
Memory has a way of eddying around certain points. For me, a person who spent half his life with books, a library will be a place that brings back a lot of memories. Today, I visited, for the first time, the new addition to the Public library: the stack of books left over from the erstwhile British library. To see all those books, most of them so familiar to my hand and eyes, after such a long time... I was overwhelmed. I remember the last time I visited the British library( Britain i used to call it). It was the penultimate day of its existence.The deserted look, sans people, the sorrowing staff...And today i beheld the dead collection.
I remember my visits to the library, in evenings on weekdays, straight from school. The bus to Statue, the tea and vazhakka appam,sometimes parippuvada from the thattu kada around the State Bank corner. The shuttling between the Public and British libraries. Again parippuvada,this time from the thattukada on wheels near Connemara market, run by the blank man and the talkative lady. Take my word, that was the best parippuvada in Trivandrum-ever. Sleepy, rainy Trivandrum with traffic snarls on the thin roads and the never ending road widening and cable laying work. Days that I went back home with as much as ten books in my bag. And what all books! Physics, physiology, psychology, bacteriology, math, art, literature, poetry,novels, stories... Those were the days when i discovered Orwell and Auden, saw the rainforests with Attenborough, ruminated on Darwin with Jay Gould, laughed with Spike Milligan and almost died with Keats. Not to mention Tolkien and Rowling, Penrose and Kipling, John and Mary Gribbin, Roy and Mc Cully, Gibran and Mc Ewan, Ray and William S(guess who?).
The British Library was also the research base, where, alongwith my friend Chacko, I studied the feasibility of making electricity from cowdung using a thermocouple(cowdung being warm, and since thermocouple+warmth = current). It was the craziest idea I ever had, and of course it didn't work out because, as we realized a few years down the line, we were trying to contravene the hallowed Second Law of Thermodynamics. But we tried nevertheless, reading up a lot on bacteria and cows in the process.(how I miss those crazy days. Nowadays it's impossible to be crazy because you have to play the part of a sensible grownup. Given a choice, i'd rather be crazy than grownup, anyday.)
Today i brought back two books, just for the sake of it. But now when I open them i get a whiff, a faint smell that takes me back to that little library with dusted carpets and cool interiors. A love affair that started when i was fourteen and went on for, what, six, seven years? Now, ten years have gone by since that first day and things seem to have come full circle. I still remember the first book i took- Life of Johnson by Boswell. Not my choice, just my father trying to inculcate an interest in the classics. And to please him what did I not gulp down? Four volumes of A History of the English speaking peoples by Churchill, no less!
In a sense the death of the library did me some good. I went deeper into the public library, giving it my undivided attention for the first time, and i had some exceptional reading experiences. In a sense it was my maturing as a reader. In terms of classic fiction, Public_sans( as i called it) was a mammoth. But for technical and scientific books, for new editions, or for the pleasure of simply sitting and reading, in soft cushioned chairs and in a silent ambience-for that Britain had no equal. I miss the AC, the books that always sat where they were supposed to, the helpful staff and the scent of the place. The building still stands: they call it the YMCA auditorium. Any fool can walk in and tell at once that it was not a place made to be an auditorium, but a house of books. But what's the point? Things must change, and always for the worse.
I hate the Second Law.
I remember my visits to the library, in evenings on weekdays, straight from school. The bus to Statue, the tea and vazhakka appam,sometimes parippuvada from the thattu kada around the State Bank corner. The shuttling between the Public and British libraries. Again parippuvada,this time from the thattukada on wheels near Connemara market, run by the blank man and the talkative lady. Take my word, that was the best parippuvada in Trivandrum-ever. Sleepy, rainy Trivandrum with traffic snarls on the thin roads and the never ending road widening and cable laying work. Days that I went back home with as much as ten books in my bag. And what all books! Physics, physiology, psychology, bacteriology, math, art, literature, poetry,novels, stories... Those were the days when i discovered Orwell and Auden, saw the rainforests with Attenborough, ruminated on Darwin with Jay Gould, laughed with Spike Milligan and almost died with Keats. Not to mention Tolkien and Rowling, Penrose and Kipling, John and Mary Gribbin, Roy and Mc Cully, Gibran and Mc Ewan, Ray and William S(guess who?).
The British Library was also the research base, where, alongwith my friend Chacko, I studied the feasibility of making electricity from cowdung using a thermocouple(cowdung being warm, and since thermocouple+warmth = current). It was the craziest idea I ever had, and of course it didn't work out because, as we realized a few years down the line, we were trying to contravene the hallowed Second Law of Thermodynamics. But we tried nevertheless, reading up a lot on bacteria and cows in the process.(how I miss those crazy days. Nowadays it's impossible to be crazy because you have to play the part of a sensible grownup. Given a choice, i'd rather be crazy than grownup, anyday.)
Today i brought back two books, just for the sake of it. But now when I open them i get a whiff, a faint smell that takes me back to that little library with dusted carpets and cool interiors. A love affair that started when i was fourteen and went on for, what, six, seven years? Now, ten years have gone by since that first day and things seem to have come full circle. I still remember the first book i took- Life of Johnson by Boswell. Not my choice, just my father trying to inculcate an interest in the classics. And to please him what did I not gulp down? Four volumes of A History of the English speaking peoples by Churchill, no less!
In a sense the death of the library did me some good. I went deeper into the public library, giving it my undivided attention for the first time, and i had some exceptional reading experiences. In a sense it was my maturing as a reader. In terms of classic fiction, Public_sans( as i called it) was a mammoth. But for technical and scientific books, for new editions, or for the pleasure of simply sitting and reading, in soft cushioned chairs and in a silent ambience-for that Britain had no equal. I miss the AC, the books that always sat where they were supposed to, the helpful staff and the scent of the place. The building still stands: they call it the YMCA auditorium. Any fool can walk in and tell at once that it was not a place made to be an auditorium, but a house of books. But what's the point? Things must change, and always for the worse.
I hate the Second Law.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Alone
A picture speaks a thousand words
And each word stirs up a thousand pictures.
But all these new pictures are mute
So the cycle stops i guess.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Many Questions(a few answers)
Why Blog?
This is a good question. Why blog? Why bother at all? Why do people blog?
Is it the charm of e-publishing, which prints every word of yours without reading or editing? Or is it another space to put up that old balloon, our bloated ego, and call out to the world to say see-how -great-am-I? For me it is both :)
One problem with having a readership is that you can never be entirely honest. For instance everyone who reads this page, all of them without exception, know my real name and identity. So Bimbisara becomes a farce and I am forced to wear the same masks I wear everyday, and every utterance of mine is cleverly monitored(by myself). Consider this: If I am, say, gay, will I ever dare say that openly through this blog? On second thought, that probably depends on what is colloquially referred to as my 'guts'. Who knows? Maybe yes, maybe no.
Yesterday I attended a phD dissertation. The whole affair was OK until they started passing around a sheet to write your name and designation. By the time it reached me, it was full of stuff like Mr.X, Assistant Professor, This College or Dr.Y, Principal, That College. I had a name alright, but what about designation? Should I leave a blank? But the person passing the sheet around was already peering from behind. For a moment I considered the word 'Independent', but then left it because it sounded so election-candidate-like. Finally I came up with Freelancer. I like that word. It's even freer than freelance journalist, because no journalist is attached. Nothing is attached to it, in fact. Wikipedia says a freelancer is someone who is self-employed, a knight whose lance is his own, not any Lord's. Am I or am I not?
Another interesting thing happened there. I ran into my project guide, our dear Dr.MRB, my idol and terror of four B-Tech years and beyond, the person responsible for my first stint as teacher. The lion had come to the presentation in typical fashion, dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt. "What are you doing these days?" "Nothing", I replied. He thought awhile, and said"Why don't you try the civil services examination?", thus in one stroke joining the long list of luminaries who have suggested to me the same thing. What is it about me that drives people to say this? The fact that I read? The fact (highly debatable) that I do well in exams? Or is it my geek look, reinforced these days by my spectacles? To such suggestions what can I reply? All I can say is that I think I'm not cut for that job. It's not what I want to do with my life.
So what is it that you want to do with your life?
No answer. I am clueless. Twenty-four and still clueless. Not that another twenty years will give a clue. I'll be confused even if I grow to be a hundred.
In June I make a journey. Sometimes I wonder, what will it be like if I step off that train at some random point, and fly away from these tracks forever?
This is a good question. Why blog? Why bother at all? Why do people blog?
Is it the charm of e-publishing, which prints every word of yours without reading or editing? Or is it another space to put up that old balloon, our bloated ego, and call out to the world to say see-how -great-am-I? For me it is both :)
One problem with having a readership is that you can never be entirely honest. For instance everyone who reads this page, all of them without exception, know my real name and identity. So Bimbisara becomes a farce and I am forced to wear the same masks I wear everyday, and every utterance of mine is cleverly monitored(by myself). Consider this: If I am, say, gay, will I ever dare say that openly through this blog? On second thought, that probably depends on what is colloquially referred to as my 'guts'. Who knows? Maybe yes, maybe no.
Yesterday I attended a phD dissertation. The whole affair was OK until they started passing around a sheet to write your name and designation. By the time it reached me, it was full of stuff like Mr.X, Assistant Professor, This College or Dr.Y, Principal, That College. I had a name alright, but what about designation? Should I leave a blank? But the person passing the sheet around was already peering from behind. For a moment I considered the word 'Independent', but then left it because it sounded so election-candidate-like. Finally I came up with Freelancer. I like that word. It's even freer than freelance journalist, because no journalist is attached. Nothing is attached to it, in fact. Wikipedia says a freelancer is someone who is self-employed, a knight whose lance is his own, not any Lord's. Am I or am I not?
Another interesting thing happened there. I ran into my project guide, our dear Dr.MRB, my idol and terror of four B-Tech years and beyond, the person responsible for my first stint as teacher. The lion had come to the presentation in typical fashion, dressed in jogging pants and a T-shirt. "What are you doing these days?" "Nothing", I replied. He thought awhile, and said"Why don't you try the civil services examination?", thus in one stroke joining the long list of luminaries who have suggested to me the same thing. What is it about me that drives people to say this? The fact that I read? The fact (highly debatable) that I do well in exams? Or is it my geek look, reinforced these days by my spectacles? To such suggestions what can I reply? All I can say is that I think I'm not cut for that job. It's not what I want to do with my life.
So what is it that you want to do with your life?
No answer. I am clueless. Twenty-four and still clueless. Not that another twenty years will give a clue. I'll be confused even if I grow to be a hundred.
In June I make a journey. Sometimes I wonder, what will it be like if I step off that train at some random point, and fly away from these tracks forever?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
A bit of Math
Life goes on, bad as ever. Last week i was wondering how things could get any worse. Lo! Down i went with fever and cough and cold and all that nonsense. Apparently there is a family of Streptococci residing in my throat who behave as though they own the place- or so my Doctor says, who also predicted a piles epidemic in India some twenty years ahead when all our IT fellas will come of age, having spent a lifetime squatting in front of monitors.
The fever subsided yesterday and i didn't know what to do so i did some math. It's not usual behaviour from me, and i suspect the fever-induced delirium had something to do with it. I was very worried about the number pi, i wanted to derive it from first-principles. This led to the below stated four sequence/series expressions for pi. I think the correct expression would be to say that i derived these, but i prefer the expression discovered.
1.
2.
i.e, to put it more simply
3.
and 4.
or, in simpler terms
(NB: The trigonometric functions sine,cos and tan given above have their arguments in degrees not radians)
So, are these new? I guess not. If I were born in, say, 17th century France, then probably I'd have stood a good chance to copyright the stuff. But had I been born in 17th Century France, I might never have bothered to study Math because i'd be bent in the pursuit of arts.Hmm... I love France, especially in the 17th century.
Alternative titles that I considered for this piece:
Genius Reveals Himself
Ramanujan II
Pi and Piles
The 'Pi'nk Panther
'Pi'yye thinna panayum thinnaam
PS: I Love You ;-)
The fever subsided yesterday and i didn't know what to do so i did some math. It's not usual behaviour from me, and i suspect the fever-induced delirium had something to do with it. I was very worried about the number pi, i wanted to derive it from first-principles. This led to the below stated four sequence/series expressions for pi. I think the correct expression would be to say that i derived these, but i prefer the expression discovered.
1.
2.
i.e, to put it more simply
3.
and 4.
or, in simpler terms
(NB: The trigonometric functions sine,cos and tan given above have their arguments in degrees not radians)So, are these new? I guess not. If I were born in, say, 17th century France, then probably I'd have stood a good chance to copyright the stuff. But had I been born in 17th Century France, I might never have bothered to study Math because i'd be bent in the pursuit of arts.Hmm... I love France, especially in the 17th century.
Alternative titles that I considered for this piece:
Genius Reveals Himself
Ramanujan II
Pi and Piles
The 'Pi'nk Panther
'Pi'yye thinna panayum thinnaam
PS: I Love You ;-)
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
An article
Arundhati Roy in Outlook. Walking with the comrades.http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?264738
Monday, April 5, 2010
Long Post
Finally, a long post. Not quite my nature, but here it is. Mostly random stuff.
First, a bit of untitled poetry.
Yesterday in my dream
I saw you, but dared
not kiss you;
Social convention, propriety
And my image stood in
The way.
Me, the perfect, polite,
law-abiding person,
Who does not break laws
Even in dreams.
**********************************************************************************
A picture:
I call this Shringaram. What does it translate to in English?
The picture has nothing to do with the poem. It is not intended as an illustration of the poem. It is just a depiction of the rasa Shringara as seen in Kathakali. Why am i saying this?
**********************************************************************************
After many years i had a rain bath yesterday. It was mostly enjoyable, except for the occasional lightning. Pure, primal pleasure.
Here in Trivandrum the Painkuni festival at Padmanabhaswamy temple concluded recently. Below, a photograph from the festival area.
Sahadeva looks down, rather frightened, as a group of youngsters prepare to peer beneath his clothes.
**********************************************************************************
Do you believe in foresight? I had two experiences recently.
One night i dreamt of the company Religare. Why Religare? No idea. The word just popped into my dream. The next day there was a fire in some Bangalore building, and guess what? The casualties included employees of Religare. Hmm... Maybe it was pure coincidence.
The other one is not so easy to dismiss. One night i dreamt that my dog was dead, and I was crying. The next morning we discovered him in a well. Not our well, not our neighbour's well, not my neighbour's neighbour's well, but in a house about half a kilometre away. Jumped over the gate, apparently. Luckily he was still alive when we pulled him out. I think he spent some five hours in the water. Extrasensory perception? Who can tell?
**********************************************************************************
Quotes
1. 'He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would fully suffice'- A. Einstein.
Sourced from 'Fascism of division of labour' in The Hindu Sunday Magazine.
2. ' Most morality is absence of opportunity'-(Mark Twain?)
3.'The first sign of privilege is always asking, rather than being asked, the questions- never having to self reflect, and possessing, in a sense the luxury of ignorance. For many, privilege is often this unconscious, and it is this lack of consciousness and reflection on which any resistance to change is built.'
from A little book on Men by Rahul Roy, a beautiful book that examines masculinity and its associated cliches.
**********************************************************************************
Yesterday in the Hindu Literary Review i came across this interesting concept called 'Detective Criticism'. This is the criticism of a detective book on the premise that the killer uncovered by the author is not the true killer, and that the true killer has eluded justice. Elementary, my dear Watson?
From 'Schlock Holmes,ha,ha!' in The Hindu Literary Review.
**********************************************************************************
I was telling a friend how, right now, I'm at ground zero. Have you heard the expression 'start from scratch'? Well, I think I am pretty much scratch. Or is 'broke' the better expression? For the second time in life i've reached a null point of sorts. The first time was some three years back, but then i had just discovered the null point of all belief, having lost faith not just in god but in man as well. This time around, however, i'm broke in a different, practical sense. It isn't always a nice place to be in. But the good part is, once you reach the lowest point, you can never go any lower. Whichever way you go, it is always up.
First, a bit of untitled poetry.
Yesterday in my dream
I saw you, but dared
not kiss you;
Social convention, propriety
And my image stood in
The way.
Me, the perfect, polite,
law-abiding person,
Who does not break laws
Even in dreams.
**********************************************************************************
A picture:
I call this Shringaram. What does it translate to in English?
The picture has nothing to do with the poem. It is not intended as an illustration of the poem. It is just a depiction of the rasa Shringara as seen in Kathakali. Why am i saying this?
**********************************************************************************
After many years i had a rain bath yesterday. It was mostly enjoyable, except for the occasional lightning. Pure, primal pleasure.
Here in Trivandrum the Painkuni festival at Padmanabhaswamy temple concluded recently. Below, a photograph from the festival area.
Sahadeva looks down, rather frightened, as a group of youngsters prepare to peer beneath his clothes.
**********************************************************************************
Do you believe in foresight? I had two experiences recently.
One night i dreamt of the company Religare. Why Religare? No idea. The word just popped into my dream. The next day there was a fire in some Bangalore building, and guess what? The casualties included employees of Religare. Hmm... Maybe it was pure coincidence.
The other one is not so easy to dismiss. One night i dreamt that my dog was dead, and I was crying. The next morning we discovered him in a well. Not our well, not our neighbour's well, not my neighbour's neighbour's well, but in a house about half a kilometre away. Jumped over the gate, apparently. Luckily he was still alive when we pulled him out. I think he spent some five hours in the water. Extrasensory perception? Who can tell?
**********************************************************************************
Quotes
1. 'He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would fully suffice'- A. Einstein.
Sourced from 'Fascism of division of labour' in The Hindu Sunday Magazine.
2. ' Most morality is absence of opportunity'-(Mark Twain?)
3.'The first sign of privilege is always asking, rather than being asked, the questions- never having to self reflect, and possessing, in a sense the luxury of ignorance. For many, privilege is often this unconscious, and it is this lack of consciousness and reflection on which any resistance to change is built.'
from A little book on Men by Rahul Roy, a beautiful book that examines masculinity and its associated cliches.
**********************************************************************************
Yesterday in the Hindu Literary Review i came across this interesting concept called 'Detective Criticism'. This is the criticism of a detective book on the premise that the killer uncovered by the author is not the true killer, and that the true killer has eluded justice. Elementary, my dear Watson?
From 'Schlock Holmes,ha,ha!' in The Hindu Literary Review.
**********************************************************************************
I was telling a friend how, right now, I'm at ground zero. Have you heard the expression 'start from scratch'? Well, I think I am pretty much scratch. Or is 'broke' the better expression? For the second time in life i've reached a null point of sorts. The first time was some three years back, but then i had just discovered the null point of all belief, having lost faith not just in god but in man as well. This time around, however, i'm broke in a different, practical sense. It isn't always a nice place to be in. But the good part is, once you reach the lowest point, you can never go any lower. Whichever way you go, it is always up.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Alvida, Maqbool Fida!!
Ending years of exile from India, Maqbool Fida Hussain finds a home in Qatar. It is sad that a 95 year old cannot return to the place of his birth. It is sad that India is not a country of free speech. It is sad that nobody stands up for him. It is frightening that people like Mohan Bhagwat determine what is Indian, and what is not.
Do Gods wear clothes? I do not think so.
Do Gods wear clothes? I do not think so.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Hmmm...
The crucifixion of Christ. This is my (humble) two dimensional, curvilinear homage to Dali's four dimensional Corpus Hypercubus, a magnificient picture that literally added another dimension to art. I did think of putting up a picture of Dali's work as well, but then decided against it because my picture would look really silly in comparison.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
good advice and some pictures
Yesterday i got some good advice from a teacher( who taught me in school). She said that these days i was sounding too serious and pessimistic. Maybe it was time for me to change."Go to some big city, get drunk, get high on drugs and womanize- maybe that will improve you a bit", she said, completely serious. I am lucky to have been taught by someone who thinks and speaks like that.... :-)
here come the pictures
COMMUNION
this is called 'Communion', something between two angels. Maybe they are embracing. Perhaps it is an intimate conversation. After i drew this, it struck me that this can be interpreted as a gay picture. What can one say about the sex of angels? Are they male or female? they are all supposed to be of the same kind, so any love or intimacy between them can be thought of as gay. And there are the connotations of the word 'fairy'. though whether angels will fall in love or have sex is another question. As far as i am concerned, i do not believe in angels.
DANCE
This is inspired by the Garuda-Jatayu theme costumes i have seen in many dances, folk and classical.
FISSURES
Maybe i should have called it 'cracks'.
TOY DRAGON
Something like a rocking horse.
RESURRECTION
The biblical theme-run continues. The sarcophagus, rather curiously has come to resemble an Easter egg. Purely incidental.
INDRA
Indra, king of the devas, astride his elephant Airavatham. The jewellery draws inspiration from the Kerala school of temple murals.
THE PORTRAIT OF mr.P
This is for my friend, mr.P.
SHADOW OF A DANCE
All these pictures were drawn in MSPaint.
here come the pictures
COMMUNION
this is called 'Communion', something between two angels. Maybe they are embracing. Perhaps it is an intimate conversation. After i drew this, it struck me that this can be interpreted as a gay picture. What can one say about the sex of angels? Are they male or female? they are all supposed to be of the same kind, so any love or intimacy between them can be thought of as gay. And there are the connotations of the word 'fairy'. though whether angels will fall in love or have sex is another question. As far as i am concerned, i do not believe in angels.
DANCE
This is inspired by the Garuda-Jatayu theme costumes i have seen in many dances, folk and classical.
FISSURES
Maybe i should have called it 'cracks'.TOY DRAGON
Something like a rocking horse.
RESURRECTION
The biblical theme-run continues. The sarcophagus, rather curiously has come to resemble an Easter egg. Purely incidental.
INDRA
Indra, king of the devas, astride his elephant Airavatham. The jewellery draws inspiration from the Kerala school of temple murals.THE PORTRAIT OF mr.P
This is for my friend, mr.P.SHADOW OF A DANCE
All these pictures were drawn in MSPaint.
Monday, January 25, 2010
nishagandhi nights
'sandhye varoo nishagandhee- nikunjamithil
manjeera sinjithamunarthoo..'
Every year i come to Nishagandhi to watch, to enjoy and to re-live certain memories. What started as a random visit in 2003 has since become an annual pilgrimage of sorts. It may be a small event compared to the likes of the Soorya festival, but Nishagandhi has always been special. Perhaps because when I came here for the first time, i was sixteen and in love. Every visit is a rekindling of those memories of unrequited love, mad dreams and desperate summers.
Some performances in the past come to mind...Hariharan weaving Ghazal magic in the moonlight ...Shila Mehta's rhythmic feet that challenged the tabla...the soulful music and sensual performances of Odissi...the visual delight and acrobatic finesse of Manipuri...the percussion solo of Shivamani which was so powerful that i thought my chest would collapse...
This year at Nishagandhi I fell in love, again. With a beautiful danseuse named Alarmel Valli and her enchanting dance. I have watched Padma Subramanyam, I have watched Chitra Visweswaran, I have seen many dancers large and small, yet rarely have I seen such sheer brilliance. Such bhava, such abhinaya, such involvement and passion. Her passion shone through her like a light. I think the previous sentence sounds a bit cliched and gaudy, but i think i can think of no other words. What I experienced was the joy of watching a genius whose avocation was her vocation. True, her nimble grace and beauty did have its impact: it seemed as if she was built to be a dancer and nothing else. The joy in her art was unmistakable. Ten minutes into the performance and I was her fan.
I must add a comment on the stage decoration. Of late too many visual elements and overuse of dominant warm tones like red have made it less of a stage and more of a showpiece. It fails miserably in being a good background. A good background must get us to focus on the performer, without drawing too much attention by itself. Flex boards look neat but they are not aesthetically pleasant elements. A couple of years back the stage used to be less showy and more innovative. I wonder where all the artists have gone.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Invisible man?
Yesterday, in town, I saw a former classmate of mine. It was raining, and he didn't have an umbrella, so I called out to him and he came over gladly. Then he asked me who I was.
Shocked is not the word. True, in the four years that we studied together our paths rarely crossed. True, I lived my life on the sidelines, hardly noticed by many. But this was a person to
whom I had talked to about six, seven months back. And now his eyes were blank. He simply could not,hard as he tried,locate me. In fact he did not even recollect my face.
Maybe my specs did the trick. Or the kilos I've piled on in the last couple of months.
Or maybe, he has forgotten me. I have vanished from his living memory. I do not as well as exist. I guess this is what you call death, when you no longer exist in anybody's mind.Sigh.
I parted ways with him near a shopping complex, pretending that I had to buy something. How could I walk under my umbrella any longer with such a stranger? He did ask me my name, but I never told him. I was not in the mood for a new relationship.
Rest In Peace.
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