Archive | May, 2010

Some Battles are always lost

26 May

I have been married for a long tyme

On which I can write a very happy rhyme

But then as they say life should have spice

For that you cannot be always nice

And spend together time can become full of delight

If you can season it with your fair share of fight

So listen to two of my tales

Which again show a husband frail

Battles and wars, gnarling teeth and scratching claws

Caution thrown to the wind followed no laws

One we used to have every day

Never a chance went to my skin flay

Yet there are some when the sky fell

Those are the stories to tell

Gone we had out in our zingy car

The fight she took a bit too far

Opened the door at the signal, out she bound

For hours I went round and round

Nowhere was she found

Penniless, walked she many a mile

Cursing, abusing, sulking ready to rile

Came back and I just stepped in

When I saw the price of my unintended sin

Books torn, favorite things destroyed, as I stood devastated

Anything I loved in front of my eyes was annihilated

Even my compass went for a toss

Of that I still feel the loss

I was reminded as I stood there and trembled

Maggi days would be back if I again fumbled

Then there is another that shook my soule

Since the penalty was too foule

In her fights she is never just

And always my tricks go bust

How it started, to time it is lost

But etched in the memory is the end cost

There I stood, in my hand my bottle of brew

When in a rage I flew

Quickly I checked how much I had drunkg

Before to the wall it was flung

Bottle took a graceful toss before it hit the wall

Sound was loud, millions of pieces were all over strewn

Proud of my smart action, I stood there tall

I wear the pants here, in my mind was playing this tune

Smugly I looked up to find her still there rooted

Wondered I, why she still hadn’t scooted

Then she did walk, but towards fridge to my horrer

As the first bottle came out, I felt in my heart a frightening terrer

For there were beautiful bottles nineteen in the chiller

And then warrior princess started like can’t be seen thriller

Before I could think or react or quickly say a word sweet

Bottle flew, swished in front of my nose and hit the wall concrete

Gone now was the time for any reason

Death by torture was the verdict for my treason

One by one all came out and joined the old fleet

Only then stop her hand and feet

All the glass laid around, mind numb, plan tumbled

Once again the mistress and her ingenuity had me humbled

As I spent the next three hours, mopping and throwing the glass in bin

Of one thing I was sure, beer in future will be bought only in a tin

Such has been the end of chronicle each

In the end she triumphs, beg, grovel mercies at her feet I beseech

There are many anecdotes that one can describe

But why disgrace yourself when you are the scribe

But all her these wily machinations

Has led me to these ruminations

How come every time I get tricked?

Why only my hot air balloon gets pricked?

To this part of our matrimony this would be the conclusion

She would win always, I resign, by some divine collusion

Signs of time

24 May

It was the peak hour, the cars were crawling bumper to bumper. The non-moving cars then came to a halt at the red signal.

Suddenly door of one car opened and this youngish looking man in a pathani suit ran out leaving the car behind, he ran between the cars and was soon out of sight amidst that sea of cars.

Drivers and passengers in the cars nearby saw the man run, they all froze for a second, paralyzed by fear, one of them woke up from the stupor, shook himself and opened the door and ran. He screamed as he ran, asking everyone to abandon the cars and save their lives.

Within seconds it was mayhem as everyone left their cars and scrambled whereever they could see space, most not knowing why they were running, yet knowing why they had to rush.

It was maybe less than a minute from the beginning till the end, when the boy in the Pathani suit came back to his car still adjusting his pajama knot to find a sea of empty cars.

Show me the money

24 May

He stood outside the ATM, trying to make up his mind. It was a hot sweltering day, yet he was sweating more out of his discomfort, unable to make the choice. He wasn’t sure he should be doing this; he could feel the grip of fear in his heart. He knew it could all go wrong.

Yet he had no choice, he needed the money.

He looked again at the cash van standing outside the ATM, he knew they were filling in the money. From the corner he eyed the guard standing nonchalantly with the useless double barrel gun.

He walked towards the guard to ask, hesitated and came back. He turned around and looked at the road. It was early morning, there was sparse traffic, and he was the only one at the ATM at that hour. He knew he didn’t have much time; he had to make the decision and make that decision now before it was too late.

He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead and slowly trickling down.

He saw the man walking out of the ATM, he knew the money had been pushed into the machines, before the man could react or even come out he rushed in, guard tried to stop him he pushed him aside and went in, and within seconds he rushed out clenching the cash in his hands.

He could see the car parked across the road.  He didn’t pay any heed to the coming traffic and sprinted across the road, he heard a screech of tires and someone abusing him.

He reached the car, stopped, he could suddenly feel energy draining from his body, he shoulders drooped, he felt his heart sinking, he stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and reached out to take the no-parking ticket stuck under the screen wiper.

To criticize a critic

4 May

One day I was thinking, the fact that I indulged in this is in itself a surprise, soon you will understand why I say so, and I suddenly realized that I don’t think at all. Not the fact that I can’t, just that I don’t. And I realized that I am not the only one, most of the world has actually stopped thinking, we all have let our minds become dependent. Dependent on a very small minority called experts, critics, whatever name you might to give them.

We blindly believe what ever they say, without question, without judgement, without thinking, their word is the gospel truth that we follow and act upon blindly.

What is the basis of our trust?

Because they are experts?

Because we believe they are experts?

And who makes them the expert?

It really doesn’t matter whether they are, or they are not. The question really is, what role are they supposed to play in our lives?

Now the easy answer would be to say that they act as filters that protect us from the unwanted, add value to our time and effort, help us identify and point out to us what will be beneficial to us, which otherwise we might have missed or lost time on something else which is far irrelevant in comparison. They are like brands, which save us effort, bring consistency and add convenience to our lives; lives where the most expensive commodity is time.

But the reality is that they control our minds.

Critics today define our thinking.

They decide fo us.

And by deciding our thinking, they define our actions.

Critics have become the creators of the future.

This is the reality, while on the other hand we also talk about free will and individuality.

This to me sounds like an oxymoron.

When we are actually behaving in a manner which someone else is dictating where is individualism,where is free will?

Isn’t it actually herd mentality? Mentality devoid of any thinking?

There is another issue.

Critics or so called experts end of the day pass judgements, and all judgements are always confined within certain acceptable boundaries. Boundary within which all judgements are passed. Boundaries of right and wrong. Everything eventally gets institutionalized, benchmarks are established, touchstones of creativity, good and bad, and everything that comes after is pegged against these hallmarks of quality, so you can create something better than the old or worse than the old, yet always in someway similar to the old, never different from the existing. New would always be rejected, met with disdain,criticized because it cannot be judged. Because on what basis would one say its good or bad, there are no parallels for judgement. Because the truth is it can be good but equal chances are it can be bad too. On what basis would a critic stick his neck out? They are not soothsayers, they are not visionaries, they are the guardians.

Guardians of what exists not what can.

Now last I remember, creation always have been done by individuals and not institutions. Progress happens when the acceptable is challenged by an individual.  Individuals think of new, institutions protect the existing. 

Though the worst case scenario would be when these critics start believing that they are the harbingers of the future and not just gatekeepers and start behaving like dictators by pushing their thoughts into our heads, and for all you know they could be pushing the rubbish and rejecting the good. They do not have a right to make that judgement only individuals have to decide their life and make their own choices. That individual is no one but you and I.

So today, when we are rejecting to indulge in this effort and becoming slaves to this small clique, where does the hope lie?

As of today, today is today and tomorrow is also today.

If I were you, I would definitely read, see, do what the critics suggest, that would help me understand the boundaries of the current but in addition I would actually  spend more time and effort on what the critics reject.

Because in that rejection, in that hubris, lies the future.