only way to leave

Pranab's site...never fails to amaze me. Bring back something everytime...

Daredevil

I wonder how many superheroes we actually meet everyday and pass by everyday without even knowing it.

The other day the company car was giving us a ride home after work. The traffic is really bad at those times and the car was getting stuck every now and then. During one of those spells I saw this man with a cane rushing towards my window. It took me while to realize that he was blind as he moved like a flash. I thought he was going to beg for money and my hand had already reached for my wallet. I was wrong. He just came and felt the car with his cane, stopped and quickly turned to the side and went around the back. He went around one more lane of cars the same way and got into a bus on the last lane. And no shitting, the whole thing took just one minute.

You had to be there to see it happen. It didn’t look like he was trying out a new thing. Seemed like he does it all the time. Taking on the mad Dhaka streets like that…you gotta be a true daredevil.

Chris ROCKS

Some more -
On Love and Relationships
Relationship Advice

blowing in the wind...

He zipped up his jacket and rubbed his hands together to warm himself up. Is it always this cold in February? He cant really tell. Will he be able to tell next year how cold it was this year? Who knows! He just hopes he doesn’t have to wait out here long. Its not so bad though. Good thing the playground is surrounded by all these buildings; would have been a lot colder if it wasn’t. In fact, its kinda nice being here. He doesn’t really get to come here much these days, although its just a few minutes walk from home. And there is nobody around at this hour. Everything is nice and quite. The sky is clear and there is a half moon hanging like a half eaten rice cake– not bad at all! He lit a cigarette and strolled about for a bit and it felt pretty good. He tried to remember what it was like when he was a little tyke running up and down this field chasing a ball. He wasn’t very good with it, the ball that is, but it wasn’t too bad. He remembered how the neighbourhood kids used to come down here on the eve of 21st February and built Shahid minars all over the place. There would be several and in the next morning they’d compare which one is the nicest. Guess the kids these days don’t do that anymore.

How long has it been? Guess there is another half an hour to go. He lit another smoke and inhaled deeply. He’s circled the field 3 times already. He remembered his walks up and down the field 10 years back. What was that like? Falling in love for the first time? He had just picked up smoking. He was quite the smoking gun back then. Wasn’t he? Eager to get out there and leave his mark, eager to shout out to the world that he has arrived…And then, he started feeling all those things, things that were so tender and beautiful that it felt sweet even when they hurt. He didn’t get it at first, he even tried to fight it off. And then he gave in and it was all good. He thought that was it, that she was it and there would be nobody else, could be nobody else. He remembered what it was like, the walks on those nights, with a smoke in his hands and storms in his heart, and then how it all fell apart and the sky started to look really mean. Then how in time he forgot all about it, the face, the lips, the eyes, the love, the anguish – all of it. Nothing, not the layers and layers of clouds or the countless stars above, not even the wet wind would remind him of them, and even if they did, they’d mean nothing. How they made his heart ache then! He flicked the cigarette away and lit another.

He found a space between the railings and decided to rest his legs a little. He leaned against a pillar and stretched out his legs. He made himself so comfortable that he almost fell asleep. The fact that he had nothing to do but wait didn’t seem to bother him at all. That’s right, he loved it. The chills of the night, the solitude, the silence – all of it. He felt happy; happy and content and gratified. No thought interrupted the silence, no word disrupted his peace. He came close, very close, to something he’s been trying to get at for so long, and he was completely relaxed. He was so at peace that he didn’t see it coming. Like a stealthy Ninja it crept up to him and caught him off guard. He sensed it of course but just didn’t care and it came and it was too late when it did. It blew in, or rather blew out and blew the whole thing with it. It jerked him awake; it brought him down all the from lala land and landed him on his posterior. The spell was broken by the sound of a singular….FART!!!

Sisimpur

I love this show! Its cute and witty and fun. If I were a kid I bet I would learn a lot from it (hell! I’m learning a lot from it as it is). I really wish I could be their when they make these.

While you are there, also check out the page on Sesame Street Kosovo.
“After years of violent ethnic strife between Serbs and Albanians, the show had the potential to build peace and tolerance with a new generation of children, showing them that their ethnic counterparts were just kids, too.”

Here is another link to Sisimpur - http://www.sesameworkshop.org/international/ba/eng/home.php

History is...

“History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake” ~ James Joyce

Hunt down a black man.
Peel the black skin off of his body.
Cheers and laughs all around as the black abomination screams in pain, begs for his life.
Hang his bleeding body and just to be sure, set him on fire.

http://www.liu.edu/cwis/cwp/library/african/2000/lynching.htm

I wonder, when you skin a black man or a brown man or a man with curly hair, do you find something different each time?

So, what sort of people do you find in a lynch mob? Were they all rich men? Were they all bad men? Demons with horns and fangs? Crazy psychos with a bad childhood? Poor sods who haven’t been brought up well? That’s not it.

For one thing they were church goers. And I’m sure many of them would be pretty decent company. Nope! Really don’t think people in lynch mobs were that different from us…us, seemingly regular people…walking up and down the streets, riding the bus to work, reading and writing blogs …Mobs bring out the ‘thing’ in us. In a mob, every body including the you and the me and the friendly neighborhood bumble bee can do it to ‘that’ guy just for the heck of it, just because they can. They’ll do it to some guy and pat each others backs and may be even feel they’ve done the world some good. And then they’d go home, eat dinner, tuck the kids in and fuck the wives dry.

And if the next day, they can't find a guy with different skin color, they'll settle for the same color, the same religion or the same neighborhood. They can always find a reason to kill things,...theres always a reason that makes it all okay.

destroy the barbarians…stone the Christians…burn the witches…whip the blacks…wipe the Indians…kill the Jews…hate the Muslims…

bodies torn from limb to limb…headless babies…women raped and killed…

Its okay! Its not me. It didn’t happen to me. It wont ever happen to me. Better him than me. Shit happens. They had it coming. That’s the way it is. Its all good. Its all OKAY!

Its NOT okay!

“What is laughter, what is joy, when the world is ever burning? Shrouded by darkness, would you not seek the light?” - Dhammapada 146

Homicidal Nanny

I got a death threat from a ‘Homicidal Nanny’ on yahoo mail. It was a very short note and the sender signed her name with a phone number the last digits of which are 699. Oddly enough I cant remember what the note said. Needless to say it got me thinking; so much so that the first thing I did after waking up is check my email. Nothing there. (phew) I didn’t check yahoo yet. Man! It’d be really freaky if I do find one from the Homicidal Nanny on the list.

Seriously! Who’d want to kill me?

PS: Yes. That was all a dream and this, is a BS post. :p

The Mind of Absolute Trust

[I blogged this once before but the link I gave there doesn’t work anymore. Although it is in goatman’s blog, I am copying it here. Think there’s no harm in repeating things like this.]

The Great Way isn't difficult
for those who are unattached to their preferences.
Let go of longing and aversion,
and everything will be perfectly clear.
When you cling to a hairbreadth of distinction,
heaven and earth are set apart.

If you want to realize the truth,
don't be for or against.
The struggle between good and evil
is the primal disease of the mind.
Not grasping the deeper meaning,
you just trouble your mind's serenity.

As vast as infinite space,
it is perfect and lacks nothing.
But because you select and reject,
you can't perceive its true nature.
Don't get entangled in the world;
don't lose yourself in emptiness.
Be at peace in the oneness of things,
and all errors will disappear by themselves.

If you don't live the Tao,
you fall into assertion or denial.
Asserting that the world is real,
you are blind to its deeper reality;
denying that the world is real,
you are blind to the selflessness of all things.
The more you think about these matters,
the farther you are from the truth.

Step aside from all thinking,
and there is nowhere you can't go.
Returning to the root, you find the meaning;
chasing appearances, you lose their source.
At the moment of profound insight,
you transcend both appearance and emptiness.
Don't keep searching for the truth;
just let go of your opinions.

For the mind in harmony with the Tao,
all selfishness disappears.
With not even a trace of self-doubt,
you can trust the universe completely.
All at once you are free,
with nothing left to hold on to.
All is empty, brilliant,
perfect in its own being.

In the world of things as they are,
there is no self, no non-self.
If you want to describe its essence,
the best you can say is "Not-two."
In this "Not-two" nothing is separate,
and nothing in the world is excluded.

The enlightened of all times and places
have entered into this truth.
In it there is no gain or loss;
one instant is ten thousand years.
There is no here, no there;
infinity is right before your eyes.

The tiny is as large as the vast
when objective boundaries have vanished;
the vast is as small as the tiny
when you don't have external limits.
Being is an aspect of non-being;
non-being is no different from being.
Until you understand this truth,
you won't see anything clearly.

One is all; all are one.
When you realize this,
what reason for holiness or wisdom?
The mind of absolute trust
is beyond all thought, all striving,
is perfectly at peace, for in it
there is no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow.

~Seng-Ts'an

Bitch

Life's a bitch...
...as r most living things...

Sorrow for the lost Lenore

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

[Source]

Sorrow for the lost Lenore

gloomy day

The "Little" Tower of Babel - Pieter BRUEGEL, the Elder

It was just too cold to work today. Not that its too cold outside, it’s the stupid AC. Anyhow…that is my excuse to procrastinate today. Started with web galleries and ended up reading about stuff in the Wiki. Guess everybody has a thing and mine happens to be written words. Anyhow…in between stories in the Wiki, I visited a couple of web galleries. I got kinda hooked to this one. Seems like a lot is going on in these paintings…like there are clues and they all tell a story. Didn’t really get what they all meant…but still…liked them somehow. Just wanted to bookmark the link here.

Heroes

“So much struggle for meaning, for purpose…and in the end we only find it in each other…our shared experience of the fantastic…and the mundane…the simple human need to find a kindred, to connect…and to know in our hearts that we are not alone.”

~ Heroes, season 1, episode 23.

The show is a lot like the other freak shows on TV. Its got all the soapy stuff going on…gets on the nerves at times. But it sure says a truth or two that we need to hear. Definitely better than Supernatural. Liked the way they ended season one.

a good day's work

This is what I've been upto at work all day today -

Monomyth
Jason

And oh yes, this too - Supernatural TV Soundtrack. Lousy show but they sure play good music.

Didn't come to work yesterday. I wanted to, honest to God. Cann't really come if you wake up and find its 3:20 in the afternoon. Can you? I have got to get my act together one of these days.

My hero

That’s Samurai Jack, my new hero. He is an old fashioned one. The type that can do no wrong. We could use more like him these days.

Jack is a lone warrior trapped in a futuristic world ruled by the evil, shape shifting monster named Aku, fighting a seemingly lost cause. But however desparate the situation may be, Jack never forgets his code – the honor code of the Samurai. Forever humble, polite and honest he makes his way through the horrid, alien landscpae, never giving his personal welbeing a second thought. He is constantly going out of his way to help others, risking his neck even for the ones who’ve done him wrong, never asking for anything in return. He endures everything – all the trechery, cruely, brute force, fear and madness thrown on his way. He brushes them all off and continues his journey. And in doing so, he brings back hope in the minds of the millions who till now, had taken the all the wrongs for granted.

The mad world shown in the cartoon is not alien at all, its exactly like the one we live in today. The people in it are just as mad, just as miserable and just as hopeless as the mindless robots in the cartoon. Just that in our world, we don’t always recognize the faces of the shape shifting monster that’s running the show and the unsung heroes who are giving their lives fighting the good battle.

We desperately need heroes like Jack…even if just in cartoons and story books.

See the whole picture

Confession

Forgive me shower for I have been dirty. It has been nearly a week since my last visit. But you must know it wasn’t entirely my fault; I did call on you a couple of times but you were unavailable.

Please don’t get me wrong; I don’t blame you. With the tornado out on a killing spree and the blackout you could only do so much. I know you are trying your best. Besides, you came around soon enough with your generous blessing of running water and there is really no excuse for not seeing you sooner. Please forgive me. You know how easily I get tempted, develop the habit, what can I say,…keeping up the routine seems such a great deal of work…you know.

I am sorry I will stop with the lame excuses. Truth is, I would probably not come and see you even tonight if it weren’t for those damned kids. Yes, I could have easily gone through another day, in those rags, smelling that bad. (Yeah, I know, I am such a pig!) But it was not to be. Imran came and dragged us out into playground to play badminton. Its been a very long time since I played the game you know…(ok, so I wasn’t any good when I played it…big deal!). So the kids kind of caught us off balance you see…(and not like they were really kids…one looked pretty big…I’m sure he is at least 13!)

Anyhow…so they gave us a pretty good beating. But, they really didn’t have to be so mean about it, you know…I mean, I wouldn’t mind if they just made us run around the court from end to end chasing after the damned cork (slippery bastard!)…I could take that, but did they really have to make us roll on the ground like that? I mean, it was one of my best jeans and now it’s got mud all over it, and your friend the good Mr. Washing Machine will have a rough time working on it.

And it’s all their fault! Those damned 12 year olds!

booby trap

“Say, cats and dogs really like it when you scratch their neck. Don’t they?”
“So does cows.”
“Yeah? What about goats?”
“I don’t know about goats.”
“So how are you so sure about cows?”
“You know, when you try to milk them, they’d make a fuss, but if you give her a neck scratch she’d stand still. So I figure they like it.”
“So, cows are touchy when people try to touch their breasts, eh? How about that!”
“Well, of course they are. People are not her bull.”
“But bulls don’t really care about breasts. Do they? Say, none of the animals really care about breasts. It’s a man thing! Isn’t it?”

“Hmm…”
“Well….but why?”
“Well…I dunno…they look good…”
“Yeah! But why?”
“Well…they feel good”
“I know! But why??”
“Heck! I don’t care! If it bothers you so much go find a flat chested chick and marry her.”
“I never said they bother me. I like ‘em too. But why?”
“Who the hell cares?”
“What are you saying man! If we stopped asking ‘why’ we’d still be living in caves you know. Nope! We’ve got to figure this out.”
“Well…may be it’s because you can…you know…fondle them”
“Huh?”
“You know…they are soft and you can with them and all.”
“Nope! That doesn’t make sense. Fat people are soft all over. If grabbing was the thing then everybody would be running after the fat chicks.”
“Well…I just dunno…”

We discussed the issue a li’l more over coffee but weren’t able to come to a satisfactory conclusion. So we decided to take it up with Proton, the cleverest one in the family. He heard us out and the first thing he says to me – “Tell me now, what exactly did you guys see on the way that made you think about it? Paint me a picture. Will ya?” (Told you he is clever.)

Anyway, he went on about how animals look for fitness, physical symmetry and proportions in potential mates but the issue wasn’t really resolved. (Surely, we can hardly call voluptuous women the most fit, or the most proportionate and still, they do have a universal appeal.) I guess I will just put it on my list of unsolved mysterious -

Why does the chicken cross the road?
Which came first, the egg or the hen?
How does a pair of round things drive a sane man mad so easily?

gotta post something

[Sidr made its way from the coasts to the capital killing about two thousand people on its way. The whole country blckedout during the weekends. I wrote this in candle light,…not because I had something good to write about or something that mattered. Been writing all sorts of messed things lately. Pages fter pages of crap that just wont come together. Still, I just have to put this one down or it feels my head will explode.]

What do you think of poetry? Why is it that poetry, in general, is considered impractical? People say that they discard all logic and sense and just aren’t real enough. Poets are seen as outcasts, a damaged lot trying to escape the realities of life and seeking refuge in make belief. As for the stuff they write, well,…they do score a few points every now and then within certain circles and drunken society parties but that’s as far as they are supposed to go.

I guess its not entirely their fault. ‘Poets’ do seem rather eager to assert their eccentricity. They will take great pains to get the walk, the talk, the dress and the hair right. (Now it’d be pretty awful if they are taken for commonors. Woudn’t it?) They are a delicate sort, unlike the rest and it has to show. Guess, poets are people too; they gotta eat, shit and procreate like the rest of ‘em. So, its quite natural that there will be many who’d just want to put on the uniform, strike up a few lines, wrap ‘em all nice in glossy plastic and try to sell them for more than they are worth, while they still can.

Been reading the Memoirs of Pablo Neruda –

“All the esoteric philosophy of the Oriental countries, when confronted with real life, turned out to be a by-product of the anxiety, neurosis, confusion, and opportunism of the West; that is, of the crisis in the guiding principles of capitalism. In the India of those years there was little room for deep contemplation of one’s navel. ‘An existence that made brutal physical demands, a colonial position based on the most cold-blooded degradation, thousands dying every year of cholera, smallpox, fever, and hunger, a feudal society thrown into chaos by India’s immense population and industrial poverty, stamped such great ferocity on life that all semblance of mysticism disappeared.”

“…the majority exploited a cheap market where exotic amulets and fetishes wrapped in metaphysical sales talk were sold wholesale. These people were always spouting Dharma and Yoga. They reveled in religious acrobatics, all empty show and high sounding words.” [p 84]

“…Became familiar with opium…”
“…I smoked many pipefuls, until I knew…”
“…I understood why hired hands from plantations, day laborers, richshowmen who pull and pull rickshaw all day long, would lay there dazed, motionless. . . Opium was not, as painted to me, the paradise of the exotic, but an escape for the exploited…” [p 88]

- These words reflect the clarity of thoughts of a great mind, a sound mind that isn’t deceived by the smoke screens of half truths and lies.

Poetry is not about dwelling in madness and spitting out empty words that nobody gets. Even after a hundred years, every word on Tagore’s poems makes perfect sense. True ones can keep it real; they don’t bank on confusion.

There is no real conflict between poetry and facts, there never was. In fact, if one pays attention, they just might help him understand the numbers better. May be one day we’ll finally figure it and then the advancement of science will not be driven by the arms race anymore.

In any case, I wouldn’t worry too much. Poetry will survive amidst all the madness and chaos…It is the one thing that can. Poetry will keep the truth alive if the great cities go up in flames and smokes blacken the skies. Poetry will be the beacon, lighting the way for the children rising from the ashes of the dead worlds,..will tell them stories…of what it once was, and what it could be…again…

Aye! Mankind will live on…and so shall its poetry. For every human child is born with it, and secretly carries it in his heart.

More

Thanks a lot Tanm. Loved it!

to Nowal and Syed

It's a Wonderful Life (1946)

Nowal keeps on complaining that my blog is too depressing. Well…I’d like to take this opportunity to dedicate this movie (yeah! I know I did not produce/direct it, BIG DEAL!) to Nowal and Syed, (popularly known as her better 0.5).

Hope the two of them will cuddle up into a couch one of these days, watch the damn movie and use up a year’s supply of tissue paper. :-)