In Stephen Hunt’s fantastic, refreshing, vaguely Tolkien-esqe ‘The Court of The Air’, Harry Stave, rogue wolftaker tells Oliver Brooks, registered feybreed:
"Someone comes up with the BIG IDEA – could be religion, could be politics, could be the race you belong to, or your clan, or philosophy, or economics, or your sex or just how many bleeding guineas you got stashed in the counting house. Doesn’t matter, for the BIG IDEA is always the same – wouldn’t it be good if only everyone was the same as me – if only everyone else thought and acted and worshipped and looked like ME, everything would become a paradise on earth.
But people are too different, too diverse to fit into one way of acting or thinking or looking. And that’s where the trouble starts. That’s when they show up at your door to make the ones who don’t fit vanish, when, frustrated by the lack of progress and your stupidity and plain wrongness at not appreciating the perfection of the BIG IDEA, they start trying to shave off the imperfections.
Using knives and racks and axe-men and camps and Gideon’s Collars.
When you see a difference in a person and can find only wickedness in it – you and them – the them become fair game, not people anymore but obstacles to the greater good, and it’s always open season on the them"
Nick Griffin, Abu Hamza, OBL, GWB, hate mail, extraordinary rendition, ‘random’ inspection at airports, illegal invasion (aka war on terror), nuclear ‘deterrents’, 9/11, 7/7, Jallianwallah Bagh, Auschwitz-Birkenau, Gaza, child soldiers, KKK, Rwanda, Darfur, freedom fighters (aka terrorists – all a matter of point of view), Apartheid, United 92, United Defense, British Raj, IRA, Ayodhya, Guantanamo, Enoch Powell, Fat Man, Little Boy …
We are all shades of grey, hands equally dripping with blood, no one deserving of moral high ground, no one entitled to spiritual sanctity – all equally lost and distant from God, who doesn’t want anything to do with any of us, till we get our acts straight
But we won’t
Because I’m right
And you’re wrong
Always
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Crossroads
There were tears
For she was sad
He was her (? best) friend
So he was sad too
More tears, hot and salty – he found
For he had tried to kiss them away
She was precious
And he might lose her
- Shortly
- Surely
- Forever
He wouldn’t like that
So he panicked
But held her gaze (and her hands)
And told her how he felt
That got him a hug (which was nice)
Then they went for a walk
Had a glass of lime juice each
And that, my unborn children
Is how your blundering daddy
Met your beautiful mommy
Sunday, November 11, 2007
how to be good?
In Twilight Watch, Sergei Lukyanenko's third book of the Night Watch Trilogy, Gesar, Head of the Moscow Night Watch tells Anton Gorodetsky - disillusioned field operative - why he chose the Light over the Dark:
'Preserve the part of you that is still human. Avoid falling into ecstatic raptures and trying to impose the Light on people when they don't want it. Avoid relapsing into contemptous cynicism, imagining that you are pure and perfect.
That's the hardest thing of all - never to become cynical, never to lose faith, never to become indifferent'
Maybe, just maybe, the BJP and Al Qaeda and the greedy TV evangelists should have a look at this allegoric work of fantasy
'Preserve the part of you that is still human. Avoid falling into ecstatic raptures and trying to impose the Light on people when they don't want it. Avoid relapsing into contemptous cynicism, imagining that you are pure and perfect.
That's the hardest thing of all - never to become cynical, never to lose faith, never to become indifferent'
Maybe, just maybe, the BJP and Al Qaeda and the greedy TV evangelists should have a look at this allegoric work of fantasy
beautiful beautiful words... wish they were mine
'But as much as I want his mingling with his own age group, I fear that if he becomes too involved elsewhere, he won't be ever-available for my own needs.
what would one do if one did not have a Toph, sitting in his room, ready at a moment's notice, always willing to run errands, to be pushed against a wall and have his kidney punched...
...To not have Toph would be to not have a life'
Dave Eggers in 'a heartbreaking work of staggering genius' talking about his little brother, Chris'Toph'er
Like he says, to not have Toph would be to not have a life
- my own 'Toph' works for Microsoft, by the way
what would one do if one did not have a Toph, sitting in his room, ready at a moment's notice, always willing to run errands, to be pushed against a wall and have his kidney punched...
...To not have Toph would be to not have a life'
Dave Eggers in 'a heartbreaking work of staggering genius' talking about his little brother, Chris'Toph'er
Like he says, to not have Toph would be to not have a life
- my own 'Toph' works for Microsoft, by the way
Saturday, November 03, 2007
paring cheese
All research is like swiss cheese
the ability to see the holes is directly proportional to the researcher's insight-
-till it comes to a point where you do not see the cheese at all!
the ability to see the holes is directly proportional to the researcher's insight-
-till it comes to a point where you do not see the cheese at all!
Friday, October 12, 2007
wings of steel
uproar in the meadows
sparks fly
a rosebush is 'de'flowered
as the hordes move in
beautiful death...
surrounds me
glints of cold steel
razor edges tipped with
blood - mine
I crumple to
the green grass
bleeding
as the steel winged
butterflies
flit around
murderously...
inspired by the smashing pumpkins song bullet with butterfly wings
sparks fly
a rosebush is 'de'flowered
as the hordes move in
beautiful death...
surrounds me
glints of cold steel
razor edges tipped with
blood - mine
I crumple to
the green grass
bleeding
as the steel winged
butterflies
flit around
murderously...
inspired by the smashing pumpkins song bullet with butterfly wings
Monday, October 08, 2007
snippets
dusk descends
shadows spread like inkblots
under my coffee table
long journey home
my car curls up in the drive
- a tired puppy
washing up after a party
little smileys of lipstick
on the coffee mugs
shadows spread like inkblots
under my coffee table
long journey home
my car curls up in the drive
- a tired puppy
washing up after a party
little smileys of lipstick
on the coffee mugs
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
My friend the movie star
I was the fat, shy, brown one (still am) and he was the lean, smart, fair one - but he never made fun of me.
His house had a very long front yard and a brick wall painted white with a red border. He had a TV and a top-loading VCR and an ATARI which made me very envious. We would watch Jamie and the Magic Torch and Johnny Sokko and his Giant Robot and then play games on his ATARI. I remember one game in particular - pixellated cowboys on either side of the TV screen shooting at each other (this was no X-box 360, but we loved it to bits). He ALWAYS beat me at this because he had a slick technique for killing my cowboy with ricochet bullets.
His little sister used to peek her head round the door and smile her pixie smile when I was around. Perhaps she had not seen someone so short and fat before.
Once when we were 5 or 6, we decided to walk home (about 2 km, I think) after school - two boys in navy blue shorts and wrinkled white shirts weighed down by their school bags walking in the dusty summer afternoon swinging their water bottles blissfully unaware of the green buses roaring past them. I got a ticking off from my mother for doing it and then I heard her talking to his mom about what their boys had done (which meant that he got into trouble too!)
After we left school, I saw him once in my teenage. He had shot up to more than 6 feet, had a booming voice and looked like a movie star while I was still the old roly poly. I envied him even more then.
Last week, I rang Anoop on his mobile after a gap of about 15 years. We talked about our lives and our families. We talked about the good old school days. He sounded like his dad - at least, what I think his dad sounded like all those years ago. He sounded mature and decent and sincere. He sounded excited to hear from me. More than anything else, he sounded just like the friend I used to walk home with - swinging water bottles in the summer afternoon.
His house had a very long front yard and a brick wall painted white with a red border. He had a TV and a top-loading VCR and an ATARI which made me very envious. We would watch Jamie and the Magic Torch and Johnny Sokko and his Giant Robot and then play games on his ATARI. I remember one game in particular - pixellated cowboys on either side of the TV screen shooting at each other (this was no X-box 360, but we loved it to bits). He ALWAYS beat me at this because he had a slick technique for killing my cowboy with ricochet bullets.
His little sister used to peek her head round the door and smile her pixie smile when I was around. Perhaps she had not seen someone so short and fat before.
Once when we were 5 or 6, we decided to walk home (about 2 km, I think) after school - two boys in navy blue shorts and wrinkled white shirts weighed down by their school bags walking in the dusty summer afternoon swinging their water bottles blissfully unaware of the green buses roaring past them. I got a ticking off from my mother for doing it and then I heard her talking to his mom about what their boys had done (which meant that he got into trouble too!)
After we left school, I saw him once in my teenage. He had shot up to more than 6 feet, had a booming voice and looked like a movie star while I was still the old roly poly. I envied him even more then.
Last week, I rang Anoop on his mobile after a gap of about 15 years. We talked about our lives and our families. We talked about the good old school days. He sounded like his dad - at least, what I think his dad sounded like all those years ago. He sounded mature and decent and sincere. He sounded excited to hear from me. More than anything else, he sounded just like the friend I used to walk home with - swinging water bottles in the summer afternoon.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
a chrome fruit and some geography lessons
Rejath and I were the Laurel and Hardy of our group. He had his curly hair and his skin and bones and I - well, I had my generous share of - body fat, I guess. We were both into trivia and once in 4th Std, we qualified for a district level quiz on the 'science of sound'. I remember endless coaching sessions with the teachers describing the workings of SONAR, echo etc (which was exciting in itself, as it meant that we were exempted from some of the more mundane lessons) till a couple of days before the quiz when we got wind of the fact that the whole thing was a light-hearted affair where kids are expected to guess various sounds (for instance, that of a musical instrument or an animal). What a let down, I thought - all that effort for nothing. Anyway we went to the recording studio - the AIR office near Calicut beach - with one of the 'sisters' (the nuns who were teachers in our catholic school). When we got there, there were kids from other schools in the studio already. The adults had left us in the studio and gone elsewhere. Rejath and I were trying our best to be the good boys - the others were running around the room and queuing up excitedly in front of the air-conditioner (a rarity in those days) as it blew cold air into their impish faces and ruffled their hair. The quiz itself, I do not remember much about, but I do remember that my face was burning, which it does whenever I feel shy. We stood around this gleaming big chrome fruit of a microphone dangling at eye level and the quizmaster asked us to shout out our names into the microphone on his cue. When my turn came, hardly any sound escaped me and he had to coax me repeatedly to speak up. The only thing I recollect is that one of the questions was clearly the sound of a string instrument - so I shouted out 'tabla' feeling very smug till the others burst out laughing. In the end, inspite of my bungling, I think we won first place, thanks mainly to Rejath's level-headedness at the age of 9. Afterwards, the 'sister' bought us chaya and pazhampori from the AIR canteen. I could not resist, even though my mother had trained me to say no to 'outside' food (fearing lack of hygeine) - so I chomped into the cold semisolid pazhampori, enjoying every bit of my guilty pleasure. When we got back to the school, there was no one about, it being a saturday. We were herded into the convent where we had lunch in the peculiar deep bowl-like plates which I found strangely amusing. Afterwards both of us had a slice of tea cake.
The other clear memory of Rejath is from 7th Std. I think Ms Vijaya's class. He used to bring his big leatherbound world atlas to learn geography - most of us had thin limp 20-rupee atlases while he had this 'Reader's Digest Special Edition' which used to annoy me a lot, because whenever the teacher described a place on the map, he would pipe up: 'Miss, Miss, it is all very clear in MY atlas'
Grrrrrrr... we were all soon tired of his very clear atlas - I started daydreaming about taking his atlas (which he would not allow anyone else to touch) and beating his brains out with it - Aaaah - the resonating crack in the sleepy mid-afternoon followed by loud cheers from all my classmates as they lifted me onto their shoulders for saving us all from Rejath's inimitable squeak. Sadly, it was not to be, which is why he has now managed to find his way to Minneapolis - I am sure it was all very clear in his atlas!
The other clear memory of Rejath is from 7th Std. I think Ms Vijaya's class. He used to bring his big leatherbound world atlas to learn geography - most of us had thin limp 20-rupee atlases while he had this 'Reader's Digest Special Edition' which used to annoy me a lot, because whenever the teacher described a place on the map, he would pipe up: 'Miss, Miss, it is all very clear in MY atlas'
Grrrrrrr... we were all soon tired of his very clear atlas - I started daydreaming about taking his atlas (which he would not allow anyone else to touch) and beating his brains out with it - Aaaah - the resonating crack in the sleepy mid-afternoon followed by loud cheers from all my classmates as they lifted me onto their shoulders for saving us all from Rejath's inimitable squeak. Sadly, it was not to be, which is why he has now managed to find his way to Minneapolis - I am sure it was all very clear in his atlas!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Itching for more
I heard on Radio 4 the other day that the average duration of marital bliss these days is three years - after which the relationship apparently starts to fade in all aspects as the partners drift apart in body and soul - the three-year-itch, as it is known
It will be four years of married life for me in a few months, so maybe this is a good time to air out my feelings-cupboard
Rather than clothe my thoughts in grammar and syntax, I think it is best to let the bottom shelf of my brain take over, hippocampus and all
so here goes:
I love her, for she is my little golden girl
she understands me completely - including my annoying lack of understanding
she accommodates me, my imperfections, my selfishness, my jealousy, my aggression, my fears, my insecurities - she bathes them all in her love
songs remind me of her smile, I love the way her eyelashes tickle my cheek, I love the way her hands disappear in my paws, I love the way she trusts me, I love the way she is there for me, I love the way she kisses me with her eyes from across the room
I love her strength of character, I love her drive and her confidence, I love her in pigtails, I love her smile when we dance, I love the way she looks good so effortlessly, I love the way she walks into little perfume clouds, I love being her clumsy beast
I love her directness, the way she tells me I have bad breath and gets me to brush my teeth, I love her with long hair and short hair and oh, did I mention, I love her in pigtails
she sees the little boy in me when I am ill, she holds me like a baby when I am sad, I feel safe with her and I love her for that
and so...
I give you my life - with all it's ups and downs
I give you my soul - a spaghetti ball of love and hurt and anger and sloth and lust and laughter
I give you my unsolicited opinion, my concern and my worries, my moodswings and my misgivings
I give you my right hand and my grimace to open all your pickle jars
I give you a hundred and seventy nine centimetres for all your hard-to-reach issues
I give you my skills with the cordless drill, the vacuum cleaner and the retractable tape measure
I give you my body fat and my halitosis
I give you - only you, for now and forever, my animal shivers
and I promise you - I will scratch your itch away every year
I guess the link below says it more beautifully, so I'll stop now
(the video looks best maximised)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjDojEOiMcE
It will be four years of married life for me in a few months, so maybe this is a good time to air out my feelings-cupboard
Rather than clothe my thoughts in grammar and syntax, I think it is best to let the bottom shelf of my brain take over, hippocampus and all
so here goes:
I love her, for she is my little golden girl
she understands me completely - including my annoying lack of understanding
she accommodates me, my imperfections, my selfishness, my jealousy, my aggression, my fears, my insecurities - she bathes them all in her love
songs remind me of her smile, I love the way her eyelashes tickle my cheek, I love the way her hands disappear in my paws, I love the way she trusts me, I love the way she is there for me, I love the way she kisses me with her eyes from across the room
I love her strength of character, I love her drive and her confidence, I love her in pigtails, I love her smile when we dance, I love the way she looks good so effortlessly, I love the way she walks into little perfume clouds, I love being her clumsy beast
I love her directness, the way she tells me I have bad breath and gets me to brush my teeth, I love her with long hair and short hair and oh, did I mention, I love her in pigtails
she sees the little boy in me when I am ill, she holds me like a baby when I am sad, I feel safe with her and I love her for that
and so...
I give you my life - with all it's ups and downs
I give you my soul - a spaghetti ball of love and hurt and anger and sloth and lust and laughter
I give you my unsolicited opinion, my concern and my worries, my moodswings and my misgivings
I give you my right hand and my grimace to open all your pickle jars
I give you a hundred and seventy nine centimetres for all your hard-to-reach issues
I give you my skills with the cordless drill, the vacuum cleaner and the retractable tape measure
I give you my body fat and my halitosis
I give you - only you, for now and forever, my animal shivers
and I promise you - I will scratch your itch away every year
I guess the link below says it more beautifully, so I'll stop now
(the video looks best maximised)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjDojEOiMcE
Sunday, September 09, 2007
a friend-shaped hole
It is an interesting time when your close friend gets married. There is all the excitement and the tongue-in-cheek banter and the preparations. Underneath it all, there is also a slight feeling of unease - a burst of 'what-if' bubbles pop up in my mind:
what if she is reserved
what if she already has HER circle of friends
what if she is jealously possessive (er... a bit like I am)
what if she does not like OUR circle of friends
what if she misunderstands our (my) enthusiasm
what if she does not love him like we (I) do
what if she rearranges his life around her to the point of unpleasantness
what if she makes him disappear from our (my) life
underneath all the surface cheer, there is this never ending series of tiny worry bubbles fizzling away
and then, in a matter of minutes, they are swept away for ever
a smile, a half hug, a few words, his happy face
that's all it takes - for me to know that she fits in-
-to his life... our life... my life
welcome to our world - we need you
to complete us
to fill a friend-shaped hole
perfectly, gracefully, beautifully
look after him for me, won't you
what if she is reserved
what if she already has HER circle of friends
what if she is jealously possessive (er... a bit like I am)
what if she does not like OUR circle of friends
what if she misunderstands our (my) enthusiasm
what if she does not love him like we (I) do
what if she rearranges his life around her to the point of unpleasantness
what if she makes him disappear from our (my) life
underneath all the surface cheer, there is this never ending series of tiny worry bubbles fizzling away
and then, in a matter of minutes, they are swept away for ever
a smile, a half hug, a few words, his happy face
that's all it takes - for me to know that she fits in-
-to his life... our life... my life
welcome to our world - we need you
to complete us
to fill a friend-shaped hole
perfectly, gracefully, beautifully
look after him for me, won't you
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