PScythe!

"You are going to die alone." I have heard this a few times. I have never really understood it. As insults go it seems very benign. Mostly because death seemed so far away.

But, as I held the gun in my hand, I realized that if I died today, I would die alone.

The gun doesn't feel as heavy as people claim guns do. It feels cold, metallic and comforting. Although aren't guns supposedly plastic? I shelve this thought away for future reference.

I run through a few options in my head and settle on the forehead. Seems nice and central. I look into the muzzle to make sure there is nothing stopping the bullet's path. I hold the gun in both hands and settle my right thumb on the trigger. I hope to get a nice round circle entry wound that is hopefully pleasingly symmetrical.

I rest my head on the windowsill behind my bed and decide to keep my eyes open. My cheap Ikea clock is right in front of me on the wall opposite. Suddenly it strikes me that I should time the trigger pull to when the clock is at 3 am. It's only a minute's wait anyway. As the second hand ticks on, it dawns upon me that the clock is 5 minutes slow. So I give up on the timing and just go for it.

As I gently squeeze the trigger I remember that I don't have a gun. I have never had one.

...---... ...---... ...---... ...---... ...---... ...---... ...--

So I switch to the knife.

Especially since I had sharpened it only yesterday. This knife was so sharp that I had almost cut myself just thinking about how sharp it was. But, it was as sharp as a what though? This knife was sharp as a .. tack? A tack? That's what pops into my mind. If you say a tack really quick it sounds like attack. So it fits for a knife I guess. But what is it? What is a tack? This thought seems more urgent and so I look it up.

Tack - a small, sharp, broad-headed nail.

Hmm. Is this the same tack that tacky comes from? That seems contradictory. Wait what does tacky mean again? Bad taste I think. Maybe tacky came from carpets that needed tacks.

Tacky - early 19th century: of unknown origin. Early use was as a noun denoting a horse of little value, later applied to a poor white in some southern states, hence ‘shabby, cheap, in bad taste’ (mid 19th century).

Isn't tack also something to do with horse equipment. Maybe they are related. But not in the sense I was thinking about. The unknown origin part doesn't really help.

I let out a big sigh and get back to the matter at hand. Something to do with me dying. Yes, go get the knife.

I look at the slow clock and see that it's already past 6. And then I hear her stirring. I guess this has to wait.

Arise Anew! You are now awoken.

I love the sunrise. Being an awed audience to the Sun's growing majesty emphasizes the pure chance of my being alive that day. I silently thank my lucky star (you guessed it) for allowing the series of random events that precipitated to my existence on that day; to bear witness to the biggest reason life exists on the lonely planet. 

I love the sunrise. I am fascinated by the way it hits the metal fender both of the bridge I am standing on and my lowly means of transportation - my automobile. Just by reflecting the magnificence of the day bringer, these common artifacts are raised from obscurity. The light from the lifegiver defines them: This is a car. This is a bridge. If not by reflection then by contrast. The gentleman in the far horizon is exalted because his silhouette stands him apart from the riff raff around him.

I love the sunrise. I was named after the sun. I don't always rise with It. But the days I do, whether by accident or design, I am filled with a new confidence. Along with the discomfort from the unaccustomed earliness of the hour and the metallic sharpness of the morning air, is a sense of surety in my ability to conquer the day. Everything seems possible at that moment. I survey my surroundings with the satisfying superiority of ownership. I revel in the growing energy from the omnipresent light around me and for a second transform into my namesake, if only in mind.

I love the sunrise. For I am the sun and as I rise the world rises with me.

White Noon

Would she lose her name? That was her greatest fear. She had chosen this name so carefully. It was not rare, but not that common either. One in 10000. The best odds. The naming ceremony had been one of those rare instances when her parents had been proud of her. No. If she knew Saark, her name is the one thing that would remain. He was the chameleon. Her career? Now that was another matter. She would probably never get an assignment again.

Saark came in like the wind. She could sense that he was there. There was a lot of stirring and Resse looked confused. Probably from the buzzing in his earpiece. He stepped out with a terse "Don't move." to her. Like she would, even if she could. Saark was here. The only thing now was to act according to his plan. Move as he did.

Saark flew into the interrogation sector. His face was a purple rage. With his alabaster skin and balding head, the effect was grotesque and striking. He gasped when he saw her. "Your Excellency!" She was shocked. Did he know? Saark mentally chuckled. He turned to Resse following in his wake, even more confused than before. "How dare you!! You shackle Yilmat the I? Hmph. How dare.." Masterful as always. The loss of words was sheer genius. She smiled to herself. He did not suspect. She knew the game now. "Rasool please. It is not his fault." "But your excellency!!" "He SHOULD know better." "I will have your lapels for this." "Unshackle his excellency this instant." Resse knew he should wait for orders. But this Rasool was here. He had come into the Patrol Unit. Well, they couldn't leave as they pleased. He can release the lad for now. Finally. She could stand up. She made sure Saark did not see her relief. But her buttocks did tremble. Saark missed nothing. "Your Haven, your excellency." He then handed her a Pesh-kabz dagger. Resse couldn't believe his eyes. A named dagger! With an Ivory hilt!  He had to get these people out before anyone saw them. He would never talk about this ever again.

As she saw him rub out the white out of his skin, and bring forward his hair to cover the razored bald patch, she could only marvel at his repertoire. A dagger! What an elegant, simple solution. No wonder he had lasted six whole years with the Carter Branch. Saark, was thinking along the same lines. Six years. No memory swipes, no blood. This time. Well a job well done for now. But the chameleon couldn't last much longer. He looked at his watch, it was about 12. He looked up and saw the white sun piercing the cloudless sky, like a dagger into the heart of the earth. High noon was approaching.

The many shades of Pink

"My name is Yahut Boaz Yilmat. How many ever times you ask, it's not gonna change." My southern drawl wouldn't hold out much longer. I had to stop talking soon. "I thought you checked with my embassy." He grimaced when I said embassy. I had to remember that. "Yeah, but I am not convinced." His scowl was beginning to get to me. "Look, I have co-operated with you. Why are you torturing me this way?" I hoped to gain some time, until He came. But I was under extreme discomfort. "Torture?? I have not laid a hand on you, lad!" His incredulity apart, I realized I could not continue in this vein. How was he to know, that the hard chair was torture to me? How was he to know, that my full name was Yahut Boaz Yilmat Ben Illahi the II? That was the one thing he mustn't know, or even guess. I cursed my debilitation. 17 years of training couldn't overcome a weak butt. That is what generations of sitting on cushioned chairs does to you. He would be laughing now, I should make sure He, Saark (whose real name probably wasn't that), never finds out.

I had to play this out right. "I have been sitting all day, Sir. My legs are going to sleep. Shackle me if you must. But at least let me stand." He scowled more. "You did give my embassy my full name did you not? Yahut Boaz Yilmat the I?" He grimaced again. "Aye, that is what your UC says, so that is what I gave them, lad. And call me Resse. This Sir business isn't getting you anywhere." He pronounced UC as a slow drawn out 'you see'. Definitely not a mainlander. Another piece of information that I filed away. Well father, you have what you've always wanted. They think I am a man. Well, if the Carter Branch couldn't find out, the Patrol Unit never would. And I was sure the Carter Branch didn't. I hoped Saark had got my message.

Saark, whose real name wasn't Saark, paced up an down the alley, slowly, methodically; As if sizing the alley with the length of his stride. It had taken years for him to recruit a Ben Illahi offspring. Be that as it may, a girl.  In actuality, that only made his coup that much greater. Now he had a Ben Illahi girl. A direct heir to the throne. He had found out the second time he had met her. He could identify a taped chest as well as a false bust. The skin tone tape was a nice touch. But they did strip search her, when she came in. She had to be careful. He had the eye, though. That was his greatest gift.... He paused in his pacing unconsciously. The sun was almost down. The sky turned from amaranth, slowly to puce; Going through all the shades of pink as his eyes followed the sun. "Stop, reminiscing!", He told himself. He no longer had her. The stupid Patrol Unit did.

Well, she was a clever one. He had to give her that. Making sure her UC said 'the I', that was a great move. But he had come to expect that.  Then again, she was not that clever if she got caught by the Patrol Unit. Argh! He had to get her out soon. He had to be careful. No memory swipes, no blood. This had to be old fashioned discombobulation.

A Crimson Dawn

Last night I had the unenviable task of preventing Mr. Klienveldt from leaving Boston. Mr. K had just lost his job as campaign manager for the candidate and in a huff was planning to go to Washington (D.C.). Somebody had let the ball drop. Things should never have reached this far. I should have never been called in. Of course, certain parties wanted to ease his passage to D.C.

Mr. K of course did not want to alarm his wife and so conveniently did not mention the loss of income to her. Well it wouldn't have mattered if Mrs. K had stayed in Wyoming as she originally planned to. But when Google flights suggests that you return a week earlier and save $300 (yes, you read that right) you do not just ignore it. So she came back. Just in time to conveniently run into Mr. K and Ben, their 1 year old son, at the waiting area.

Mr. K was reclining on the uncomfortable airport chair with his son slung over the arm of said chair, contemplating on his near future. This is when he heard the familiar sharp intake of breath which meant that, forget his near future, his immediate future was in imminent danger. He looked up startled, almost toppling his precious son. As I looked on from behind a useless newspaper, I congratulated myself on another job well done and rustled about, ready to up and leave. But my job is never that easy. It turned out I did not know Mr. K as well as I thought I did. He came clean about his job scenario and did not invent the convenient lie of having come there to receive his wife. Surprise! Now Mrs. K wanted to join him on his journey to D.C. What's more as they moved their discussion to the airport coffee house, lo and behold, a woman was loudly proclaiming her disinterest in traveling to D.C. in the very same flight as Mr. K. Mrs. K could not believe her good fortune and neither could I. As she fell into conversation with the non-traveling woman who wanted to surprise her sailor boyfriend by staying, I decided it was time I stepped in.

The exchange of pleasantries had happened and so had the ticket for money exchange. And to my dismay I recognized the sailor's good girlfriend for one of my former. This was not good news. I thought my chameleon days were over. They all ordered coffee and the girlfriend excused herself to presumably go to the restroom (probably to contact Control). I occupied the now vacant seat. Klienveldt was busy on the phone, so it was his missus who first noticed me. Naturally, she asked who the blonde gentleman might be. I replied that I was a former employee of her husband's and owed everything I was to him. She was so overcome by my sincerity that she responded with her first smile of the day. Her timing could not have been worse as Mr. K returned to profess no knowledge of knowing me. I laughed it off, holding her hand, spreading warmth through her, saying I was her kind hearted friend's sailor boyfriend and wanted to surprise her. Much relieved, the K family joined me in my laughter, Ben included (he probably knew better than his parents, my source of mirth). The coffees arrived and I took my former girlfriend's and excused myself, saying I will go find her. As I stood up, my Navy whites momentarily blinded them as the sun peeked out spreading crimson throughout the Boston sky.

I met my supposed girlfriend at the next table, and handed her, her coffee. The chameleon that I am she did not recognize me and accepted the coffee thinking that I was merely transferring it. I left them happy, my job once more done. The familiar scream, the instant panic followed by the crowding. Then I made the mistake of turning to look, to find Mrs. K's accusing eyes burning into mine. She shouted to alert the incoming security of my presence. I turned and ran in a most obvious fashion..

As I walked out of the airport in my tweed jacket, with the wind rustling through my dark receding hair, I silently appreciated my own foresight in paying the five Navy men to run through the airport corridor exactly at 6 am. I looked up to see the crimson dawn turning into day. Hopefully my days as the chameleon were at an end...

Ramblings under the influence (of tea)

I am at a coffee shop, working on many things. I am sitting across a guy who looks like Matt Damon from School Ties (sorta). I also saw a woman in the bus today who looked like Katie Holmes. I considered approaching her and telling her. My sense of propriety along with a lack of my usual boldness combined to prevent me from committing that particular gaffe. Now, sitting across Matt (for lack of a proper name) I realize how big of a gaffe it would have been. I am thankful somewhat that my ancestors have not passed me any 'famous person look alike' genes. It would be pretty irritating to live a life of assumed fame and constant misunderstanding. I recently heard a "This American Life" episode called Doppelgangers. This line of thinking has reminded me of that particular episode. You should definitely check it out. You would realize, I think, the analogy and come to a conclusion similar to mine.  So the next time you think of complementing somebody with 'Hey, you have Tom Cruise eyes.' or 'Hey, you look like a tall Drew Barrymore.' just don't, okay! Note that, I am not just asking you to refrain from using these particular statements, but comparisons to famous people in general. 

This brings me to a sort of related line of thought. We as a people hate being judged for our looks. People always tell me you should not judge a person by what's on the outside. Or the more popular - 'It's what's on the inside that matters." I guess they are talking about character, intellect, one's soul or something along that line. My confusion here is a fundamental one. Why is it wrong to appreciate somebody's beauty? Or give them jobs based on their appearance? Or build a relationship based on their looks? One of these is seemingly ok (at least appears to be). You can appreciate somebody's beauty. But, in practice it is not very ok. You can not walk up to someone and say "Hey, you look stunning." or "Hey, you look sexy." But it is perfectly acceptable to say, "Hey, what you said is pretty intelligent." To firmly elucidate my confusion: Intellect and creativity are as much based on good genes and are as random as large eyes, blonde hair or high cheek bones. Similar to intelligence, beauty also needs a lot of hard work to maintain and heighten. Somehow picking the best looking person is only acceptable if you are a model or an actress. People resent it when a better looking person is promoted to be the spokesperson of anything, or a news anchor, or the public face of an organization. Sometimes they are even promoted for jobs in which beauty seemingly does not have a role to play, such as a doctor. However research does suggest that we naturally trust people who are good looking. I am too lazy to provide you with a link to that research so please assume that I provided you with the pubmed link (Blame my genes). 

Dreaming of Yesterday - Part III Vinayak

Kumaran nervously fiddled with the ring on his finger until he reached that familiar ridge where copper gave way to gold. He loved that ring just as he loved Valli. When they were both children, Kumaran had playfully asked for her nose ring and she had pulled it out without thinking. There was blood everywhere. It was a day he would never forget and it was the last thing he had ever asked her. He had worn that nose ring on his finger from that day on, adding copper to the gold widening it year after year. Now there was more copper than gold to that ring, but it was a constant reminder of how precious his prin.. queen was.

How could she doubt him? Why did she doubt him? Was it a dream? He had so many questions and he had no clue where or how to start. He started pacing restlessly across the dark room that he knew so well, with Guru shadowing him with his watchful gaze. Suddenly he came to a halt. There was but one answer. There was but one person to whom he could turn for help. He had to call Vinayak. Vinayaka Vignahara, the remover of all obstacles: He would know what to do.

The relief was instantaneous. Just then, the morning sun broke through and lifted the darkness in the room. Kumaran actually managed a smile. Guru, seeing his smiling visage, hoped that Kumaran had a solution. Kumaran turned towards him and just said the name. Guru's furrowed brow uncreased and Kumaran could see that he agreed with him. Guru just stepped to the side, indicating that Kumaran should get moving. Kumaran strode with purpose towards the aviary, but he was not in search of any pigeon but the pigeon keeper's daughter, Urmi. As luck would have it, he did not have to go all the way to the aviary. He spied her lithe form chasing after a stray cat in the palace gardens. She caught up to the cat but let it run again, and again. She sensed Kumaran watching her and gave up on the farce to turn and face him. Kumaran had no sooner begun to call her name out, when she was next to him. Again, he only had to utter the name and she was off. Just as he turned back, he saw Guru coming towards him. This time they took to pacing together, like royal sentries, guarding the flower patch. Now they had to wait, hopefully not for long. Hopefully his brother would have an answer...

Dreaming of yesterday Part II - Kumaran

"You beckoned, my princess?", the soft, firm, familiar whisper, acted like a drug, giving her energy, even as she turned in reply. "Oh! Kumaran", she thought; She wanted to run into his arms like always, drowning into the sea of comfort, that were his arms. The sound of Guru's footsteps, broke her reverie and she steeled her resolve before looking up at Kumaran again. The flickering light of the torch fell upon the queer pair of the old guard and the keen young man and she could see the earnestness in their faces. She knew they loved her unquestioningly and were waiting for her mere word to embark on any quest of her choice. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and asked the question that was burning her tongue, "Who is she?"

Kumaran knew that the question was addressed to him and raked his mind furiously to make sense of her query. Finding, no answer within, he decided to wait for his Valli to elaborate. Valli saw the clueless look on his face and decided a more direct approach was in order. She breathed out an audible sigh and began again "Who is it that you love so much? Who is she?" Kumaran again saw that the question was directed at him. Finding no greater clarity in the elaboration, he decided to finally voice his concern. "I love you, my princess. I know not of this other she that you refer to." 'Princess', Valli seethed at that word. She was the queen now, but everywhere she was the Princess of Madurai, the girl ruler, the kid. It was enough to drive her up the wall, especially that night. She controlled herself with difficulty and said with clenched teeth, biting the words apart, "My parents died when I was 11. I have been ruler of this country ever since I was 16. I think it is about time you call me Queen Valli."

Kumaran was oblivious to her anger and playfully replied, "To me you will always be my princess." He breathed out a sigh of relief. Valli was just being petulant. He had not seen her much over the last month. He would spend the next day with her, he decided. Valli nearly screamed out. Then she saw Guru rustling and was brought back to reality. She was surprised at her anger: What did it matter, if she was called Queen or Princess? If fate would have it Madurai as she knew it would not exist. She chewed back all the arguments and with slow deliberation broke Kumaran's happy thoughts and asked him again "Kumara this is very important. Please do tell me who is this woman that you love?" But no sooner had she asked, she knew it was to no avail. He was not going to tell her. Why was he doing this to her? Weren't they engaged to be married, for four years now. It was her idea to wait, but he had seemed so enthusiastic in his acceptance of her decision. Why wouldn't he at least tell her who she was. Was she not owed that much? They had known each other for 17 years and what was it worth? What should she do now? What should she do now? She tilted her head back and clenched her eyelids, holding back her tears of desperation and wishing it were all a dream. Ha! What a stupid thought! Her stupid dream had gotten her here. No sooner did she think this, when the image of the quiet majesty of Vishram's face came to her.

There lay her answer. She had enough trust in Kumaran to leave him unguarded. And of course there was Guru; she knew she did not have to give him any explicit orders. He wouldn't leave Kumaran out of his sight now. Not after he heard their exchange. So she silently left the room, with Keerthi running to catch up with her. Suddenly left in darkness, Kumaran was lost. Who was this mystery woman that she kept asking about? If she wanted him to call her queen, he would of course do that; with no misgivings or a second's thought. Did she not love him anymore? He hardly knew if there was any explanation out there. He had been so sure that he had been beckoned to witness another dream...

Dreaming of yesterday Part I - Valli

She woke up with a start. It was a familiar feeling. A feeling of certainty, but this time there was fear as well. She called out to the guard, who she knew, was standing outside. She heard the rustling of curtains, followed by the slightest clank of metal against metal, then the heavy thuds of footsteps. From the heavy thuds, she knew it was Guru who was on duty tonight. He was thoughtful that way. The seemingly pointless thudding gave her time to get her thoughts in order and get out of her huge bed. The soft mattress and the thick curtains that she so loved were annoying her as she struggled to get out of the giant bed. Just as she managed to get on her feet, the crack of light from her door way widened ever so slowly and was eventually engulfed by the large silhouette of Guru.

She hastily beckoned him towards her and bid him to lower his large frame so that she could whisper the name into his ears. The name she loved, the name she lived for and the name she had been wanting to scream out ever since she woke up "Kumaran".. Guru seemed to understand this cryptic message and smartly turned on his heels, almost capsizing her slender figure in his wake and left the room in large purposeful strides. All this silent commotion had woken up Keerthi and no sooner did she open her eyes, she hurried to her mistress' side. By this time, the princess had lost her fear and only certainty remained in her beautiful eyes. She visibly tightened her expression, her full lips receding until there was but a slit of determination left. Keerthi knew this expression well and rushed to get her mistress' clothes and a torch while she was at it.

Valli, princess of Madurai, thoonganaragam (the city that never sleeps)  was known around the seven kingdoms for her wit, her beauty and her kindness. But more importantly, she was lesser known for her ability to dream. Guru, of course knew of this ability and his steps quickened as he saw that his destination was at reach. He was sweating, but he knew it was not of exhaustion or effort. At last he came upon the door of his desire and he took no time or thought to bang on it. When Guru bangs on a door the whole neighborhood usually wakes up, but thankfully, the house of his target was an isolated one, being as it was inside the royal forest. The youth that came to the door, looked neither surprised nor angered and the minute he saw that it was Guru merely left the door open and went back inside. No sooner had Guru stepped into the threshold that he beheld the young man dressed and ready to leave. And together they left...

Being a skeptic in a rational world

Skepticism  Vs rationality/logic

I recently did a course on big data in the popular online lecture website coursera.com. The course had a big emphasis on the role of big data in today's world and how to take advantage of this. You can see the impact of the availability of data in the social networks. You see  so many articles citing so many studies and statistics. Of course the inference here is that big data is one of the reasons for the sudden proliferation in citations of the statistical nature (as opposed to the only reason). I also have noticed a sudden rise in the claims to rationality and a rational approach to thinking in my immediate near sighted vision. I will not quote any statistics in this essay and my reason for so many disclaimers is that I do not want to give the impression that the trends that I notice everyday by any means capture the bigger picture.

A true skeptic will always question everything. The God question has been one of the many questions that scientists have tried to answer in recorded history. The latest method of course is the large collider of CERN. There have been huge inference engines that have been asked the question and the cliched joke of getting a huge number in answer is a well used one. A believer/religious person/other irrelevant names would say He/She exists while the rationalist/non-believer/science person would claim that given the evidence He/She does not exist. A skeptic however would honestly say 'I don't know'. Sometimes this is the most difficult thing to do. Being a skeptic I really don't know but I like to have someone to call on in difficult times so I fake it. 

Until recently I was a rationalist myself but seeing this proliferation of statistics and contradicting data that is so convoluted and confusing that you cannot make sense of anything, I became a skeptic. 

Confusing logic with being right

I see this particular gem quiet often these days (but I am in no way claiming that this is a worldwide trend). Being a person with a logical, analytical and scientific frame of thought should not be confused with being a person who is mostly right. All logic is based on some basic assumption and this assumption in itself is usually based on some empirical/experimental data. For example, in the movie Thuppaki, the hero Vijay assumes that the baddie he has captured will act in a particular way. He further assumes that the members of the organization he is trying to destroy have no prior knowledge of each other. The known facts (not assumptions) are that the tandem attack is going to happen on a particular date (time not known), and there are 12 baddies attacking at 12 locations. If you follow the original assumption, only the mid level baddie who Vijay has captured knows all the 11 other baddies. Vijay and his 11 team mates set about following this mid level baddie. So the logical assumption here would be to follow baddie no.1 while peeling 1 of the team for each new baddie. But they actually split into half for each baddie (6+6, 3+3+3+3...) which is surprising but still logical if you disregard assumption 1. Another example is the inference that is being made that Delhi is the worst place for a woman right now or that it is not the worst. For me as a skeptic when I see a news report that a girl has been raped the only inference I take from it is just that - that a girl has been raped. Sometimes I think I am a heartless person because the immediate question that follows is "Is there anything I can do about it?' and mostly the answer is no. So I forget about it. It seems insensitive to say "Sorry, but that piece of news is not important. I am more concerned about when a movie I'd like to see is getting released." But there you go, I have laid bare my thought process. Because sitting here 9000 miles away I really can't find a way to help. 

I have more thoughts to share but the dichotomy of writing for myself and writing for a reader has stopped me. I figure I am more selfish and attention seeking than I would care to admit and I will continue this post when I see some interest in it.

If you would like to see a more detailed explanation of the Thuppaki problem it is coming soon.

A swift humiliation

As I panted away in desperation

with an ashamed agony,

She coiled and twisted away from me,

like a lithe snake to a maguni.

For every torturous step I took,

and every gulp of air,

"Come on", she seemed to say

"Grow a pair".

And as I looked furtively at her,

jumping like Jordan, Michael

She flew past me

like on Annamalai's cycle.

So I stopped and wondered,

at this mocking dance,

But she ran right on,

with nary a step thrown askance.

Shadow Bright

 The moonlight cascading through the shimmering leaves of the lonesome tree was an unsullied white. The tree weighed down by its loneliness perhaps was bent over in eternal apology and shame. And under it we were playing out our whimsical farce, our unique parody of a season long courtship. As the pacific purity of the moonlight showered its abundance on the stacked wooden floor through that enormous skylight, the non-existant roof of that singular log cabin, even our shadows seemed bright..

 A sudden gust of the previously lurking wind rose up among the full, weighty boughs of that lonely tree and as it rose it seemed to pass along a secret that the vibrant leaves whispered to each other. Slowly it grew, rising in a crescendo of cacophonous bloodlust and the tree let out a final carrying sigh of countless whispers saying killkillkillkillkill... marked with an exclamation of intent, its spine cracked as an outlet for the violence it was witnessing. I needed no further encouragement and I ended our flirtatious dance closing the wary distance between us. As she fell, her shadow bright, shortened in an exaggerated and elaborate mimicry of her fall.

 The blood was a blemish against the stark whiteness of the moonlight. And have you noticed, blood seems to shimmer with an ethereal quality under that brilliant light of a full moon. Even the violence seemed fantastical under that light. For a moment I doubted I was there, but then I heard it: The profound silence of the satisfied wind and the shimmering leaves. The tree seemed a little straighter; it had found a companion tonight.

Understanding love, Not!

I have been struggling with this huge question of late. Of course huge as an adjective is always relative. Anyway, the question is about love. I have been arguing, fighting, pondering and sometimes just blankly staring at this concept of love. I have been struggling to understand filial and fraternal love. I cannot even wrap my head around the concept of love with a random stranger be it platonic or non platonic - so, I will not talk about it now.

What is this bond - almost indestructible among brothers, between sons/daughters and parents? Why is there an unwritten sense of obligation one feels in giving and reciprocating this abundance of affection? How is it that when it comes to their children, people have this cornucopia, this akshaya patram of time, understanding, patience and yes love? I said unwritten, but maybe it is written in your genes.

With friends, for the last time I felt an actual pain at separation, I have to think back to school or when I moved house when I was 14. I haven't truly missed anybody since I was in 10th standard. It was not a teary farewell when I left home to go to college or even when I travelled nearly 9000 miles to come here to the U.S. Now that I write it out and am saying it aloud in my mind, 9000 miles seems like such an awfully big distance. Yes the excitement of a new journey, the beginning of a new part of my life, the mystery of a new place; all these things must surely have distracted me. But as I said I did not truly miss anybody from back home. Then why do I feel guilty about not calling my dad often enough or skyping with my mom only every time there is a mention of Justin Bieber in a serious discussion about music. (I am not talking about youtube comments here).

Why does my brother feel so invested in my progress? I expect him to feel irritated when I call him for help or advice or just random conversation. He never is. A few years back, when I told my dad that I was not going to take the prestigious job that was pretty hard to come by but work at a start up instead, he obviously had something to say about it. There was this interesting dichotomy in me: I was incredibly doubtful about the saneness of my decision but at the same time, the more my dad told me it was a bad decision the more my doubt vanished (only to return when I put the phone down). I remember my winning argument, "Appa, I know what I am doing!" It is interesting of course only in the comfortable after glow of nostalgia. When you eat so much that you can't move, the discomfort is only a fleeting irritation when you think about it the next day.

Why at 25, do I still feel insecure and indecisive but at the same time so afraid and defiant about asking my parent's help? "Naan pathukaren" (I will take care of it) has always been my standard response to any questions about my well being or my future plans. How do they not get irritated by this? Now as I think about it with the cold calculation made possible by the lack of seeing eyes around me, especially those of my parents, I can view myself a little from their perspective. And in that view I don't see a very flattering image. I can have no patience with this guy that I am if I were his parent or his brother even. But why is it so easy to overlook these things for them? I am sure this is true for most families. Even my parents, I can understand a little. There is a sense of responsibility in having brought this chaotic being into this disturbing world. It is like a fish laying eggs in the deep depths of the ocean.

But, my brother! What responsibility does he have? Does the mere fact that he was born before me entitle me to his attention? I do not know. I do not understand. I will have to think some more or someone with a little more sense, no actually, a lot more sense has to make me understand. Anna! are you reading this?

A summer of expectancy

I have not been this excited about a hindi movie in a while. Just hearing Dhanush speak hindi made my day yesterday. He has something that just makes him so watchable. I have also not re-watched a trailer so many times in a while. I do not like this feeling of expectancy and hype (self-created of course) as I usually get disappointed. But, Dhanush has not disappointed me so far. One more big plus for me is that they said "Music by A. R. Rehman" and not "An A. R. Rehman Musical". Something to look forward to this summer...

The Gauntlet Part II

Suddenly they were in a room with a fireplace and nothing else. There was not a fire per se, just the embers of one waiting to be stoked. Nothing adorned the stone walls and there was not even a rug on the stone floor. She could see this much in the dim light of the red hot logs. On the mantle piece she saw a strange circular symbol engraved into the stone with a curiously astounding precision and artistry. The room gained importance and bearing because of this incredible dichotomy.

"Now Vasundhra, to answer your question", said Vikramaditya, breaking the spell of the room, "I want you to rule in my stead for a year and prove that you are indeed capable."

"What?", said the shocked Vasundhara. "Let me finish", he continued, "You will not ask for my help in this one year nor will I interfere. Also the year starts tomorrow.", he finished.

By this time Bhairava had joined them and stood brooding in one corner.

"And what will you do? In this one year?", she asked, tongue firmly in cheek. "Hmmm, what would you have me do?", he asked, playing along.

"Take over my duties of course.", she said, not batting an eyelid. It was relieving to hear him laugh aloud.

"Well this is the wager then: We will each take over the other's duty for a year. You should also rule twice as well as me and the same goes for me. I will not ask your help and neither should you mine.", he asked her.

"I agree.", she said for the first time doubtful. But there was no doubt to be heard in her words. As she said this she turned away from Vikramaditya and did not notice Bhairava hand something to him. She turned towards him as he said,

"Well then if that is the case.." He swiftly undid her robe before she realized it and placed a hot brand on top of her left breast. The searing heat of the brand was so harsh that she did not feel the sharp, momentary prick of the needle. As she threatened to faint, he held her steady all the time guiding her by the elbow to the darkest corner of the room. There he made her sink into a chair. The chair felt oddly familiar and stopped her from fainting.

"Look up", he commanded barely in a whisper. She looked up immediately and found his searching concerned eyes. But as their eyes met, the concern was replaced by steel. He gently brushed the still fresh brand on her otherwise unblemished skin. She winced and immediately looked down upon her breast: It was the same strange circular symbol. He lifted her chin and said, "This, Vasundhara, is the mark of an Aditya." "With this, you are never safe now. But then again, you will also be almost universally revered." Her entire body went stiff with tension. "However, you will never bare it, unless in need."

Now, lightly tracing the mark he said, "The inner circle is the Sun, the Aditya. The outer circle denotes the people, your Praja, your subjects. The four lines connecting them are the rays, your duty, your promise, your justice and your mercy. Remember the outer circle rules the inner one, though it may seem the other way. The inner most dot, the black pin prick that is almost invisible - that is the darkness.  You will always keep it at bay." His voice was commanding, insistent and could not be ignored. It seemed to fill her entire consciousness...

She remembered the day they first met. It was her Swayamvaram. There were a hundred suitors in her hall. Then they heard it, a loud trumpet, like a clap of thunder. She rushed outside to her balcony and there he was - tall, terrible, handsome. With the Sun behind him creating a halo of sorts and his armor shining, he looked like a God descended. He was at the head of an army that stretched as far as the eye could see. She looked on as her father rushed to him and heard clearly when he asked if she would have him for a husband. Her father looked up questioningly, ready to object, be it at the cost of his own life. She had already fallen for him though..

"Yes, I will.", she agreed with the weight of truth behind her. And at those words, the tension seemed to lift and her taut limbs softened. She sank into the cushion and felt the familiar curves of the chair. She looked down in astonishment. It was her chair! It was a peculiar chair. There were no intricate designs nor any ornate craftsmanship. Its opulence was underlined by its sheer comfort. She remembered that the cushions were filled with silk cotton - picked, threaded and puffed within seconds of the pod bursting. It had taken years of effort and precision to arrive at this epitome of comfort. It was her chair! She remembered Vikramaditya asking her to bring it with her. He had in fact insisted. This was her chair! Her island of peace, her anchor to reality. As she realized this she felt a sudden burst of love for Vikramaditya followed almost immediately by an intense pain. This time she fainted.

Waking up, she found herself in his arms. He was whispering in her ear,  "I am sorry...".  It stopped the moment she stirred. Gathering himself, he faced her. "I injected a small dose of an old, odious drug when I branded you Vasundhara; directly into your heart. Now, whenever you feel powerful emotion, you will fill intense pain overpowering you. The pain will last only a few seconds and you will stop fainting after the first few times. But, I am afraid, it is something you have to get used to."

She could only manage a mumbled "Why?" in response. He faced her firmly and said, "To remind you that your duty is to your people."

The Gauntlet had been accepted.

I swear, I am honest!

In years past,
There was a boy named Jack,
He was 11 years old,
And whatever he said, he never took back.

Of course this meant no stories,
Or lies, big and small; none played,
He was just a little kid,
But he was straight as Georgie's blade.

He would tell you if you were ugly,
Or if you had stinky breath,
So much so that people thought,
He needed a stinking thorn wreath.

None could lead him astray,
However well intentioned,
Not even his mother tried (after he called her soup goulash),
She had become conditioned.

Though, one day it came crashing down,
Little Jack tripped on a school stair,
His mistake 'twas,
But he blamed it on a wire laid bare.

His honest days were over,
Now he is 54 and some,
He has a huge house with a pool,
Filled through with vodka and rum.

Yes, the school payed out,
10 million sweet kachings,
He had it all invested of course,
And even owns a Chinese named Ling's.

Where is the moral? you ask,
Well look for it up your arse,
For life is full of people,
Who live out a rich, wholesome farce.

The Gauntlet

"You are leaving already? I hardly see you anymore.", she said.

"You knew how it would be when you agreed to be my wife. I made sure you knew.", he said. 

"I thought you were exaggerating.", she said, her pout almost heard in her voice.

"Well, I am the king, Vasundhara.", he said with a sigh. 

"Exactly! You are the king. Can't you get somebody else to handle your affairs for today?", she asked exasperated.

A good natured smile was the only thing keeping his tired face alive, but, as he turned towards her, the tiredness vanished and the smile was replaced by a mischievous grin. There was a dangerous glint to his eye that those who knew him well had grown to appreciate. Vasundhara missed it of course. They had been married but for 6 months.

Vikramaditya was known for his wisdom and for his quick wit. He never came to a decision without deliberation. But this time it was an easy decision...

"Are you saying being a King is easy? Are you asking me to leave the job for someone else?", he asked gently all the time thinking, "Will she fall for it?"

"Not exactly, but I am sure I can do as good a job as you can, if that is what you are implying!", she said with not little anger.

She had fallen for it. "Well, prove it.", said Vikramaditya with a triumphant grin which he hid from Vasundhara.

"Whatever do you mean?", she asked.

At this precise moment, Vikramaditya called in his personal aide Bhairava and whispered many an order into his willing ear. And at that very instant, all the lamps were extinguished as one, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness.

Vasundhara was not surprised or taken aback as she had become accustomed to Vikramaditya's strange habits. He was in deep thought, this she knew. Suddenly, she heard his urgent voice near her, "Take my hand Vasundhara and follow me." She knew the voice well and knew better than to argue. She had learnt from experience that he would not answer her most persistent inquiries. She followed him down a passage she had not known existed and would not have been able to pin point if asked again. She was blind for all purposes. But with her arm in his, she trusted Vikramaditya completely.

The gauntlet had been thrown... 

Sunset

It was still a few minutes to sunset, but the sun was fast closing in. Dusk is a beautiful time. Especially that day, on that road. I was on my usual evening run, albeit late by a few hours. I usually try and run while the sun is still out. It was good that I had chosen not to on that day. I would never have been witness to that incredible vista otherwise.

There is an uphill slope at the beginning of that road and as you rise up, you are granted a vision of the shimmering lake, glowing in the sun's setting rays. While the lake is one side, the other side is a wall of houses. Houses of a disarming similarity all basking peacefully in the twilight. It was a sight of ponderous beauty and I stopped for a second at the crest of the slope. I took a deep breath and tried to take the entire sight in, with one swift sweep of my eyes. It was not enough; my greed was not satisfied. So, I slowly turned my head from one side to another and as I did this I noticed tiny details that enhanced the beauty of this panorama. The houses were not as similar as they had seemed before...

The changes between the houses were tiny and pleasant and added to my sense of wonder. There was a french window here and a tall chimney there. A house in stark white and another in brilliant purple. But in these multitude of minuscule and trivial changes, I detected a sense of ownership and also, more powerfully, a flowing harmony. As I stood spellbound and wordless, the scene was broken by the sun: setting.

The street lights had already been burning for a few minutes, but now the lights in the houses began to go up. As the lights started turning on, I noticed a harmony in this as well, from the farthest house barely visible to my youthful eyes to the nearest house looming before me. Shaking my head in bemused appreciation, with a wide smile on my lips, I began my descent into that long, incredible road.

As I ran, I noticed my shadows slowly lengthening as they left the comforting shelter of one street light and shortening again as I approached the next. I looked up and was at once struck by a strange phenomenon. My sub-conscience kicked in and I remembered noticing the same phenomenon in the first house as well: None of the houses I passed seemed to have anybody in them. They were all well lit, with their living rooms and sometimes their kitchens clearly visible, but there seemed to be nobody about. My brain had previously dismissed this, but the continuation of this theme had made me consciously notice it. Any residual satisfaction I had at that previous sight of incredible beauty, on which, the evening curtain had fallen a mere minute ago, up and vanished.

I scratched my brain for a logical explanation: maybe they are all resting inside their bedrooms, or, maybe they are all out. All these I rejected. It was not the case with a few houses, but with every house I had encountered so far on that road. There was just nobody on that road. I began to itch for any sign of humanity. Of civilization there were many signs, but not one sight of human life. As my ears strained and my eyes searched, I heard it: A loud bark followed by a long howl. It was not a wolf or any other wild animal. There was no doubt; it was a dog. There was a note of cultivated terror in the howl. No ordinary dog either, a huge beast. My shadows lengthened and shortened much faster now, as I sought the comfort of the next light, even as I passed the one.

Then again, my curiosity was insatiable. "WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE?", my mind screamed. I just had to know. As I approached the last two houses, I formulated a desperate plan. I would knock on one of the doors and if anybody answered I could always ask for water or directions. At the first house, the door was painted red and the whole house seemed a little crooked. The storm drain was at a weird angle and the windows were very big. So big that I coud clearly see the TV inside (off), and the empty couch and the empty chairs. I decided the next house would be the one. It was the last house. I did not have a choice. Adrenaline was pumping through my body and my inner demon kept whispering "The dog is in this house, you fool." But I pressed on. I had to know.

By this time, I was heaving, my lungs desperate for air. I sounded like a man in the final stretch of a sickening disease, about to die. My eyes were burning with the sweat from my brow. But as I gingerly stepped towards the brown door, I clearly noticed the number 2314 boldly written in a bright scarlet. There was a little paint dripping from the circle around the numbers, drying out. The sign had been painted not very long ago. My heart pounding and my lungs heaving I raised my hand. I had no idea then, if my legs were shaking from my desperate run or my desperate fear. I knocked on the door and rasped, "Anybody home?"

As I heard the approaching footsteps, I could clearly make out a set of paws along with them and took an involuntary step away from the door. The door opened. At that very instant the streetlight right in front of the house gave out and a strong wind blew. It cooled my sweaty brow and my hot face. But I could not feel much more as I heard a shot fire. I saw the muzzle flash from a double barrel gun, blinding me. I did not make out the figure behind it. Incredibly, the first shot missed and I heard the bullet whistle past me. However, the second one did not; not at that close a range. It was not painful.

Discipline

"There is a certain discipline in everything and everyone", said the ascetic to the hedonist.

The hedonist pounced on this statement with unconcealed glee. "Discipline is self imposed. I reject your discipline. I enjoy life", he said with a superiority achieved only when you truly despise your inferior.

"And that my friend..";

The hedonist looked for the superior sneer which was not there and in a final desperation looked for any mention of foolishness with bated breath, foolishness he would defend with gusto and superiority...

But continuing in his flat, even tone with a sense of finality, finality because of the very lack of any increase in the tone that would betray emotion, dashing all the hopes of the hedonist,

"Is your discipline.", said the ascetic.

Invasion?

It was a cold winter night, but I was sweating profusely. I did not mind though, "How am I to believe I am the clone?", I asked the impostor. "You say you remember creating me, but your memories are the same as mine and I don't remember being created.", I told him patiently. "Even, if for argument's sake, if I was created by you, why should I take care of your mundane tasks, while you sit back and relax?" "It is your fault then to have re-created yourself, if all you needed was a slave, why not a robot I ask you?" He was not very forthcoming in his reply. "And if you call this invasion, or forceful replacement, how can it be wrong if you are replaced by yourself." He looked back with the same sullen silence. "But I do not believe your theory in the first place, you fraud. I am better than you obviously, how else would this be happening?" He did not seem to understand. Explaining to a child would have been easier I think. But of course it is difficult to explain things to the dead. I piled the last spade-full of mud onto his face hurriedly.. The sweat was finally getting to me.