raining words: 2011

Jelaluddin Rumi

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn't make any sense.

I feel restless distressed disturbed

The big dark void moves closer
And all I can see is black
Not the black found underneath blankets and inside closed eyes
That which goes away with one swift motion
But the black you see outside your doors and windows
That which like quicksand
Envelops and preys on you.

food for thought

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

young and restless

Turning 23 is not a big deal, says my wise friend.
So I explain to him how when you are 22 you are closer to 21 so random acts of craziness are permitted.
But at 23, you are closer to 25, so you have to under any circumstances, act MATURE.
I hate that word. And the fact that my colleagues think I am an 'ageist'.
I have completely stopped writing here. Maybe because my work involves so much of writing. I like it. I am learning a great deal.
And I have been forced to come to term with the fact that I don't really know it all.
There is a deadline at work this month, extreme deadline.
So I haven't had a proper weekend to rest.
On the brighter side, my closest friend has come back to my side of the town, so there will be many meet up!
Yesterday at work, I was listening to Satisfaction and couldn't help wondering what if I simply unplug my headphones and let the speakers blare, my wise friend replied that if it were a musical, my colleagues would join me in the chorus, but mostly I would be reprimanded. So I guess it's a pity my life is not a movie.
There is a lot of negativity at work these past days. But I try not to get affected by that.
Thank god for small mercies. Being with my family and meeting my friends probably saves my life in some way.
I watched Inception last week. I always liked these dream-reality-alternative world movies, Matrix, for that matter or Constantine.
I wish I could hide the dull ache in my heart every time I read you. The only thing that reassures me is that I didn't dream or imagine it. And there won't be a going back because comfortable is a nice place to be.

The Last Song of Dusk

Just read Siddhart Sanghvi’s The Last Song of Dusk.

Somehow, his good looks and elegant clothes made me very expectant about his book. So young and his eyes already so serene and writing books at this age about big big things!

Ah! But then, looks are very much deceptive. Now, after reading his book, he appears to me as the male counterpart of Jhumpa Lahiri. Much-hyped, less-delivered types.

His novel didn’t make sense to me. His characters were inconsistent. His wit forced, so was most of the plot. Bad play with surrealism and magic. A climax that was too quickly delivered, not like a good and strong final blow, but more like things were made to end as if for a lack of time or pages...

There were some hints of genius, a couple of lines, an expression, but not enough to last the entire book.

Nothing prosy about his style. And more annoying was his use of uppercasing for words like Hope, Fate, Quietness!

Arundhati Roy and Salman Rushdie influenced?

Maybe his only other book (he has given up writing for good) The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay will be a better read.

All in all, I have at least realized my 18 year old self was as lost in crushing on Sanghvi, as he was in trying to write a book on half baked ancestral stories.

And if I already didn’t know he was gay, after reading the book, I would have been certain.

There is this way with which he describes the male body… Something only a lover could do so well.

Talking about gay writers, I dreamed of Vikram Seth last night! If my dreams get any more crazy, I am going to have to write a book about them!

Anyway, next up on my reading list is The Moor’s Last Sigh. Now there is an original psychedelic read.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

It’s been four months of scorching restless summer since I last posted here.

There are times when I can’t write, either because I am too happy or too sad. It was the former these four months.

It’s raining now, and my wordless happy season is ending too. There is something about monsoon. It makes me want to run away somewhere far, maybe Khasak, if it actually exists.

Last week I got completely drenched looking for a rickshaw back from work, took a cab and paid 4 times the normal fare and all this was after the first horrible day at work in my latest company.

I think I should quit and get back to studying. There are so many things waiting to be learned.

Clarity where art thou?

:))

I quit my old company. And that must be the best decision of the year. :)
I am so satisfied with my new job. My work is very much appreciated. And it involves so much brainstorming, so much creativity.
I have my weekends back! I am financially happier! This new place is honest, such a breath of fresh air.
There is so much to write about!

:)

You've got your ball
You've got your chain
Tied to me tight tie me up again
Who's got their claws
In you my friend
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock
And sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you

And I come into you I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream

Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
Into me, baby
And I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream

If I've gone overboard
Then I'm begging you
To forgive me
In my haste
When I'm holding you so girl
Close to me

*sigh*

~Dave Matthews Band

Another death somewhere

What can be worse than dying?
Knowing that you are dying.
What can be worse than knowing that you are dying?
To know that you are already dead.

Interview assignment

This was last year, an assignment for my Journalism class.

From an internship at Strategic Newspapers to handling the editorial section of Hindustan Times, Zara Murao has come a long way. Currently the Subeditor of Hindustan Times, she is working her way to the top. I spoke to Zara at her office in Mahim.

Zara at Hindustan Times headquarters in Mumbai

What do you think of the current state of Indian Journalism?

I think there is too much stress on entertainment these days. It’s only about TRP's now. What is missing is actual information. The journalism world before, during the freedom era, had a lot of integrity. Now we have become this yuppie nation behaving like we are selling quality ice cream, it should look good, feel good. Real news is avoided because there is a fear of readers or viewers getting bored and switching over to the next newspaper or channel.

Describe a typical day in your life.

I work on the desk. My working hours are mostly from 1 to 10 pm. It’s pretty flexible. After coming to office I read some 5 or 7 newspapers. That takes a couple of hours. Then the rest of the day goes in planning the page, editing copies, and planning special features. The newspaper is put to bed by 11.30 pm.

What do you like and dislike about your job?

I like the pace, the speed. Everything is constantly moving about. It’s challenging to meet deadlines everyday. What I do not like about my job is that it’s very taxing. Your personal life has to take a back seat.

What are the common problems faced by a Sub Editor?

I can only think of two problems. First is that you have to get everything ready before the deadline, no matter what happens. Second is the lack of proper communication with reporters.

Who is your favorite journalist?

Indrajit Hazra. I love the way he blends politics and music and humor. He writes about serious stuff with a witty and sarcastic pen. And then politics is my best loved area.

What are your views on Yellow Journalism?

I think there will always be an audience for such type of news. It’s human nature to gossip. But it should be done in the right spirit. Like not giving out gossip as truth or presenting it as fact.

Is there any particular incident that you would like to share?

Yeah there was this funny incident. I had just started working and there was a copy I had to edit. The article was about annual IIT fees and instead of 1 Lakh I wrote 11 Lakhs! The copy was printed and we had to rectify the error later. I was miserable and wanted to quit as I thought I was not responsible enough for the job. In the end my entire team took me out for ice cream to cheer me up. That was the best part!

Tell us something about HT.

Hindustan Times has some of the best minds. They listen to you, no matter where you belong on the hierarchy. There is total democracy. You can march up to the boss and yell if you are angry. Believe me, that is a satisfying experience.

What do you like to do in your private time?

I love to travel. I love collecting stamps on my passport. I have been to Kenya, Finland, Egypt, Tibet, and Nepal. The best experience was in Finland. We went sledging and ice skating. I like trying out unusual cuisines. The weirdest thing I have had was Yak's testicles!

What will you like to tell budding reporters?

I would advise them to not be prejudiced. Always be ready to move with time. If you do not adjust you are likely to fall behind. Be open to ask questions, do not be ignorant. Do not be stubborn whether you like something or not. Do not be biased. It’s a very exciting and respected profession. You get to do interesting things and see interesting places.

-Kavita Mishra

The Legend Of Narshay

Wrote this for a children's story contest...

Once upon a time, there was a small hamlet in England called by the name of Narshay, known for its sweet and enchanting cow’s milk. It was believed that the milk obtained by the Narshay cows had the power to make a person relax and ease his thoughts. People from all over the world visited this village to taste some of this famed liquid.

Twelve year old Jason’s parents were the owner of the village’s cow stable. They were in charge of milking the cows and maintaining the stables. Jason was the quietest of all the Narshanians. He was the only person to never drink the sweet milk. No matter how much he was forced, poor Jason just could not gulp down the milk. Apart from this little trouble, Narshay was an ideal place for dwelling.

However, all was not well in this hamlet of the magical milk. Unknown to everybody, Narshay was ruled by Witches. They were the most ancient habitants of Narshay. With much practice of black magic, they had invented a potion that would put the drinker in a state of trance. The drinker would be completely relaxed, no worries or concern would ever bother him. The witches had developed a novel way of spreading this potion to the entire village. They fed this potion to the cows and the magic transferred to the milk.

Jason was always aloof. He felt he did not belong in Narshay. He never understood the people of his village. They seemed to never have any problems! Jason spent most of his free time walking by the village ruins, he loved exploring. One such day he came across the widower Baxter’s house, or what was left of it. Baxter died the day Jason was born, when the rains had left for that year with a loud bang of thunderstorms. A lightning had burnt down Baxter’s house, and him too, as was witnessed by the terrified McClaren sisters. He poked around the rubble and discovered much to his delight a golden diary, pages yellowed with age. Excited to find something that old, he quickly flipped through it.

The entire diary was blank, except for two lines,

“The witches cursed us Narshanians. We are in a trance.”

“The witches controlled our world this way. By subtle charms.”

Jason dropped the book as if it had caught fire. At the bottom of the page was written the word MILK.

It did not take long for him to realize what was happening. He ran back home, wondering if he should tell anyone about the diary. Unsure about anyone believing him, he decided to take matters in his hand. That night Jason did not sleep. He sneaked out of the house at the crack of the dawn and reached the stable just on time to see the old McClaren sisters leave. After much quiet struggle, he shooed away all the cows to the outskirts of the village. On his return, he found that the entire village was gathered around the stable. All looking awestruck as well as panicky. This was a new strange feeling for them. The effect of the potion was wearing off, and they gradually felt their minds open as they struggled to grasp what had happened. It was then that Jason read out the lines from Baxter’s diary.

Realization dawned and they noticed that except for the two sisters, everybody was present. The stunned villagers were quick to act; maybe their minds had rested enough. They acted swiftly, and soon the sisters were imprisoned in a tall dungeon far from the village.

This was how Narshay was freed from the clutches of evil witches. Jason is still known as the hero of Narshay.

Not a wasted effort!

According to John Galt, selfishness is both moral and practical. Explain what he means by this and how events of the story illustrate and dramatize his point.

In a society that is run by force, where fear is the motivator, and sacrifice the greatest virtue, John Galt is the Satan incarnate. He defines morality as “a code of values accepted by choice” (927). He refuses to accept sacrifice as the highest moral value. Sacrifice, he says, is the surrender of the right to the wrong, of the good to the evil (942).

He refuses to give up the pursuit of his own happiness for that of others. He is a visionary who believes that the essence of morality lies in the worship of your own values. When the codes of morality demand you to consider the greed of the lazy and weak over your own well being, it is both a survival tactic and an extreme means of rebellion to shun this society with its charlatan values and preachers, and start your own utopia where you can work for progress and your happiness.

The mystics of Spirit and Muscles, who govern and define rules for the world to follow, both use different paths to reach the same destination. They deem sacrifice as man’s greatest virtue and selfishness his greatest evil. They make you feel guilty for not providing for those who demand from you, those needy people who themselves do not have any values except those of a parasite. They try to instill in you right from your birth that it is virtuous to give; however, they take unashamedly. John Galt demands why it is immoral to produce something of value and keep it for yourself, when it is moral for others who haven’t earned it to accept it. “I will put an end to this, once and all, he says” (617), going on the first strike of its kind, the strike of the mind.

John Galt and Hank Rearden, both radical inventors, started out the same way, with creations that had the potential to provide brilliant opportunities for the world’s progress.

However, unlike Rearden, Galt experienced the consequences of providing for an irrational and greedy public. When working at the Twentieth Century Motor Company, he and other company employees were subjected to a policy that the most hardworking should provide for the neediest. The policy was “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need” (608). This later descended into chaos as the messiahs found an increasing number of converts to their creed. John Galt, with his supreme mind that could invent, realized right at the beginning the kind of society that would result out of these radical practices. He simply refused to allow the irrationally selfish world to use his invention for their betterment. This was an act which only justified his rational self-interest.

On the other hand, Rearden—the creator of a steel alloy that would be the cheapest and most versatile of all metals—fought against all odds to prove the usefulness of his metal, effort that in a rational society would surely not be required of him. Soon as the metal came under the public eye, the State Science Institute, a government-funded organization, coerced Rearden into selling them his patent rights to the metal, all the while citing their higher moral purpose of the “public good” as their only motivation. Their rationale here being that a private citizen could not be allowed to hold the sole rights for something of such great value, especially when the State Science Institute with all its publicly funded scientists could not come up with even a remotely close competitor. An outright manipulation of public perception was the aim behind these looter’s actions. It was only with time that Rearden came to realize that he was stuck in a loop where he thought it was his duty to provide for others, even at the cost of his own happiness.

In a society where a person’s dedication and hard work is punished, it is but practical to be selfish and to strive for one’s own happiness.

This is my code - and I will accept no other, he proclaims (445).

Hank and Lillian Rearden had been married for several years. Hank provided for her to the best of his limits, while she always hated him and tried to destroy him. After ten years of unceasing trials, Hank finally invents the Rearden Metal, which is the best of all alloys, and as a symbol of his life’s work, he forges a bracelet of the first heat of the metal and gives it to Lillian as a trophy. She mocks him and comments that the bracelet to her represents bondage. She clearly fails, or does not want, to realize that Hank only wanted to share his pride and success with her.

Dagny, the epitome of rational action, understands perfectly what the bracelet symbolizes. And when at a party, Lillian announces that she would rather have a diamond bracelet, as for her that is more valuable, Dagny proceeds to exchange her diamond bracelet for the Rearden metal chain.

For Lillian, the diamond bracelet is expensive. For Dagny, the Rearden metal bracelet is priceless.

Hank’s relationship with Lillian is very moral, but Hank never finds happiness in her companionship. He does not understand the values she practices, if there are any. But in Dagny, he finds understanding. He notices that they share and practice the same set of values. They both strive for their happiness by working hard. Hank’s relationship with Dagny, under society’s eye, is itself immoral. He judges their relationship with the same moral code and is angry at himself as the code makes him consider their lovemaking as obscene and immoral. It is only later that Hank understands the true value of his love for Dagny, the only moral codes worth following are the ones you devise yourself.

He realizes that it is perfectly moral to love someone for the values that you worship in them.

“Rights are a moral concept and morality is a matter of choice” (972. In one’s choice lay happiness, and in their morality lay a choice—the pursuit of one’s own happiness. And the true morality of life is the essence of John’s oath. “I swear— by my life and my love of it—that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine” (979). And thus it shall be for any rational, practical, and moral being.

Thank you for editing this Swapneel.

Death and its effect.

I can't imagine a world where I don't exist.
How to!
When the world revolves around me.
Once I leave,
everything will get lost,
without gravity.
Because I am that which holds them all together.
Without me, they will wander
aimlessly to far and beyond, never to return.
Except those that orbit weakly like ghosts of those who went away.

Is this Haiku?

And in your wake,
I make,
Obvious mistakes.

appeal

You look appealing or you sound appealing, why is there not both in you?
Why is there no lost look in your eyes, when there can be one in mine?
So what divides us.
What is it that stops us from talking.
Talking about what we want to talk about.

A lonely ride
devoid of music and fiction
A borrowed pen
solace to this rhthymic friction
So many things to write
easily forgotten by the end of seven days

A minuscle beggar
with eyes that would remind you of twinkling stars
Outstretched palms, grimy faced
A big apple is offered
and this little god of innocense
blesses me with a toothy smile.

Gah!

I can’t explain my sudden irritation for my old pals and much liked colleagues!

I mean is it really true that the moon has a say in your behavior?

My! This kind of talk totally qualifies me to be a lunatic.

Read Chuck Palahniuk. The movie Fightclub, based on the book written by him, is brilliant. So I was hoping to enjoy his book Diary. But nah, the plot is different but not interesting enough. Also, there are too many unnecessary things happening. And the characters are so unbelievable and boring and fat and negative. Also read (half!) The Time Traveler’s Wife. Liked it enough that I was greatly disappointed to find that the copy had few hundred pages were missing!

Will buy an original copy now (enough of giving preference to roadside vendors.)

But all said, I too want to marry a hip Librarian with a lot of family money! Now reading Sugar Street which won the Nobel prize for literature. Not bad huh. Have another book lined up to read after this one, On the road! I have been waiting to read that book ever since I first came to know of its existence.

Completed 13 months of work. Feeling real proud of myself.

Took a break and visited Grandparents. Much love was revived. Much tears were shed.

Still looking for inspiration.

Adios.

raining words

Jelaluddin Rumi

I feel restless distressed disturbed

food for thought

young and restless

The Last Song of Dusk

Raindrops keep falling on my head

:))

:)

Another death somewhere

Interview assignment

The Legend Of Narshay

Not a wasted effort!

Death and its effect.

Is this Haiku?

appeal

Gah!

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