0 Conversations with a Mad Man.

I was on my way back from grad school after what had been a day full of classes. I saw this madman appear on the street. It was almostlike he was an ethereal apparition. He seemed amiable enough even with his ruffled hair, half torn clothes and the general demeanor of menacing carelessness.  But there was more to him than what the eyes could surmise.

The mad man asked me with his unflinching eyes trained right on me, "What do you want from life?".

That caught me off guard. I was not expecting to be questioned by a random stranger on the road.  Least of all by a mad man. It took me a while to gather my thoughts and formulate an answer.  I told him what I feigned to be the right answer. That I simply don't know.

The madman was not satisfied. He urged me to ponder more. To be honest with myself. He egged me on saying that surely I knew what I wanted. The more I heard him say that the more I knew he was right. I did know what I wanted from life. But admitting my deepest desires to a random stranger was not something I was comfortable doing.

I figured I can be reasonably elusive with my response. I could always trudge along the banks of truth even if I didn't directly step on it. So I said "What I want is simple. I want to be happy in life. I want people around me to be happy."

"Bah! Humbug! Come on, boy! You are tiptoeing around the matter. Why? What does it matter what you tell me,  a complete stranger who you ll most probably never see again." He was quick to chide.

As I stood there surveying the bearded six footed figure that had only moments ago emerged from the dark,  I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I couldn't walk away without answering him absolutely honestly. He had a strange calmness in his eyes that belied his apparent madness.  There was nothing for me to lose. He dint seem interested in hurting me. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing the answer to his question. "Fair enough", I decided.

"I want to find my significant other. A love - of the truest and most unadulterated persuasion,  that's what I want from life. I must confess I am a hopeless romantic, clearly."

Maniacal laughter is what followed the moment I finished saying that. And that annoyed me a great deal apart from making me feel foolish. I was about walk past him, when he said this.

"Ought not you realise that you have struck upon pure gold? In a world which has lost its bearing on what is truly of worth, where the meaning of life is lost, you have set yourself in the right path."

That caught my attention. I stared, unapologetically. No longer did I conceive him mad. How could I? What right did I have to make that judgement? He spoke coherently and with gumption. Moreover,  he was empathetic towards my condition. Was I beyond judgement after all? Hardly. I was walking back after a hectic day. I had two bottles of rum inside my bag. Did it matter? Not at all. Point is, I was not exactly beyond reproach.

"The trouble with love is that the very idea of it has been corrupted by the mediocre perception of popular sentiment!"

Now, this was getting more interesting with each passing minute. I nodded in agreement. It immediately made sense to me.

"The trouble is that everyone has been imbibed with these fantastic notions, impressions and images about love. Everyone thinks that they know how it's supposed to be. They think they know how it's supposed to feel. Such fools."

"Just far too much has been written about it - too many stories,  poems, essays. Heck, too many songs have been sung. Too many movies made too. It is all so infuriating. And now even this conversation is only adding to the clutter."

"What all this pile of garbage does is to muddle people. We are cajoled into a state of idiocy where we think we know what to look for. The clutter serves to make things indistinguishable. You end up not knowing how to recognize the real thing even when it hits you right in the face. This ignorance leads people to a life of perpetual hurt and unhappiness. We have to erase this ridiculous tendency from the collective conscience of humanity."

"The trouble is that we are not capable of not talking about love. We can not not force it to be a central theme in every cultural facet imaginable. It arises as a result of our basic need for love. There is nothing more fundamental in life than love. The need we feel for love is innate, though it is manifested in varying degrees in different individuals, differently during different time periods in their lives."

"Love is a state of lightness and of burden. Love is pure ecstacy and misery. Love is zenith and love is nadir. Love is strength and weakness. Its the most amazing balancing act in the universe. Its everything ever written, every song sung, every painting painted, every skipped heart beat."

"When we try to understand it, we end up fooling ourselves. It cannot be deconstructed. Not in the terms of how one feels. Science may one day explain how chemicals and neurons fire us up. But that will still be an incomplete and an outrageously unjust explanation for the most primal of emotions. "

..............

I woke with a start. I was lying on the floor of my apartment. I couldn't remember when I had gotten home. The two empty bottles of rum certainly suggested that I was more than comfortable. And then the conversation between the mad men came back to me. I went back to the street where I found him last night. And surely enough there was no one in sight.

"Mad, indeed", the thought rang in my head as I walked back to my apartment ever so regretful for having stepped out into the peak summer sun.

0 Temporal Discontent

Disclaimer: If this works seem to be influenced by some movie/idea that you have come across before, I would like to ask you to ignore it and move on in life.


Part I : Initiation

There was never any guarantee. It all boiled down to this moment of (mis)calculated risk taking. They were both in the chamber of the machine and he was calibrating the Wormhole Assembler System  (or simply "WAS"). He glanced over his shoulders as he cross checked the settings. She stood behind him with bated breath, eyes lit up in a way that he had never seen before. That look saddened him a bit for he realized that such fascination in her could never have been evoked by him. She was excited by what they were (possibly) about to achieve.

He stood away from the very sci-fi looking control panel, with an unmistakable sense of pride. He was sure it was all done right, the calculations were done thrice over (and then once more) with meticulous precision. Every part of WAS was built from scratch by him. In all, it had taken 5 years of his life. She was right beside him all through and she had convinced him to let her be with him for the ultimate test too.

"This is it", he whispered as if to no one. She did not miss it. She came closer to him, hugged and asked him, "How long do we have?".

"If all goes to plan, we have all the time in the world!"

That made her laugh and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

Whatever hurt and silent disappointment he felt just a few moments back was now wiped clean. He felt that all but familiar primal emotion of happiness and unhindered ecstasy.

They stayed deep in embrace as WAS kicked into life. If they were going to be obliterated from the space-time continuum, there was no better way to go than this.

Part II: Success

One is at a loss to describe what they felt as it happened. They seemed to get squished. Or did they? He was not sure. The only consolation he had was that she was still there in his arms. Her head buried in his chest. The discomfort of the "journey" cant have lasted more than a few seconds. Because it was meant to be instantaneous according to his calculations. But then again, in a time machine, its only natural that you lose track of the flow of time.

It was one night during dinner that the idea had struck him. It seemed too simple to work. A time machine that could be made at home without a fancy lab and equipment? And even more incredulous was the fact that he could conceive a way to travel back into the future. It was a matter of luck/ingenuity/genius, depending on how you look at it. He did the math, and it seemed all the more possible. She kept encouraging him right from the outset. Even when his colleagues made him doubt the sanity of his idea, she was there to egg him on.

And now (whenever that was/is), they seemed to have come to a "stop". They both let go of each other and he walked towards the door to the chamber of WAS. He opened it, with racing heartbeat. They were no longer in the basement of his house. They were in a forest it seemed. "So far so good", he thought to himself "Its all going according to the plan".

They made sure that WAS was not easily visible to any prying eyes. And then they changed into the garbs appropriate for the time they had broken into. They were "somewhere" in Italy in the 15th century after Christ. They were there to witness the Renaissance in full swing.

During the past 2 years, they had extensively prepared for this. They learned the landscape of Florence, the language was now more familiar to them than English. They had read just about everything that was available about the period. Arguably, she was the one who was more excited about the expedition. He was more than happy to oblige to her wishes. He suspected that even the idea of time travel became his prime focus in life just for her sake.

They were exploring the streets of Florence, marveling at the structures and the general ambiance that so thrived with creativity and vigour. They ate from a tiny shop along the way. They had collected (and minted) more than enough of the money from the period. They had a nice meal comprising of something he couldnt really identify. They just told the man in charge that they were hungry and he served it to them. She was speaking to him and enquiring what it was.

He had thought of everything that was there to be thought of. They were supposed to be travelers passing through on their way to Paris. That was the basic background story. But what finally happened was something he had dare not considered! Though when it did happen, he was far from surprised albeit being numbed.


Part III : Home

*after an unspecified amount of time had passed since Part II*

He was back home in his own time, in the basement of his house. He systematically dismembered WAS and got rid of the pieces. He had resumed his life as it existed before WAS. Except of course, she was absent from the picture. He never thought about what had happened. People came by asking for her, and he told them whatever he felt like. It had only been a matter of time before the Police swooped in. After all, his wife was no longer to be seen around. It was only natural that suspicions should arise. But then nobody really thought ill of him, because they had been truly happy together. There was no motive, or nothing to indicate any sort of foul play.  Even if begrudgingly, they had to take his word that she had left him suddenly,.

At times, he would be trapped in an onrush of memories and he would be reminded of what happened. It kept happening even after he tried to do everything in his power to keep himself occupied. He dived into his work. He drank himself to sleep every night. And yet, he couldn't stop his subconscious from invading his mind. Sometimes it was in the form of nightmares, otherwise it was in the form of overwhelming daydreams.

He couldn't dare face what had happened. He had left her in the past, literally. In the past, once they had made the trip, he had turned out to be a redundant factor. There was no need for him anymore. There was nothing he could offer her. She was so fascinated by the poets, the artists. There was so much happening all around that held her captive to that time. He could see it in her eyes, there was no will to ever head back.

In the beginning it was enticing for him too. He could look at the works of Galileo, Brahe and Kepler. He was literally getting goosebumps imagining being able to rub shoulders with those giants of men. The time struck a similar chord for her too. But for her it was at a more fundamental, intrinsic level that caused a resonance of feelings which was never to subside.

They were to return in two weeks. After just a couple of days, she had asked him for them to stay for more. And before he realized it, six months had swung by. That's when it finally dawned on him. There was not going to be a return journey for the both of them. As more and more time passed, he felt more and more like a man out of place and time whereas it was exactly the opposite for her. He missed the bustle of the his true time and she felt right at home in the culturally vibrant past (present). It all amounted to less time being spent together and them drifting apart.

So he knew he had to make a decision. So he asked her one day to meet him in the evening near the WAS. He told her it was absolutely necessary that she met him then. She nodded in agreement and went out to meet artisans who were coming into town that fateful day. As he watched her stroll away from him, he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Then he was reminded of the Woody Allen film "Midnight In Paris" that they had seen a few years earlier. His heart churned. He told himself that everything will work itself out.

Come evening and she was nowhere to be seen. He kept staring at WAS while he waited. It was midnight finally. There was still no sign of her. She had not used the futuristic communicator they had brought with them. He lost his patience. He knew what he had to do. He opened the door to the chamber of the WAS and stepped in. He glanced at the communicator one last time and with a hint of tear in his left eye, he started recalibrating the WAS settings.

"She is happier than ever here. She doesnt need me any more."

*ZAP*

There was a knock on his front door. It was the inspector of Police. He had come to ask him about the wife's disappearance. With a glass of rum in his hand, he answered "She is happy elsewhere, brother. Nothing we can do about it". The haughty look the inspector directed at him had unmistakable hatred emanating from it. He was convinced of foul play. But our hero shrugged his shoulders and gulped the drink down and returned back to his dungeon.

The next morning, Police came with a search warrant. But all they found was his broken body at the end of the stairs that descended into the basement.

He had returned to where ever it was that he emerged from.

0 Meaning

Come along, my dearies.

For I have wisdom to share.

Come along, fellow travellers. 

And we shall make a night of fair.

Tonight I will tell you,

What it is all about.

Yes, I meant what I said.

Tonight you learn the ultimate truth.

Life is all about one quest.

A path to understand what you need.

Maybe it will come to you,

Like they say "in good time".

Or maybe it will elude you,

Until it is too late.

What say you, friend?

Hear me out, I pray to you. 

I am your saviour, my sordid chap. 

I will bequeath upon you,

What I promised and more.

For your past and future's sake.

It all begins with the moment of birth,

Leading upto a spurt of growth and stagnation.

Leaving a spree of memories along the way, 

And a wake of destruction out of sight.

Its all simply a matter of time. 

We have have everything to lose in this game.

Pour ornamental wishes and prayers galore,

But they matter not, not even a little.

How do I do this gently?

The secret of life, love and all is,

...............................

The game is rigged! 

You heard me, love.

Fairness is merely an illusion. 

The faster you equip yourself with this,

The faster you shed complacency that plagues us all.

In the words of Frost,

A road less travelled is what we seek.

But unbeknownst to you, along the way;

You turn around to find yourselves as scarecrows. 

That my friends, is what it is.

Life is a journey you take to learn. 

You are taught to cool your heels,

And to loathe yourself. 

Life divulges its true colors only once,

At the very end,

When you breathe your last.

The point of no illusion. 

0 Arty Day Out!

So today I went on a trip to the Chennai suburb.  The idea was to possibly gain a bit of soul nourishment, the kind that is supposedly found only through appreciating art and culture. Well, I dont think there's any need to go on more about it. We all know what am talking about.

The first stop was the Cholamandal Artist's Village at Injambakkam. Maybe we were expecting too much from the place. Or it may have simply been a case of not knowing what to expect. It was something of a let down at the end of the day. Its essentially a housing colony of artists. Wiki for more details on when and how it was founded etc. We actually knocked on a random house because it had mallu occupants. And as it turned out the doors were of the niece of the man who founded the place. It was an interesting and tongue-tied experience for me, thanks to the exuberance of the travel companion. So here are some of the sights.

And then we moved on to the 'Dakshinachitra Heritage Centre'.once again,  wiki will give you more info on it, its essentially a place where you can find traditional houses from four southern states and also some art and cultural exhibits.  We also happened to catch the folk dance form of 'Koya' from Andhra. It was being performed as part of the Ugadi festival (new year). This was a really interesting place and is definitely worth a visit. Now I ll let the pictures do the talking, as always.

And that be that.  Ciao, people! 

0 Sunny side up at Mahabalipuram

So I finally got to Mahabalipuram. Its a good place to go once. There are some impressive rock structures and sculptures. And if you are like me, not so enthused by the historic value of it all, I suppose there is no real reason to go a second time. One whole day should be enough for you to see the whole place around. And on the basis of my experience, I suggest visiting the place on a weekday to avoid the crowd.

Now as always, we move on to the photos. I have avoided the typical pictures of the main attractions. You can google for those. Click to enlarge. :)

The quintessential sighting of rock art.

Modern metal carvings.

A conspicuous water tap. 

I dont think she quite liked the idea of being photographed.

But she was all too happy to pose.

The Five Rathas under attack from warriors in school uniforms.

Shore Temple.

And "Lil' Dino" ruled over the land.

With a wayfarer twist. 

Life through the looking glass.

Colors - 1.

Colors - 2

Colors - 3

And the end.

Ciao!

0 Drink of a Lifetime

Opening his eyes slowly and unwillingly, he found himself on his bed. He could not gather when it was that he fell asleep last night. For that matter, he did not know what the time was either. The curtains were drawn and the visibility in the room was scarce. He turned on the bed lamp and looked at the watch lying on the table. It said 6:33 PM. He flung back on to the bed with the realization that he may have slept through the whole day.

It was only a couple of minutes later that he figured what was happening. That watch (the only one he's ever owned) has not worked for over a decade now. It is merely a relic from the past, that was spared the fate of being kept out of sight for the sentimental value it held over our hero. He lives alone in an apartment that is more modest than it is utilitarian. There is a minuscule bedroom, a namesake kitchen that he only used sparingly and then a space which could possibly be misconstrued as a living space. And yes, of course there is a loo too - well, we all need one of those.

Our dear hero, the dissolute chap who seems most unfazed by the fact that he's missed a day due to over-sleeping, is suffering from the malign and bewitching stranglehold of alcoholism. Well, if you were to ever ask him, he will most vehemently disagree. He will in fact most resolutely argue that you are talking about something that you have no idea about. In most of our cases, he would be right. We do in fact have no real notion of what it is to be an alcoholic. We merely have the connotations imprinted in our muddled minds by over indulgent perceptions created by a wide range of media (be it articles, books, movies) and amply aided by our own fanciful imagination.

If we look around the apartment, and by the picture I have painted - that of a haphazard character, one would instinctively expect a mess. But no, what does in fact happen is that you see a clean and organized environment. And this poses a rather curious question about the kind of man we are dealing with. On the one hand, he seems to own a riotous persona. But if one were to read into the living space of a being as a reflection of his strife, then we get a completely different interpretation. And mind you, he does not do it for the benefit of any wayward onlooker either. He does it for himself for he has never cared much for unkempt spaces.

One could of course argue that his place was too bland, that it was too plain. Devoid of colors, of paintings, of any audible music, of any sort of vibrancy. Entering his apartment is akin to entering an indoor cemetery - the change in ambiance is discontinuous and unavoidable and above all, uncomfortable. The air inside is heavy with the sort of morbidity that one associates with our lifeless brethren. And if you are sensitive enough, you would realize that even though lighting is not an issue - for it is amply lit up - you still find it hard to shake off the feeling that you are in an inescapably dark abyss. All of this is not accidental, it is all by design. The apartment is how he wants it to be. He does not care for visitors and his needs have been poured into the space. It will inflict chills upon you like a poltergeist, should you be foolish enough to try and invade.

But our fellow here, he is by no means a degenerate. Nor is he struggling in terms of a social ineptitude. He is in fact more or less unaffected by his proclivity for, ahem, beverages of the more entrancing persuasion. His trouble is that he understands society all too well, or so he firmly believes. His faith in humanity is lost for more reasons than one. No, it was broken down systematically with all the heinous acts and thoughts being carried out all around the world. Hope was a luxury for him and it was ill-afforded. If he hoped for anything, it was just to be left alone so that he can do what he does best - accrual of knowledge and the occasional dissemination of it under the guise of a Professor.

So with the day gone by, he sat up and glanced across the room searchingly. He found what he sought, the half full bottle of rum. As he poured himself the first neat shot of the day, he remembered the first time he drank. It had started like how it always starts off - in college under the artful pretext of experimenting. He remembered strongly disliking the taste of what he took. Even to this day, the antipathy has lasted. But more importantly, he remembered liking the feeling of being lightheaded, unhurried and unworried.

So overtime drinking evolved into being an occasional aspect of socializing  And then it graduated into being a once-a-month infraction. He remembered being worried about how his health might get affected. But now it seems like that lasted what was not more than all of one fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things. And then it was twice a month. And soon, it was once every week. And in the meanwhile he had realized something. He liked being alone while drinking. A friend of his astutely remarked at the time "To be comfortable drinking alone and to like it, is a sign of an alcoholic". He dint care for it much then, for the thought had already crossed his mind much before. He couldn't put a finger on the exact point at which the whole act crossed over from fun, to being ritualistic in rekindling his mental faculties.

The weight of the life in this God forsaken world that he felt on his all-too-human-shoulders was being lifted of with each shot he drank. Until finally, he collapsed onto the bed yet again, with the uneasy feeling that he had just relived his previous day all over again.

2 Pondycherry aka Puducherry

So I made my way to Pondycherry again after 5 years since my first visit to the place. Getting there from Madras is a straightforward affair. You catch a bus taking the East Coast Road (ECR) and you will be there in about 3 hours (assuming reasonable traffic).

It was a long day of walks, talks and sightseeing. And of course, no trip is complete without finding some good food. There were some interesting sights, a drunk fellow or two, too-cool-studs, dogs, lovely old buildings and captivating conversations.

Since I have too many assignments to finish up, I will let the photos carry the rest of the post. Kindly note that I my editing skillset is limited to what Picasa can afford to achieve. Heh.

As always, click on the pics for a larger version and slideshow.

 Focusing on one's vanity is always a good starting point.

And then you start looking more outward.  

 And then you start noticing people and their work.

 And then there was graffiti.

And then some more, of the cooler nature. 

As a kid, welding was the ultimate playing-with-fire thing to do. 

 Did I mention it was hot? Everyone was scrambling for shade, just like this feline.

 

 And look how the rust looks nice.

 This is as cliche as it gets. But cliches survive for a reason, as you can see.

Old couples. There's something about them.

And to top it all, you make a new friend. That sounds about right. :)

Ciao!