Changing Address

I've exported this blog to http://flowersociety.wordpress.com. I find it easier to blog there. See you all there soon. 

Warriors Parade into a Cave

Last night, an architecture student friend of mine, Pratu was talking to me about her Urban Renewal assignment in Mylapore. Apparently, this is just for their study and any suggestion they make will remain in files because no has the money to change anything. More interestingly, she said, "Even if there is public will we need political will to do something."

Today, I am watching Marley & Me. In one scene, the Florida beaches are shining clean. It's because dogs or anyone are strictly not allowed to poop and pee out there. If you do, then the police come in, fine and close down the beach. Hmmm... Okay it is a movie. Nothing to throw a tantrum about. 

What I am finding hard to understand or actually stumped that I do understand is this...If the police or the government want the people to behave, they have to ban. If the people want the government to do something, they have to protest. Both ways it only has to be a fight. Bans, protest, under-the-table creation of illegal activities... The government will ban alcohol and then start selling state liquor creating bigger revenue. All of this is sick. The entire world is a whole lot of garbage.

We have finished the first month of work on our magazine. It is out, everyone likes the look, and everyone wants to read the next issue. Very happy! It can be read here: http://www.issuu.com/chaikadai/docs/cuttingchai-stuck

                                   Open publication - Free publishing - More art

Destiny differs from Fate: Conversations with Adolf Hitler

I often read that we create our own destinies. However, fate is something that happens to us. Fate is a word/concept loaded with a negative connotation. It is something we do not want but a force that pulls us into a certain life. It doesn't depend on choice, opinion, or emotion. It happens and we have to deal with it then and there.

How can someone deal with their fate? [This post is not about death, though that is one of the larger questions troubling my mind. I will come to exploring the concept soon].

A few days back, I retrieved my copy of Hitler's Mein Kampf from my dusty bookshelf. I have recently been interested in reading the stories (autobiographies and letters) of influential people in history. After I finish this book, I will be reading Azad Hind, letters by Subash Chandra Bose. These leaders whether they did something right or not they understood something very crucial about the younger generation and the part they play in a nation, a society, and this entire world. I have been jotting down questions and comments as I read along.

- In the first few words of Hitler's autobiography, I had a recurring block in my head. This is a man hated by all, with evident proof of massacring people in millions. Why should I read his thoughts? Should I read him to know he is a bad man and reinstate my morality? or Could there be any good that I can take out of this reading?

- The copy I am reading is a Master Mind Books publication. The house offers an introduction, to Indian students, in order to defend themselves and clear the air that they do not support Hitler. They call it a 'warning guide' to be read carefully in order to understand India's diversity and the need for unity; and that to ward away from extremism we should be knowledgeable of the revelations of 'wretched souls of incorrigible criminals like Adolf Hitler'. In fact, there is not much left to the reader to form an opinion anymore.

- Why is the Unification of Italy and the French Revolution treated as a story of Nationalism whereas the story of Germany one of terror? Was it just a calculation of causalities or a bias to certain ideologies?

- Hitler wanted to be a painter! I did not know this, even as an undergraduate history student. He left to Vienna after the death of his father to a life of dire poverty. Why is there such a lack of political and social education amongst the youth of today in my country?

- I might have something to learn (also) from this man and his life, like he writes it.

Only two chapters down, I have put together some passages from the book here that made me reflect about myself and gather some strength. I don't necessarily agree to these passages, but they are worth reading.

Sam: What is all this fight for nationalism?
Hitler: It is the 'voice of a unanimous yearning in the hearts of the whole people for a return to the unforgotten home of their fathers'.

Sam: What should I actually be looking for when studying history?
Hitler: To study history means to search for and discover the forces that are the causes of those results which appear before our eyes as historical events.

Sam: We study everything, but what should we set out to be?
Hitler: I was determined to become 'something' - but certainly not a civil servant (that's only what my father wanted).

Sam: Could your determination help me?
Hitler: Obstacles are placed across our path in life, not to be boggled at but to be surmounted.

Sam: Who are the youth?
Hitler: I make a distinction between the wisdom of age - which can only arise from the greater profundity and foresight that are based on the experiences of a long life - and the creative genius of the youth, which blossoms out in thought and ideas with inexhaustible fertility, without being able to put these into practice immediately, because of this very superabundance.

Sam: If I agree to be that kind of youth, what should I do and what should I unlearn in order to live? Should I foremost unlearn my middle-class upbringing? In order to move in society, do I need to sympathize, empathize or understand?
Hitler: The man who has never been in the clutches of that crushing viper [poverty] can never know what its poison is.

These were random questions I asked as I read the book, and from a time long ago Hitler gave the answers he willed to give. I am not here to share what you already know about him or count the Jews he has killed. I am here to question on my own account, in a selfish manner, in order to help myself.

My previous post was published the night before I had to meet my dean and know the fate of my college life. It was on that same night that I retrieved this book from my shelf. As I read, I was not taking a liking to Hitler, but clearly removed him out of the context and read it like a novel. For pure historical criticism, I might have to reread this book in a different manner. But, probably in the world of reading, criticism is not the goal. Here's a passage about reading by Hitler:

Page 27/28: Chapter II Years of Studying and Suffering in Vienna, Mein Kampf -

I know people who read interminably, book after book, from page to page, and yet I should not call them "well-read people." Of course they 'know' an immense amount; but their brains seems incapable of sorting and classifying the material which they have gathered from books. They have not the faculty of distinguishing between what is useful and useless in a book; so that they may retain the former in their minds if possible skip over the latter while reading it, if that be not possible, then -when once read- throw it overboard as useless ballast. Reading is not an end in itself, but a means to an end. Its chief purpose is to help towards filling in the framework which is made up of the talents and capabilities that each individual possesses. Thus each one procures for himself the implements and materials necessary for the fulfillment of his calling in life, no matter whether this be the elementary task of earning one's daily bread or calling that responds to higher human aspirations. 

Such is the first purpose of reading. And the second purpose is to give a general knowledge of the world in which we live. In both cases, however, the material which one has acquired through reading must not be stored up in the memory on a plan that corresponds to the successive chapters of the book; but each little piece of knowledge thus gained must be treated as if it were a little stone to be inserted into a mosaic, so that it finds its proper place among all the other pieces and particles that help to form a general world-picture in the brain of the reader. Otherwise only a confused jumble of chaotic notions will result from all this reading. That jumble is not merely useless, but it also tends to make the unfortunate possessor of it conceited. For he seriously considers himself a well-educated person and thinks he understands something of life. He believes that he has acquired knowledge, whereas the truth is that every increase in such "knowledge" draws him more and more away from real life. 

...On the other hand, one who has cultivated the art of reading will instantly discern, in a book or journal or pamphlet, what ought to be remembered because it meets one's personal needs or is of value as general knowledge...Should some practical problem suddenly demand examination or solution, memory will immediately select the opportune information from the mass that has been acquired through years of reading and will place his information at the service of one's powers of judgement so as to get a new and clearer view of the problem in question or produce a definitive solution. 

What did I choose to take with me on Monday morning? What have I taken further on for myself from these brief conversations?
On Monday morning, I lazed around a bit, made myself tea and finally got myself out of my house. I found a C51 and set out to college. Contrary to my other visits to college to sort out my scene, this morning was serene and free of trouble. I felt like I wanted nothing and expected nothing. I had been told that I might not have to attend classes and only finish exams, the previous night.  I reached, waited and waited, till the Dean finally saw me. We eagerly looked through my files and papers. My fate was announced: You have to repeat a semester. I was not teared up, hyperventilating, or stressed out. I had a brief out of body experience. I was looking at myself smile at the Dean and thanked him for everything, without a single trace of sarcasm. I walked out of college in a dazed manner. Fate happens. Smile at it. Live with it. This might sound cliche, but the relief one feels when the fate is smitten by a smile is extraordinary.

About reading, Baba (my father) has always told me to keep a notebook while reading a book to jot down what our mind wishes to take from it. There is hardly any difference between what he taught me and what Hitler reiterates here.

This series, X Questions History, is in fact my notebooks and my questions that go along with my readings, and what I wished to take from it. These questions will multiply the more I read about history, society and culture. It will be shared with you here in this section. It is a simple window into how my mind wanders and the conversations with these books.

Only three chapters down with Mein Kampf, will be back with more conversations.

Ivan Illich or John Holt: It doesn't matter anymore.

This is written for those who think they understand, actually understand, and simply don't know. Some of you might never take a chance at reading this, but I don't stand to lose anything but your understanding. That's fine with me. 

Dear ..............,

On Monday morning, two days from now, I have to go to college. In the pit of my stomach the noises of scary creatures have started. No need to worry, it could just be hunger for I haven't eaten yet. After a bit of work on this random Saturday, I lay down on the floor and stared at lotus on my ceiling. I breathed, I thought, I pondered and questioned. 

Why am I here? What do I want to do?

Three years back, I did not want to go to college. I did not know what else I wanted to do. In March 2010, I dropped out of college in my last two months of undergraduate education, right before my examinations. When I decided to adjust to college for two whole years, what could have happened to me? 

I had comments calling me lazy, irresponsible, ungrateful, scattered, and stupid. Like all mistakes done and gone, I had my own set of excuses - teachers, attendance, etc. 

This letter is not an excuse, but an insight into what went on in my mind in the last few months of college life. After reading it, you can call it some name and categorize according to your judgement.

I love studying. I love to know, to learn, to read, to write, to analyse, and to even write examinations. This is an ability that I am extremely proud of. I wanted to study History, because I saw it as my base for any other social science, art, literature, or philosophy. Anything, I wanted to learn about had a history and so I chose that as my Undergraduate Major. 

In my first year of college, I maintained notebooks, timetables, and charts about my subjects. I bought books, I read them, analyzed them and wrote papers for personal use. I was enjoying my bout of self-studying. We were allowed to read in class and often had long library breaks. It wasn't crime to visit another class to listen to another lecture. It wasn't a crime to sit under the trees and share readings or thoughts. The point was not necessarily to score high, be popular or wear IDs. 

Second year, I was lost. My first semester that year was remarkable in the same flow and my skills on studying History were improving. I decided to get involved in college culturals and had many lovely ideas. Nothing worked out. 

Third year, too many things had happened in my life outside college by the end of my fourth semester. I had lost my ability to study, because classes were dry lectures that most of the time had nothing to do with the subject. We had to listen and take notes, even though we might know what they are saying otherwise. The only focus of the teachers of making every student pass. The projects included 'Question and Answer sets', with questions as dry as 'What was the Cuban Missile Crisis?' or ten-page summaries of any topic we deem to choose from our scattered syllabus. I grew tired. I was learning NOTHING. I still don't know if this was all my fault. 

Probably, if I had just focused on studies for that one year or treated like just an examination to pass, I could have gotten out of this rut earlier. Instead, I escaped. I joined everything and did everything. I found my foot in theatre. I directed plays, brought together a lot of people, and lived with it. 

Was finding theatre a fault? I should have said no to those plays and distractions. I should have not worried about Chai Kadai or anything else I created. I should probably not search for avenues that I can actually learn from. Maybe the point is just that paper certificate. But, why should I waste three years for that in an institution interested about examinations and paper qualifications, but not actual studying or understanding of this world?

I am not saying I did not learn anything from this college. If I did not have any reason to escape, I might have never landed on Chai Kadai or theatre. I'll take it as an experience. 

My mom asked me, "You want to drop out? Do you think you are too smart for college?"

I want to tell her now, "I might not be smart for college life. But, I have completely lost my ability to study because of this college and I can't go on."

My parents chose to understand this in their own ways. They never accused me. They never told me I was completely out of my mind. But, they would rather I finish those exams and have a paper qualification. 

I wonder why? Why aren't individuals allowed to make their own mistakes after a while?

I am twenty-one and I can't understand this. 

I will go to college on Monday. 

I will try and figure this out. 

I will meet all those people whom I don't want to meet. 

I will study on my own finally. 

I will write all those exams I have missed.

I will beg those teachers who hate me. 

I will sit and write Q&As and ten-page summaries.

I will do this and more.

All for a paper.

Love, 

Sam. 

p.s.: Guess no one is allowed to run away. If you have to beg to get something someone loves you wants, you have to beg. 

The Words that Go with a Heart

I was reading Susan's post on meeting Seamus Heany, when my mind started wandering. I started counting the poets who had taken me on journeys. People I wished to meet, and cried when I learned of a few deaths. Pablo Neruda, Sheldon Silverstein, Charles Bukowski, Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath and this one poem by Elizabeth Bishop.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Runaway: An Animated Film by Cordell Baker

Cordell Barker, who directed The Cat Came Back and Strange Invaders, is once again at his best with Runaway. Set to the music of Ben Charest, Runaway takes you on a journey that is both funny and disastrous.

Happy passengers are having a great time on a crowded train, oblivious to the unknown fate that awaits them around the bend. The ensuing crisis leads to a class struggle that is as amusing as it is merciless. Naturally there are victims, but in the end everyone is equal.

Warriors with Minds on Easy Chairs

I hyperventilate. It happens everywhere. Sometimes inside the bathroom. Sometimes in the middle of the road. Then, I try and call someone who can talk me out of it. All of them say, "Put your mind at ease."

But, how?

**

Here is an abrupt extract from Carlos Castaneda's Tales of Power: (pg 52)

 "Should I try to find an explanation for what happened, then? I[Carlos] asked.
 "Certainly!" he[don Juan] retorted. "It's your duty to put your mind at ease. Warriors do not win victories by beating their heads against walls but by overtaking the walls. Warriors jump over the walls; they don't demolish them."
 "How can I jump over this one?" I asked.
 "First of all, I think its deadly wrong for you to regard anything in such a serious fashion," he said as he sat down by my side. "There are three kinds of bad habits which we use over and over when confronted with unusual life situations. First, we may disregard what's happening or has happened and feel as if it had never occurred. That one is the bigot's way. Second, we may accept everything at its face value and feel as if we know what's going on. That's the pious man's way. Third, we may get obsessed with an event because either we cannot disregard it or we cannot accept it wholeheartedly. That's the fool's way. Your way? There is a fourth, the correct one, the warrior's way. A warrior acts as if nothing had ever happened, because he doesn't believe in anything, yet he accepts everything at its face value. He accepts without accepting and disregards without disregarding. He never feels as if he knows, neither does he feel as if nothing had ever happened. He acts as if he in control, even though he might be shaking in his boots. To act in suc a manner dissipates obsession."

**

The Art of Discovering

Discoveries are the clouds in our sedentary lives. It could be about the soul, the nature of science, bacteria, mutant frogs, or the colour blue. They may happen when reading a book, engrossed in a conversation, bleeding in a fight, watching a death, expecting a birth, or a finding the chance to run away. We'll find a discovery hanging off an ignored leaf, grab it and treasure it in an old cigar box. It may simply be the choice to stop everything and return to sedentary silence. At the beginning and at the end, it is a choice to search. 

It begins from a dream. 

**

Here is an extract from Lloyd Jones' Mister Pip, a story of a little girl named, Matilda and her teacher, Pop-Eye. (pg 159)

Broken Dreams

 The girl next to where I grew up used to sleepwalk. It was amazing how far she would get--still fast asleep. One time she paddled a canoe out to the reef, came in and went back to her sleeping mat. Or else you'd see her marching up the beach like she was late for church.

 Once we found her in our house sitting up to the table, her eyes closed, while every other part of her suggested she was waiting to be brought a cold drink. I was going to wake her but my mum stopped me. What if she is dreaming....? Dreams are private, she said. And she is right. A dream is a story no one else will get to hear or read. 

 Thanks to dreams, in the history of the galaxy the world has been reinvented more often than there are stars. 

 The girl in our house though was probably just dreaming about jumping off the wharf--and that's okay too.

**

Twenty One Years and Two Days

Birthdays - I do not how they are supposed to be spent. Each one has been different, memorable for different reasons. Some have gone worse than the others, hurting me for years. But, this twenty-first birthday was mellow, cinematic (watched Iron Man 2 and Kites in the span of three days), and yummy (ate Korean food at InSeoul). Thank you to everyone who showered love!

Leaving to Hyderabad. Lots of people to meet there, things to pick up, stories and plays to write, proposals to finish, and cousins and parents I need to catch up with.

Goodbye.

See you all in Hyderabad.

The Superhero Blanket Around My Shoulders

I will not be alone when I shout from the rooftops, before trying to fly: "I LOVE SUPERHEROES." Going to start digging into the history of who brought out this concept soon. Stan Lee, according to me is God in this area. The day I saw him (on TV) flying down on a spider to receive his Scream Award, I fell all over again for him. However, I've always had the reservation of making my sister jealous if I agree I love superheroes or Stan Lee as much as her. This is her thing. I've sat with her in book shops where she has blown her entire month savings on comics and series. She is mad about them. I take them as a sweet ride of ecstasy. It is Energy.

Expecting this, I went to watch Iron Man 2. Back home, I am confidently writing this: "it is one of the most intelligent superhero movies ever." Why? I spent most of my childhood wanting to be a physicist, it was the closest I could have gotten to understanding the world and conquering it. No. 1: Tony Stark is a physicist. Van Con is a physicist. Even, Hammer is a physicist. When the time came to choose my subjects of specialization I chose to study the human race more than the world. If I was going to conquer anything at all in my life, it was going to be me.


More than the first part, Iron Man 2 exceeds it brilliance. Tony Stark was first only a technically bad man, a mass murderer, who invents something for himself and then turns it into a good man's weapon. This is the initial story of Iron Man. But, this sequel digs deeper and adds darker shades, with even the touch of romance and glamour. It is a packed, entertaining ride to the sky.

In the sequel, Tony Stark is a narcissistic rich man, with a self-created super power, who is threatened by death and personal longings. He is a human-being, battled by other human-beings. James Rhodes is that same patriotic commander and the man who stands against his friend thinking he might save the country. And yes, the Russian is the villain, with his own share of personal history triggering revenge. The best man of all, the creator of Stark Industries, is Howard Stark. Just like expected, he talks out of an old taped recording and reveals to his son that death is not going to stop him and that he is here for a bigger purpose.

There are all these and more stereotypes. Even, if you haven't read the comic book, one can guess who is the lover and who is the sexy one. I am back here and haven't forgotten a single character, a single scene, or a single turn in the story. Does this make it a good movie? I guess so. 

It's true I went there wanting to enjoy it and I am back satisfied, exhilarated, and happy.  My textbook on 'Writing on Film' tells me strictly that I cannot go to a movie with the intention of enjoying and then criticizing it. Defying this, I think the intention is precisely why the mind stays open enough for flaws to tape themselves in my mind.

I haven't done anything wrong by wanting to enjoy this movie. I simply let it take me on a ride, and it did a pretty good job, probably the best. The last few superhero movies terribly disappointed me - yes, Watchmen being one of them. Kudos to Iron Man 2. 

It's not keeping me waiting to watch more, but has put me on the most brilliant energy rush with the simple story it told me today. Be a superhero or a normal person, there is fear that's going to hit you and you are going to have to deal with it in your own way.

Here's a small peak into my childhood superhero:
"Sun rose in her dreams, and sun flowers lived beneath the thick black blanket. In the dark sunny abode lived a paradise. Swarna turned around restlessly, distracted what the day had been. She should have been kissed by him. She should have caught the bus in time. She should have seen the sitcom episode completely. She should have talked for hours to her boyfriend. She hadn’t done any of this. She had been on this mattress with a cobra.
Every morning, it coils itself around her, pulling her plump self in to the mattress. Tied and worn out in struggle  the cobra suffocates itself to life. The black cotton cobra would hiss into her ears: a hundred love stories and mystic hymns. Then she would pull him over her head and close her eyes.
Tonight, she told herself about the magnificent cobra. She read the bed time story about his crawling love. Under the cobra evils are not seen. Under the cobra everything is protected from unknown things. Blankets are super heroes."

[written long ago]

It's late in the night, but come back tomorrow for a nice look into the History of Superheroes.

The Dreadful Slope of Dreams

Climbing a hill has to be done slowly, so every bit of stench and fragrance, every bit of movement and stillness, every bit of sound and silence, every bit of smoothness and itching can be taken in without any hindrance. Most of the times when we start something we run, we are in a hurry. We want to finish it fast and get to the top. We want to scratch ourselves deep, stress ourselves fully, and sit down panting. The feeling is exhilarating and amazing.

But, when we sit back we start realizing that we missed so much on our way and made so many mistakes and probably even broke a few bones. We need to try it once more. If it is only one ride we have, ride it slowly and steadily. So, when we fall we don't break our heads and start digging deeper holes. It is a search for isolation in my dreams. An isolation which pulls everything closer!

Charles Bukowksi says: 

"If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is." 

[Poem - Roll the Dice] [Last Dialogue from the film: Factotum]

The Walk Around the Childhood Town

With papers, tearing notebooks, markers, emails all scattered around me I am sitting here waiting to create something out of it. There are ideas, mediums, disagreements, and creations. Different people keep coming across my path, stirring it, tripping me, and showing me new things. Then, I want to do this, I want to do that, and I want to do everything. The end is a confused, complex, cluttered state of excitement.
Sometimes, I take a break from everything. Like today, I walked and walked and walked. Five kilometers from Anokhi Cafe to Tiruvanmiyur Bus depot. Feel free, energized and ready for more excitement.

It is the Hidden and the Impossible that excites a Soul

There is something we all live for. And it takes some of us twenty years in a life-time to realize it. We could realize it sometime when the Muslim priests next to our house starts their first Namaaz. It could be after shutting off the television set after a movie marathon. It could be because we watched Autumn Spring and The Thomas Crown Affair back-to-back on two consecutive nights. It could be because we see the empires we are building for ourselves.
It all boils down to one thing. We live life relentlessly for the passion inside us that we need to challenge. We do this to believe in an adventure we created for ourselves when we were children.

It's Messy to be with One thing All the Time

Messy Addiction # 1
The Art of Advising the Other

Morning dawns and all you can think of are the troubles you have to handle. Down that familiar road we take to our offices and colleges, stands a person to check on you: Have you finished your report? Have you studied for your exam?

When the trouble gets to your head, you become like me, like her, like them, like everyone. We start checking on others: Have you spoken to your mom? Why are you fighting with your wife? Have you sent those emails?

After the questions are over, we tell them what to do, like we're told what to do: Don't fight with her man. Go to college and don't waste your life. Try a cigarette.

It is normal. When in trouble, solve another’s.

We get trapped, in this love for advising and fixing another’s life that we always tend to forget our own.

We accuse someone else of ‘self-pity’ and ‘ignorance’, but fail to look within.

Advising is an internal addiction. It’s something our hearts feed on, by the pure pleasure of giving more.

It is a hunger to give. It makes us all noble.

Advice. Take advice.  It is a humane condition.

Who is this Ruth who followed her Mother-in-Law to Heaven?

It has been a long time since I received any story ideas inside this head of mine. Two days back, I found my grandfather's diary and started reading through it. Believe me, you probably don't want to know so many things about your grandfather and grandmother. This was when the evil writer part of me came alive. She is still kicking strong, my real self, the one each one of you, is sleeping. My family, its characters, its life are turning into my stories.

Anyway, while I print out my words, for all those of you who want to write - there is this beautiful method of structuring your novel called the Snowflake Method elaborated by Randy Ingermanson.

The Jack in the Box is Always Ready to Scare You

There is this emptiness that time carries. We don't know what do with it. It's not like we don't have dreams or even the enthusiasm to do a million things. I do have these dreams, these wishes, those that dear people share with me. But, the times comes when you sit with them staring at a white wall behind the smoke, tired of hearing the Television set grumble all day long. What do we do? What can we do?
Stumped!
I am jobless today, because I cannot think.

The Harsh Wheel of your Motorcycle Puts me to Sleep

It was around 9.00 a.m. when Ernesto Che Guevara was half way through his journey in South America. The scenes started flickering, the sound became constant, which became my snore with the Television set still running. Then, there they were, my dreams. Friends, plots, adventures, and sins all bottled into one. Before, watching The Motorcycle Diaries, I started this morning in a very peculiar way. I read the entire Old Testament.

The Tower of Babel and Humanity - Men baked bricks one by one. Laid one on top of the other. His tongue was the same as his neighbours. Unity flowed. Why then did God confuse humanity with these languages? Did he do that so we can philosophize further? Did he do that so we can find more Gods? or Did he do that because these men were being preposterous by wanting to reach God? Lord says he knows if man can go to extent of building this tower, he will definitely destruct the meaning of life. Somehow, sitting many thousands years after this incident, with so many skyscrapers teeming out of this land around me, I fear God did not achieve in confusing humanity or in punishing them for trying to reach him or further.

Inside the Green Wine Bottle is the Core of My World, or where is it?

It is six and early in the morning, but my night is not yet over.
I am awake in my sleep, for my eyes have not yet winked.
I have wiped cleaned the paint, that spilled off my first canvas,
On which sits a bright red strawberry, hidden in my blue world.
This is Core of the World. The Core of My World.
The Core of the World is what you see.

Task finished: I have finally painted my first ever canvas in my entire life. The Canvas is the core of my world. I used acrylic paints, fingers, old brushes, and torn up sponge. No techniques, probably no skill. But, my painting on my canvas. Then, washed the brushes and my hand with a strong Lifeboy handwash, and scrubbed the floor clean with Pril. Energy is beating its way to my heart.

The Waste Underneath the Garbage Bag

It's pure shit to procrastinate, but the idea is stalled. I got past the title, three lines, and then ideas came. No ideas to do with Vedic Mathematics. I am sitting here all alone in my big house missing my allies: Arun, Git, Mary, Nina, kitchi, and Karan. Mistakes can be made, but were they worth it. Why am I not regretting anything? Because, you stupid crow you have some numbers to compute, some words to conjure, some thoughts to sort out. Leave.

Summary: I am suffering from Writer's Block. I am missing my friends.

The Squeaky Fan Annoys the Voice

I am trying. The crow is pecking.
My Assignment: Why is Vedic Math Forum India the best place for your mind?
Waiting for it to flow. Blocked inside the squeaky fan wires right now.
Staring at my coffee mug, remembering 'don't do list' I made to stop all my addictions.
None of my addictions have yet stopped.
I stop. Look around my room. It remains clean.
Snap. I am leaving. The thought has come.
It will arrive.
The train is coming 'round the bend.
Adios.