Valleys beyond the pastures

He was standing near the cliff face, a 2500 meter drop in front of him, and a 2500 meter rise behind him. A 5000 meter peak stretching out to the sky. He gazed below, and could see soft cloud tops slowly wift past him. How amusing, he thought. So many times he had wondered what the clouds were like whenever he was below, gazing at them, those big powdery cottony teddies in the sky. And now, he was above them, and they were below. Some even streaming through him. And he laughed. They were no longer a mystery, an enigma, just an amusement. One of natures wonders had been reduced to a simple pleasure for the already sickened mind.

Casually, he lifted his gaze from the valley below and peered at the mountain summit. Now there was a mystery that still defied him. He hadn't got the courage to go all the way up, and so atleast one enigmatic piece of this mountain still remained. He sighed deeply, and wondered what it would take to demystify everything and anything. It took more than 20 years to demystify clouds, and so that is one down. Another infinity more to go.

Dejected at reality, he starts walking along to path. George had built a second tavern here in the valleys of the Himalayas. He had been responsible for getting George to build one, and he was terribly pleased that he did. As he approached the tavern, the familiar smell of rye and barley filled his nostrils. No, not the farming kind. The taverny kind. A subtle smile crossed his lips. He entered the tavern and immediately, all the enigmas of reality seemed to melt away in the fresh smell of alcohol. Heaving a sigh of false relief, he sits down, and George politely gives him his usual scotch-on-the-rocks.

The mind now in control of Glenfiddich, he starts to play his play in his mind. As he drifts away into a scotch-induced stupor, old memories start flashing past him. He remembers the old days, when life was plain and simple, free from the hypocritical complexities that are part of his life now. A small tear escapes the bonds of his eyes, and falls ever so gently into the scotch. The struggle took its toll and indirectly, also took its toll on his liver and lungs. Taking a deep breath, he lets these thoughts sink deeper in him, and takes a tear stained scotch sip.

The clouds have stopped coming now at the mountains. Weather patterns have changed. He is still inside the tavern, lost in his thoughts. But the clouds have gone. They will come back, but the mountain will remain where it is. Only the clouds have left. To many, its just a matter of low pressure and high pressure, fronts and troughs, and lines on a geographical map. But to some, its the analogy of reality.

The Story of Pimp

Once upon a time there lived a little boy. The little boy was called Pimp. Pimp lived with his dog John and his mouse Gerald. One day Pimp was out fishing by the Shiny River, and he caught a magic fish called Fishy. Fishy said to Pimp, "Pimp, I will grant you three wishes." Pimp was excited.

Pimp goes home and talks to John. "John, Fishy told me I will be granted three wishes.". John looks at Pimp and asks, "Why is it always three wishes? Why not two, or four, or for that matter, why not five thousand nine hundred and seventy three wishes?". Pimp starts to cry and says, "I don't know !!". John pats Pimp and says, "Never mind kiddo. This is life. There are always rules. Rules don't change. We live according to a fixed set of rules set by fools. We always get three wishes." This gets Pimp thinking.

Pimp goes to Fishy and says, "Fishy, I want to be able to make my own rules." Fishy the fish smiles and say, "Granted !!". Pimp goes home happy. Now he is his own boss.

Then Pimp talks to Gerald. "Gerald, I have two wishes left." Gerald hardly pays attention to Pimp. He looks at Pimp and says, "Oh go shove your wishes up your ass. I am busy." Pimp asks, "Busy doing what?". Gerald laughs and says, "Hiding you asshole !! Don't you realise? There is always something to hide from !! For me, its a cat !!". After saying that, Gerald runs away. Pimp starts to think again. He realises he is hiding from something too.

Pimp goes to Fishy and says, "Fishy, I want to stop hiding from whatever I am hiding from". Fishy smiles again and says, "Granted!". Pimp goes home. On his way, he realises that he knows himself perfectly now. He knows exactly who he is. Then Pimp realises what he was hiding from.

The next day Pimp goes back to the river. Fishy is there waiting for him. "Your last wish Pimp?". Pimp looks at Fishy. Then Pimp looks around. He sees the beautiful mountains. He looks past the mountains and sees big cities. In the cities, he sees people going about their lives. Then he looks up and sees the clear blue sky. He looks past the sky and sees the stars, the galaxies. He sees the whole universe. He realises that he is very small and insignificant. He looks down, and takes a deep breath. Then he tells Fishy, "Fishy, I want a grand piano." Fishy smiles and says, "Granted!".

Pimp goes back home. In the middle of his house, there is a large grand piano. John is sitting in a chair nearby, sipping a glass of Chivas Regal. Gerald is nibbling on some Fribourgeois. Gerald loves his Fribourgeois. John loves his Chivas Regal.

Even though he is a little boy, Pimp loves a good glass of scotch, and some good cheese. He realises that Canadian cheese is horrible. He goes and pours himself a glass of Chivas Regal and gets himself a nice block of Vieux Corse. Then he goes by the piano and looks at it. He takes a sip of scotch, and eats a little cheese. Then he puts the glass and plate down. His hands slowly come on the 88 black and white keys, and slowly, the sound of the Appassionata Sonata fills the room. Pimp is happy. Gerald is happy. John is happy.

And somewhere, far away, a pimp is earning $1000 selling favours of his hookers.

Strangers

Golden. Yes, golden. And ice. 3 ice cubed to be precise, and golden scotch. Divine.

He sat there, alone, in a dark corner (corners are always dark) in George's Tavern. He never took his eyes away from his sctoch. This was the only thing left for him...sometimes...

He sat there, staring, and wondering. Sometimes he wondered what he was wondering about. Things were not really as complex as he deemed them to be. Yet he wondered, all the time. He peered deeply into the scotch. Through the glass, through the ice, through the golden liquor, towards the two gentlemen sitting across him, through these two gentlemen, through the solid wooden walls that sheltered George and his fine collection of delictable liquors, and up into the sky, and his gaze came to rest at a lone star.

Far away, the star stood alone, surrounded by annoying clouds of hydrogen. These clouds were trying desperately to condense and turn into new stars, but their efforts were failing. Time and time again they tried to collapse, and time and time again the expanded back, the temperatures not quite reaching the levels they desired. Irritated, they drifted away. Then others came.

The star gazed at the pitiful efforts of these clouds. It sighed. As it sighed, a huge plume of gas erupted, left its surface and dashed out into oblivion. The star sighed again, as it watched it go. This time nothing happened. More clouds came, and more clouds went. The star felt its existence, and smiled sadly. Yes, it was a magnificent star. A colossal star. It knew that when its time was done, it would explode with an explosion rarely seen. The dream of all stars. A supernova. It had lived a good life, it continued to live a good life. It had nothing to complain about.

Yet, it felt sad. The star looked around, and for light years, there was no one else to give it company. Just the random, deranged cloud of hydrogen. It wondered at the efforts of these clouds. They tried so hard. They deserved to turn into stars. But fate was cruel to them. The star wanted them to turn into stars. It wanted company. But alas, they wre not as lucky as it had been.

The star turned its gaze away from these clouds, and gazed into oblivion. Its gaze passed through other stars, through nebulae, through galaxies, entering a particular planetery system, past the gas giants, into an ordinary planet, through the mountains, through the solid wooden walls that sheltered George and his fine collection of delictable liquors, through two gentlemen sitting across him, through the glass, through the ice and it came to rest on him.

He felt a light coming. But he didn't know what it was. It came out from the place he had always been. But he was too slow to react. It came quickly, suddenly, and blinded him. And in that flash, he saw it all.

He threw the glass, spilling its precious contents across on old lady's fibula, and he ran outside, screaming...

...And how are you today ? ...

Note: This is not really a post as much as it is an angry rant !!

Scenario 1:

A: Hello B.

B: Hello A. How are you doing ?

A: Oh not bad, and you ?

B: Pretty good.

Scenario 2:

A: Hello B.

B: Hello A. How are you doing ?

A: Oh my god…its interesting that you asked. I feel miserable these days. My wife has left me, my dog ate my cat, blah, blah, blah, blah…


A diligent reader might ask, what the hell is the point of these scenarios.

My point is actually quite intriguing (well, to me anyways).

How many times are we asked the question “How are you?” (or something along these lines)? Many times. But yet, most, if not all, the time, we reply by saying something like “Oh not bad”, or “Pretty good”. But what if our situation is not “Oh not bad”, or not “Pretty good”? Then that means we are lying right?

Where am I getting at? Well…most people don’t really care if you are not doing well. Then why do they ask “How are you doing?”? I don’t’ know !! Protocol ? Politeness ? Maybe !! But it seems strange to ask a question when you know what the answer will be !! If we do tell the truth, and in case that truth is that we are not doing well, then the other person will probably go nuts !! But I guess this is the way society functions. Ask a question simply because if you didn’t ask, you would be considered rude, but at the same time, you know exactly what to expect, and if the person answering indeed tells the truth when he is not doing well, then HE is considered rude !! How strange !!

I say, STOP asking it ( !! What is the bleeding point anyways ? NONE !! Of course, when my family or my best friends ask me that, I obviously say exactly the truth, but in all other cases, I find it most annoying to say “Pretty good”, when in fact, sometimes things are not pretty good !! But oh well…

Back to George's Tavern

Gorgeous nights. The smell of the melting snow off the hillsides, coupled with the fresh aroma of rotting garbage along the sidewalks gave the night a smell to remember. Mist flowed down slowly across the mountain tops, and settled near and around the little tavern, causing minor headaches to drivers of motor vehicles, with the odd one slipping down into the valley to join the great big motor dump yard somewhere up in the sky.

He entered the tavern, a weary look in his face. Yes. He had done it again. Got up late and missed his class. This is the 8th week in a row, so I guess he realised the "got up late" was not working, and he should just accept the fact that he is a lazt #@$!. He went up to his usual seat, and looked around. No...his friends were not there yet. One was in New Delhi, pretending to be a big shot journalist. The other was in Chile, brooding over lines and lines of code, while being controlled by the invisible hand of a Mr. Stocker.

No...none of his friends were here. He was alone. "Oh well", he said to himself, "Maybe I'll have a scotch." George could read his mind, and in exactly one minute and thirty seven seconds, a glass of Chivas Regal lay on his table.

Slowly, he sipped it, and drifted across his pastures...

A fresh one

My dear friend the Blue Whale got me into the habit of blogging. Though my frequency pales in comparison to his, I still try to keep up...

Here are the old ones for those few who care : http://shivi-cheema.livejournal.com/