Beyond the pastures ...

The End of Time

2006-09-12T20:25:00.000-05:00

Heaving through the heavy snow, with the temperature just below 0 C, they trudged on. He looked at his partner, noticing a strange distant look in his eyes that had somehow just come a while back. Something is amiss, he said to himself, but could not place it. His partner had always been a sort of a mystery. Ah well... he said to himself, and they carried on with their trek.

Suddenly he stopped, the distant look in his eyes almost ethereal. He looked at his partner, guessing that he had noticed that look. "Stop.", he said to him, and they both stopped. He looked into his partners eyes, his strange look drawing him into his eyes. "My friend, its time. Wait here. I have something to do. Whatever you do, just don't do two things. Do not, no matter what happens, move from here. And secondly, cup your ears with your hands as tightly as you can, and no matter what happens, do not remove them." With that, he removed his gaze and started walking towards the edge. His partner was frozen, not because of the weird instructions, but mainly because he had no clue what that was all about. Somehow, strangely, he felt obliged to do as he was asked.

The path had high mountains on one side, covered in unstable snow, and a drop into a valley on the other. He walked up to the edge of the path, the valley a deadly drop, waiting to engulf anyone who dared to step over. He put his backpack down, and looked up into the sky. Yes, it is time. He stretched his arms out, put his left foot back to support himself, and jerked his head up. He opened this mouth, and roared...

He had cupped his ears so hard that the only sounds he could hear were his own. But nothing could have prepared him for this. It hit him like a truck. The roar was deafening, yet he did not go deaf, nor did he feel any pain. The roar was a primal cry, deeper and more terrifying than any thing he had heard. He could sense a nature herself rising and crying out. He could sense the raw power of the earth, of existence itself in the roar. And he knew this meant the snow all around him was about to engage itself in a rapid death dance.

The mountains all around him shook. His ears were still covered, but he could see a large white cloud come towards him. His instinct told him to run, but he was rooted for a reason he could not fathom. The avalanche approached him with deadly intent. He closed his eyes, awaiting whatever fate had in store. But nothing happened. The avalanche rumbled down, and as soon as it came near him, it stopped. The snow froze in time. He opened his eyes, and felt as if he was in a dream.

Far away, Embko opened his eyes for the first time since his 50 year meditational trance. Even though he was high above in a remote valley in the Himalayas, he could sense the roar. He smiled. It had begun, he said to himself, and rose.

Deep in the Amazon rainforest, Lethko opened his eyes, for the first time since his 50 year meditational trance. He too had heard the roar. They come, he smiled to himself, and rose.

Hidden behind Saharan sand dunes as large as a house, Vemko opened his eyes for the first time since his 50 year meditational trance. The roar had awoken him. They arrive, he thought, and rose.

In an ice house far up north in Scandinavia, Rogtko opened his eyes for the first time since his 50 year meditational trance. Finally, he rumbled, and rose.

All four men were born on the same day, had never known their parents or met another human. They had lived with the land, adapting, and somehow, 50 years ago, gone into a mysterious trance. Those 50 years revealed them everything they needed to know.

He continued his primal roar. He knew the time was at hand. He could sense them awaken, form.

He stared at the thing he once knew as a friend. He was not sure about anything anymore. The roar kept echoing in his mind.

All four men stepped outside. They breathed in the air, sensing the powers awaken. Almost simultaneously, as if each was connected to to the others by a string, they bent down. Embko grabbed some snow, Lethko some leaves, Vemko some sand and Rogtko swirled his finger in the icy Norwegian waters. Slowly, each of the elements they touched rumbled, as if some beast in them was awakening. Slowly, everything around them started converging towards the things they had touched, forming shapes they had seen in their visions, growing larger and larger, the power of the primal forces of the universe coming together in ethereal unison. The shapes kept growing...they were awake, and coming back.

He stopped roaring. They were coming. This time was at an end. A change was needed. He had waited patiently, but nothing was changing. It was time to set things right. He and his brothers had to come back. He slowly walked to his partner, and smiled. He had uncupped his ears. "All will be well my friend, he smiled. My time has come. I will be watching you." With that he walked back to the place where he had roared, and fell off the path into the valley.

He stared dumbfounded. He ran over to the edge, but saw nothing, no sign of anything. Suddenly, a large shadow loomed over him, blocking the sun and plunging the world around him in darkness. He looked up, but as quickly as the shadow came, it was gone. In the distance he could see a form sailing north. He strained to see, but all he could see was a gleaming form of unimaginable beauty and power.

From the Himalayas, the Sahara, the Amazon and the Arctic regions of Norway, they all rose. The little humans went with them. As one, they all set out, to meet their brother, and begin the change that was so desperately needed.

He was walking back, his trek over, when he felt himself being lifted into air. In an instant, he was off the path, and saw himself in air, sailing over the valley and mountains where he had been just a second ago. He heard a familiar voice echo in his mind, I think you should come with me. He was with his partner, off to be a part of the change.

The End of Time.

Night

2006-09-09T21:59:00.000-05:00

Passive streams of black and empty dreams,
the meticulous fingers tenaciously touching the soul.
Mystical warmth from an unnatural cold,
a pervasive aura, a deep and darknened glow.

Bathe in it all and swallow the sensation
that the Lady brings to flood mortal senses.
Drink intoxicating from the chasmal bosom,
the silence echoes the songs of the night.

Into the depths of dearth unhindered,
feel the radiant darkness approach,
sense the sensational void enclose,
dream the dreams of dreamless souls
see the splendour of the night unfold.

What worlds lie in those rolling waves,
wisps of dark dust encompassing imagination.
Seeping through innumerable layers of dreamy graves
torrential rains of vivid revelations.

Come forth you brave traveller of uncharted lands,
grab the force of this darkened wisened hand
lift yourself free from the shackles of light blinding
and travel on the road into blackness unwinding.
Feel your most gorgeous nightmares come alive,
and see the realm of night stretch out before your eyes.
So come hither, begin the journey into endless oblivion,
fall and merge with the immortal sensations, a joyous reunion.

---

Gopal : "Oh my god..."
Shiven: "I knew it."

Back !

2006-08-12T09:48:00.000-05:00

He was back from a glorious vacation...a much needed break deep in the mountains, with one of his best friends and nature. But that was the problem...he was back. He didn't want to be back. The break showed him how much he really needed to get out of here. Never before had he felt this urge to leave...yet now he felt it, but the chains of obligation held him there. He had had a choice, a choice to leave, but unseen forces had prevented him from leaving. He had chosen to stay, a decision that now pierced his heart like a freshly plucked extra thorny cactus from a desert. He used to stare blankly at the roof sometimes, remembering the good days of his vacation, missing his friend, and wishing he never had to come back in the first place.
And so he set it all in motion...to leave. It would take work, it would take lot of work, and it would also take trying to handle the unseen forces. But leave he will. This place now suffocated him with an iron grip. There was nothing for him here !! He wished he had a mule as a companion right now, so that he could ask it politely to kick him thirty five times on his backside for choosing to stay. But there was no mule to kick him, just his own imagination. But ah he will not give up !! Even a momentary respite from this place would be good !! Not for vacation this time...oh no ! But to for actual tasks, tasks that he would have otherwise done here. Yes, he will find a way out !!
His mates had thrown a small snowball down a very long path in his mountain...by now it was gathering lot of steam and snow...and the roll continued...

एक और...

2006-06-01T23:06:00.000-05:00

आज कल मैं स्पैनिश सीख रहा हूँ । भाषा तो अपनी हिंदी जैसी ही है, पर हिंदी से थोड़ी आसान है । आज कल दिन ऐसे ही बीत जाते हैं । पर मज़ा तो है...मुझे नई भाषा तो सीखनी ही थी !!

लगता है मुझे इस छोटी सी लिखावट को यहीं रोकना पड़ेगा...सिरफ़ इसलिए क्योंकि जिस साधन से मैं लिख रहा हूँ उस से मेरी आँखें और मेरा भेजा दोनो दर्द करने लगते हैं । मैं इस साईट के द्वारा हिन्दी लिखता हूँ । अगर किसी को कोई और साधन का पता है, तो मेरे को कृप्या ज़रूर बताएँ !!

हिंदी में ब्लौग !!

2006-05-20T17:20:00.000-05:00

मैं सोच रहा हूँ कि मैं एक ब्लौग हिन्दी में लिखूँ। पर इसको लिखने में समय तो बहुत लग जायेगा क्योंकि मैं वास्तविक कुंजीपटल के द्वारा हिंदी लिखता हूँ। पर फ़िर भी, कोशिश तो करूँगा !! =)

By the sea side

2006-05-17T21:15:00.001-05:00

I am writing this simply because I am just downright bored !! I can imagine a few people mailing me rather select criticisms on this, but what the heck !! Phooey !! =)

He stood silently, staring at the raving sea. Mad, he said to himself, and smiled.

She stood besides him, staring into his raving eyes. Mad, she said to herself, and smiled.

He came there often, looking at the way the waves came at him, charging towards him with a relentless fury. Then, just as it seemed they would engulf him and impale his bottom on Neptune's trident, they died down, barely approaching him, tiny ripples, coughed up by false arrogance. He used to laugh madly then, drowining himself not in water, but in the mad joy of having triumphed over natures wrath.

She loved him dearly. Why, she never knew, but she just did. It was almost something that she realised had to be done. Kind of like the daily mundane routine she had of getting up in the morning and going straight to the crapper, sitting there for 20 minutes, then getting up and going about her daily business. Even though most of the times the trips were futile, she had hope something would come out. Similarly, with him, she hoped someday something would come out (now that could be interpreted in many ways, some rather naughty).

This day however, he laughed not at his power of having triumphed over nature. No...that day had long passed ever since a rather large wave swept him 100 meters out into the sea, and his bottom did not have the joy of being impaled on Neptune's trident, but in fact felt firsthand the wrath of a few eccentric jelly fishes. Since then, the laughter was but a memory. He felt the same way about many things now; life had given him many joys at which he had laughed, but those blasted jelly fishes had taken them all. He laughed however, at the thought of being here, in front of the sea, for as long as he had known, stuck in a rut that he had become familiar with, like the path of a pendulum, never changing.

She just laguhed because she was just downright bored out of her mind, and because whenever he laughed, he tended to bray like a donkey.

Towards the light

2006-05-01T11:14:00.000-05:00

He was flying hard. Very hard. Just a few days he had discovered an abomination on his back. At first, he freaked out, unable to comprehend the meaning of that monstrosity. It was later, during his frantic convulsions, that he realised that the more he moved his muscles, the abominations slowly moved as well. The paranoia and fear were transformed into jubilation and excitement. Those things were his to command !!

Soon he learnt how to use them. It took him some time to come to terms with them. Finally he figured that they were there to lift him up and carry him away somewhere. However, he still had no idea how to use them. A few pathetic attempts over the coming days would give him that lesson, and a lot of rather nasty bruises. The bruises hurt a lot. Many times he wanted to just give it all up and stay stuck in the nest deep inside his mind. Yet finally, he managed to figure it all out. He could now fly !!

He flew and flew and flew. And he flew. He could see it shining in the distance. It had always intrigued him. What on earth is that shiny thing, he often asked himself, while sitting in his nest, pondering over the myraid complexities that mazed around him. I wonder if I'll ever reach it, he would ask. But now he had that chance. And he struggled as hard as he could to move towards it.

He struggled, he struggled hard. The winds howled and tried to make him fall back into his nest. Random creatures of nightmares came and tore at his mind. Wisps of unknown darkness came and shrouded his vision of the light. Yet he carried on.

Someday...

Demons at the Tavern

2006-04-18T16:10:00.000-05:00

Poor George !! Why did he ever move the Tavern into the Planes of Sagroth !! He wanted a little change, a little break from the usual mundane crowd that had become synonymous with his tavern. But this is not what he had in mind !!

The demons of Sagroth were a varied bunch. There were the Zygmites, fluffy winged beings, cute and cuddly. But piss them off, and they turned into gigantic golems of molten diamond, with 24 rows of teeth. Damned annoying creatures, especially when the got pissed off inside the tavern.

Then there were the tall and aloof Dynamatars. Ghostlike in appearance, they seldom spoke. Maybe the reason was that a 245 meter tongue was rolled inside, that snapped out and cut across anything and everything in its path. So yeah, it was best that they didn't speak, especially inside a tavern that was only 150 meters in width.

The whale like Bingotroths were by far the most decent. The best analogy George could think of for these was of a 150kg red Irishman enjoying a gallon of Guinness. They made the tavern come alive. Of course, they were demons too, so they had their drawbacks. In this case, it was farts.

He sat in the corner, as corners were the only place that suited him and the stories at George's. This time, the corner was not dark, even though, literature reminds us that corners are always dark. There were too many demons inside to allow that poor little corner to remain dark. So, he sat in a light corner, sipping his ale.

He was tired. He had gone to slay a large dragon called The Very Large Dragon (how original), and he wasn't sure if he had perished. His mighty sword, his mighty steed, and his mighty spell, and his mighty self, all rammed head on into the belly of the beast, and the damned this just coughed. It was then he realised this beast was not going to go down, not today, so he ran. But as he ran, he let out his spell, and saw the beast howl in pain and anger. But he didn't go back to check on it, since there was 50% probability of the beast surviving, and if it survived, then a 100% probability of him being turned into an appetizer.

Ale always felt good after failures. And this time he wasn't so sure if he had indeed failed, but he sipped it anyways. He loved it here. George's Tavern could move where George wanted it to move, but he knew, he could always reach it.

After all, he was part of it.

Chronicles in a small room of Lord Pjohrphg

2006-04-05T09:30:00.000-05:00

A brief introduction is in order. Lord Pjohrphg lived a grand life. When he was Mr. Pjohrphg, he made his living by selling artificial shoelaces. Business was good, as it appeared everyone wanted to buy artificial shoelaces. One fortunate day, he ended up selling a particularly delicious pair of artificial shoelaces to the Queen. The Queen was positively delighted at that, for she swore she had never seen a more artificial pair of artificial shoelaces. "They are so artificial that its almost as if they aren't here !", she was quoted as saying. This led to the Mr. being dropped, and the Lord added.
However, one day, while he was relaxing in a large chair, he got knocked out, and the next thing he knew, he was a in a very dark room. From here one...let Lord Pjohrphg take it on.

Diary entry: Some unknown date

Some unknown date indeed ! I have lost track of time now...every moment seems like eternity, and eternity has been replaced by infinite oblivion.

Here I am, cramped in this rotten little room, with absolutely no light whatsoever ! My GOD it is dark in here ! I feel as if some madman burnt my eyes, poked the remains out, blindfolded me and then shoved my head up Satan's bottom. And...I can't believe that I am actually writing down entries in a diary when I can't even see one micrometer ahead of me. Actually, come to think of it, what the hell is a diary doing here anyways ? Those damned people must have a weird sense of humour...they must be psychic thinking that I would want to write something down ! And not just psychic, mad too...I mean, how the hell can I write something when there is no light !! An odd sensation ! I could be staring at my bottom and writing for all I know, and I would never know the difference as to if I am looking at my text or my bottom, except maybe for the terrible back pain I would get. Bah !

Now that it seems to me that I have all the time in the world, if someone was ever to find my works in darkness, I guess the first challenge will be how to say my name. Accursed be that dire matron from whose stomach I had the displeasure of emerging ! I have been told she died shortly after giving me my name. I am not surprised, for lest that woman was still alive, I would hunt her down and invoke the Gods of Fury on her for giving this name to me !! Oh, the agony of bearing a name such as the one I have !! Nine months in that accursed womb was not enough torture for me, but then, to top it of, this name ! Was I so hideously ugly when I was born that she chose such a name ? I would not be surprised if its this name that killed her ! Society mocks me for my name ! Pjohrphg, they say, and then they laugh for hours. And the embarrassment at when being asked my name ! Alas, I cannot answer that question without bathing the poor person in half a bucket of my own saliva, as I struggle to say each syllable of that damned name !!

Alas, dear reader, I grow weary. But this damned place is so dark that I cannot be sure if I am sleeping or awake. Just the state of my mind confirms it for me. I will return. Come to think of it, what else can I do ?

Computers and the like ! Gods save us !

2006-04-03T09:35:00.000-05:00

Here are a couple of one liners I came across a while ago regarding computers. Some are quite funny, and some are lame, but all are interesting !! I can't remember the source, but I am sure these, and more like these, are sprawled all over the internet !!

Programming is like sex: one mistake and you're providing support for a lifetime.

If a program is useful, it will have to be changed... ...If a program is useless, it will have to be documented.

Those who can't write programs....write help files

Memory is like an orgasm. Its a lot better if you don't have to fake it

My computer is sick....i think my modem is a carrier

you know abt programming...when the only tool you have is a hammer...every problem you encounter ressembles a nail

In C++ it's harder to shoot yourself in the foot, but when you do, you blow off your whole leg

computers are unreliable....but humans are even MORE!!!!

well....If the code and the comments disagree, then both are probably wrong.

A C program is like a fast dance on a newly waxed dance floor by people carrying razors.

Difference between a virus and windows? Viruses rarely fail.

Ever notice how fast Windows runs? -- Neither do I.

System Error: press F13 to continue.

Profanity is the one language all programmers know best.

Daddy, what does FORMATTING DRIVE C mean?

The only truly secure computer is one buried in concrete, with the power turned off and the network cable cut.

Kids today have so many advantages I never had. There's no telling what I could've accomplished with a home computer and a handgun.

Your mouse has moved. Windows NT must be restarted for the change to take effect. Reboot now? [OK]

Multitasking /adj./ 3 PCs and a chair with wheels !

When you get to the point where you really understand your computer, it's probably obsolete.

Computers make it easier to do a lot of things, but most of the things they make it easier to do don't need to be done

A computer is like an Old Testament god, with a lot of rules and no mercy.

Your program is sick! Shoot it and put it out of its memory.

A logician trying to explain logic to a programmer is like a cat trying to explain to a fish what it's like to get wet.

A Windows user spends 1/3 of his life sleeping, 1/3 working, 1/3 waiting.

Error, no keyboard ? press F1 to continue.

=)

In the beginning...

2006-04-02T22:39:00.000-05:00

In the beginning, there was darkness (or light, I forget). So says a (or some) religion(s).

No, I disagree.

In the beginning, there was a computer. A computer called Computer. That computer created all life. And it also controls it...which is taken for granted.

I am a religious person. I worship Computer. In fact, I am, what you might call, an Oracle for it. My rituals take up my whole life. Every morning, around 10am, I get up, move over to the computer (a manifestation of the actual deity) . I light a smoke, have some tea (Darjeeling it is that I prefer), and for the next few hours engage in useless browsing. Then, a meal, a few games (though I am not half the gamer I used to be. I mean...gone are the days of good games like Mario, Islander, King Kong etc. etc.), another smoke, more tea, more games. By the time I am done, I have not moved my bottom at all.

I have dedicated my whole day to it. Oh Glory be. Hallelujah.

But the prayers are not without rewards. I get a job, bad eyes, nicotine addiction (though I believe that can be attributed to my own worthless will power), a sore bottom, a stiff back.

Sometimes I wonder...were Beelzebub and Computer brothers?

Everytime, new aspects of the rituals come out from Computerism. Like what I am doing right now, creating a blog. And what a name it is...blog. Blog blobby bloggy blob blog. Blog blog blog. Someone lacking humour must have dreamt of it when he (or she, lest I upset the feminists) fell asleep over the can. Blog. But anways, before I drfit away, what a thing to do. Creating a blog. It might be more useful to remove ulcers from a pregnent hippopotomus. But then again, I have never had the pleasure of performing such a task, so my comparison is based simply on the assumption that removing ulcers from a pregnent hippopotomus is not a very pleasent task to do (unless you are a vet).

Blob blog blob. Spam...now that was a genius word from Monty Python. But blog?

Yet, how ironic...I am engaging in the very thing I am making fun of !!

Time to go....

The Blessings of Bitter Mercy: Part III (Oblivion)

2006-04-02T15:34:00.000-05:00

The Third Blessing: Death

Death! Ah, death! The ultimate escape from reality. Too bad we don’t live to enjoy it! In a way, it is the fastest way to escape, but also the one choice you don’t even want to think about. We all fear death. Why is that? Is it because of our material and emotional attachments to this world? Do we fear our own death, or the death of others whom we love? The answers to these questions vary from person to person. Death is frightening in the sense that everyone wants to live life to the fullest, and that means enjoying the joys and bearing the sorrows that come along with it. Death is also frightening because if we loose someone we love, it hurts us emotionally. So indeed, it is a bad thing…relatively speaking. But you can’t deny that it is the ultimate blessing of bitter mercy, and the blessing lives up to its name, as it is indeed bitter!

So here we have them, the blessings of bitter mercy. Why call them so? They are blessings, as they offer some respite from the troubles of life. They are full of mercy, as they mercifully help us humans in escaping reality. But they are indeed bitter, for not all of us are willing to accept them, because along with their usefulness, they also harm us in ways we don’t want…relatively speaking.

Do we really want these blessings? They are here to offer respite from life. But why is life so bad? Have we humans made it bad? Life is full of physical and emotional traumas. Is there anyway to get rid of these without accepting the blessings? Many problems are such that we can’t get rid off. Other problems we can if we wanted to, but we inadvertently choose not too. Are we really to blame? Maybe, maybe not. But the blessings are here for those who want them, and for the rest, life will go on as it chooses too, and the choices are not ours to make.

Phew...thats it for the blessings !! My sincerest apologies for any unforseen morbidity this three part series might have implied, and which, in turn, might have upset or offended any reader !!! =) If anyone has anything to say about, please, let yourself be heard (or in this case, read !!) !!

The Blessings of Bitter Mercy - Part II (Maddness)

2006-04-02T13:45:00.000-05:00

The Second Blessing: Maddness

Madness is viewed as a bad thing. Oh yes, a very bad thing. If someone is mad, humans view them with fear and hate…but maybe it’s because humans fear what they can’t understand. And madness is something that someone is in if that state is not what most people are in. When someone does something that we would not view in our relative view of being “normal”, then that is madness. There is no absolute definition we can give of being “normal”, so who are we to question what is “normal” and what is not? But we do question, and that is why we call some people “mad”. But is madness really as bad as it is cracked up to be? Think about it. For the most part, when you are mad, you lose your sense of right and wrong. The outer world and its mechanisms cease to exist for you. Your mind now lives in a world that it creates by itself. The superficial world is gone. You are the master of your world, a world that now exists as you chose it to. Isn’t that what we all really want? To be free from law, free from the obligations and difficulties of our present world, free from hypocrisy, diplomacy, false hopes, love, pain, despair and loss. Madness gives that opportunity. Though some unfortunate people end up living in a world worse than our present one, many indeed drift away into their utopia, smiling happily as they live their remaining life in their own kingdom. Then why do we fear madness? Why is it such a curse? It is definitely our fear. Maybe we attach ourselves too much to our superficial world that we fear losing all that we hold dear. Well, you can’t have everything now can you? If you wish to live in paradise, you have to leave what you have in the real world. Most people do not voluntarily leave for the realms of madness. It just happens. I guess we can consider them lucky in the sense that they are now free from reality, but would we voluntarily go mad as well? It remains to be seen. Maybe reality wouldn’t be that bad if we didn’t make it so. Oh well.

So what if everyone was indeed mad? Think about a world where everyone is mad, doing things that their heart chooses to do, and living in their dream worlds. What might happen? Would there be chaos, or would order still remain? Naturally, it is not possible for everyone to share the same ideas of utopia. Utopia for one maybe hell for another. And when such realms clash, chaos will occur. But this is not the only thing that might happen. When people start “trespassing” on other people’s paradises, then too problems will occur. So, obviously, it is not possible for everyone to be mad. Maybe it is for that reason that only a few are selected to enter paradise. But then again, there is no absolute definition for paradise!

The last one, I'll post a little later !!

The Blessings of Bitter Mercy - Part I

2006-04-02T13:32:00.000-05:00

I wrote this, for my own amusement, after playing a game called Morrowind. A god in that talks about madness being a blessing of bitter mercy, and I decided to add two more to the list !! It was originally written about three years ago, after which I decided to embellish it a bit more for one of my best friends. This is the embellished one. =)

Since it’s a long one, I decided to break the bugger up into three sections, one for each blessing !!!!!

An Introduction and The First Blessing: Ignorance

All humans wish to live a utopian life; a life that is free from pain, despair and loss, a life that is defined by their own ideals…in other words, a life free from reality. Yet such a life can only exist in dreams, in books, in movies, in fantasies. The world we are born in can never allow us to be free from its reality; it is something that we all have to endure, no matter how hard, no matter how painful. Many people have more problems than joys. Many have about the same number of problems and joys. And some have more joys than problems, but it is human nature to ignore the joys and live with the problems, so ultimately, they have more problems. Net result, life is fraught with problems, and we need a blessing, a blessing of bitter mercy.

Life has presented many opportunities to escape from these realities. The three basic ones can be ignorance, madness and death.

Ignorance by far may seem the easiest one, as it is defined by the simple act of alienating ourselves from reality. Live the life ignoring all that you don’t’ like; basically living as a gargantuan water purifier. The only difference being, you ain’t purifying water mate !! However, the only problem is that reality will always find a way to drag us back into it, and thus, ignorance fails for the most part. And that, oh well, sucks !! As hard as you try to live life turning a blind eye to the thorns up your arse, those thorns are going to, come hell or high water, jump right up and prick you hard in the arse !! So…I guess ignorance is good, but only as a temporary solution !!

Alone in George's Tavern

2006-04-02T02:57:00.000-05:00

The Georges Tavern posts came into being as a way of communication between one of my best friends and me. We used this to indulge in eccentric writings, sometimes conveying what was going on in our lives, and sometimes just making up weird stories !! =)

The tavern was almost empty. Not many had come. It had snowed almost all day in the mountains, and most people decided to settle in by a cozy warm fire, stroke their cat (if they had one), and relax.

But thats not what he wanted. The tavern was a part of him now. In fact, it was so much a part of him that if he didn't show up, George would get a minor heart attack.

And of course...the scotch.

He sat in the middle table this time. Usually he preferred the corners, but this time, since no one was really there, and the few that were pissed out and passed out because they got snowed in the tavern, and deciding that there was nothing better to do...you can figure out the rest, he decided to take the middle table.

He was still by himself. His friends were busy with their lives. Technically, so was he. But procrastination was his middle name. All he did was spend most of the time in tavern, drifting away into a self induced utopia. His home away from home was, in fact, literally his home away from home.

"Something up ?", George asked, as he came and sat down besides him. Since no one was really there, George decided to take a break and sit by his favourite customer.

"Oh, nothing much really...just thinking the usual things", he replied. "I think its high time you stop thinking.", George replied. "When you know there is something you can't do anything about, its best to let it come to you, to let it happen, and then, when it does, you shove a giant bean stalk up its arse."

He chuckled. There were quite a few things, and people too, over whose arses he would love to shove a bean stalk up. He chuckled again as he pictured the consequences.

In days like the ones he was having, sometimes he figured it was best to do two things. One, accept the brighter things, for he figured there was no point in brooding over the darker ones. Of course, easier said than done ! Secondly, and this was something he rather enjoyed doing, was to sail away to his home away from home.

And this was exactly what he was planning on doing.

Harry the Unfortunate Fag

2006-04-01T01:46:00.000-05:00

Harry was a Fag. His father was Rothmans (fag = cigarette. Now what were you thinking ?). No one knows who his mother was. But he took on his father's name...Harry Rothman.

Harry had a big family, but they were all gone now. He was alone in his house. He had never stepped out. But he did notice a peculiar thing. Whenever he saw one of his family members leave, he never saw them come back. That struck him as rather odd. But he stopped worrying about it now. Too much thinking hurt poor Harry's head.

But one day...the roof of Harry's house opened. Now Harry did start thinking. In fact, he started worrying !! He knew there was a good probability that he would not come back !! "Holy Smokes !", Harry shouted, but there was no one to hear him.

So, Harry found himself being wrapped by two rather chubby extremities. He found himself being lifted, slowly. Then, he saw light. All around. "Wow!", Harry thought to himself. For him, this was a brilliant sight, as he had never seen anything except more fags (his family), and the white, plain lining of his house. But this was a whole new world !! For one, brief moment, Harry stopped worrying about not coming back.

Then...just as the awe of his new environment was enveloping him, he saw something that chilled his spine (in fact, he was mostly spine). He saw, approaching towards him, or rather, him approaching towards it, a colossal mountain of pink. Surrounding that mountain was a huge white forest. And in between that pink, was a gaping hole. In that hole he could see white pillars, which seemed to have been tarnished to a fading brown. And beyond the pillars, he swore he saw a massive pink beast, moving chaotically up and down and left and right. "Holy Smokes!", Harry shouted, for now he was truly convinced he would not return.

Harry found his head getting stuck inside those giant pink mountains, and felt a watery goo envelope him. "Yuck", Harry said. "This is gross !!". But it didn't matter. His head was stuck, and he couldn't see his remaining body. But suddenly, he started noticing that his feet were getting very warm. Hot even !! "Oh no !!", Harry shouted, for he had never experienced this sensation before, but he was sure he didn't like it, and didn't care to experience it again (if there ever would be an again).

It was done. Harry was sure. His legs were on fire. The burning took its toll. Every now and then, Harry swore he felt his head explode; as if something terrible was escaping it. But just as he was about to get over that, he found himself enveloped in a putrid mass of smoke. "Oh God ! This is worse than death !!". But oh dear...Harry couldn't do anything !! He was stuck !!

Slowly, the fiery sensation reached up to Harry's arse. Harry certainly didn't like it, especially since he never knew he had an arse. And now, not only did he discover he had an arse, his arse was on fire, and he would never get to enjoy having an arse. So that certainly pissed Harry off a bit.

The fires moved on. Harry could feel his doom come nearer and nearer. But then suddenly, Harry felt something grab his neck, and check him out. In a flash, Harry found himself flying across air at amazing speed. "Huh ?" is all that Harry could manage before his flight of fancy ended near the corner of a garbage can. Harry couldn't believe it!! He was alive !! But barely !! A small flame burnt, slowly creeping up to him. Only his head, and a miniscule portion of his neck remained. What brief hope he got was now replaced with a slow and agaonising death. "Oh God, if only someone could come and blow this flame away!!" Harry prayed and prayed. He prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed. And he prayed even more.

And he prayed...

Creative Science. Phooey !!

2006-04-01T01:25:00.000-05:00

So here is a course, in our university, which forces us to exercise our minds in being creative.

No, not at music. Or art. Or writing.

At designing and analysing algorithms. For science...computer science.

When people spend years in writing, designing and analysing an algoirthm, its published in a journal and they receive the same high I get after half a bottle of Chivas Regal and 10gms of grass. When we students spend 30 minutes in writing, designing and analysing an algorithm in a confined space under the watchful eyes of deprived-of-any-fun-in-life professors, who resemble bald vultures eagerly waiting for their appetizers to perish in a morbid fashion, we don't get a publication. No. What we get is a colossal headache, a failing mark, smirks from fellow classmates who did equally bad, if not worse, and a chance to perform in the same manner again, next semester, until we are old and craggy, losing faith in mankind, and still stuck in the same bleeding class.

The irony of the whole thing? Those same bald headed vultures also took similar courses when they were students (which would be over a millennium ago), but managed to pass. So that means that there are some of us who will also move on. I want to get my hands on those bastards.

Valleys beyond the pastures

2006-03-31T16:49:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-31T14:31:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-31T02:17:00.000-05:00

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 ? ...

2006-03-30T15:45:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-30T10:53:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-30T10:38:00.000-05:00

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/