A Song of Hope

Purely by chance, I came across this stunning poem by W.B.Yeats a year back. 

By some interesting coincidence I encountered it again today. 

The timing couldn't have be better. 

The events of the world, the images on the screen, the weather outside and the turbulence in the mind are in a heavenly, orgasmic resonance. The flames licking at the edge of the window light the way ahead. The profusion of uncertainity pushes us one step forward. Bullets, half-baked thoughts and the scrolling text show us the path.

Sing with me this song of hope. 

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

- W.B.Yeats

A Happy Death

He discovered the cruel paradox by which we always deceive ourselves twice about the people we love — first to their advantage, then to their disadvantage.

- A Happy Death, Albert Camus

One of those lines that catches you off-guard and leaves you to contemplate life for the rest of the day. 

I suggest you do that.

But it is such a depressing exercise. No contemplation of life is complete without contemplating death and very seldom do you come out feeling happy about it. Which is exactly why you should begin the day on this note. It can only get better after this. 

Where do we have time to be ourselves. We just have time to be happy.

- A Happy Death, Albert Camus. 

Asides, Besides and Other sides

There are at least three dimensions to every human being. 
Yep, you got it right. Length,Breadth & Height.

Some of us have other dimensions, too.

Time, for example. 

And then there are yet-to-be-discovered dimensions to people who are yet to discover themselves.

Enough of build-up. 

End of subtle publicity. 

Begin blatant publicity. 

On your right side you will find links to two blogs.

Go read them. 

Ouch! Stop twisting my arm. I've done what you asked me to. Leggo of me now!

Ah, now there's enough intrigue and drama to hook the simple-minded.

End of blog post. 

Psst. Don't waste your time reading those blogs. They aren't any good. And you wont understand anything anyway.

Wonder why...

women can't shut the fuck up about their boyfriends? I mean, have you ever had a conversation with someone for half hour without 'his' name popping up like an undigested piece of meat? Of course, you should be privileged enough to know the fact in the first place. And then you are doomed. Absolutely nothing can ever save you from the tirade. Oh my god, he's such a sweetheart. Ooh, he did this! Ooh, he did that! Ooh, he fucks like a god. Ooh, he farts like a god! Ooh, he is a god. Yeah, sure. He must be. 

Chances are, if a girl hasn't mentioned another guy's name within an hour of conversation, she's most probably single and you must have gotten up on the right side of bed!

Of course, if "his" name does pop up, you better change topics fast and start talking about food. You do not want to make the mistake of feigning interest, academic or otherwise. You might wrongly think it's a good point of discussion for you to build your conversation. Don't do it. You will not live long enough to see the end of it. 

Another common trap that many of us fall into is asking "Hey, what's wrong? You seem dull. Did something happen?" Now, this is not such a bad start. But you better not wait for an answer. "Hey, don't worry. Buy me a cuppa coffee and I'll cheer you up!" is one of the safe ways out. But if you weren't smart enough to realise it early on, you might end up donning the role of agony aunt for the day. Your head will be filled with a million new crazy characters who are somehow connected to this extremely insignificant incident that happened between "him" and "her" because of which they've not been on talking terms for the last five mins.  And you know what, you'll actually feel good about it. For about an hour. You can only kick yourself for taking the garden lizard off the wall and putting it into your underwear. 

But you know what is worse? Listening to a guy pour his heart out. It's interesting for about two mins when he's all worked up and swearing his head off, dragging in mom, sis, grandfather, uncle etc into the insults. But that's about it. Unless you derive some kind of a voyeuristic pleasure out of all this, you better stay out. The details are monotonous. The incidents cheesy. The dialogues nauseating. You'd have sobered up by second act and would be fighting a loose battle with your bladder. And that's when you'll hear "Why me, man?? Why is this happening to me??" 

I wish I knew.

Here's the funny part. I've been there. Mostly at the receiving end, but sometimes at the giving end too. It's fun! Plus I feel so ordinary and sane at the end of the day. 

Now you are wondering... what was this guy doing talking to a girl who had a boyfriend? I dunno! I was probably bored, hoping to have an intellectually stimulating conversation. 

Yeah right. 

"Whatever happened to Gary Cooper, the strong, silent type? That was an American. He wasn't in touch with his feelings. He just did what he had to do. See, what they didn't know is once they got Gary Cooper in touch with his feelings, that they wouldn't be able to shut him up. And then it's dysfunction this and dysfunction that and dysfunction va fa culo!" 

-Tony Soprano, The Sopranos Pilot Episode

Mr.Nice Guy

I got a msg the other night. In the middle of the night. I was up tossing and turning so it dint do much damage really.
"REMEMBER, you have WORMS in your stomach."
That was the content of the msg. Weird!
What was weirder was the fact that i got it at around 1-30 in the night.
I scrolled down to check the time of sending of the msg. It was sent sometime around 4-30pm the previous day. A 9 hour delay in receiving the msg.
I did not have to check who the msg was from coz I knew who had sent it.

Me.
That was a reminder to keep myself from pigging out on the sweets and chocolates left in the fridge. The reminder failed to reach on time.


And a few days later I contracted a fever of some sort that's been haunting me till date with it's surprise spells. I had not had any serious fever/illness in four/five years. I don't remember the last time i was seriously ill. The last time i had been to a hospital (for myself) was two years back, with a broken toe-nail and I remember the doctor and the nurse were quite amused with my pain and were actually flirting with me. So I've been ill the past few days and looks like I'm not alone. Lotsa ppl are not well apparently. I've taken three Crocins two nice, and one other huge pill (don't remember it's name) and I am pretty pissed about it.
Apparently, I am human. Fuck. I can get fevers too.
Shit.

At this point I'd like to tell you that I don't believe in medicine at all. Atleast not in popping pills to cure headache, tummy ache etc. Operations to fix a broken bone, torn liver, severed lung, holed heart etc are okay by me. But not general time pass medicines.

And that brings us to the title of this post. I'm Mr Nice Guy for the next few days. Because I'm tired and weak most of the times to even swear at others for kicks. And because, apart from the worms I am the newest hang out of some goddamn bacteria and virus who are getting high and happy at my cost. And also I've accepted temporary defeat.

I must be the nicest guy for miles around.

Forgot to add the quote of the day. Here it is.
"Go, get the butter." -
Marlon Brando (another nice guy) speaks these eternal words in Last Tango in Paris (1972) and then proceeds to brutally molest the girl who brought the butter. In her ass. Just for that one scene his butt deserved an Oscar. No kidding.

The "I" Gene

"Observers of catastrophes are wrong to imagine that the victims will learn from them. So long as the masses remain the passive object of politics they will never be able to view what happens to them as an experiment, merely as fate; they learn no more from the catastrophe than a guinea pig learns about biology."

- Brecht's take on war as a note on his play,Mother Courage and Her Children

That's quote of the day.

I've finished reading Mother Courage. It is one of those plays that would remain relevant till the end of humanity. The quote above is the basis of the play. That we don't learn from war or catastrophes. War is equally good or bad as peace. And Brecht has brought out his theory of Epic theatre its "distancing effect" wonderfully through this play. The audience/reader is always kept at a distance. We do not fall into the trap of sympathising with the characters. We are only observers as the events unfold in front of our eyes. And we learn with growing alarm of the effects of war on humans. That they are not profound or long lasting. This shocking conclusion is the central theme of this play. Go read it.

Similarly, catastrophes and "serious" events that occur in our lives don't have such a big effect on us. Broke up with your boy/girlfriend who you've been seeing for a long time and thought was the love of your life? You feel bad for a few days, weeks. And you move on. Go look for love elsewhere. Your dad, grandad, grand mom, close friend/relative passed away? You mourn his/her death for a while. You miss him/her. Next weekend you go out for dinner and a movie. Point here that I'm trying to make is this - we are all individuals at the end of the day. Our instincts tell us to survive in spite of (in the face of) mounting odds. Survive. Live life. This makes us selfish.

We are selfish. Didn't you know? We all have selfish genes in us. The only difference between you and me is that I realised this. You haven't. You pretend to be selfless, at least neutral. Stop being a fool. I know you are selfish. We all do. We just think we aren't as bad as you. Truth is we are all made of the same garbage with a stinking core called "I".

So you are wondering, this fello is saying he is selfish and I am selfish and everyone is selfish. Then why is he telling this big truth to everyone instead of keeping it to himself or better still, telling select few who'll give him something in return?

I am telling you this because, henceforth, I don't have to waste time being nice to you. You, being the deluded idiot that you are, will continue to be nice to me in the hope that someday I will come around or worse, in the belief that you are being a superior human being!

Duh. What an idiot.

Now do you understand why I never liked you?

PS: Did you notice 'mom' missing from the list? Death of the mother is equivalent to severing ties with the rest of the world. You then turn into an existentialist. Hence the absence from the list.

Fleeting moments

Most of our lives goes away without being noticed. We live it. But we don't remember it.

The other day you took a bus to get to work. You remember sitting back and thinking about things as the roads melted away into past tense, reduced to a word, a phrase, a grammatically incorrect sentence. The trees and the vehicles merged into nothingness as your thoughts raced away thinking great, good, evil, ordinary things. The signal gave into your irresistible forgetfulness. We crossed paths, remember? No, you don't. Well, I don't either. I am certain I saw you. You were sitting crouched inside the bus, clutching onto the seat in front of you and your memories as I failed to become a part of it. You saw me, too. But did not give in to that tiny urge rising from the tip of your little finger, flowing through your veins and into your mind to make me more than a fleeting glimpse. You could have taken a second glance. But why would you? It wasn't anything significant that you had to be a part of. It was just another lost soul floating across the world, like your own. The lost don't know each other. They do not recognize others like them. They are lost, lost in their own inebriated selves, and in the infinite emptiness of the universe, the non-existent segments of their lives. Where were you when I needed you? You were a stranger, in a strange land, cooking up strange recipes to fulfill those little wants of your consciousness. I was waiting for you to give me your hand, that eternally elusive hand, which would embrace me, wash away my sins, my sadness and make me pure, divine.

I am not sad that you did not save me. I don't regret not being a part of your life. I am grateful for that infinitesimal spark of neuron that took birth with my presence, lived it's course with existential bliss and dissolved into the fire that would bring to life and keep alive other sparks of enlightenment. You too are trivial in my world.
Until now.

This is my ode to you, to all of you who make up those fleeting moments which add meaning to this otherwise absurd life.

Life is beautiful, thanks to you.