Last nite I had my last dinner of 2007 at the famous National Dhaba in Bandra. This place is non-descript and 3 feet below road level yet is iconic in the history of Bollywood. Ugh.. I hate that word! Back to the history of the cafe.. This place has been alive since.. well a long time and has been home to some of the famous stars of yesteryear like Rajesh Khanna, Vinod Khanna, Jackie Shroff, etc. Why am I dropping names? To iterate that I had the best sarson ki saag and makki di roti on New Year's Eve in such hallowed premises. Not really.. like i give a shit about some famous rich actors :P However the food is excellent and noteworthy since I ate there every single night for my first two years in tinseltown. No indigestion or tummy-upsets. All food cooked over burning hot coals. No fancy gas stoves and electric chimneys. This place provides me of memories of a life so rudimentary, rustic and raw. Its not just the cuisine and style of cooking that elicit such reverie. The old sardar sitting at the counter is as antiquated as his institution. He swears by his healthy cuisine and will not serve aerated drinks or chaas (spiced buttermilk) at night for health reasons. His toothy smile, bespectacled face and tiny turban (actually he has a small head) is painted on the landscapes of my memory for meals to come.
This was the highlight of my night. I felt gratified. It never ceases to surprise me how much food governs the mood. Having studied the various nutrients required my the body and the effects they have on the brain; it still is incredible when i actually experience it within. If I had to choose my favourite body organ, I would gladly forego that which makes me what I am (hint: I'm male!) and nominate instead my stomach for the esteemed position.
Gliding in the glorious afterglow I found myself at a Barrista meeting another Sardar, his wife and cranky pampered brat. I decided to indulge in something chilled like maybe an Iced Tea (peach). Big mistake! It was sweet and way too much considering I had just had 5 makki di rotis! So much for that peaceful easy feeling the Eagles described so perfectly. I now was bloated and felt like the anchor of a ship being dropped down.
Let this be your New Year resolution I told myself: Eat Light, Smile Bright!
With resolute determination and a heavy load I embarked on a journey back home to enjoy the other great pleasure that life offers to the innocent; a good night's sleep! The rickshaw driver however had other plans. He asked me a question which set off a flurry of ruffled opinions. "Do you feel like its New Year's Eve?" he asked. I let off a tirade of fiery statements about the commercialization of just another calendar date, about the basic rise and fall of the star we know as the sun that signifies a day in our lifes and how it's pristine sanctity is being defiled and desecrated by celebrating one day over the other. Luckily I had a sympathetic listener who almost succeeded in ripping me off 20 bucks with his earnest endeavour to listen to me. Unluckily for him, he met an old scoundrel who depsite his mere 3 decades on the planet feels more like Rip Van Winkle yet is as mentally agile as a petty pick-pocket.
If I were to paint a self-potrait, It would be of a young man sitting in a old man's bar waiting for his turn to die..
Monday 31 December 2007
Friday 14 December 2007
Always Keep Death In Mind
"Dying teaches you more about life than living." ~ Ritesh Reddy
The Way of the Samurai is found in death. Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, we should meditate about being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords; being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand foot cliffs, dying from disease, commiting seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai.
The Way of the Samurai is found in death. Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, we should meditate about being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords; being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand foot cliffs, dying from disease, commiting seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai.
Crawling back from the Abyss.. Life's a bitch and I love Her madly!
After spending years in the abyss, one would be inclined to think oneself invulnerable to minor lapses in the fabric of physical 'reality'. Jackie Mason said "It's no longer a question of staying healthy. It's a question of finding a sickness you like. "
In the three days that I lay flat on my bed groaning and moaning of a hallucinatory flu, I experienced the plumbing depths of my private hell. In all its gut-wrenching, intestine-squeezing, life-sucking, energy-draining glory the flu did for me what I needed to start the up-coming new-year. A purgatory! I have been stripped clean and something yanked the plug off my drainage system and gave me a natural enema without me having to stick a pump up my arsehole. Strangely I have never felt so alive in a long long long time. I've spent the best part of the day puking what looks like water out and shitting what again seems like the same fluid. Hey I'm singing from both ends! Its always harder to convince your gag reflex to stop when there's nothing left to puke. So while I hover over the ever accepting pot stopping only to change ends, an epiiphany crawls up warily.
As I walk out to get some air, I'm feeling more aware in an unaware kind of way. I feel like a being not of flesh and blood. I can still remember the last time I felt this way. That was however in a different life. In this re-incarnation however this has been a first. Delirious? A product of my hallucinations would be far more dramatically profound considering my flair for fantasia. This was a simple punch to the gut that knoocked the bloody shit out of my sails. Life always does to me what my biggest and fiercest opponents haven't done till date. Knock me out!
In the three days that I lay flat on my bed groaning and moaning of a hallucinatory flu, I experienced the plumbing depths of my private hell. In all its gut-wrenching, intestine-squeezing, life-sucking, energy-draining glory the flu did for me what I needed to start the up-coming new-year. A purgatory! I have been stripped clean and something yanked the plug off my drainage system and gave me a natural enema without me having to stick a pump up my arsehole. Strangely I have never felt so alive in a long long long time. I've spent the best part of the day puking what looks like water out and shitting what again seems like the same fluid. Hey I'm singing from both ends! Its always harder to convince your gag reflex to stop when there's nothing left to puke. So while I hover over the ever accepting pot stopping only to change ends, an epiiphany crawls up warily.
As I walk out to get some air, I'm feeling more aware in an unaware kind of way. I feel like a being not of flesh and blood. I can still remember the last time I felt this way. That was however in a different life. In this re-incarnation however this has been a first. Delirious? A product of my hallucinations would be far more dramatically profound considering my flair for fantasia. This was a simple punch to the gut that knoocked the bloody shit out of my sails. Life always does to me what my biggest and fiercest opponents haven't done till date. Knock me out!
Thursday 13 December 2007
Paranoia?
You ever get that feeling like your not alone? You hear voices but there is noone there. When you lie down to sleep you feel like something is touching you but nothing is there. Most of the time it is because something is watching you, something is touching you and something is screwing with your head. You may not see them but they are always there, they hide in shadows and wait for their chance. They are small but there are many of them, groups of them feeding on fear. They do not have a name because noone has ever discovered them and survived to name them. In fact, there are probably a few of them watching you right now, watching for their chance to move in...
Sunday 9 December 2007
Rambling Irreverently
From the dark, a deeper dark,
eyes ashine with fire n spark
The alley cat stealthily slides,
past the ladies with fat backsides.
Furtive and aware,
the wind ruffling his hair.
Suspicious, hesitant, paranoid
he steps out from the void..
Stepping morosely from the night
repelled, by neon and starlight.
Gingerly with weight that never was
his pawprints mark the empty canvas.
eyes ashine with fire n spark
The alley cat stealthily slides,
past the ladies with fat backsides.
Furtive and aware,
the wind ruffling his hair.
Suspicious, hesitant, paranoid
he steps out from the void..
Stepping morosely from the night
repelled, by neon and starlight.
Gingerly with weight that never was
his pawprints mark the empty canvas.
Tuesday 4 December 2007
Status Quo
What's cooking? How's it hanging? Sup? How's life treating you? Where have you been? Hows you? What are you upto? How are you feeling?
Every where I go I'm greeted by these inane questionnaires as to the nature of the beast known as r!tz. This past month I've spent working as a photographer, apprentice, artist, peon, secretary and marketing manager whilst keeping my head afloat and abreast of the waves. Work is mundane I've realised if it is considered in its mundane form i.e. work. However exciting and challenging and entertaining it maybe, if considered as work.. it fails to liberate one from his mundane existence.
My constant soul searching has also brought me to the realization that I simply wish to be comfortable; rich, contented and freedom to be. I am looking now for the most simple, effective and direct way to be where I want to be. I don't believe that hard work is the only way; though that seem to be my way currently. I'm however sure that my future has great things in store for me and that fame, fortune and fabulous women are just a hair's breadth away.
Being as I am a magnanimous and benevolent soul I am hereby offering you all.. YES! all of you a chance to benefit from this miracle about to happen. If you want to share in the fame and fortune and the spectacular orgies that are bound to take place hurry! Contact the author immediately! Payment accepted in the form of cash and kind.
All investments are subject to market risks and the schemes may go up or down depending upon the factors and forces affecting the securities market including the fluctuations in the interest rates. There can be no assurance that his schemes' investment objectives will be achieved. The past performance is not necessarily indicative of future performance of the schemes. The above do not in any manner indicate the quality of the schemes, their future prospects or returns. r!tz is not guaranteeing or assuring any dividend under any of the schemes. He is also not assuring that he will make any dividend distributions under the dividend plans of the schemes though he has every intention of doing so. All dividend distributions are subject to the investment performance of his schemes and are subject to availability of distribution surplus. The investments made by his schemes are subject to external risks. Please go through the offer documents before investing.
Every where I go I'm greeted by these inane questionnaires as to the nature of the beast known as r!tz. This past month I've spent working as a photographer, apprentice, artist, peon, secretary and marketing manager whilst keeping my head afloat and abreast of the waves. Work is mundane I've realised if it is considered in its mundane form i.e. work. However exciting and challenging and entertaining it maybe, if considered as work.. it fails to liberate one from his mundane existence.
My constant soul searching has also brought me to the realization that I simply wish to be comfortable; rich, contented and freedom to be. I am looking now for the most simple, effective and direct way to be where I want to be. I don't believe that hard work is the only way; though that seem to be my way currently. I'm however sure that my future has great things in store for me and that fame, fortune and fabulous women are just a hair's breadth away.
Being as I am a magnanimous and benevolent soul I am hereby offering you all.. YES! all of you a chance to benefit from this miracle about to happen. If you want to share in the fame and fortune and the spectacular orgies that are bound to take place hurry! Contact the author immediately! Payment accepted in the form of cash and kind.
All investments are subject to market risks and the schemes may go up or down depending upon the factors and forces affecting the securities market including the fluctuations in the interest rates. There can be no assurance that his schemes' investment objectives will be achieved. The past performance is not necessarily indicative of future performance of the schemes. The above do not in any manner indicate the quality of the schemes, their future prospects or returns. r!tz is not guaranteeing or assuring any dividend under any of the schemes. He is also not assuring that he will make any dividend distributions under the dividend plans of the schemes though he has every intention of doing so. All dividend distributions are subject to the investment performance of his schemes and are subject to availability of distribution surplus. The investments made by his schemes are subject to external risks. Please go through the offer documents before investing.
Sunday 2 December 2007
Sunday 18 November 2007
Wednesday 14 November 2007
Thursday 1 November 2007
A Serene 'Sarai' for World Weary Animators..
The journey that began with a weary walk under Bombay's unforgiving sun with a 15 kilo knapsack in one hand and a pair of 8 kilo dumbbells in the other. After delivering the iron burden to a friend, I find at the train station negotitating a confirmed ticket with a tout. Confident that I had struck the deal, I lunged into my seat and dozed away only to be awaken by the TC's voice saying something about 'RAC' and that I had to share my seat with a 6 foot tall, 4 foot wide old man. We eventually went to bed together in the classic 69 position. I will abstain from more graphic description out of mercy for the dear voyeuristic reader. Suffice to say I didnt sleep at all. Destination arrives with a cold bath at the public bath courtesy Lalloo Prasad Yadav's inititaives. Refreshed I took a bus to Paldi. Upon reaching the hallowed campus I was denied entry due to the fact that it was just 7am. Perfect time for a short nap at the well designed bus stop and breakfast of milk n cookies. 10am brought with it permission to enter the hallowed premises.Day 1
of Chitrakatha began with the routine 'Cmon baby light my fire' lamp ceremony followed by an exhibition of artwork by NID students. 'WOW' in black, all caps, bold, size 20, font Impact as a friend would say. Then came Chai & Cookies (Vitamin C fix). By which time I had met a pretty woman from delhi who was present on behest of her company. Huh? That was a pleasant surprise for my default mind cynical of all industry. Time to enter the sanctum sanctorum; the auditorium. It seemed to me like the inside of a pyramid and threatened to engulf me in the deepest slumber. In walked a young man with long white hair and attired in a flowing kurta of yore. He spoke on the endearing philosophy of Charles and Ray Eames.
This was followed by Binita Desai's gut-wrenching talk on sticking together and staying alive. And appropriately enough 20years of NID animation enfolded. After the hour long trip down memory lane came the screening of competition films. The parallel programs on various international schools held no fascination since me as a renegade ronin bent on living like a wandering wave. At the end of the day's screening I decided to head out for dinner with a friend who offered me shelter for the night. The hitch? He didnt know the name of the hotel..! After whizzing around town in a rickshaw, the dynamic duo descended at the infamous inn to yak about the exciting future, endless possibilities and the tenacious times we live in.
Day 2
Oh no! I overslept! After wrapping up my morning workout in record time I wolfed down a spicy omlette with toast and rushed to NID. Damn! Missed the sand animation project parable and chose instead to visit the various workshops on campus. Stepped out on a ledge (literally) to meet Allen Shaw; roaming renegade designer with a passion to preach his design philosphy to deserving design schools. Surreal scene it was: sitting on a ledge 25 feet above the ground overlooking the serene sarai offering indiscriminate solace to all weary wanderers.
While disturbing the general decorum and frightening quiet of pre-jury silence I chanced upon Vaibhav Kumaresh; the animator without pause.. Watching the man in action is inspiring to say the least. However a matter more pressing reared its head: lunch! The hunger instinct kicked in beckoning one and all to the 'sarai' again. A shot stop on the way lead to a chat with Ettamina CEO about the origin of its nomenclature. Lunch was a learning experience enlightening me to the rules of frisbee, a game of which was to be played later on between the alumni and students. Well to cut to the chase: experience and cunning won over youth and passion. Got some footage of some classy cats supinely sauntering around.
Oh! there's a surprise workshop!!! Krishnaswamy's silambam skills are on display whilst we endure the suspense. It turns out to be an exciting workshop encompassing acting, drawing, voice modulation and role-playing skills. I got lucky. I was to serenade a hottie called 'Lassi'. A truly awe-inspiring performance since blowing my own horn is what I do best.
Next on the menu: 'The hothouse' with a panel of experts waxing about wot else but animation. Quite disappointing as there was no bloodshed or catfights just plain ol' garden variety civil arguments. IMHO nothing was really addressed or resolved but the unanimous moral was this:
- Storytelling: Focus on your experience
- Just be passionate
- Stay mAd! stay foolish
- More festivals
- The 'character' is king!
After that a tet-a-tete with competition entree Pallavi Malaviya revealed a humble animator who worked on a zero budget and finished in 90 days. Humble pie. This wasnt supposed to be on the menu.. not that I'm complaining.
Alfred of Animac proceeded to wax eloquent on spanish animation which wass the prequel to a presentation of short spanish films. The most important point according to him was the 'will to make films'. Cannot be emphasized more. While the movies are being screened my hypothalamus is franctically considering the various permutations/ combinations for appeasing my insatiable apettite. I needn't have worried. A pretty maiden escorted me to the tantalizing Tibetan joint where I wolfed down every dish they had. Somewhat sated, we rushed back to catch 'The District' a full-length animated feature. Boy! was I glad. The film offered my visual fix of sex, drugs and inane humour for the day. At the stroke of midnight, the 'district' party came to an end. I spent some time sauntering around campus under a full moon and a myriad blanket of stars. When it was time to go I found my bed at the bustop inviting though not very warm. That was soon resolved by a cat that followed me out of the campus and chose to spend the night cuddled up with me.
Day 3
Morning came with hot chai and sizzling bajiyas at the chaiwalla. Bed & Breakfast. Wow! All that was missing was a bath which was taken care of by a friendly rickshaw driver who took me to the nearest public bath. Man! I sure miss the ancient public baths of the days of yore. Nostalgia gave way to flights of evolution with Jose Belemonte, a basque illustrator. His cross-engineered animals and insects much like the results of a madd gene scientist. What was more amazing was the fact that they were hand-made with paper and glue! As was evident in his work he attributed his inspiration to nature. My mind was playing the soundtrack of 'Born to be wild' while he showed us his animation based on his illustrations. Afterwhich Isabel Herguera led us on the path of experimental animation with selected works of Cal Arts students' graduation films. Then continued the final series of competition screening. Sigh! After yet another satisfying lunch, its time for the fellowship of the 'bling' to make its presentation. Yes, the Visual Effects Society was well represented by Tim McGovern, Eric Roth, Peter Chiang and N Madhusudanan.
Pitch your prayers with Toon preacher! Thus spake Silas Hickey and Shamik Majumdar as they gave us the commandments to pitch to the Almighty Cartoon Network and other lesser gods. To spice things up came Nina Sabnani with films celebrating Indian art forms. To complete this delectable delight of design served over 3 days came an aftermint of 3 indian animated shorts by new animators of India; Gitanjali Rao, Narayan Shi & Vaibhav Kumaresh and Uttam, Mehul & Parag.
A well deserved reprieve for world weary animators to revive and refresh themselves on the journey toward truth.
"Beyond our blundering ways, there are inherent forces that overcome error and incompleteness and drive us toward purity of goodness and truth." - Rudolf Arnheim
Monday 22 October 2007
Steel Toes
Synopsis
Academy-Award® nominated David Strathairn portrays Danny Dunkleman, a Jewish liberal humanist, and the court-appointed lawyer representing Mike Downey (Andrew Walker), a Neo-Nazi Skinhead on trial for the racially motivated murder of an East Indian immigrant. Steel Toes takes us into the intense and fiery relationship that develops between these two men as they explore their emotional and intellectual differences. Steel Toes is a provocative exploration of the inescapable and insidious presence of racial and religious intolerance in our society.
Review
The film starts off with a typical skinhead beating which is the cornerstone of the entire movie that enfolds. The rest of the film explores the psyches of the two men as they square off against one another exposing and stripping bare their souls. Slowly the hate nurtured and nourished from the past gives way to tolerance which proves quite unsatisfactory leading the protagonist to a realization that love or compassion is the only need in the world we live in. The journey of this realization causes collateral damage in the life of the lawyer whilst the light he ignites in the skinhead grows brighter and shine through. A must watch!
"Explosive new drama & a provocative exploration of the inescapable and insidious presence of hatred in our society." - The Toronto Star
"Strathairn, with his expressive eyes and tremulous voice, is good at suggesting confidence tinged with doubt, and he's well matched by Walker, who brings menace and danger to his role as the defendant." - Toronto's Now Magazine Glenn Sumi
Also See: The Believer
LOL - everyone's looking for a connection
Synopsis
Alex, Tim, and Chris view the women in their lives through the dimensions of a computer screen or the lens of a camera-phone, as they struggle to balance their online fantasies and addictions with the demands of real life. This up-to-the-second feature intimately explores masculinity in the new millennium, a time when young men are trying to decipher the mixed messages of modern relationships and technology. Featuring a nonprofessional cast, video contributions from people all over the world, and original music by lead actor Kevin Bewersdorf, this funny and thoughtful film offers an honest portrait of how the latest tools of communication can either help us click or turn us off.
"The inability to connect in a hyper-wired world is old news given fresh voice in this tragicomic indie about the way we live."
-Nathan Lee, The New York Times
"LOL is a somewhat stunning mirror on the ways we say things without using words. [Swanberg] reveals himself to be one of the most emotionally astute young filmmakers working today."
- Cinematical.com
"LOL is a witty mini-satire of post-collegiates trying to connect romantically and erotically (at least, the women are) in a tangle of up-to-the-minute technology.
-Gerald Peary, The Boston Phoenix
- The Duplass Brothers (The Puffy Chair)
Thursday 11 October 2007
Graffiti..
Graffiti is not a form of art, it is not made for MTV, the back of your backpack, t shirts or impressing chicks. It's a lifestyle of expression beyond borders and systems. It's a place people exist and live. Please do not shit in the house. Respect the rules and those who have come before you.
Coming Soon..
Military Freudian Complex
Military jargon and names given to weapons have historically been recognized as morbid euphemisms displaying a feigned detachment in describing something so final and personal for those on the receiving end. The current level of nuclear jock talk also reveals a pathological fixation with male genitalia and psychotic male sexuality, Freudian and beyond. Here’s just a small collection of current terminology to laugh and cry about. This is the technology we are supposed to admire and pay for:
The deployment, penetration and discharge of U.S. strategic Warheads do not go down smoothly without oil. Everyone, especially the good ol’ boys of the U.S. military, knows that it’s all about the oil. The Air Force must use force with its “Bunker Busters,” but sometimes its discharge is less than “Friendly Fire.” There are many cases of misguided missiles at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. Ask any Air Force Ca-dette.
Embedded journalists know nothing of the “Advanced Unitary Penetrators.” The military keeps it under the covers, because it doesn’t want to disclose much about its “Depleted Uranium” wasting the lives of the ranks and fodder. Actually, the military doesn’t use its old “Ps” (older “heavy metal” penetrators), now that it has new viagra enhanced “AUPs” (Advanced Unitary Penetrators) and condom contoured “S/CH” (Shaped Charge warhead technology they call “missiles covered with skins”).
They have found that women and children respond best to the “BRs “or “BROACH” (Multiple Warhead System). Women are ravished, “she is disassembled”, and children instantly turn into cute little “crispy critters.” Depleted Uranium, their contribution to recycling, secures the rights of the unborn to come into the world (for a short time only), with spectacular birth defects.. “Cluster Bombs” evolved out of a concern for family values.
At times the military likes to get down and dirty. “Dirty DU,” comes from “a penetrating body formed of Depleted Uranium” which is sometimes contaminated with Plutonium. Will it be radioactive semen, cancer or only “Gulf War Syndrome?” But of course those good oil’ boys cut a disarmingly dashing profile with their “Smart Bombs” and “Cruise Missiles” and the “120 mm U.S.& Charm UK.” They can literally melt your heart away with their ”Armor-Piercing Ammunition” (confirmed to have Depleted Uranium).
Dressed in uniform, they can even become poetic with “Daisy Cutters,” putting fresh flowers on the graves. The graves are dug by “ The Big Red One,” a mechanized military division using oversized bulldozers created for the military by Caterpillar, Inc., U.S.A. The “Big Red One” was able to bury thousands of Iraqis (some not yet dead) in Pappy’s Gulf War (according to U.S. Army Officials) And of course their “Stealth Bombers” add a romantic air of mystery. “Big BLU” (a “direct strike hard target weapon”) sends everyone into rapturous song, “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder!” Native Americans are finally “honored” (from a distance) for their once –upon-a-time warrior prowess, with “Apache Helicopters,” the “Tactical Tomahawk” and the “SCALP-ER” (a BROACH).
And of course we can’t forget Texas, with the “Maverick.” Question: Does the “Patriot Missile” have anything to do with the “ Patriot Act,” or is it just a “Maverick?” In any case, “Just don’t mess with Texas.” But when they really get down to it, The Military Freudian Complex strives to out-do their fathers, (remember the “Little Boy” and “Fat Boy” used on Hiroshima and Nagasaki?) Now they have the “Hard Target Guided Warheads” and the “SLAM-ER” (Shaped Charge), and the “20mm Phalanx sea-to-air.” Sometimes men, in the act of creating Weapons of Mass Destruction, wax to new climaxes of religious fervor: “HellfireII/Brimstone,” is a “Guided Missile.”
So now we arrive at the ultimate theological question: Could it be that “Warhead” is close to “Godhead?”
Whether you are for or against this Invasion on Iraq, you should at least know your American vocabulary for U.S. “WMDs” (Weapons of Mass Destruction) while you contemplate your own likelihood of being collaterally damaged. (…unless of course you happen to live in an underground bunker near the White House).
US WMDs certain to have and/or suspected to have Depleted Uranium:
Big BLU –116 Bunker Buster guided bombs
BLU-108/B
GBU-32 1,000 Guided bomb
GBU-15
GBU-24 (with a shroud to the penetrating body)
GBU-27
GBU-31
AGM-130C
BGM-109
Tactical Tomahawk Penetrator Version warhead
EFP , Explosively Formed Penetrator
CBU-97 Cluster Bomb
Websites on weapons and depleted uranium:
www.eoslifework.co.uk
www.democracynow.org
http://www.futurenet.org/25environmentandhealth/rokke.htm
http://www.ucpress.edu/books/pages/6142.html
60 Minute Priniciple
I write this post for a simple reason: Every time I need to do something to better my existence or improve my standard of living (for eg. run a mile to pump up my bleeding heart, paint to express my soul, exercise to purge my pains, etc) , it is not always easy to find the time. So try this. Give yourself a minimum of sixty minutes a day (more if possible) - and try to make progress. And then blog about the journey of following your efforts. For e.g. visit http://www.sixtyminuteartist.com/ to see the gallery of paintings created by an artist using the same principle. Not to convince you that you can make or sustain yourself as an artist on sixty minutes a day - painting is a life-long pursuit and takes serious committment. It is about how to turn consistent effort into something worth looking at.To spend time is to pass it in a specified manner. To waste time is to expend it thoughtlessly or carelessy. We all have time to either spend or waste, and it is our decision towhat to do with it. If you love life, dont waste time, for time is what life is made up of.
The clocks ticking..
Wednesday 3 October 2007
Violence
What is violence? Do you know violence because you know non-violence? Would you know what violence was without its opposite? Because you know states of non-violence, do you therefore recognize violence? My whole life, from when I was educated till now, has been a form of violence. The society in which I live is a form of violence. Society tells me to conform, accept, do this, not do that, and I follow it. That is also a form of violence. And when I revolt against society, that is also a form of violence (revolt in the sense that I don't accept the values which society has laid down). I revolt against it and then create my own values, which become the pattern; and that pattern is imposed on others or on myself, which becomes another form of violence. I live that kind of life. That is: I am violent. Now what shall I do?
Saturday 29 September 2007
Mobile Phoney
The loss of one's mobile phone irks the very existence of a human being. Why is this so? I was reading a friend's blog which ranted about the impersonal communication levels between beings of the same species aka humans. We would rather connect using technology like telephones, internet chat rooms and email. Personal contact with the tactile sense of touch is sorely missing in our static lives. I meet people and most men indulge their insecurity by shaking hands with that 'bone crushing' grip. Another form of territorial pissing i guess. Women shy away from a hug and either react with a "Do you have to touch me pervert?" look or just try to get away as soon as possible. Communication grows colder as you read this. As more and more couples work longer hours to earn more so they can pay off mortgages on the house, loans on the car or admissions for the kids; the most basic of communication medium suffers. Yes im talking about sex in terms of the ol' in-out routine but the various nuances of the dying art. Indians rank amongst the lowest in terms of duration in global lovemaking scorecards. Are we heading towards bleak futures where pecentage of males affected by ED is on the rise due to high stress jobs, lack of physical exercise, sedentary lifestyles and inadequate diets? Its strange that a man actually starts earning money so he is more attractive to the opposite sex and prove himself as capable of protecting and caring for her. But as time flies he is caught up in his drive for more and loses sight of his primary purpose. If you are reading this with a view to conclusion its right here in your face "Get out there and make love!"
Disclaimer: Author is in no way responsible for sore cheeks, love bites, unwanted pregnancies and worse marriage proposals that are bound to occur. He however takes full responsilbility for glowing skin, heightened sense of wellbeing, sparkling smiling eyes, blissful existence and bouncing walk cycles.
Disclaimer: Author is in no way responsible for sore cheeks, love bites, unwanted pregnancies and worse marriage proposals that are bound to occur. He however takes full responsilbility for glowing skin, heightened sense of wellbeing, sparkling smiling eyes, blissful existence and bouncing walk cycles.
Friday 28 September 2007
Back 2 Basics - MotoFone F3
Design
What does twelve hundred bucks buy you? Well, in mobile terms, any number of capped plans for a month, or about one-tenth of a decent phone. What you wouldn't normally expect it to get you is a half-decent phone -- or at least a phone that looks like it was designed in the last five years. That's where Motorola's low-cost MOTOFONE is deceptive; it's a thin, stylish phone with enough features liberally cribbed from Motorola's bag of design tricks to appeal to most users -- but it's also only one dollar short of seventy bucks. For some mobile phone users, that's practically throwaway money.
The other notable thing about the MOTOFONE, from a design perspective, is that it's remarkably thin for a candybar form factor phone. It measures in at 114 by 47 by 9 millimetres with a carrying weight of 70 grams. The keypad is large and easy to use, with simple dial, hang up, contacts and menu buttons surrounding a five-way keypad.
Features
The crux of whether or not the MOTOFONE will appeal to you lies in its feature set -- or lack thereof. It's a GSM-capable mobile phone. It'll do SMS, and you've got a choice of some very standard monophonic ring tones. That's it, however -- there's no Bluetooth, GPRS, camera, GPS, 3G, HSDPA or even simple phone games. If you're incurably addicted to features like this you'll find the MOTOFONE vexatious in the extreme. Then again, it's a phone, and it works. Why pay for stuff you don't need or use?
The MOTOFONE features a rather unusual display, for two primary reasons. It uses a black and white electrophoretic display that Motorola brands as ClearVision. The intention with ClearVision is that the display should appear as paper-like as possible, but also with an eye to being viewable in all sorts of lighting conditions, including direct sunlight. The other display oddity is in the font used, which is massive. That's undoubtedly a plus for those with visual difficulties, but the horizontal orientation of the text, which only ever scrolls like a ticker along one line, means that most SMS messages -- and even missed calls and contact details -- scroll along multiple screens, which can make comprehension difficult. If anything, it's a strong incentive to use SMS-speak, if only to enable easily scanned messages.
Performance
In case it hasn't sunk in yet, the MOTOFONE is just a basic phone, and as a basic phone it works quite well. Call clarity was good in tests - those of a paranoid bent might like to note that the default call volume is quite loud - and battery life was fairly solid. Motorola rates it for up to 450 minutes talk time and up to 270 hours standby time - largely because when not in use the screen powers down to a simple digital clock display. In our testing, it lasted around three days heavy usage before needing recharging. This brought up one of our lesser concerns about the MOTOFONE, and that's in the fact that it takes quite a while to recharge. This isn't a concern if you're an overnight recharger, but it's not possible to do a quick recharge and get anything but a perfunctory charge into the MOTOFONE.
In order to make sense of the MOTOFONE's icon-based and rather simple menu system, the phone comes with voice prompting for each and every feature in a variety of languages. It's a good way to get to grips with how the phone works -- and how its menu designers think -- but can be quite embarrassing in public situations to have your phone patiently explaining how to send an SMS. It's basically a training tool; once you've worked out the menu structures you'll undoubtedly want to switch the voice prompting off as soon as possible.
SMS was acceptable, but the phone is lacking in one feature we'd say was essential for SMS devotees -- there's no predictive text facility. Admittedly, the huge size of the screen font could make some automatically completed words indiscernible, but it's still something we missed having.
There's no doubting that there's a whole market out there that would hate the MOTOFONE for its lack of high-end features, but that's not the market that Motorola's after with the impressively simple MOTOFONE. For what it is, and what it sets out to be, it succeeds admirably, and comes highly recommended.
Wednesday 26 September 2007
Two Amour
Two amorous cats howling on the roof;
howling in an indescribable tone of hatred
their voices rising and falling, threateningly
wickedly scrambling wild on the roof,
tearing one another to pieces.
Intoxicated by the light of the moon
feet barely touching the ground,
eyes sparkling like twinkling stars
they craned their necks and nuzzled
hair standing on end as they gazed
without fear into the dark night.
Ardent aspirations of the heart;
brutish, uncouth and raw..
laden with love and a cry of distress.
Under the necromantic power of the skies
they invoke ancient rhythms, cast spells
and murmur incantations in their purring drone.
Purged and exhausted they cradle in a huddle
and glow invitingly like a pair of fireflies in heat;
savouring the bitter-sweet aftertase of love.
howling in an indescribable tone of hatred
their voices rising and falling, threateningly
wickedly scrambling wild on the roof,
tearing one another to pieces.
Intoxicated by the light of the moon
feet barely touching the ground,
eyes sparkling like twinkling stars
they craned their necks and nuzzled
hair standing on end as they gazed
without fear into the dark night.
Ardent aspirations of the heart;
brutish, uncouth and raw..
laden with love and a cry of distress.
Under the necromantic power of the skies
they invoke ancient rhythms, cast spells
and murmur incantations in their purring drone.
Purged and exhausted they cradle in a huddle
and glow invitingly like a pair of fireflies in heat;
savouring the bitter-sweet aftertase of love.
Wednesday 19 September 2007
Red Tape
A country which in the hands of terrorists witnessed over 70,000 deaths, where nearly 11,000 security personnel - more than in all the wars fought by it - have been killed by terrorists, where half a million people continue to remain as refugees in their own country for over decade-and-a-half, and where over 24,500 foreign mercenaries have come to bleed India from its neighbouring countries should have chjanged its security systems and apparatus unrecognizably.
What is tragic is the fact that, barring some cosmetic changes, we continue to be governed by the same laws, same change-resisting bureaucratic procedures, same misplcaed priorities where internal security is a low priority item in the budget, same selection procedures laced by corruption and caste politics, and same training which was designed to keep control masters in power. We take the losses in our stride - nobody's blood boils and nothing changes. The US face done lethal strike and everything changed overnight - their laws, instrumentality to fight terrorism - brand new Department of Homeland Security surfacing from nowhere, their foreign policy, immigration processes and access control, intelligence transformation just to name a few. Not that their system is perfect but it shows their cpacity to change fast and take the changes to the operating levels. No wonder September 11 was not repeated. The secret of success lies in lowering our tolerance threshold for all that which fails to deliver, changing fast and cinstantly, and taking the changes to the last beat constable on the road.
The worst is yet to come. What is happening all around us in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh and Nepal and more imprtantly within have securityt implications and is indicative of testing times. Taking changes to micro levelsis time consuming and painstaking effort, pariticularly diverse internal security apparatus like India's, involving nearly 20 million people. The time to act is here and now. Let the doctrine of time-tested methods be relegated to the dustbin of history - it is only supported by those who have either a vested interest in status quo or insecurity due to incompetence. An attempt was made in 2001, first time after Independance, to bring about an integrated transformation in national security apparatus and systems encompassing internal secuity, intelligence, border management and defence. The first three of them had direct relevance to the fight against terrorism. With passage of time, much of the enthusiasm for change has withered away. The Prevention Of Terrorism Act (POTA) stands repealed and the recommendations of Malimath Commission suggesting overhaul of judicial administrative system shelved. The entire legal and judicial framework under which terrorism should be tackled needs to be revisited and a national consensus built to make it compatible with the level of threat, existing and potential. Politicizing the matter is against national interest.A multipurpose national identity card scheme, after amendments in Citizenship Act 1955 in December, 2003 was pressed into action and a pilot project launched. It envisaged providing national identity cards to all above 16 and link it o birth details, school records, passport details, driving license, foreign travels besides bio-metric recognitions, etc. Its opposition by some sections for reasons other than national interest is understandable though not acceptable, but the government wilting undertheir pressure and practically showing no progress in three years is unforgivable. It could have provided a data bank to fight terrorism.
Fight against terrorism is essentially a foot soldier's battle and not the general's battle. It requires training, equipping, empowering, motivating and coordinating people at the cutting edge levels. A counter-terrorist operation rarely requires planning, resource mobilisation and tactics involving large bodies of men and material. Real improvement in training requires a state-of-the-art R&D backup involving research in tactics, communications, control and command systems, target zeroing, reconnaissance and intelligence gathering, procurement, storage and distribution of weapons, operation of financial channels etc., just to name a few. Unless a R&D team constantly works on analysing each event, examining the seized documents, interrogating the terroists, case studying failed and successful operations training is an eyewash. It's a pity that nearly 90% of those who are deployed on counter terrorist tasks have not even undergone this ritual - non-availability of funds and training facilities cited as the primary cause. The infirmity must be cured under a time bound programme, whatever the costs. It is a fallacious presumption that in an asymmetric warfare the stronger nation has no option other than to respond in a defensive mode. Defensive offence is necessary to increase the costs for the adversaries. A message to those who would like to pursue the strategy of thousand cuts to bleed India, for furthering their objectives, has got to be given.
The complex network that webs global Islamic radicalism, proponents of Salafi ideology, terrorist outfits, gun runners, hawal racketeers, underworld mafias, currency counterfeiters, drug syndicates etc. should be seen as an organic whole and dealt under an integrated action plan. Degradation of one reduces the efficacy of others and vice versa. Empowerment of center to take cognizance of these crime, which impact national security, is an absolute necessity.
The magic word is change - positive, fast and reaching out to the lowest on the ladder. This, however, will require a political will. Do we have it?
Excerpts from Ajit Doval's TOI article
What is tragic is the fact that, barring some cosmetic changes, we continue to be governed by the same laws, same change-resisting bureaucratic procedures, same misplcaed priorities where internal security is a low priority item in the budget, same selection procedures laced by corruption and caste politics, and same training which was designed to keep control masters in power. We take the losses in our stride - nobody's blood boils and nothing changes. The US face done lethal strike and everything changed overnight - their laws, instrumentality to fight terrorism - brand new Department of Homeland Security surfacing from nowhere, their foreign policy, immigration processes and access control, intelligence transformation just to name a few. Not that their system is perfect but it shows their cpacity to change fast and take the changes to the operating levels. No wonder September 11 was not repeated. The secret of success lies in lowering our tolerance threshold for all that which fails to deliver, changing fast and cinstantly, and taking the changes to the last beat constable on the road.
The worst is yet to come. What is happening all around us in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh and Nepal and more imprtantly within have securityt implications and is indicative of testing times. Taking changes to micro levelsis time consuming and painstaking effort, pariticularly diverse internal security apparatus like India's, involving nearly 20 million people. The time to act is here and now. Let the doctrine of time-tested methods be relegated to the dustbin of history - it is only supported by those who have either a vested interest in status quo or insecurity due to incompetence. An attempt was made in 2001, first time after Independance, to bring about an integrated transformation in national security apparatus and systems encompassing internal secuity, intelligence, border management and defence. The first three of them had direct relevance to the fight against terrorism. With passage of time, much of the enthusiasm for change has withered away. The Prevention Of Terrorism Act (POTA) stands repealed and the recommendations of Malimath Commission suggesting overhaul of judicial administrative system shelved. The entire legal and judicial framework under which terrorism should be tackled needs to be revisited and a national consensus built to make it compatible with the level of threat, existing and potential. Politicizing the matter is against national interest.A multipurpose national identity card scheme, after amendments in Citizenship Act 1955 in December, 2003 was pressed into action and a pilot project launched. It envisaged providing national identity cards to all above 16 and link it o birth details, school records, passport details, driving license, foreign travels besides bio-metric recognitions, etc. Its opposition by some sections for reasons other than national interest is understandable though not acceptable, but the government wilting undertheir pressure and practically showing no progress in three years is unforgivable. It could have provided a data bank to fight terrorism.
Fight against terrorism is essentially a foot soldier's battle and not the general's battle. It requires training, equipping, empowering, motivating and coordinating people at the cutting edge levels. A counter-terrorist operation rarely requires planning, resource mobilisation and tactics involving large bodies of men and material. Real improvement in training requires a state-of-the-art R&D backup involving research in tactics, communications, control and command systems, target zeroing, reconnaissance and intelligence gathering, procurement, storage and distribution of weapons, operation of financial channels etc., just to name a few. Unless a R&D team constantly works on analysing each event, examining the seized documents, interrogating the terroists, case studying failed and successful operations training is an eyewash. It's a pity that nearly 90% of those who are deployed on counter terrorist tasks have not even undergone this ritual - non-availability of funds and training facilities cited as the primary cause. The infirmity must be cured under a time bound programme, whatever the costs. It is a fallacious presumption that in an asymmetric warfare the stronger nation has no option other than to respond in a defensive mode. Defensive offence is necessary to increase the costs for the adversaries. A message to those who would like to pursue the strategy of thousand cuts to bleed India, for furthering their objectives, has got to be given.
The complex network that webs global Islamic radicalism, proponents of Salafi ideology, terrorist outfits, gun runners, hawal racketeers, underworld mafias, currency counterfeiters, drug syndicates etc. should be seen as an organic whole and dealt under an integrated action plan. Degradation of one reduces the efficacy of others and vice versa. Empowerment of center to take cognizance of these crime, which impact national security, is an absolute necessity.
The magic word is change - positive, fast and reaching out to the lowest on the ladder. This, however, will require a political will. Do we have it?
Tuesday 18 September 2007
Looking For Something?
"I've looked under chairs
I've looked under tables
I've tired to find the key
To 50 million people
They called me The Seeker
I've been searchin'
Low and high.
I've asked Bobby Dylan
I've asked The Beatles
I've asked The Osho
But he couldn't help me even
They call me The Seeker
I've been searchin'
Low and high."
The Seeker, Pete Townsend (The Who)
Pete Townsend's poignant poetry reflects the restless questioning spirit of our times. I've spent all my waking life searching.. I'm not really sure what it is. I kinda believed I was Superman (TM) at one time and i was searching for my spaceship (which was lying somewhere in the ground) so i could get my super powers and my suit back and show these ridiculous homosapiens (my family and friends) that I was the cat's whiskers. The fact that I'm still writing this article instead of exploring the infinite multiiverse should tell you that my search was never fulfilled. I did however find more fuel to power my search. The kind that made me feel like a god. Strange that I would say this as im an atheist. I could now chemically control how I felt and could travel the dark and hitherto hidden dimensions of my mind. That search ended in more despair and pain than I had ever imagined possible. My wanderlust then whispered to me; Indulge me and i shall satisfy thine search. I travelled the subcontinent with a pack on my back till I was just a sack of bones. I then endeavored to pursue the more mundane treasures of social security; profession and property. To the latter I would attach a house, car and a wife seeing as to how they are percieved as things to be possessed. Thankfully that search bears nothing I treasure. Yet my search seemed unfulfilled. I turned my sights on the masses. Social service and supporting a cause held alight a promise of fulfillment. Yet what I was really seeking was an end
to my own search for satisfaction. Such a motive was contrary to my venture. The time has now come as i've decided (whew!) to drop my search and just live!? For eg. After seeking pleasure in the its various forms and patterns I've just discovered that taking an early morning dump is second to none ;)
A probing thought.. or is it a question?
"We are always seeking some form of mystery because we are so dissatisfied with the life we lead, with the shallowness of our activities, which have very little meaning and to which we try to give significance, a meaning; but this is an intellectual act which therefore remains superficial, tricky and in the end meaningless. And yet knowing all this - knowing our pleasure are very soon over, our everyday activities are routine; knowing also that our problems, so many of them, can perhaps never be solved; not believing in anything, not having faith in traditional values, in teachers, in the gurus, in the sanctions of the Church or society - knowing all this, most of us are always probing or
seeking, trying to find out something really worthwhile, something that is not touched by thought, something that really has an extraordinary sense of beauty and ecstacy. Most of us, I think, are trying to seek out something that is enduring, that is not easily made corrupt. We put aside the obvious and there is deep longing - not emotional or sentimental - a deep inquiry which might open the door to something that is not measured by thought, something that cannot be put into any category of faith or belief. But is there any meaning to searching, to seeking?"
Excerpt from 'The Flight Of The Eagle' by J. Krishnamurti
I've looked under tables
I've tired to find the key
To 50 million people
They called me The Seeker
I've been searchin'
Low and high.
I've asked Bobby Dylan
I've asked The Beatles
I've asked The Osho
But he couldn't help me even
They call me The Seeker
I've been searchin'
Low and high."
The Seeker, Pete Townsend (The Who)
Pete Townsend's poignant poetry reflects the restless questioning spirit of our times. I've spent all my waking life searching.. I'm not really sure what it is. I kinda believed I was Superman (TM) at one time and i was searching for my spaceship (which was lying somewhere in the ground) so i could get my super powers and my suit back and show these ridiculous homosapiens (my family and friends) that I was the cat's whiskers. The fact that I'm still writing this article instead of exploring the infinite multiiverse should tell you that my search was never fulfilled. I did however find more fuel to power my search. The kind that made me feel like a god. Strange that I would say this as im an atheist. I could now chemically control how I felt and could travel the dark and hitherto hidden dimensions of my mind. That search ended in more despair and pain than I had ever imagined possible. My wanderlust then whispered to me; Indulge me and i shall satisfy thine search. I travelled the subcontinent with a pack on my back till I was just a sack of bones. I then endeavored to pursue the more mundane treasures of social security; profession and property. To the latter I would attach a house, car and a wife seeing as to how they are percieved as things to be possessed. Thankfully that search bears nothing I treasure. Yet my search seemed unfulfilled. I turned my sights on the masses. Social service and supporting a cause held alight a promise of fulfillment. Yet what I was really seeking was an end
to my own search for satisfaction. Such a motive was contrary to my venture. The time has now come as i've decided (whew!) to drop my search and just live!? For eg. After seeking pleasure in the its various forms and patterns I've just discovered that taking an early morning dump is second to none ;)
A probing thought.. or is it a question?
"We are always seeking some form of mystery because we are so dissatisfied with the life we lead, with the shallowness of our activities, which have very little meaning and to which we try to give significance, a meaning; but this is an intellectual act which therefore remains superficial, tricky and in the end meaningless. And yet knowing all this - knowing our pleasure are very soon over, our everyday activities are routine; knowing also that our problems, so many of them, can perhaps never be solved; not believing in anything, not having faith in traditional values, in teachers, in the gurus, in the sanctions of the Church or society - knowing all this, most of us are always probing or
seeking, trying to find out something really worthwhile, something that is not touched by thought, something that really has an extraordinary sense of beauty and ecstacy. Most of us, I think, are trying to seek out something that is enduring, that is not easily made corrupt. We put aside the obvious and there is deep longing - not emotional or sentimental - a deep inquiry which might open the door to something that is not measured by thought, something that cannot be put into any category of faith or belief. But is there any meaning to searching, to seeking?"
Excerpt from 'The Flight Of The Eagle' by J. Krishnamurti
Friday 14 September 2007
alley cat
the streets are quiet. the world around acrid.
searching in a hurry. a fight without victory.
sweat trickles down along the lines of his frown.
the taste of blood brings back memories in a flood.
helter skelter he runs.. veins filled with acid.
a creature of the night walks towards the light..
searching in a hurry. a fight without victory.
sweat trickles down along the lines of his frown.
the taste of blood brings back memories in a flood.
helter skelter he runs.. veins filled with acid.
a creature of the night walks towards the light..
Auguries of Innocence
- Blake
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
Monday 10 September 2007
The Science & Philosophy of Jeet Kune Do
As explained by
Prof. Dr. Rao
DSc (Military Sc, USA), PhD (UN), MD, MBBS (Med), CLET (USA)
Chief Instructor JKD Ideology India
JKD is a Way of Life.
It helps you to find that “Nothing” which man seeks when the search for everything ends.
(As one passes thru life, there comes a stage where material gains cease to matter, and man becomes concerned solely with finding peace within himself)
A Physical, Mental, Spiritual & Martial journey.
JKD is aimed at Physical fitness & Health, Mental resources, Spiritual growth and Fighting prowess. JKD is an art of Life.
Self enquiry, a step towards knowing yourself. JKD teaches the spiritual via the physical.
(JKD teaches you to understand your body movements in relation to another body, your opponents. It makes you comfortable with yourself and with others. At a later stage you begin to understand your mind. It helps you to question yourself and betters understanding of one’s self and the world)
Taking control of your life.
It is about developing discipline, will power & determination. JKD is a re-contemplation about your Life.
(JKD is about learning to find time & priority for Fitness, Health & Happiness)
JKD teaches you to fight.
It teaches you to react to force with gentleness and overcome it.
(JKD builds a fighting philosophy in you. It brings out the warrior in you. When you fight opponents big & aggressive, you realize that in life, it is your reaction to obstacles that count, not the magnitude of the obstacle)
Beyond System.
In its analysis, JKD compares traditional martial arts with Street fighting. In fighting, it teaches freedom from style, pattern or technique. In Life, JKD helps you to free yourself.
(At a later stage you realize that man is a slave to the system, the very system that was designed for man. The Individual is more important than any system. JKD teaches you to harness the system rather than play slave to it)
Beyond time.
Past is History- Learn from it. Present is full of Opportunities – Seize it. Future is Unpredictable- Prepare for it. JKD prepares you for Life.
JKD teaches you your own attitude.
It helps you to find your own way. And in the process, it helps you to find yourself. JKD is just as you are – nothing else.
Prof. Dr. Rao
DSc (Military Sc, USA), PhD (UN), MD, MBBS (Med), CLET (USA)
Chief Instructor JKD Ideology India
JKD is a Way of Life.
It helps you to find that “Nothing” which man seeks when the search for everything ends.
(As one passes thru life, there comes a stage where material gains cease to matter, and man becomes concerned solely with finding peace within himself)
A Physical, Mental, Spiritual & Martial journey.
JKD is aimed at Physical fitness & Health, Mental resources, Spiritual growth and Fighting prowess. JKD is an art of Life.
Self enquiry, a step towards knowing yourself. JKD teaches the spiritual via the physical.
(JKD teaches you to understand your body movements in relation to another body, your opponents. It makes you comfortable with yourself and with others. At a later stage you begin to understand your mind. It helps you to question yourself and betters understanding of one’s self and the world)
Taking control of your life.
It is about developing discipline, will power & determination. JKD is a re-contemplation about your Life.
(JKD is about learning to find time & priority for Fitness, Health & Happiness)
JKD teaches you to fight.
It teaches you to react to force with gentleness and overcome it.
(JKD builds a fighting philosophy in you. It brings out the warrior in you. When you fight opponents big & aggressive, you realize that in life, it is your reaction to obstacles that count, not the magnitude of the obstacle)
Beyond System.
In its analysis, JKD compares traditional martial arts with Street fighting. In fighting, it teaches freedom from style, pattern or technique. In Life, JKD helps you to free yourself.
(At a later stage you realize that man is a slave to the system, the very system that was designed for man. The Individual is more important than any system. JKD teaches you to harness the system rather than play slave to it)
Beyond time.
Past is History- Learn from it. Present is full of Opportunities – Seize it. Future is Unpredictable- Prepare for it. JKD prepares you for Life.
JKD teaches you your own attitude.
It helps you to find your own way. And in the process, it helps you to find yourself. JKD is just as you are – nothing else.
Cheerleader for Moderation by David Apatoff
By David Apatoff
You will be tempted to skip over this post because it has the word "moderation" in the title, and instead search for a blog with "wild extremism" in the title. Moderation just ain't as much fun. One should resist that temptation, at least for a few paragraphs.
We tend to bristle at anything smelling like censorship or restraint. Moderation is contrary to the freedom that all artists crave, even when they have no important use for it.
In a recent post about the Future Manifesto which ushered in the art of the 20th century:
We must break down the gates of life to test the bolts and the padlocks....Courage, audacity, and revolt will be essential elements of our poetry...To admire an old picture is to pour our sensibility into a funeral urn instead of casting it forward with violent spurts of creation and action.... We want to demolish museums and libraries [and] fight morality...
Much of 20th century art celebrates novelty, racing through one extreme style after another:
Futurism
Fauvism
Dadaism
Surrealism
Orphism
Abstract Expressionism
Op
Pop
Minimalism
Neo-expressionism
Conceptualism
Magic Realism
Patternism
Graffiti
Color field
Performance
Post modernism
Installation
Deconstructionism
Each of these (and many other) "schools" of art flashed and cooled after only a few years. Many of them were intellectually invigorating and fun. Very few of them were interested in moderation or the patient search for lasting value.
People who focus on what is new and hot often develop short attention spans. They lose patience for moderation, nuance and context. But the old masters recognized that moderation is all there is. As Shakespeare exclaimed, everything is a matter of degree:
Yet, both colors seize your attention because Vermeer has placed the light earring against a dark shadow and the dark eye against light skin. That's the way to achieve real highs and lows. In art and in life, context is everything.
The metaphors of extremism in art and sex are are lovely and alluring; imagine a painting made up of nothing but highlights, or a state of perpetual ecstasy without all those boring parts in between! But as George Eliot warned, "all of us get our thoughts entangled in metaphors and act fatally on the strength of them." Pornographers and artists who need to chase novel forms of licentiousness inevitably become colossal bores.
Those who say "I'll try anything once"
Seldom try anything twice
Or three times
Arriving late at the Gate of Dreams Worth Dying For..
- Carl Sandburg
You will be tempted to skip over this post because it has the word "moderation" in the title, and instead search for a blog with "wild extremism" in the title. Moderation just ain't as much fun. One should resist that temptation, at least for a few paragraphs.
We tend to bristle at anything smelling like censorship or restraint. Moderation is contrary to the freedom that all artists crave, even when they have no important use for it.
In a recent post about the Future Manifesto which ushered in the art of the 20th century:
We must break down the gates of life to test the bolts and the padlocks....Courage, audacity, and revolt will be essential elements of our poetry...To admire an old picture is to pour our sensibility into a funeral urn instead of casting it forward with violent spurts of creation and action.... We want to demolish museums and libraries [and] fight morality...
Much of 20th century art celebrates novelty, racing through one extreme style after another:
Futurism
Fauvism
Dadaism
Surrealism
Orphism
Abstract Expressionism
Op
Pop
Minimalism
Neo-expressionism
Conceptualism
Magic Realism
Patternism
Graffiti
Color field
Performance
Post modernism
Installation
Deconstructionism
Each of these (and many other) "schools" of art flashed and cooled after only a few years. Many of them were intellectually invigorating and fun. Very few of them were interested in moderation or the patient search for lasting value.
People who focus on what is new and hot often develop short attention spans. They lose patience for moderation, nuance and context. But the old masters recognized that moderation is all there is. As Shakespeare exclaimed, everything is a matter of degree:
Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what dischord follows! Each thing meets in mere oppugnancy. The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores And make a sop of all this solid globeIn this painting by Vermeer, the girl's earring is not extremely white nor is her eye extremely dark. Viewed in isolation, both colors are quite moderate.
Yet, both colors seize your attention because Vermeer has placed the light earring against a dark shadow and the dark eye against light skin. That's the way to achieve real highs and lows. In art and in life, context is everything.
The metaphors of extremism in art and sex are are lovely and alluring; imagine a painting made up of nothing but highlights, or a state of perpetual ecstasy without all those boring parts in between! But as George Eliot warned, "all of us get our thoughts entangled in metaphors and act fatally on the strength of them." Pornographers and artists who need to chase novel forms of licentiousness inevitably become colossal bores.
Those who say "I'll try anything once"
Seldom try anything twice
Or three times
Arriving late at the Gate of Dreams Worth Dying For..
- Carl Sandburg
Cycle of life
as ephemereal as the dew
born red-faced in the morning
bleached white bones in the evening that is man
blown away like flower petals on the heartless wind...
our two eyes close in an instant
if a single breath stops too long
even the newborn babe may perish, unfulfilled...
born red-faced in the morning
bleached white bones in the evening that is man
blown away like flower petals on the heartless wind...
our two eyes close in an instant
if a single breath stops too long
even the newborn babe may perish, unfulfilled...
Sunday 26 August 2007
The Poetry of the Grave
meifumadō aka "The Road to Hell""I have decided to escape, to defy the shogun. Today I will begin walking the road to hell. But you will choose your own path. So, soon you may be seeing heaven. Choose the sword, and you will join me. Choose the ball and you join your mother, in death. You don’t understand my words, but you must choose. So… come boy, choose life or death!"
- Ogami Ittō
Epilogue - The Lone Wolf and Cub
It's not yet winter, and not yet dawn. Black, dead branches rattle like dried bones, slapped by an icy wind. Curled, crumbling leaves whisper down a narrow mountain path. A pebble pops beneath a wooden wheel. Grey as the sky behind him, a man approaches, pushing a rough-hewn cart. The path is steep, but his step is steady. Somewhere in the darkness, something breathes. The man pauses, his black eyes fixed on the sound. Hidden until now by the filthy folds of his robes, his right hand rests lightly on his belt, thumb poised just below his sword's hilt. He almost smiles. In the cart a boy, a baby, sleeps, silent and unafraid.
Bushidō, The Warrior's Way
In Japan, centuries before the atom bomb, a weapon came into use that changed every aspect of Japanese life, from the shape of it's social structure to the nature of Japanese moral, philosophical, and religious thought. It was made by pounding, flattening, and folding a piece of red-hot steel so many times that each layer was many times thinner than a human hair, creating a blade sharper than any the world has seen, before or since. Those trained in its use were the power in the land, the warrior class, the samurai.
For dozens of generations, war was a constant in Japan, and the samurai ruled, and the sword was worshipped. A system of samurai ethics and philosophy formed, called bushido, or the warrior's way. Bushido gave to each kind of sword stroke a particular mystical context, and demanded that a samurai's soul be as sharp and perfect and merciless as the blade of his katana.
Bushido persisted, in fact flourished and was greatly embroidered, after the warlord Tokugawa united the provinces of Japan under a military dictatorship, bringing an end to the wars, casting samurai by the thousands into the shameful state of unemployment. They were ronin, the masterless samurai. They became beggars, drunks, and assassins, shunned and feared. Many committed ritual suicide. Many others threatened to do so at the houses of wealthy lords, embarrassing the lords into giving them money or food. More than ever, their swords were all that they had.
Seppuku, The Ritual Suicide
Their code of ethics and philosophy demanded that the samurai seek death before shame, and to feel no pain; suicide through this method of self-torture appealed greatly to the same fatalism that made the samurai so nearly invincible in combat.
It became wrapped in layers of etiquette and piled high in ceremony. By the time the Shogun institutionalized seppuku as the predominant form of samurai execution, it had become a solemn spectacle, witnessed by hundreds, with its every intricate detail a piece of precious tradition. Snow-white tatami mats were protected by red velvet. The samurai tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent him from falling backward and disemboweled himself with a beautiful dagger, crafted for a single use. Another samurai, an executioner with the skill of a surgeon, would cleave the samurai's head from his shoulders, preferably leaving a flap of skin at his throat uncut so that the head would not roll across the floor.
Wednesday 22 August 2007
Tuesday 21 August 2007
Garden Of Love
- William Blake
I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
Monday 20 August 2007
Sunday 19 August 2007
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