I often wonder why we were born on this planet (perhaps there exists a better one) to embroil through this sojourn called life, brought into this place by two of those of a different genre and the reasons behind the same may not be as simple as it appears to be at the surface level. You may think as to why suddenly this brainwave flushed o this fellow’s mind. My answer to those who feel so is, whatever we are currently doing we will do it better by knowing so much more about ourselves. We are not involved in a wild goose chase, the stakes are high and there is only one round we can fire at this game called life. Even those who supposedly hit the bull’s eye aren’t remembered always and so it might be only logical to strive to make a mark for ourselves. If you do agree with me, how we leave behind a trail good enough for it to last long, let us find out.
As I started to jolt down the above said lines I had no idea as to what I was actually unto. Have I already made my point? Is there a glow in your face, a sparkle in your eyes that I can spot of you having it recognized? Yes change is what my thoughts are all about. It is easy to ask to do so but hard to put into practice what we actually want to. The answer lies in questioning, thrashing your mind to the point that makes you crib why you don’t do so, to push to the limit the tolerance of asking yourself why and finally the breakdown after that saturation point and give way to new and refreshing modern ideas according to which you wanted to remodel yourself. Going that extra mile beyond what ordinary mortals do will fetch for it for you. The metamorphism will for sure take time but do not lose heart. Perhaps this way I seemed to have found the answer to the query I initially posed. The answer to life lies in discovery. The probability is that the creator apart from bringing to the fore all other entities in this realm of existence wanted to have his own way of fun by forming two kinds of the same class albeit poles apart with some extra Grey matter and sit back and relax to see how his manipulations tinker with whatever they are blessed with to reason out and interpret why they were meant to be so. And to find the answer to that doubt of mine I have made you read all these lines (honestly did you do that?). It is my way of doing things. Shutters…
Friday, December 22, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Truth about truth
The truth about truth is that it is not true about anything true in its truest form for truth in its truest form is not true about anything true.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
PARTING SHOT
A child was on cloud nine when the parents took him to a theme park as per his wish.He thoroughly enjoyed the visit,had his thrills and spills and finally had to move out when the exit neared...
Good times do come to an end.We need to bid farewell to those things that we cherish and enjoy at some point of time.However tough it may be,we need to accept the fact that a shift in our fortunes occur,that twilight zone exists for everyone and learn to make a smooth transition under the fading light.
Many in sporting arena, have found this fact hard to digest.They have not been able to time their exit right or rather be able to time it at all what with retirements and their subsequent reversals becoming commonplace.When the hearts still continue to yearn for those things that were for long very close to it but the body which is ageing refuses to live up to the ideals called for.
It is a struggle, a mortal combat between the soul and the physique, one which has become a matter of wide prevalence these days.How does one bid adieu,when to do it and in what way can the demise be made graceful, that remains as the million dollar question?
Sporting heroes who are otherwise immortal have found it hard when it comes to the point of frankly confessing and openly avowing "I'am done and ready to hang my boots" .Either they prolong the lifetime of the weary body by constantly hibernating and resurfacing from a state of anabiosis usually accredited to injuries which acclaim fame only next to their names ,pushing them through the brink of breakdown and want to limp on for as much as they can or condescend from their thrones with the music still in them.The former seems to be more commonplace.
Some stalwarts of the game such as Sourav Ganguly,Glenn McGrath,greats in their own right would not have imagined that they would become trapped in a time warp where past performance seem to be forgotten with utter impudence, in the milieu where new kids show up on the block every day and old warhorses have been compelled to sweat it out against these swift legs.
Guile,tact,skill and experience seems to account for nothing when it comes to performance on the given day.Although this is a hearty transition ,to play the policy of 'Horses for courses',yet it appears to be too harsh to give the veterans,the legends,a cold shrug when it comes to letting them choose their final flight.
A slump towards the end (the notion of which is albeit unclear) has quite predominantly lead to speculations and seeds of doubt are sown in the ageing minds whose valour and courage in the past have been made to look silly in the face of existing circumstances.They are made to bite the dust and expected to come off unscathed with the same acumen and poise they would have been praised for in thier hey day.
It appears that equanimity of thought does not apply in this case and only the toughest of the minds can withstand the barrage of odds stacked against them from various quarters to signal the end, out of their own free will and punctuate their last lap in a fitting manner in their truly own style and have a remarkable swansong.It remains to be seen whether the pegion will soar again and the tiger will roar again.The child though clearly knows the exit ,will such greats be able to make the grade?
Good times do come to an end.We need to bid farewell to those things that we cherish and enjoy at some point of time.However tough it may be,we need to accept the fact that a shift in our fortunes occur,that twilight zone exists for everyone and learn to make a smooth transition under the fading light.
Many in sporting arena, have found this fact hard to digest.They have not been able to time their exit right or rather be able to time it at all what with retirements and their subsequent reversals becoming commonplace.When the hearts still continue to yearn for those things that were for long very close to it but the body which is ageing refuses to live up to the ideals called for.
It is a struggle, a mortal combat between the soul and the physique, one which has become a matter of wide prevalence these days.How does one bid adieu,when to do it and in what way can the demise be made graceful, that remains as the million dollar question?
Sporting heroes who are otherwise immortal have found it hard when it comes to the point of frankly confessing and openly avowing "I'am done and ready to hang my boots" .Either they prolong the lifetime of the weary body by constantly hibernating and resurfacing from a state of anabiosis usually accredited to injuries which acclaim fame only next to their names ,pushing them through the brink of breakdown and want to limp on for as much as they can or condescend from their thrones with the music still in them.The former seems to be more commonplace.
Some stalwarts of the game such as Sourav Ganguly,Glenn McGrath,greats in their own right would not have imagined that they would become trapped in a time warp where past performance seem to be forgotten with utter impudence, in the milieu where new kids show up on the block every day and old warhorses have been compelled to sweat it out against these swift legs.
Guile,tact,skill and experience seems to account for nothing when it comes to performance on the given day.Although this is a hearty transition ,to play the policy of 'Horses for courses',yet it appears to be too harsh to give the veterans,the legends,a cold shrug when it comes to letting them choose their final flight.
A slump towards the end (the notion of which is albeit unclear) has quite predominantly lead to speculations and seeds of doubt are sown in the ageing minds whose valour and courage in the past have been made to look silly in the face of existing circumstances.They are made to bite the dust and expected to come off unscathed with the same acumen and poise they would have been praised for in thier hey day.
It appears that equanimity of thought does not apply in this case and only the toughest of the minds can withstand the barrage of odds stacked against them from various quarters to signal the end, out of their own free will and punctuate their last lap in a fitting manner in their truly own style and have a remarkable swansong.It remains to be seen whether the pegion will soar again and the tiger will roar again.The child though clearly knows the exit ,will such greats be able to make the grade?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
SLEEPY HALO
Ever wondered how the road to your death smelt like?What are the sounds that grace you on your venerable march to your final destination.How you are treated to,in the journey to your graveyard,in our beloved nation.
It is like all hell let loose( even if it be so that you are destined for heaven).The epiphany of few young mad men on display.All their histrionic skills come to the fore.The drumbeats,the crackers it is like a parade commomerating a great achievement,like a time of celebration.Perhaps,the celebration from bondage of a soul that was struggling in the whirl of the world,wailing and waiting to free itself from the cudgels of confinement,one might presume.
May be the crowd that leads the way does not wish you to feel alone before you have to eventually embrace loneliness.That is why they make all the cacophony in the world in a travail that is considered to be a mark of commiseration.Dancing,dreaming they do lose control to get a whiff of what the man of the moment goes through.It is ultmately brotherhood,one might logically interpret that leads them to behaving this way.They too wish to feel what it means to be liberated in the true sense of the word.
The promenade does not lack flavour too.The perfume for the dead is the aroma of roses strewn about with careless disdain all over the place in the path of permanence.For,once in their lifetime the subject deserves attention,at least a causual glance if not anything else is theirs for the taking and to be looked at is what those guys around are trying desperately to get for the man in the question.Like a metaphorical symbolism of the eternal imprints of the person passing away lie those flowers all over the place.Also some noble intention of providing a refreshingly different breath for the passers by is unwittingly welded with the ceremony who are otherwise left to smell rotten on their respective routes.
The sounds do not lack the rhythm.There is that cadence and at regular intervals the bursts of fire rips the ears apart,the occasional whistling,the ethereal dance .It looks like these people are bringing the best out of their kitty to assuage the pain
in the last lap of the eternal ride.Is it joy, pain, a motley of emotions or sheer sense of duty that they want to do enough justice for what they were paid to do.
At one end it seems gross mockery of the dead,on the other hand it sounds like a frivolous set motives not of any particular importance to be analyzed or dissected to this extent.Certainly not for us to unravel,atleast when the protagonist of the play seems to be in a state of Sleepy Halo of beatitude and bliss!
It is like all hell let loose( even if it be so that you are destined for heaven).The epiphany of few young mad men on display.All their histrionic skills come to the fore.The drumbeats,the crackers it is like a parade commomerating a great achievement,like a time of celebration.Perhaps,the celebration from bondage of a soul that was struggling in the whirl of the world,wailing and waiting to free itself from the cudgels of confinement,one might presume.
May be the crowd that leads the way does not wish you to feel alone before you have to eventually embrace loneliness.That is why they make all the cacophony in the world in a travail that is considered to be a mark of commiseration.Dancing,dreaming they do lose control to get a whiff of what the man of the moment goes through.It is ultmately brotherhood,one might logically interpret that leads them to behaving this way.They too wish to feel what it means to be liberated in the true sense of the word.
The promenade does not lack flavour too.The perfume for the dead is the aroma of roses strewn about with careless disdain all over the place in the path of permanence.For,once in their lifetime the subject deserves attention,at least a causual glance if not anything else is theirs for the taking and to be looked at is what those guys around are trying desperately to get for the man in the question.Like a metaphorical symbolism of the eternal imprints of the person passing away lie those flowers all over the place.Also some noble intention of providing a refreshingly different breath for the passers by is unwittingly welded with the ceremony who are otherwise left to smell rotten on their respective routes.
The sounds do not lack the rhythm.There is that cadence and at regular intervals the bursts of fire rips the ears apart,the occasional whistling,the ethereal dance .It looks like these people are bringing the best out of their kitty to assuage the pain
in the last lap of the eternal ride.Is it joy, pain, a motley of emotions or sheer sense of duty that they want to do enough justice for what they were paid to do.
At one end it seems gross mockery of the dead,on the other hand it sounds like a frivolous set motives not of any particular importance to be analyzed or dissected to this extent.Certainly not for us to unravel,atleast when the protagonist of the play seems to be in a state of Sleepy Halo of beatitude and bliss!
Saturday, February 18, 2006
NOBLE OUTLAWS
They came, they saw, they conquered. This would be an understatement. They have existed for eons, but not in this role. Only in the recent past have they changed colors to a more modern outlook from a profession that was looked up with dignity, fear ,adulation , anxiety ,fear – in short respect. Time has taken a turn and with that have the men and women in this yard, to chores that might give us the liberty to call the ‘Noble Outlaws’ of this era. It is a local phenomenon though, but it has a global face, even if it is not a portrait of perfection that could be painted on a canvas or as a deed noteworthy in any recognizable pattern.
Who are these people? They are noble, no doubt. Are they outlaws too? It seems so and it is worth a thought. Is it not then some kind of a paradox when they are both noble and an outlaw? Are they the Robinhoods of modern times? Does this constitute an ethical debate? Well, if there have to be ethical debates there would be none, but ethics do play a big part as far as the original perception about this profession goes. Give the ethics a backdoor to exit, or a go by at least until we are done with our discussion.
So, now the crux of the issue. Who are they? They are the prophets of knowledge in the pilgrimage of our learning, the ones who supposedly open the flush gates to the contours of our grey cells. The commercial vendors of a commodity called ‘education’ in an age where everything is weighed against the currency and given a say in the sensex.
Give it a thought. the name of the game is fair. At least that is what they seem to project it to be. Why not pay them the buck when they promise to pay the bearer of their scientifically designed courses a trip to Mars and a whale of a life via orbits hitherto unseen regardless of whether you have the time and the hard work behind you to deserve that.
Noble it is for a miniscule minority amongst a mass that helps them amass, who sleep in the dreams coded for them in the minds of those capitalist altruists.
Commerce in education has come to stay, having a say and the poachers are having a field day, everyday .why would not they when they are reciprocated by the same virtue that connects them to their customers – to make it big, come what may. Have slogans that say ‘whatever it takes’, proclaim authority, monopoly and charge in their domains, their reigns of terror, in their undisputed territories of wholesale duping, of an unimaginably large number that accidentally turned naïve at the prospect of a bright future.
Think of it some moment, some day, and some time, for the information imparting industry is cracking it rich by making gaping holes in your pocket without giving back much. Their custom-tailored courses are designed to kill you and the moment you fall prey to their entrapment you join the wagon that takes you to your final destination. They may have noble thoughts, but the sheer weight of the number they romp in and assure to steer you into those unseen nebulous galaxies they turn into outlaws and we give them the room for that. Spare a thought, if not for the scores of thousand of those around you making themselves a party to those huge quarries, at least for the one who is a part of that
Group – you, for some saving grace, before it’s too late.
Who are these people? They are noble, no doubt. Are they outlaws too? It seems so and it is worth a thought. Is it not then some kind of a paradox when they are both noble and an outlaw? Are they the Robinhoods of modern times? Does this constitute an ethical debate? Well, if there have to be ethical debates there would be none, but ethics do play a big part as far as the original perception about this profession goes. Give the ethics a backdoor to exit, or a go by at least until we are done with our discussion.
So, now the crux of the issue. Who are they? They are the prophets of knowledge in the pilgrimage of our learning, the ones who supposedly open the flush gates to the contours of our grey cells. The commercial vendors of a commodity called ‘education’ in an age where everything is weighed against the currency and given a say in the sensex.
Give it a thought. the name of the game is fair. At least that is what they seem to project it to be. Why not pay them the buck when they promise to pay the bearer of their scientifically designed courses a trip to Mars and a whale of a life via orbits hitherto unseen regardless of whether you have the time and the hard work behind you to deserve that.
Noble it is for a miniscule minority amongst a mass that helps them amass, who sleep in the dreams coded for them in the minds of those capitalist altruists.
Commerce in education has come to stay, having a say and the poachers are having a field day, everyday .why would not they when they are reciprocated by the same virtue that connects them to their customers – to make it big, come what may. Have slogans that say ‘whatever it takes’, proclaim authority, monopoly and charge in their domains, their reigns of terror, in their undisputed territories of wholesale duping, of an unimaginably large number that accidentally turned naïve at the prospect of a bright future.
Think of it some moment, some day, and some time, for the information imparting industry is cracking it rich by making gaping holes in your pocket without giving back much. Their custom-tailored courses are designed to kill you and the moment you fall prey to their entrapment you join the wagon that takes you to your final destination. They may have noble thoughts, but the sheer weight of the number they romp in and assure to steer you into those unseen nebulous galaxies they turn into outlaws and we give them the room for that. Spare a thought, if not for the scores of thousand of those around you making themselves a party to those huge quarries, at least for the one who is a part of that
Group – you, for some saving grace, before it’s too late.
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