This is my journey from the deeply mysterious to the outrageously silly and mundace happenings of my life. the lows and highs, the ups and downs. And maybe a Simple Harmonic Motion to an exponential curve. Mathematical, Scientific, Theistic, Philosophical, Logical,Social, every conceivable idea.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
He sat through the night looking at the white stick in his fingers. The stick grew thick luscious tresses of smoke, bouncing effortlessly away from the stick, rising lovingly towards him, but the wind kept pushing them away. They fought for his affection; to kiss him sleepily between his lips, grow inside him, filling him with themselves. They grew, they flew up to him, they tried reaching him, but couldnt stop rising, they grew till they were thin. Thin remnants of smoke, white, like a silky shroud tried hard to stick together, but couldnt. They had to split. They were never destined to be together. They were never meant to be one. Meant to be formless, without boundaries, dissolving into each other, dissolving away from one another. They flowed out of the stick like a foaming gushing river till the invisible rocks in the little breeze broke their odyssey. Small boulders around which they came around, embracing again. Huge invisible boulders broke their flow, their form. They persisted. Finally they reached the top, the helm. But by that time, they had already vanished. They had already lost one another. They had lost themselves.
He was not much different.*prologue*
KoPoS, 3:10:00 PM
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Forgive me Sitaey, forgive me. I know you understand that this was the only way I had; that this pain was inevitable.
I would have killed myself for even the slightest suspiscion on your character, but as the reigning king of Raghuvamsa do I really have another choice of action, Sitaey?
I know you understand me; you understand the storm that is raging in my heart, tearing away the insides asunder. But as a king that has to take care of my praja, my children, it’s my duty to listen to their grievances. I will have to listen to their wishes and rants, Sitaey; you will know how it feels when you shall have kids of our own, how demanding and lacking in conscience their cruelty can really be.
I had to fight the war to get to you Sitaey. For 14 years, I was going through all the hardships breaking my dharma sometimes... only for you, only you. It was something I had to do; I had to, for, you were my only glimmer of hope. It would not have been difficult to tell Hanuman to get you from Lanka; but I had to tell the world, to prove to the world, that you are worth all the pains that I was undergoing. I had to fight off great warriors of Lanka, Ravana, Kumbhakarna, Myraavana-Indrajit, Meghnath; it was not easy Sitaey; but I had to do it, because you were worth it. You are worth it.
But now, forgive me Sitaey; this is the only way I am left with. I wish I could be with you by giving the place to Bharata to look after the kingdom, but that would make my children, my people believe that indeed you are not chaste. It would make them believe that indeed their suspicions are true and I, blinded by love followed you to forest once again. I couldn’t bear to hear that of you from them.
Holding a court of law would be apt but even if you were acquitted, they would think it as a victory of power & money and not of your chastity Sitaey; for the seeds of mistrust have already be planted. I know Ill be damned for the centuries to come; but then it was never easy for love to survive, was it?
It is for me to prove that you were never unchaste, the pure gold pratima beside me would remind them that. It would be a reminder to them, of the mistake they did and that you are irreplacable, and a reminder to me; of how difficult it is for the life of a ruler; how easy it seems to be to not to be a king and how it is not.
KoPoS, 12:57:00 PM
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Friday, October 21, 2005
KoPoS, 10:26:00 AM
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Thursday, October 20, 2005
Now she speaks rapidly. "Do you know *why* you want to program?"
He shakes his head. He hasn't the faintest idea.
"For the sheer *joy* of programming!" she cries triumphantly.
"The joy of the parent, the artist, the craftsman. "You take a program, born weak and impotent as a dimly-realized solution. You nurture the program and guide it down the right path, building, watching it grow ever stronger. Sometimes you paint with tiny strokes, a keystroke added here, a keystroke changed there." She sweeps her arm in a wide arc. "
And other times you savage whole *blocks* of code, ripping out the program's very *essence*, then beginning anew. But always building, creating, filling the program with your own personal stamp, your own quirks and nuances. Watching the program grow stronger, patching it when it crashes, until finally it can stand alone -- proud, powerful, and perfect. This is the programmer's finest hour!"
Softly at first, then louder, he hears the strains of a Sousa march. "This ... this is your canvas! your clay! Go forth and create a masterwork!
*Not mine. Will credit the source soon*
KoPoS, 1:54:00 PM
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Monday, October 17, 2005
Are questions the key to answers? It seems they are, however it is not, never simply about questions, but about asking the right questions, asking questions the correct way too. Its the questions that define our limits; its the questions that limit our beliefs; Its your beliefs that shape your questions, and it reflects you in the manner you ask the questions. Its the questions that are elementary.
Answers are secondary, its the questions that hold the key. More the answers, more the questions. And somewhere after a lifetime of questions you ask if all of it was worth it. You then seem to understand that everything need not be questioned, for things have fallen in place not because it was decreed to be so; it was just that it was the process of evolution at place; and you must respect the process... the process of evolution. For every question in place breaks a creation in existence; asking a question necessitates a destruction; destruction of a block of yourself that you've defined as a truity, the unquestionable axiom. You might finally understand that finally, there is no answer. The question itself becomes meaningless if the answer isnt there in the first place.
There are things for which questioning is unnecessary, things that should not be questioned, for the questioning will never end; and finally at the end of your quest; you might just want to ask the question "Why was asking questions important at all? What was my motive?" And that very time you might have understood, learnt that its not the process of questions that is important; what was important was a need to believe and trust in the acceptance of any thing incredulous; accepting anything and everything that you deemed impossible and also things you never thought or knew you were even capable of imagining in the most craziest stupors. Its the acceptance of the mysticism that was necessary not the questioning of mysticism.On Fear
Fears need to be fed; they are like everything else... alive, pulsating animals waiting to ward off any attacks on their existence. They are there always; feeding on you, your weaknesses... they the beasts of the dark, beasts of light, beasts in totality. They are fed by us, to feed on us, to frighten us. That is how they survive, by being a part of our own psyches. They are the cheap thrills, we need to live an eventful
life. For if there is no fear, there is no limitation to you, your mind. They are our own nets of safety stopping us from stooping low-down or swooping top-up. Its the fear that defines your identity. Its the fear that elemental. Leave fear and you know they are gone; but not without taking a part of you. Once you lose touch with your fears; you have lost a part of you. A part of you that will never again know what it is like to live within limits.
KoPoS, 12:43:00 PM
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Tuesday, October 11, 2005
* Only for the techies who know what version control systems are. Others, this is just a whole load of goodledygook :) However, if you persist, you can first read this *
I am the version 188.8.131.5200 of the human program [code: K-OPO-S] and I am here to complain about a lot of issues about the faulty program you had delivered to me. A space for this program was created on 23rd July, 1985.
It has been checked in
every second of these 20 years=240 months=7300 days and you have no idea how tough it is keeping track of the changes to my version every 60 seconds of 60 minutes of the 24 hours of the day.
The feature of checking out the older version exists but I can checkout
only in 'read-only' mode
. This is a major enhancement to the features provided already by the Life(TM) program.
The database is extremely faulty and sometimes I cannot even checkout some very specific version of files even though I had checked it in. During my initial analysis, I found that some versions have been mysteriously been deleted too. There has been even the case where some garbage was also checked in without my permission or knowledge.
And since I have no backup of the versions I previously checked-in; it is doubly tragic that I will have to deal with a lot of bugs, errors and garbage values in my current version.I cannot ever rollback to the previous setup and remove those known bugs!
I cannot checkout any files lesser than versions 1.5. It is a different fact though that my parent systems are able to checkout some log files belonging to my earlier versions but sadly they are totally inadequate to my needs.
Invoking a delete command does not solve any of my current problems with the file version. Even the delete command is being invoked at random by your system and I seem to have no control of it however careful I am with the safety precautions listed in the 'How To' Manual provided by my parent systems.
Admin = God
KoPoS, 11:55:00 AM
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Pardon the absence of any resemblance to any sanity, rhythm, rhyme...
Time! An enigma to me and a billions others,
As the reaper you stalk,
and as a shadow you follow all along,
being the healer you make us laugh.
The grim reaper you!
breaking into lives peaceful
wreaking havoc as you drag away lives and loves merciless
The scythe of time you yield with precision frightening
Never forgetting to take away the one that was born.
Never at rest, never at peace,
You break into lives peaceful,
wreaking havoc as you swoosh by,
Stealing lives of love that we live by.
Reminding of the truth of life ephemeral.
Like a mother you take us in,
in an embrace warm...
And patiently you stay
during all times hard...
Wiping the tears from our eyes
now wet from pains of lif-san-mercy.
Like a mother you cajole and coax,
to forget the nightmare harsh,
and put me to sleep to dreams enthrall.
Like a father you teach us all
hard and sans mercy to learn things the stone-hard way.
You stand by us all in times of need
and give us strength in moments of despair.
Tall as a rock and acting without emotions
you teach us all the need for calm.
Like a teacher you teach of truths so profound
of truths that span in all ye' times unknown.
Like a guide you stay,
true to word per se,
Without prejudice you judged everyone till this day.
Truths you bring now of times so old,
Sans an emotion you tell the legends of yore.
to all us fools of lives of the past.
Healing the wounds that people leave,
you drop in, the gifted healer,
the panacea for all the pains,
the longer you stay the better we heal.
As the dreaded stealer you come in slow,
stealing the thoughts that we now treasure,
Of memories and memoirs of people they belong,
Mercilessly you take away the loved ones
Confusing us, Frightening us, making us wonder if the people we loved we really loved?
KoPoS, 9:41:00 AM
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Friday, October 07, 2005
Hinduism, the way of life of great liberties, freedom and tolerance. This is what I know of Hinduism. It is a way of life, not a religion, not a set of books, not a way of eating. It pervades each and every aspect of a Hindu's life, the thinking, the eating, the talking, the behaving, the worshipping, the living.
But in presence of other religions with proselytizing... evidently, it had/has two options. One to remain as is and allow for the conversion of the people to other religions; and whetsats a way of life without the people to live by it? Two, to become as strict as other religions are; and thus become what its not/what its against. Its changing shape, its from, crystallizing, having left its shape as a free-flowing river to that of a stagnant pond/lake, big but stagnant, bound by the limits of time and thought. Its evidently a reverse survival tactic taken against the proselytisaton. A survival tactic employed trying to harden a free form.
Both cases, its imminent, it will die out. The premise however, is the unshakable belief in human stupidity to choose what suits it best.
Its a great way to victory you see - if you cant win over them, just convert them into yours
|The 9/11 strikes did not do as much damage to US as they did to themselves with the succeeding measures they took to combat the menace. They struck at the heart of the matter : at the root of the issue : at the Americans belief in Freedom. That is exactly where Osama struck; not at the symbols of politics, finance, security but at the psyches of the people themselves. All he had to do was srtike fear; the rest would be done by themselves.|
*prosleytization - To induce someone to join one's own political party or to espouse one's doctrine.
KoPoS, 11:10:00 AM
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Monday, October 03, 2005
Major style edit
Hyperlinks to all pieces of literature i know of that i have placed in this story. Rathish
, thanks for this idea!Forewords
This one started out as a very small story on a bored work afternoon; but before I knew it just went on to morph into a fine short story in its own right. I truly enjoyed writing it, mainly because I was able to capture the true insanity, that i was feeling... Have fun :)=========July 4, 2030=========
He wrote; they read. He talked; they listened. He danced; they enjoyed.
He was a star. In the surreal alternate reality
, he was a star. Every word he podcasted
, people listened to it. Every video he put on the page, people looked at it. He was all around, ubiquitous; and he listened to their every act, nothing ever worth talking missed his eye or the ear. He felt passionate about everything under the sun. The passion he awoke in people inspired others many. He was da
address for witty, charming, disarming, mature, taboo conversations. He served everyone. He likened to anyone. From masochists
. Everyone was his audience.
Its been 5 years since he arrived. From a small page on blogspot which he called his own; his rise was nothing short of meteoric. A few comments here, a few there and a tremendous personal overdrive to network; he soon had people flocking to his pages to have a look at the content on his blog. Blogspot soon went into overdrive; its server crashed frequently owing to the heavy traffic to his spot. Google enjoyed having him on their adsense list. His site generated thousands of clicks for their ads on his page. Soon rumors flew about, proclaiming MSN and Yahoo contacting him and offering him 1TB of free signup space and unlimited bandwidth! There were legends born though that they were giving him an offering of click per page.
But he stuck with blogspot. And he grew. As a meteor shooting across the sky; everyone took notice of him; he was everywhere; on everyall the pages; people linked to him like crazy; he was on everyone's blogroll. Blogspot now had his link as a part of their standard templates too! He was now featured in mainstream media. He was contacted for interviews, but he only granted them, ones on a remote podcast server. That is all. His profile showed a star as his photo. Nothing else.
He was anonymous; faceless. People dedicated a wiki to him, "the anonymous" others heralded him as the "Neo of Zion", in due remembrance of a hugely (un)successful franchise of a movie(trilogy). They drew his pictures. Wiki had already gone from putting words together to putting images together. Thousands of people had their artist sketches about how he would look. Some had a clean shaven look to him; others had a Men-in-black look; others made him a orange-robed gentleman; some others drew him in pyjamas with flip-flops and a thin stubble; some had him to be a woman. He was a man for every man; a man for every woman; and a woman for some.
And then he just stopped. People came flocking to the site. All they could see was void. Not even a 404-page not found. Just Void. Empty. Silent. Nothing. The wiki had disappeared too. The blogspace had just disappeard. He just went poof! No, not even the sound 'poof'. He was gone. The pen, the voice.... gone.
It started flame wars all around. Blogspot enjoyed this increased activity. Amidst all this, conspiracy theories flew hard and thick. There were rumors about the team of most enlightened Chinese Zen crackers put together by M$ and Yahoo! to go ahead and pull his site down. Rumors flew thick about the 24/7 elite hacker team from India hired by Google working overtime to repel any DoS attacks. M$, Google and Yahoo! had 60/60/24/7 live stories of Dubyaman running an elite team of hardworking NRIs and NRCs uber geeks to pull down the site since the day 'the anonymous' put a post about Dubya who went to war with Somalia when he misunderstood that 'War on Poverty' meant 'War on the Poor'.
And then he came. He appeared as suddenly as he had disappeared. A 'Hi' on every blog on the planet. People couldnt doubt it was him. But they couldnt trust it was him either; he wouldnt go and key in the authentication code manually could he? They rushed to his site immediately. Flash bulbs popped all over the mainstream TV media. But all they saw was the number "22 8 2030". Again conspiracy theories flew thick about a possible hidden interpretation of the number: the number of people he visited? or the number of visitors to his page? or a hidden code in a remote indian or aztec civilization about an impending doom? Finally a kid said it was a date. And again theories flew thick, and of course their sub-conspiracy theories too. he was coming back to blogging/podcasting now; he was going to reveal who he is; he was going to tell his secret...
Again, the traffic to his site increased. People said 'We love you'. Others said 'We miss you'. Some others however professed their undying loyalty to him and had setup secondly RSS feeds/aggregators to find any clues to his sites. Others had genetic algorithms running on the next version of Deep Blue connected to Wikipedia and a pirated version of Encarta to decipher a meaning using his 'alleged' hidden clues.
And then came '22 8 2030'. People flocked to his url. M$, Yahoo and Google gave freely downloadable desktop aggregator programs which would stream the latest post from his site. Three of them even offered a free T-Shirt with "22 8 2030" on it for the first 5 thousand people who would download their own aggregators without using the competitors' product. Google even had its blogger modified to be able to stream the words to people's TVs, Desktops, mobile phones as soon as started typing on the keyboard. The stage was set.
And then a cornucopia of mobile ringtones flooded the silent hushed world. The screens went black and letters started appearing on the boards everywhere in a green phosphorescent glow. With Multiple language support enabled, and online text to speech converters available, everyone across the world could see what the English speaking world was seeing too!
"Hi" - The first sentence flashed.
"How long has it been that you went into the real world and talked to the people? When did you give a visit to the local park and played with with your dog? When was the last time you closed your eyes, tasting the sweetness in the lips of your lover, when they gave you a wonderful kiss? When was the time you walked? When was the last time you slept because you were physically maxed out? When was the last time you stopped visiting this site?"
"For me, it has been a long time, ages. And now I come to say to you just three words: Life is beautiful. Leave this place. Forget that it exists. Remember to forget that it ever existed. Forget that it even serves any purpose. Forget that it means anything to you at all. Just let go. Go"
"--Anon" - And it blanked out in farewell. No one believed what was written; No one believed it was him talking.
They just closed the browser window...
*Dedicated to the tens and hundreds of bloggers who are now a part of my existence and conscience*
KoPoS, 5:20:00 PM
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Sincere. Honest. Subtle.
I had an important assignment to attend to yesterday afternoon; but one glance at the movie going on and I postponed the assignment there and then.
I love Swades for so many things it tells and so many things it knows are not reason enough. Its a movie truly true to its roots; reflects the sense and sensibilities of the people involved; an NRI on a short trip who finds himself in the middle of a society that doesnt value humans nothing more than carriers of customs & typecasted social roles; of a self-employed teacher in a remote school disappointed with the apathy of the people towards education and social empowerment and also the emigrating educated indians; 'pancham' of the village helpless unable to make that shift from being the harbingers of a rigid social customs to that of harbingers of progress & also unaware of taking that first step of making a change; hapless people of low-caste oppressed, meekly accepting their social & economic condition, slowly adapting to changes.
A simple tale told with overflowing honesty; simplicity and brutal self-introspection. This is one movie that is ruthless honest to its core; never stopping to take any honest audience to their own guilt trips; each in a role suiting their own; that of a typical elder unable to accomodate the changes to social eyeview; fleeing brainpower to work for their own good; helpless good-thinking people who cannot but go with the flow...
Brilliance is all there is to the film. 25 paise a cup of water thats sold. Social outcasting of villager who wants to move to farming from that of his traditional blacksmith. The debate of progress & 'sanskriti, parampara', and that of a great nation. Cant help it; this is one wonderful movie.
So many subtle expressions through the eyes...
And its only in the following lyrics I find the true meaning to god.
Raam hi to karuna mein haiRaam is in compassion
shanti mein Raam haiRaam is in peace
Raam hi hai ekta mainRaam is in unity
pragati mein Raam haiRaam is in progress
Raam bas bhakton nahiRam is no only in his followers consciousness/thinking
shatru ki bhi chintan main haibut also in his enemies'
dekh tajke paap RaavanRaavan, give up your sins
Raam tere mann main hainand you will see Raam in your heart
Raam tere mann main hainRaam is in your heart
Raam mere mann main hainRaam is in my heart
Raam tere mann main hainRaam is in your heart
Raam mere mann main hainRaam is in my heart
Raam to ghar ghar main hainRaam is in every home
Raam har aangan main hainRam is in every compound
mann se Raavan jo nikaaleWhoever has removed Raavan from his heart
Raam uske mann main hainwill find Raam in his heart
KoPoS, 1:02:00 PM
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