I am scared of reading classic literature. I am too much into non-fiction & that proves a definite hindrance in liking literary narrations. Besides, I read so much by contemporary writers and the english writing style has undergone such metamorphosis over the last couple of centuries that I feel a strange fear of not comprehending classic literature that is widely acclaimed to be a treasure. I'm apprehensive because I might suddenly find myself too dumb to grasp it. Something similar happens when I write. Rather when I deter myself from writing. Again it's the fright of revealing to myself how miserable a writer I am.

For a change though, my curiosity won over my apprehensions. I began reading Dickens. A tale of Two cities. I haven't even gone 50 pages into the book byt I must admit I am already in love with his approach. Rather than narrating events frame by frame helping the reader form cinematic images, he concentrates more on expressions and emotions obviously the factors that appeal to him the most. Like Monet. Like other impressionists.

I just hope my patience with the ancient writing style is strong enough to help me read the whole book. Or my curiosity wins over my boredom of the long, twisted & creepy sentences.

I hate her. For waking me & granny at 2 am. For making me give her Electral water. Making granny sit with her for an hour. And of course for suddenly getting up like nothing happened & declaring she'll go sleep now everybody else can do the same. I hate that sort of nerve! Everybody goes through stomach upsets. And how about some gratefulness to people who need do nothing for you but still do their best to keep you entertained.

You Are Teal Green

You are a one of a kind, original person. There's no one even close to being like you. Expressive and creative, you have a knack for making the impossible possible. While you are a bit offbeat, you don't scare people away with your quirks. Your warm personality nicely counteracts and strange habits you may have.

What Color Green Are You?

Cats interest me in many ways. Incidentally, I hate them. But although I'm a dog lover, I find the behavior of cats remarkable. They remind me of lions, tigers & other big feline predators. If you have seen a cat in pursuit of a mouse, You'll know what I mean. The same sharp claws, hungry eyes, needle sharp teeth & the very beautiful & attractive gait of a world class athlete. We have domensticated and tamed many animals. & they have forgotten how to be wild. Cattle for example. Dogs of course. Most horses. But not cats. The transformation of a cat from a lovey dovey pet that yearns for food & touch into a fierce predator at night must be seen to be believed.

If you ever notice a group of cats just ambling around or may be resting at midday, you would have noticed the remarkable similarity in the body postures & actions of the whole group. The famous NatGeo film in which three lions yawn one after another is a perfect example of what I mean. Desmond Morris calls it 'echo'. May be an extreme frequency of echo actions among cats is where the word copy 'CAT' originates.

Something interesting you can do to indulge in nature while still living in a crowded metro like Bombay is to watch a cat teach its kittens. You'll instantly know how crucial 'echo' actions and imitations are to animal learning. This is an entertaining excercise you can do even to learn a lot about us humans. Why a kitten jumps blindly after its mother on a slippery bark of a tree even after slipping off it several times is something that reveals a great deal about why babies cry first and laugh later. Of course, laughter is an acquired action, manifested only after observation of others while crying is an instinctive one.

Well, I'll continue my 'cat watching' & give you an update soon.

The joy of having finished a knotty assignment it quite different. It's a sort of satisfaction I get out of completion. More than that, it's a celebration of having worked hard, slogged it out, gotten hands dirty. Always loved that feeling. Of course, forced labour doesn't make me as happy. But I like cherishing these moments of completion.

I think these will appeal to a die hard Bombayite absolutely in love with the autorickshaw. It's Bangkok.

It arrived in a beautiful black cardboard box one day. And yeah, Bono seemed in his spirits on the cover. Also the pretty black leather case.

The i-pod changed my life in more than one way. First I began carrying its added weight through the Bombay local trains. Now thats quite a feat of sorts. Then I turned the volume so high that I could reel with the music even in the noisiest trains. Then I feared I'll go deaf & toned it down.

My CD players died. Well they had a special nack for occasionally going into hibernation. They used to refuse to wake up unless somebody sat with them for a couple of hours and stuck a few hurting objects deep inside their ears. Screwdrivers or that sort. Now I've put them to sleep forever. Speakers are suddenly an object of the past. At least walkmans ran out of batteries and forgetful individuals (like yours truly) had to turn the big brother on when he felt too lazy to walk and buy dry cells. 'Tablet like cells walon ki toh baat hi kuch aur hai!'. ;-)

The i-pod made me reliant on music. Made me wonder how I used to spend those hours crammed into oblivion in the ruthless crowds of the trains. That reminds me - I used to read in trains once upon a time. And obviously the crowds have grown with geometric proportions if I can't read any more.

Spending an idle hour with Beatles, Floyd or Dylan and occasionally with Maiden or Tree is a special joy. After hearing some of them again and again and yet again I know they give you more than what first appears. Music that reveals more each time you hear it. Whatevaaaa.......

People can be weird. I ought to be crowned their Prince. Perhaps King. Well, keep it just Prince. Take my thoughts for example. They are a homogeneous mixture of logic and disorder. I have spent many hours hating all ism's & logy's for haunting me constantly and complicating life. Then I think I myself am an ism of sorts. I can't go beyond the boundraries imposed by my prejudices. But I intend to be free of all of them.

Whenever with great care I try jotting down words, they make their appearance in patches. As if they hate me. Or worse still I hate them. Can't quite pinpoint.

There are times when I don't want to move my bum. Like the sky will shower the world's pleasures upon me & I don't need to desire as I deserve them by birthright. Somewhat like Howard Roark being degraded by praise. And then there are times when I curse myself for being a lazy bum. I don't even remember how many endless hours I have spent dreaming of a perfect world. And the white paint of the ceiling has dulled by my burning stare. Then I scream at myself for being such an equalist. Dog eat dog Rat eat Rat, Crock style, Boom like that.

I prefer clear daylight and yet I feel a cozy comfort in the darkness of the night. Solitary mindgames after all.

Read 'Timoleon Vieta come home' by Dan Rhodes. Nice novelwith lots of grey in it. I did not quite understand why Cockroft had to be gay. I don't have issues with homosexuality. Perhaps its Cockroft's dependence on the dog that Rhodes wanted to stress upon. Homosexuality seems to accentuate the psychological needs of a man by making him reliant upon the oppsite sex for a lot more than just sex. May be that's what love is all about. May be love goes beyond physicality. IS it necessarily devoid of sex? I don't know. May be yes, may be no. May be that's what the dog was all about. Complete devotion in love. Men seem to make wonem the target of their residual anger. The Bosnian kills the dog after all.

Rhodes is a very powerful author. 'Unputdownable' as it goes. The canvas of the dog's journey linking unknown characters together is fabulous. Seems a new idea to a strager to literature like me. May be it's not. The Chinese girl is unforgettable. I wanted to keep with me forever a picture of a Chinese girl that appeared in one of the news papers. And then I remembered her anguish. Don't even want to think what happens when someone cause their father's death. Blacker than coal. The heart I mean.

Is it humanly possible to get out of one's mind & write?

S has been up & about. She wants me to write. Some time ago I used to. So what if just in a diary? And so what if the diary never went beyond ten pages? I deserve a consolation prize if I can't win a writing competition.

That's so much like Freud's alter-ego. Mind's defence. Flatly, my shame of being a miserable writer won out against the hope of some day writing some sense, every time I started writing. I've lost count of how many times this has happened.

I'll tell my shame to simply fuck off now.

There was a time when I was grown up
I'ld go to school with a head full of ideologies then
Wanted to change the world back then
Wanted to fall in love
And the blue of the sky & the green of the grass
Were the colours of my life back then

Then something happened
I learned to talk
I began appearing myself to the world
And so conveniently they forgot that I spoke
May be they had learned to hear then
Sound took away the feel of us

The unfolding landscape tried to embrace
Us and our dreams
And then just like morning dew
Few drops of rain may be
I felt so light I drowned
Just to refloat and then drown again

Now the world is not so simple
The highs and the lows
Cannot be fathomed
Feels like I'm a child again

Untitled - Can some one tell me what this means?

He's been a good man all his life. Professionally he's in the most corrupt field of all times perhaps. He's stayed honest there. He has paid the price for being honest there. It breaks my heart to make him lie. It breaks even more because he's lying, the last thing he would do in his life for his own sake, & he's lying for me. What awaits me in the afterlife? Hope someone questions me after my death, Suddenly I want to believe.

So Amitabh Bacchan got D.Lit. today. The Marathi daily 'Loksatta' carried a front page story: Amitabh steals 75,000 sq. ft. of land in U.P. Amitabh has been the biggest tax evader after Dhirubhai Ambani. He donated Rs. 5 Crore to a temple after his recent illness. I wonder if he filed receipts to use u/s 80G. OR does he simply not bother? After D.Lit. and M.P. he may contest for Loksabha. Perhaps even Presidency. Already we have Bacchan Mandirs. Then we can have Amitabh's famous single sided coin (of Sholay fame) replacing the Ashok Chakra on the national flag.