Just before I vanish from this blog:

Ya dEvi sarva BUtESu Sakthi rUpENa samsthita

namstasyai namastasyai namastasyai namon namaha

——-

BadrankaraneBihi SrunayAma dEvAhA

Badram paSye mAksha Bir yajatrAha

stirE rangaistuSTuvAgam sasthanUBihi

vyashEma dEva hitam yadaayuhu

swastinah indrO vrudda SravAha

swasthinah pUSa viSwa vEdAha

swasthinastArkshyo ariSTa nEmihi

swasthinO bruhaspatir dadhAtUh

Om shanti-hi shaanti-hi shaanti-hi

-Atharva SIrsha

After a broken marriage which started falling apart since the first night, it was a matter of when than if I needed a change. After the strip tease I was subjected to, inadvertently in the middle of the streets and at odd hours by her, I made up my mind. I waited for my exams to be done with and then went and gave up my blues. This time I chose each part, with correct specifications to suit my taste and built the whole body with my own hands. Its probably the first time I built some thing fully on my own, and enjoyed the experience very much. Each part being first tested and tasted for the service it needs to provide and for its functional fitness. Finally I brought home a white serene angel. I know every corner, every contour and every joint of her. And now, I am in peace with every piece of her.

Cut the crap; gave up my old bike for another!

jaane kis bahar ke chaawon main ,
paida hote hain ye khvab,
duniya ke is paar tak aaya,
koi aashiyaan nazar nahi aata.

kis pal ke tasavvur se nikale,
itni jindagi gujaari par,
ek pal ki tasabassum ki tasalli bhi nahi,
sirf imthihan ka daldal hi sahi,

ek bar hame bhi navazo
apani ronak se, aabaad hame hone do ,
mere dil ke naseeb me
dard ke dariya ka kinara tum ho

I survive by accidents.
One such happened last fortnight. I got a used bicycle. She is embedded with all the faculties like gear at both stretches of chain and a shock absorber. HER BLUE BODY , well what to say!

The second day she dropped her peddle. uff.. Since, I don’t have a lock for her nor space to keep her in the office , I cant take her to school every day, yet, for there is no safety.

After many false starts I went to a bike-shop to realize to fix her it would cost me nearly $80. After spending another $40, I have spent my vegetable-fortune of this month. I still have to get a lock.

How the spending is getting spiraled !

But I was told I over paid for her. And I am still… paying….

After leaping over seven seas, I go back two centuries to Mirza Galib.

Hazaaro khwaahishe aise ke

har khwaahish pe dum nikale!

bahut nikeale mere armaan

phir bhi kum nikale….

–

Thousands of such wishes

For each, my heart [life] goes out…

A Lot of aspirations, I spend

yet , they fell short …

Its time I get real. My life was always at risk. I was busy surviving all the time. When would I LIVE?

Ah, This is it!

I give it to LIFE. NOW.

tat deva lagnam sudinam tat eva

taara balam chandra balam tat eva.

——————-

What to do of the letters

I write and put in my bag

for I know not where you are,

I live here with my silence,

words and untold heart

what else are you up to ?

I sketch your body with curves

But I stop doing the face

why are you still hiding?

I know not your name

Come in front of me to hold me

And say You really are the One.

I am revisiting concepts of orthogonality in my studies. As most of the things, the corruption in the world has many dimensions. One of them falls on time scale. I have found the exact measure of the instantaneous value corruption in the actual universe, when sampled daily.

For each day, it is equal to the number of seconds that pass between my alarm ringing and my getting up!

Today it measured exactly 5 hours. Hell with me…
Worst men discuss men.

Worse men discuss situations.

Bad men discuss ideas!

Inshaallah…. My back pain should reduce a bit today.

The violence and the operation had screwed up my posture.

Let me shut up now. Today I am too corrupted.

I read sUryana kudure by Ananthamurthy. ..not bad…very stylish.
I skimmed through BhAratIya Kavya mimAmse … by ti nam SrI … its good. But for my demands on time it deserved more attention.
I read BhAskara paTElaru matthu nAnu , a transaltion of a malayalam story by Paul Zakaria, founder of asianet. That story was also made into a movie by Adoor titled “Vidheyan”. Its outright in the Chekov class. Goddaamit. It is in the monthly Kannada Magazine Mayura. If you get a chance, then read it. May be movie is also good, but I don’t understand a word of Malayalam except korangan which means monkey. What a hell of a story. ayyayyappO
I asked the CD shop guy to give me. He seems not to have it.
What an irony! Prashant could see Vidheyan, 8 and half, Apu trilogy and all such movies at U of California, here we get nothing!!! of course nothing but the ever available nameless ones!!! (:-…..
Recently whizkid Dr Terence Tao got Fields Medal, Dr.Kiran Kedlaya missed(:-( [two more chances only! ] and Dr Perelman rejected it…Ayyaayyappo
I was told by the photographer today, at the photo shop that my face is not photogenic (:-( because I open my eyes too much … I believe his reason has some thing to it (:-(
My back pain is still a worry, mind is absolutely blank, work is not moving…

Tomorrow I shall launch…. Allah ho akbar.

First my cool,

then my curtsy,

last my silence.

My cool our pleasure
my curtsy my present choice
my silence to move ahead

I was watching a discussion between two guys on TV a few years ago.The first guy said, in the past 1000 years of literature in the Indian subcontinent, there has never been any real Indian drama. Either the plays were written in Sanskrit which was excluding the cognizance of the working masses, as the stories evolved around the kings and Gods or at the other end, the dramas that might have popped up in the folk lore were in vernaculars, and very specifically insulated from the life of the people with other tongues. And only after the independence the united Indian subcontinent has life that is lived in tandem, and the dramas coming out of such a life, are the only ones that can be called Indian Dramas.And among the lot, the pick are Badal Sircar and you.
The second guy[famous for his half-truth... yeah screen-play titled so] said you too.Actually its all the three.
Yeah, as you might have expected both agreed with their great analysis.

A decade later, saying “Rushdie is not a phenomenon, but she is: with one novel, got an international award, became rich, famous and gets media attention.”
the first guy wrote a play called “Heap of broken Images”, claiming only those who write in their mother tongue can do justice to literature. Well, he seems not to have got the money or fame she got with this effort too.
This she, is interestingly described by Tarun Tejpal as
“with aerobically toned sexy body has the biggest balls for an Indian writer, who is  generous both with her time and money”.
But the point is , there was a folk art form all the time, which would cater to the poor working classes, in vernaculars as oral tradtion. Usually the players and the writers would be one/many of them, with some extra verbal skills, and used as time pass during the monsoon times, when no work on fields was due.
There were second type of itinerant performers who would come perform amongst these simpletons, and be paid in cash or kind[mostly], for the entertainment they provided. These were a bit more devoted and would be either more political social or mystic in their literary creations. I know some of the marvelous folklore from my own village and surroundings coming down for centuries. These literary works usually were performed by a single person, as “pada”s viz ge ge pada, kamsaLe pada etc or else with a group of 3 to 5 people, usually of the same family. They were again supported by the village working class, not the rich Zamindars, nor patronized by temples. Since they were dedicated to the art form for their livelihood, as a rule, their creations have more artistic attributes, than the once-in-a-while singing and dancing done by the working folks them selves.

The other major part of their performance was the mystic element which would bring God and his favors with in the reach of the religiously kept-out people. This inspired the workers to patronize them for more than entertainment-value of the performances.
On the other side there were Bhasa,KALidasa in Sanskrit and in vernacular pampa ranna and so on directly having the royal patronage.
The two started loosing distinction slowly in the middle ages during elaborate productions arranged for the working classes by the land lords. Yakshagaana etc and finally leading to touring talkies natakagaLu and nataka companies, like gubbi company etc .
During the same time the politico-economic status of the country was also undergoing severe changes, as to shift the balance of profitable remuneration, from the rich few patrons to the large number of working class. Here what worked was the number. Each paying an anna would be a huge amount compared to the patronage of the numbered rich.
So, finally this impact also got into the story lines of the content. The stories of kings were also there, but the stories of people like those in the audience started getting prominence. Thus we have landed up with the master pieces of Dhuttargi like Sampatthige SawAl etc.

The key factor, here is , in both form and content , the dramas all the while, were tailored to the paying audience. That’s it.
There is no more esoteric factor to it.
If Indiana Jones has an Indian element in the story line, the Indian market is also millions strong.

The writer, can write about the life he has lived and things he/she has strong relation with, thematically. But he always tries to tailor it to be affective to the paying masters. Hence the source coding and channel coding.

The form and content are decided by only these two, and manifested as per the artistic capabilities [prathiBhe] of the artist.

Recently, after inspiring (?) collection of or due to “the heap of broken images”, he has come up with his first Originally-English Play .

did you say
PLAYING BY THE RULES OF THE GAME?

Udara nimittham bahukrutha vesham !!!

One bored afternoon, I went with Raaga to attend the lecture of Srinivasan,[hoping my memory is serving well about his name], Cambridge trained micro economist, teaching at IIM Kozhikode. By then I was understanding economics well. To put it straight, while figuring out to live with out an income (:-(, I had touched the base.

In the lecture, while he was writing the equations and graphs I was , for a change, following everything he said.

Then asked the question

“what will happen in the limiting case of the integral which he was putting as the function to represent the distributed economic status of everyone in the society, nation,organization and government , with an inter linking, and inter reflecting nature?”

“Well, I dont know about any such limiting case, you must ask that fellow he is a mathematician , I am not!” …….straight came his reply.

But the professor sitting beside, with one of the more beautiful smiles I have seen, said,

“Idi Amin”.

And at the world level? I quipped !

Don’t we know! he smiled:

I smiled too!

Well, it seems only two of us were making sense of the lecture, rest were having, after lunch effects including the speaker!

I realized. I realized I had hope, my world has a place in reality and vice versa.

Five years before this event, a writer went to his auditor’s house, on a Sunday morning. Since the auditor would never come out of his room even a minute before the appointment, the early visitor was kept waiting in the hall, and was also treated with the rice bread ( Akki rotti, kai chuntney, world famous in that whole town) by the auditor’s wife. Since the writer was in a jovial mood, the auditor’s house wife, who had read all his novels; given as the complimentary copies, even before publications, complained, in her characteristic way,

“Yen Saar, eshTondu vOdiddEra, Adru nim muKKHadalli saraswathi KhaLene illa, neevu adyen bareethiro, jana adyen vodthaaro, naan bere kaaNe!”

With the mouth full of the delicious Akki-rotti and Chutney, the author could not give any reply before the moment passed to next in the conversation, but made an expression, which was too difficult to categorize as either acceptance or denial.

Since then, not going by that advice, he kept on writing books and that house wife read each of them, only to comment after finishing each, thale thinthaan aa vayya!

This author has recently written a ‘cover’ story, in his vernacular. A lot of debate has come and still going on, about it. After all why does any one write like that, which has communal LOOKING Bhava?

Usually at the limiting case of the persona, each one either knows how to leave, or how to get: he/she is usually an opposer or a supporter, when resolved ACTually. By figuring out a greater thing than any thing previously they are identified with, by supporting it, by adding value with their own individual experiential pedigree, they usually gain the greater acceptance and relevance. On the other hand, the other kind would also figure out the same thing but would find the most fundamentally antagonizing aspect to that power to oppose, again to get the same result of gaining greater acceptance and relevance. In both ways they would have increased one more dime in their value.

So, after achieving great linguistic craftsmanship and literary artistry, it becomes important to apply it to those things which matter most to those who matter most in the world, who can, in return, reward with what matter most. This decides the path that each one takes, depending on one’s the personal temperment, background and stamina.

See you can either win for Uncle Tom as Hemingway, or loose against it for Her Majesty as Eliot, to reach Stockholm. Both way it works the same.

This distinction is so easily manifested, by the titles of antagonizer’s works …. the list goes on

The Waste Land, Disgrace, Satanic verses, One hundred years of solitude, now on a minor scale this “cover” story um …

“He wrote great works before his 30. But since then people wont read him, critics don’t like him”, said Nadira Khanum about her husband.

“No body wanted him when he started, I mean his writing” says T Tejpal about the same guy.

Then he wrote about all that he could relate to in his pedigree, and just took the stand , which would look appropriate to those who matter most!

So,as an example which most likely to be in the mind scape of my reader;

Remember the sense of last two pages of “India, an area of darkness” ; meaning…

“Why did I ever bother about India?

As the aeroplane was about to land,

I was nearing Milan one of the most sophisticated cities of the modern times.”

He can only write about what he belongs to, but has to uphold the perspective as to relate to the one who matter most!

And then he wrote about those suppressed civilizations and their dangers to the Uncle, which on that 9-11 came true. With in weeks, pat came his Stockholm call.

[ Similarly, the uncle told another colored MIT MBA, with a white wife, heading an office; which no one listens to yet, to be peaceful while he tests his toys at some desert lands. He was. So, for his peaceful conduct, he too along with his peace loving office got a Stockholm call ! ]

So, a wild [mod[x] ie |x|]measure can be made that 9-11 was a job worth two dynamite medals in its impact! albeit in the other way!

Their lies the clue. But to add the vitality to those stands, both kinds, never the less have to live it all, and spend them selves, if they have enough virtues to!

Else , weep on saying

The woods are lonely dark and deep,

But I have many promises to keep.

Miles and miles to go before I sleep.

Miles and miles to go before I sleep.

Now the equations of Srinivasan, would culminate, well on the world stage, with the well implied entity, with its religious, political, economical and social facets. So, in every walk of life, ubiquitously every one is climbing the same rope, of course along its different threads.

90 years ago, when there was a voice differing from that of a naked fakir, who was thorn in the raj, they hurried to legitimize it internationally, with the Stockholm call, even if the lone supporter in Yeats too did not take it long to classify his work as “sentimental rubbish”.

Recently, another client of that same auditor had deleted my “write up on his student and friend”, , form his “signature” blog.

“HenDathiya koNeya baagilannU thatti, appaNe padedu voLa hOguva nEnu saBhya, Adare subbaNNa kakka santha… “Clip Jiont

Of course he has more than his writings to reaffirm in his affiliations along many threads of that rope.

Well, he climbed the rope long ago, and reached the Jain foundation’s podium.

Now this another author who recently wrote his much debated book, has found a way, appropriate to his antagonistic persona, to oppose the most opposed by those who most matter, to move towards that podium.

Didn’t that great communist and socialist writer, in Tamilnadu, in a matter of two years of shockingly saying “what the uncle Tom does is right”, get the Jain-call to the podium last year?

After all why else would Eliot say, that ticket to Stockholm is one’s ticket to ones own grave. After that one can rest in peace!

So, instead of debating and opposing him, in print or blogs, just wait for that Jain foundation’s call. That would end his progression!

Well, even that ever impatient, roughly elephant; left out of its group[hinDanagalida ontTi salaga], also said during his Jain-call year,

“Iddiddralli Jainaru paravaagilla. dAna dharma mADthAre!”

Anti-incumbency factor may turn the next government at the parliament to those, who can find this ‘cover’ story interesting, for its scope of use,misuse and abuse they can make of! and then …. that all awaited call!

Even now, the lady [un]luck , who can put her devine mark on the 2 Rupee coin, may push for a call!
Its all in the game.

[Yeah, there is that great surprise when our neighbour refused that dynamite money, saying it would be demeaning to be compared with Henry Kissinger who had made a Sweden trip earlier.]