tat sat

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

Published in: on December 31, 2007 at 2:13 am  Comments (1)  

Aur Ab

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

Published in: on November 13, 2007 at 12:41 am  Leave a Comment  


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.

Published in: on November 10, 2007 at 3:32 am  Leave a Comment  

The measure

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.

Published in: on June 20, 2007 at 8:11 am  Leave a Comment  

On the way…

First my cool,

then my curtsy,

last my silence.

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

Published in: on May 24, 2007 at 11:27 am  Leave a Comment  

All in the Game

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.]

Published in: on May 11, 2007 at 10:11 am  Leave a Comment  


Two young men, take the blame

One is Praveen, Zahir, other’s name

One means expert; other, to express

My word has both, in Its Flame.
Poor are their hearts

Dull are their wits

who only need, in tiny bits

even the cake and such sweets
They are seldom eaten so

Cherry once, once the flour

Half the distance, for a step

One seldom reaches the door

Published in: on May 8, 2007 at 2:22 pm  Leave a Comment  

All in the name

What’s there in the name?

As per the traditions, some typical jobs, works, posts, and such would end up as the surnames along the generations. It’s a ubiquitously prevalent practice all over time and space. Now I have been mesmerized by two names, rather what has happened around them.

Kempu means red color in kannada. When used in names, to ease its contiguous pronunciation and conjunction with other parts, it would turn to kempe or kempa as in kempa-amma or kempe-rAya etc.

wruddi means development.

wrudda means developed or one with attainments and accomplishments.

grAma wrudda means some one who is well developed (rich) and prominent in the whole village.

During its etymological metamorphosis it turned out to be gAvuda and now gowda.

The most prominent with that name in the recent history, is Shree Kempe Gowda maharaja, the leader who is credited to have built the town, which eventually developed into today’s

70kms away, the name that was making rounds during those days in my school and our dinner-conversations was that of an exclusive shop, full of toys and dresses for kids. It never made any sense to me who spent quarter century waiting for those parcels of old discarded cloths from the affluent
Mysore relatives. But it’s name was interesting. It was named Kids Kemp.

Located in the road named after the king, the second part is derived from his name. It was a Kid’s shop on KempeGowda road, hence Kids Kemp.

More than a decade later, that shop opened a bigger branch on Airport road. But the name was Big kids Kemp. This was a very important step in proliferating the word Kemp out of Kempe Gowda road. It had started to signify, more of less, a niche shop. It had assumed a meaning of its own.

Recently I saw a make shift saari shop named Sri Lakshmi Saari Kemp, and another make shift niche shop selling 15 types of Dosas named Ganesh Dosa Kemp. The evolution was complete. Only entry into Webster’s is pending now!

All this happened in front of my own eyes, in a matter of two decades. Is this called Globalization?

The second case is more involved.

It is a tradition that has some living and many not so, examples.

In the earlier days, I mean before three thousand years or so, it was of great importance to maintain the fire, for its many utilities in the house. So, each day the men of the house, would take care of keeping a fire burning at some designated place non-stop. This ritual was called agni kArya, and those who did it religiously were called agnihOthri. This has even come down to present times in some families I know.

[Many of those families talk only in Sanskrit in their homes, making it difficult to discern the nuances of our reception. One day, when I visited one such family, their 3 year old kid was incessantly plucking my pen from my pocket, to play with it. I was in a fix; could not even reprimand the kid nor allow it to play with my pen, which could get damaged in its hands. Then intervening,  its mother shouted “nA Karomi vatsA” , interestingly that naughty kid understood and went off, to play with his own toys.This brought to my mind a story by Gorur. In that story, during a ShrAddA in a similar Sanskrit speaking family, a kid was playing with a ball, which went into the ritual area. The head of the family became angry and wanted to shout in kannada MumDe ganDa , but had he uttered any non Sanskrit word his vow would be broken and he had to take bath and do other purifying rituals to cleanse him back from the loss of vAkShuddi. Then he shouts vidhavA pathi!!]

But that is fine if the name indicates their acts. Else too, if they take a liking to those acts once done by their fore fathers, ok, “to each his own.”

Don’t raise eyebrows about Rathi Agnihothri’s Cabarets!!

But there was a YagnyA, performed during Vedic times, and the most recent record of it I heard of, was in late 1800s. In that a very healthy, fully adult cow would be sacrificed. Since those rituals are very rare, for any one who accomplished them, following all their intricately specified rules and regulations, usually a title would be given to him bearing the name of that YagnyA. Since such accomplishments are rare it is a norm to carry such a title for generations too. Now there is a great cry to stop the cow slaughter by many people and there are congregations and movements in that accord. Even a political party with that as one of its manifesto came to power at the centre and established their leader as the prime minister of

The name of that YagnyA is VAjapEyA and one who does it is given the title VAjapEyi.


shAnthi shAnthi shAnthi-hi!!!

Published in: on May 7, 2007 at 1:03 pm  Leave a Comment  

We Wake

The midsummer night's dreams are becoming 
too indulging that they  stretch in time
 all day.The reality seems one of the 
options for mind, where  as to not to loose 
myself from its option I need to bootstrap our
  status quite cohesively albeit with some morbid 
disentanglement from the  long acquainted way
 ward traits. The whole thing culminates in the day's
  cliffs and troughs , getting assimilated by 
evening of the evening into  the dark night which 
leaves me to me, to gaze at the past rage,enrage
  and the garbage since dawn.The whining pathos some 
times pull me to the  edges of the known world into
 uninhabited spaces.On one such occasion  I bought 
a weekly which sells at the shop, only 3 copies a week 
 compared to the popular one which does 25. While
 going through that diverged  progeny of its parent
 weekly, I saw a book being serialized in it.It is  
a scathing take on the first epic of our civilization.
 The fact that I  would have undone all the 
civility by that time of the day, does not  
make it an anomaly to look being its reader.
Though it does not interest me  much,I 
flick to the next page. But I cant bury my 
reminiscences  unvoiced, of that book ,  
he had got me to read two decades ago.
The voices of  the past haunt , with its
 image mollifying my fragile serenity. 
The  weekly is Lankesh by Gauri Lankesh and
 the book is Seethayana by  Dr.Polanki Rama Murthy.
   In the dark chambers of the night, as the 
world seems going apart, I  clutch to that 
singularity called hope. The integrity that 
I impart to  it, draining my vitality transcends
 my relevance beyond now.Along with  time.Only
 to discover many new "now"s. Which just toss
 me to the next.The  monotony of this truely 
has reached the nadir now.  The only escape 
from this now is the now of a different kind.
 A fully  actual one, with all virtues and 
the real one. A self contained cocoon  which
 spawns all my restlessness around it like 
the thread which webs  insulating me from 
the chaos in and  around.  During the 
transitive aberrations like these , an 
"interpreter of  maladies" due to the 
"inheritance of loss" it makes.
Then my vanishing  persona wakes.
 yes true.
We wake. 
Published in: on May 7, 2007 at 12:51 pm  Leave a Comment  

Safer World!

One guy lost his mother soon after his birth. He was encouraged to be a learned man, and was tutored a lot in philosophy, oriental mostly. This guy was mainly supported  by his Grandpa who , a rich man, devoting all his resources to make him “wise” and may be enlightened. Suddenly his grandpa died (:-( . This guy lost direction, left college, went on shouting from as many podiums as he could, he went out of his mother organization shouting at its poster boy some horrible shit, got married blew up all his grandpa’s money, had three kids, moved out of family, got some other patron in a lonely European woman (what is it with these single western women? Do  they think oriental guys as some hunky mysterious, and fascinating? ). Lived with her on her money; May be he wanted more!, so one day said , in the words of  G-1, “Bulb hathkothu”= “I am enlightened”. He from then on revived his shouting, this time with lowered sound and greater malice. In small groups and staying amongst those who paid his bills. Finally he died.

Alas, the world has less audio noise for his demise, and much less malice and contempt in air.

There is a guy who, usually takes Hollywood stories, Pakistani music , casts non-superstar materials and churns out films, when he is not “selling his wounds”[in affective way] as he ran out of them due to his rate of blabber. This guy befriended that recently died guy, 3 decades ago, to come out of the clout of another “enlightened ” man. He seems addicted to the need to cling to one or the other. This late guy was a master in getting guys clinging to him[paying his bills!], by telling they are not.

The poster boy of his former mother organization was famous for “making his listener’s head empty” putting them in “pathless land”, while this guy was notorious for making the listeners’ “heads missing” , applying Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle to people, or some thing close to it, challenging the notion of their being!

The poster boy died of cancer, while the later due to spasms in his heart last month.

The senior undid all he did, went and apologized to those he had hurt, albeit after they died in front of their graves in secret, while the recently died one was master of saying self-contradictory things.

Both shared their given names. Both felt hopeless about the other, but related to essentially.

In my wandering years, my pathless manners got their stuff visited, and for those memories, here is an obituary.

Thank God, there is death!

Even for …

Mistaken by birth,

Messed up in Life,

Abducted by Salvation,

Rescued by DEATH.

Zindagi veeran banjar

jis se ut gayi basthiya

Zindagi Khola samundar

jis me DUbi kaStiyAn

Jisko kahtE ho Janam

Vo maut kI SuruvAt hi

Zindagi kya bAth hi

Zindagi kya bAth hi

Published in: on May 4, 2007 at 11:27 am  Comments (1)