A Brief History of ...

Happy 20th Birthday!

2011-02-09T09:54:00.000+04:00

And the time had come to sing the Birthday Song.

“So how many years, how many years to go?”

I don’t know, I dunno, I don’t really wanna know.

So how many years, how many years have there been?

Not 17, not 18, and definitely not 19.

Not 21 either, and by continuity

It must be,

20.

20? I asked, and what a strange thing

That is, it’s got a ring,

Like the fellytone, or the weird worm,

That inhabits the innards of one’s being.

But 20 is neither here nor there,

It’s an in-betweener like the fair,

That’s there,

Only in the spring.

An in-betweener, why so?

You ask correctly, gung-ho.

I’m sure you know,

That when a teen you be,

A teen you are,

And when you’re 21

You’re old enough to “have fun”,

And get insurance and suchly.

But one must rightly observe,

That 20 is muchly,

Well and stuckly,

In-between.

Happy Birthday Mansha!!!

A Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T23:49:00.000+04:00

The night was windy, dark and grey,
I really didn't have much to say.
Dreams laid down their silky heads,
And lovers returned to their beds.

The night was windy, dark and grey,
I wasn't working well that day.
Soon the clouds had left the skies,
Lunar loving swept my eyes.

The night was windy, to my surprise.

Philosophy in the Shower : Part 1

2010-09-20T05:23:00.003+04:00

So I've decided to start writing this new "series" consisting of thoughts I've had in the shower that are sometimes more profound than those I have during the rest of the day.

I have a theory about showers. I think that time spent in the shower is not as directly related to "normal" time as you may think. It seems that you can have enough thoughts in the solitude of the shower than would take the rest of the waking day to fill, and the length of the shower to an external observer will only be loosely related to how long you actually spent in it. I'm not entirely certain why this is, but I'm sure you can come up with an explanation. To those who are too lazy to think, I say "Quantum" :)

So I often have this feeling in the shower, that things aren't real, they are merely representations of our belief. This isn't a particularly original thought but it seems to be a lot more plausible in the unreality of the shower. Bayesianism tells us however that if we believe in something with absolute certainty then that belief cannot be changed, whatever the evidence or lack thereof. Since there are many things that I have changed my belief about, it is possible that I only believe in everything around me with some high degree, rather than with absolute certainty. If I could somehow work out how to change that degree of belief, then maybe things could get a lot more interesting.

For instance, I ran out of shampoo today, and I think if I truly believed that there was shampoo in the bottle then there would be. Of course it's quite hard to believe in something that is evidently not true given a previous belief system.

Of course the question now is, if I changed my belief that the shampoo bottle was empty and washed my hair with the resulting shampoo, would the people I meet believe that my hair was not filthy. I think this may be an important point...

I'm not certain what I believe in.

Frustration...

2010-05-31T00:19:00.000+04:00

Ah frustration supreme! When you know the tone, the texture of the story you want to write, nay you have to write, but you can't see the story itself. When you know the characters so intimately, but you have no idea what they should do. Frustration supreme when the words don't flow and you resort to writing blog posts to rid yourself of the terrible writer's block you're having.

Hello.

I want to write an exquisite story, where a champagne bottle is a bird, where there is a delicious sense of irony in every little scene, where figuratively speaking results in figures and metaphors are so real you can taste them.

But the words don't come, and I'm left awake and frustrated at 6am.

Bye,
Mayank.

Existence Proofs

2010-05-05T19:23:00.003+04:00

So hello again. It's been a while.

For a status update, I'm now pursuing my honours in Computer Science at the ANU, attempting to build the foundations of skynet. Also I'm attempting to write my second proper short story, which I hope will turn out to be a lot better than my first attempt last year. That story lacked cohesion, and hopefully I won't have the same problem this year.

Anyway, what I wanted to post about today was proofs for the existence/non-existence of God/gods/etc.

The wiki page http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existence_of_God is amazingly useful for a really good summary.

But here is one argument that is not in that summary.

God is a Contradiction

Anyone having done basic logic knows that from a contradiction you can derive anything.

i.e. p^~p => q . This is called the "Principle of explosion". Now assume there is a Creator. So everything is derived from this Creator. So in some way this assumption of creation is a contradiction from which everything logical can be derived. This does not necessarily imply that God is a contradiction, since the principle of explosion is a one-way implication, however it can be taken as strong evidence for it, since there is no other principle from which everything can be derived.

Notice that what I said was "the assumption of creation", not the assumption of a Creator. The assumption of creation is a much stronger statement. An argument along these lines suggests that the universe was never created, since any object that could derive everything has the properties of a contradiction. So the universe always has been and hence always will be (since this is true from any point in time as we see it).

I'm not sure I actually believe in this particular argument, I could probably poke a few holes in it myself and there are a lot of better ones on that wiki page. But it was an interesting thought I had, and I hadn't posted in a while. So there you go.

Peace.

Mayank.

Thoughts

2009-06-12T23:56:00.004+04:00

Written on 13th June 2009.

It's 5:56am in the morning....

I think most couples in Western society meet under the influence of alcohol. This isn't so prevalent in less westernised societies only because mating is done primarily through the process of arranged marriages. Alcohol is useful in this respect only because it reduces brain function and we rely then solely on evolutionary instinct. Choosing a mate becomes easier, and also a combination of loose inhibitions and lack of judgement result in interesting choices. This post needs to be edited for grammar later.

I think tonight has been significant for me. I'm evaluating my life so far, and discussing future options with a friend. It's not fun. I don't think I like any of my options.

Life seems to be about finding a personal utility function and then maximising it in agent-speak. I'm thinking about trying to specify the entire human experience in terms of a learning agent. Possibly an impossible thing to do, but it could be a learning experience in itself. By trying to model humans as learning agents, perhaps I can add to what a learning agent is lacking, if it is indeed lacking something.

We were told that there were four different definitions of agents in our AI class,

1. Agents that think like humans.
2. Agents that act like humans.
3. Agents that think rationally.
4. Agents that act rationally.

It seems to be the case that we are concentrating on building agents that act rationally, because that's the easiest one out of the lot, none of which are particularly easy. But why would you want to act like a human anyway, when you could be perfectly rational. The distinction between thinking rationally and acting rationally, is of course the distinction between Strong-AI and Weak-AI, at least this is my intepretation.

But then comes the question of morality, how does that fit into this agent model? Is it also part of the utility function, sort of the utility function of society that must also be maximised in order for the agent to survive? I'm not sure. The most fun way to see this would be to program rational learning agents and see if they developed society and morality on their own. The Polyworld project apparently has some instances that did show cooperation between agents as an emergent property, which is very interesting, but I'm not sure that that implies a morality. Also I don't think that a neural net is nearly complex enough to develop to that extent. But anything that is complex enough would take exponentially longer to run.

I need to think about this some more, it's too late at night/early in the morning for this.

The sun doesn't want to rise today, it's already 6:30am.

M

The Lawn Mower

2009-05-02T21:59:00.004+04:00

The Lawn Mower

Crushed along the tiresome road,
A man carries his bag.
As he walks, his weary load,
Upon his shoulders sags.

A passing traveller of remarkable height,
Took pity upon his fellow man,
Carried his load and his plight,
Arm in arm they ran.

They ran, they ran near and far,
Occasionally they travelled by car,
Things they saw and places they went,
Museums and alleyways for the creatively bent.

Finally they reached where the man wants to be,
A horse and a deer were watching tv,
They fought for the remote, the man won on heads,
They used newspaper, plastic and jelly for beds.

Giving for a living, dressing as paint,
No one said the stunt was a feint,
But the man himself knew, this life would end,
He could see it approaching just around the bend.

When it came it was good, it was bad, it was change.
The man said he thought it a bit strange.
But dream as he might he could not find a way,
Around this plight, he decided to pray.

The gods' unsympathetic sent him a swan,
One with no feathers and a beak almost gone.
He stood on the swan like a boat in the water,
All that resulted could be termed swan slaughter.

The gods were no help, oh what could he do?
He struggled and struggled to find something new.
At last he availed, his spirit almost gone,
He became a lawn mower and mowed the lawn.

Angsty Poetry Part 1

2009-02-03T07:16:00.002+04:00

I wrote this a month ago, during the holidays. I'm sure there's more to come :S

Shadow

It stood outside the window,
I was scared to let it in,
It waltzed in anyway, dancing on
Tiny slivers of light.

Suddenly, pulse racing, I awoke,
Little beads of sweat on my forehead.
You calmed me down.

"Breathe", you said and I breathed.
"Trust", you said and I trusted.
"Love", you said and I loved.

Change

2009-01-01T16:04:00.001+04:00

Dream the change. Wasting the life on the tip of the iceberg, relax when you die. It’s the telephone that does it. Remotely screwing the bridge over troubled water. It’s like having a rpc suddenly pull the plug on your computer while you’re still typing a love message to your girlfriend.

Dream the change. One day you might find it. Grasping the smallness of you and the bigness of everything you might be amazed. Write, writhe in passion, fevered and otherwise. Blue is the colour…

Listen to the world. It’s talking to you, no, it’s talking at you. You know it exists. You are part of it, but it does not acknowledge you. You are the liver and the world keeps on drinking, binge drinking and it doesn’t know when to stop. But when you die the world dies and you take comfort in that fact.

Hah you spit on it. The world dies without me, but you know it’s not true. The world has a million replacement livers, there’s a factory just down the road where they build them. Nobody cares about you any more. You have no use, you lie dejected and alone. Heartbroken probably, because while you were trying to get the world to notice you, you didn’t realise that your own world was falling like a house of cards.

Then you cough and die and then your world dies with you. A fragment of the collective reality has been removed, but the shape is still the same. Can you even dream the change that could make such a mammoth into a butterfly? They aren't even the same species.

Crash

2008-09-12T10:30:00.001+04:00

Dream, catch cold on the chest,
Shocking evolution of emotion.
Bang, and the waves are gone,
You only have seconds to duck
Before the next one appears.

Crash and cymbals, the sound
Roaring in your head.
Blink, and its gone again,
Bushfire and dance,
Breaking boundaries in your soul.

Die and you're alive again,
You can never die again.
Drift until the pain is gone,
Drown until the pain is gone,
Drink,and drift, and die and dream.

The Solitude of Despair

2008-08-22T21:19:00.001+04:00

The Solitude of Despair
or
The Despair of Solitude

Gratuitous use of words
In times of self-loathing,
Can often be compared like
A solitary daffodil in a summer wind.

Grains of water falling
Like small brown piglets
Into the mouth of a
Partially handsome bear.

Dreams of consequences
Consequently shattered by
The Burning of a torch
A flame in the dark.

Damn the alternatives,
Evolution must survive!
Can the solitary reaper
Reap forever?

A mewling midget in
a Cavernous room will
Be consumed by darkness
As the sun sets.

A man who sees
Every face but his own,
Travels every truth until
He looks inward.

Ghosts linger
In the spaces where
Caricatures of emotion
Have found themselves.

A blinding light
In the back of one's mind,
Always approaching,
Forever infinite.

Flashes of red blue green
Assault the senses
As the mental breeze
Brushes the mind.

Land and laws
Can be torn apart,
In a cacophony of
Exalted Brilliance.

Let them linger
In the eye of the mind.
You hold on to them the harder,
They slip away.

Console yourself
In the memory of loss.
Bind yourself
In the solitude of despair.
(or)
In the despair of solitude.

Scribblings 2

2008-07-08T12:34:00.001+04:00

The calm before the storm. The eye of the tiger. The small fires lit so that we might keep warm. The cold icy stare of denial. Denial of service. Denial of anger. Denial of fear. Denial of everything that makes us who we are, makes us real. The Grecian urn that stood in the corner of the room, the ashes in it of a man long dead, the smile on the faces of those who were happy when he died, the absence of smiles on the faces of those who weren't. The fruition of the climatic battle, the spiritual revolution. The absence of civilisation, the presence of a being, the absence of being, the complete and total annihilation of spirit. The phoenix rising, the renewal. The reward of false achievement, the anger at realisation of its falseness. The prayer rising in the hearts of the most brave, the fear of death, the fear of life. The songs of the holy, and the truth in the voices of the puppet masters.

God awoke on the first day.
He wanted to know the names of things,
The mountains, the oceans, the seas,
The valleys, the fires, the trees,
Etc.

He could not find the place cards.
So he made the names up as he went along.
Turtles may have come last.

Scribblings

2008-06-14T09:00:00.001+04:00

The thin line between love and hate. The pseudonym that walked the earth in the cold fires of regret. The yearly showers that came, torrents of madness, a sea of terror. The small grim creatures that stared on into this wild change, or was it constant, surely as it recurred year after year. Chaos within order, order within chaos. The smile on the faces of the sad people who tried to withstand the onslaught and were destroyed. The living, the dead, the living-but-not-quite who were worse than the dead. Everyone. Everything. Life.

----------------------------------------------------

A group of nuns walked into a bar. They were bare-faced liars and one of them asked the bartender whether he wanted to be sacrificed to the devil at their next meeting. The bartender replied in the negative. The nuns then ordered tequila and left the bar. The tequila followed them out of the room. As soon as it reached outside the room, it turned into red wine, or was it blood which they drank.

The next morning the bartender was found drowned in a pool of his own blood. There was a word emblazoned on his chest in hot, burning scorch marks, like a sulphur-burning hound had licked them on. It said “Sorry”.

The nuns flew away on their magic scooters, and left the world to its own destruction.

Menagerie

2008-05-13T13:56:00.005+04:00

MENAGERIE

“How are we going to stop this?” the rabbit asked.

“Simple” he replied.

“But how?”

“I don't know yet” he admitted.

He was a smallish, roundish, Turkish-looking eagle with all the markings of a son of the sultanate. He looked at the watch on his wrist.

The rabbit was an insignificant looking female variety of usual carrot-persuasion.

She looked at him in dismay.

“Time is running out”

“I know” he replied.

The Archduke of Canterbury was a small yellow rat who, despite (or perhaps because) of his diminished stature, reduced intelligence and evident affection for filth, was the lord and ruler of the humble kingdom of Canterbury. One point can be made in his favour however, he made good coffee.

(Female rats did claim his whiskers were impressive, but these claims can safely be denounced as mere politeness.)

Today Archie, as he was affectionately known, was going to make a mammoth political treaty, by aligning his small kingdom beside the larger forces of the MMA (Mutual Mammoth Aliance)

(Contrary to the popular belief that mammoths are extinct, mammoths have managed to establish the major kingdom in the dark places of the world. QED – Mammoths are not extinct. In fact in 1954 the MMA leader, Mashoosh “Massive” Mridang managed to .... perhaps a story for another day.)

Poor Archie didn't know however, that the mammoth king planned invade his kingdom during the signing of the treaty, and murder everyone in it, retaining only Archie as his own personal barista.

Meanwhile, through their own “intelligence” two noble citizens of Canterbury had found out about this plan and decided to single-handedly stop its execution. They knew it was a mammoth task and though they did not love their king, he was their properly elected official (the citizens elected their king through a coffee-making competition) and hence worthy of their heroic deeds. However, only three hours were left before the mammoth attack and the rabbit and the eagle needed a plan.

But first things first. At the beginning comes the beginning and other such mutterings.

---

Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived a small toad with his “wife” a blue-bottle. In those days (as is today), interspeceial intercourse was disallowed and so the toad and the blue-bottle used to stare at each other with such longing as can only come from those truly in love.

After three days of continuous staring, the poor creatures' eyes shrivelled away and they were both blinded. Of course, this was the plan, now they could claim blindness as the cause of their illegal interspeceial love. However this tale ends tragically after the blue-bottle was crushed under the toad in a passionate bout of love making a couple of days later.

Since that time, in order to save face and preserve the stability of society, interspeceial intercourse is strictly taboo and punishable by bad coffee.

---

The point of the above story is that one shouldn't judge the rabbit and the eagle. They were too much in love, and there is a precedent.

The eagle suddenly had a plan.

“I have a plan” he said calmly.

“What seriously ?!” exclaimed the rabbit, “well it took you long enough, tell me what it is!”

The eagle whispered the plan into the rabbits ears.

“That's pretty good” she said, “but listen to this!” and whispered something back.

“Brilliant. Let's do it.” he said.

(Now the eagle may strike you as not being very excitable, in fact being completely devoid of expression (notice the absence of exclamation marks) however, he is justified as one must keep calm in the face of danger i.e. mammoths.)

The plan was now underway.

This is how it went, in chronological order.

The rabbit found an owl. (We shall not go into the details of this finding of an owl, it suffices to say it is an occult art and should not be taught or even mentioned to minors.)
The owl was given a problem and was asked for an answer.
After spending half-an-hour internally debating the problem he said he didn't know what the answer was and no-one really could know for sure. Blah blah blah.
The rabbit gave the owl the answer.
The owl was amazed, stupefied and petrified and immediately acknowledged the rabbit as his lord and master.
The rabbit asked the owl to talk to the mammoth king about free will and the nature of the universe for an hour.
The owl, protected at the time by diplomatic immunity, spoke to the mammoth king. (One may ask why the owl had diplomatic immunity, this would be a stupid question and the simplest answer would be that it was an owl.)
The mammoth king's head exploded.
The other members of the MMA made a circle and in a fit of rage killed the owl in the most excruciating way that mammoths possibly can. They then called off the invasion since they were ethical creatures who had just killed a creature with diplomatic immunity, they were shamed and spend the rest of their lives in penance.

The rabbit and the eagle were sad that the owl had died, but were glad they didn't have to become martyrs themselves.

Thus having successfully overthrown the largest kingdom in the dark place and secured the safety of their king, they had illegal intercourse.

Archie was oblivious to the heroism and depravity being committed in his name and lived his life in a continual caffeine high.

A committee of owls met later in the year and decided that the loss of their greatest philosopher was too hard to bear and proceeded to debate determinism for a week without food and water after which they died of leukemia.

THE END... Exeunt ... Finis

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Portrait

2008-03-31T19:05:00.001+04:00

He picked up a sketch pen and drew a picture on the white board. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a vague outline of a face, not drawn well enough to even reveal the sex. But he was happy. He was two.

Then he was five. The woman, it was definitely a woman now, looked back at him. He had drawn in features, little details that only he knew were there, but it still wasn’t complete.

No one else had ever seen this picture, he had drawn and redrawn it a million times, erasing it whenever it seemed likely that anyone was looking, but always managing to reproduce it to the exact point he had left off.

He was 12. Now the picture on the whiteboard, was a painting on canvas, still unfinished, ever growing in complexity and detail, he had even done the shadows and lighting to perfection. He still did not let anyone see it; he had his own room now and his own cupboard.

He was 20, and doing nothing but painting it. It was now on a huge canvas, covering one face of his studio wall. He survived on French fries and pasta and coffee, and made his living as a hooker, just so he could paint.

He was 34.The painting was almost done. As he finished the last stroke he knew he had a masterpiece in front of him. It could be the most magnificent work the world would ever see, and no one had ever seen it. Yet. Her eyes stared out of the painting and seemed to consume him, his living flesh devoured by the intensity of her gaze. He had painted her frowning, but she smiled at him now and bared her teeth. He had never seen those teeth before.

He used a lighter to set the canvas aflame.

The next morning they found him dead with the scorched ashes of his only painting next to him. The remains were arranged in the shape of a woman’s face. They hailed it a masterpiece. Her face was expressionless.

The LAND of the UNDERGUARDED CHANGIS

2008-02-20T15:33:00.001+04:00

Hello and welcome to the new world of global tourism!!! This is being written as I sit in a cogenial atmosphere in Singapore's Changi Airport...If there was no better word for it I'd call it landbarrodastic. But there is a better word, and thats brilliant :)

My travelling companions have been nice so far, one of my mum's friends and her daughter, joining her husband in Sydney to start a new life together. How sweet. However this curtails me from spending lavishly on alcohol at the Changi Airport, which has excellent bars. Meh.

Life is like an onion, it smells bad, makes you smell bad and it has many layers. Also if you cut it, you start crying. Yes that was a very bad analogy, but then the best I could come up with at such short notice. These things require time and energy, neither of which I possess in large quantities.

A German guy on my right just asked me to look after his stuff for a bit. I guess shaving does help the perspective on the Indian image. Now my mum's friend shows up again with a cappuccino. She really is nice.... I ask the German guy how to spell cappuccino. He doesn't know. This is brilliant.

He's been back for a bit, and has finished assembling a phone he just bought. Now talking in German to someone. The German language is really really weird. Especially when being spoken by a German. They actually say 'Jah'. Tis good.

I wonder what he'd think if I told him he was going to be in a blog post. I don't really want to find out though. Always a risky thing.

Heh, must probably go to the boarding gate now. It's 7:30 Sing time. Boarding at 7:50. Ah well.

ciao,

wakau

kau

ps: this kau is in honour of nayantara because she has chicken pox.

Untitled - Chat Conversation Poetry

2008-01-24T15:25:00.000+04:00

These fascinating tidbits arose while in conversation with L.

revelation supreme
in the mind of a cheese burger
how did alice find the rabbits hole
?
it seems like a perversion of nature
yet also sweetly sublime
the fact that a girl could give a rabbit an anal
when she was only 12.

-------------------------------------------'

L: pos

me:

and the weather
today
was charming
v balmy air don't u think?
like a small balloon
in an orang-utan
that refused to go away
or a leather bound patio
covered in pianos
that once discovered it was itching to go
but didn't
because of monetary constraints
and other things like shoelaces
and the lack of food in the Sahara desert
and also the lack of dessert
and wigwams
and jam
and potbellied old men
carrying fiddlesticks
who often played the trombone
but couldn't really coz they didn't own one.

Heh, the things I come up with. :D

-Mayank Daswani.

On the Alienating of Squirrels

2008-01-21T21:34:00.000+04:00

There
is nothing
like alienating squirrels
On a summer evening when
the sky is green
and the
smell of burning plastic
fills the air
like
some nuclear bomb just exploded.
We will all go hunting for
Fornicating,
Frolicking,
Fragrant,
Squirrels.

There is nothing
Like alienating squirrels,
On a cold winter morning,
When the white frost covers
the green gobar grass,
We will sing
softly,
And
They will come,
Silently.
Then we pounce and fry,
Deceive and deny,
Their allegations!
We cook with the finest oils alone,
They are treacherous.

But they taste good,
So we eat them.

-Mayank Daswani

Bookleaves - A Short Story

2008-01-15T22:24:00.000+04:00

This is a short story I wrote for slightly complicated reasons I will not elucidate. It is essentially a children's story with a word limit of 1500 words, on the importance of reading. Hope you like it!

Bookleaves

Ram picked up the book and looked at it weirdly. He’d never seen one before, it was a strange thing to him. People told him that there was a lot of knowledge in books and he believed them. It was just hard now, hard to understand how knowledge, a substance that all the advertisements said was power could be contained in something so small and fragile, something that could be torn and burnt and mutilated in so many ways. Ram was determined to find out how to get this knowledge and then he would be powerful just like the ads said.

However, Ram couldn’t read. He did not know what one did with books. He opened this one and flipped the pages.

Ram couldn’t read because he never learnt how. He’d never been to school and spent his 9 years of existence either working in the tire factory or helping his sick mother round the house. His mother had just died, of heart failure the doctors said, which is what they said if they didn’t know what killed someone, and Ram wanted to unlock the power of the universe to try and bring her back.

He flipped the pages.

He had got this book from a second-hand bookshop. The kindly keeper there had given it to him for free when he’d asked him for the world’s most powerful book. It was titled “Gomathi the Cow and other stories”. Not exactly what Ram was looking for, but everyone has to start somewhere.

He flipped the pages.

Something weird was happening to his fingers. They felt like jelly when he touched the books pages. Suddenly Ram realised he was melting. He was a puddle of purple jelly on the floor in a second. But somehow he was still holding the book in his hands. But his hands weren’t there. Wait, the book was floating in front of him in mid-air. Weird.

He looked around him. Everything was purple, like there was nothing else there just purpleness. He wasn’t standing on anything, he couldn’t see anything not even himself. It was just so ... purple.

Ram accepted the situation calmly. He assumed he’d fallen asleep staring at the book and this was all some weird dream. Then a voice or rather a chorus of voices spoke,

“No this is not some weird dream Ram. You are here for a purpose. Maybe a porpoise. We will help you with whatever you want.”

“Who are you?”

“We are the trinity. The elephant, the turtle and the mouse. The all-knowing, all-powerful trinity who will help you get what you truly desire” said the chorus.

Now Ram wasn’t a stupid nine year old just because he couldn’t read.

“Umm ..what? Do you actually expect me to believe that?”

“Well you’re the one who’s currently goo, you decide..”

“Ah yes. This is just a dream.”

“No.”

“O..k then, so if you’re all-knowing and all-powerful you know what I desire.”

“It doesn’t work that way son. We are after all animals and our hence limited in our knowingness.”

“So you don’t know everything then.”

“Now that’s blasphemy. Do not question your betters impudent child, we are the trinity. We know what you know, even if you don’t know you know it.”

“Huh?”

You see the trinity did know Ram’s desires, and they knew they couldn’t reunite Ram and his mother. After all she was dead and they were just animals. They were all-powerful, but within limits. But they didn’t want to acknowledge this fact.

They told him,

“Listen Ram, what you truly want is to learn how to read which will give you knowledge, and since knowledge is power, you will become powerful...”

“And then I can see Amma.”, said Ram excitedly.

“Well we’ll come to that later. For now, we will give you a telepathic course in reading; you should be reading in about 15 minutes.”

“Wow! What’s tele... what you said?” asked Ram curiously.

“Hmmm, technical term, you don’t need to know.”

“Is it something to do with phones?”

“No. Now just close your eyes and clear you’re head. You will soon know how to read.”

Ram closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then blackness.

15 minutes later...

He opened his eyes, and he was back in purple land. He shouted,

“Can I read now????”

“Yes Ram, you can. You are the first to have ever learnt reading that quick. Now go and devour books.”

“Dev.. what?”

“Never mind, technical term. What we meant was, go read as many books as you can, so you can get all the knowledge in the world and become powerful.”

“Bbb..ut..”

“What?”, they cut him off angrily.

“Where do I get books from? I don’t have any money and I have only one book with me.”

“Ah yes the one you are holding. Test your ability Ram. Read the title!”

“It says, ‘Gomathi the Cow and other stories’. What?? How is this going to give me any knowledge?”

“Ram, do you know anything about books?”

“I only know that they contain knowledge and ..”

“Yes, yes apart from that”, they cut him off, “Of course some books are different. Some books contain stories, like your mother use to tell you when you were young. Stories that aren’t true and aren’t necessary with a point, but stories nonetheless. Like ‘Gomathi and the cow’.”

“But how will they help get my mother back?” Ram pleaded.

“Ram”, the trinity said gently, “we are all-powerful.”

“Yeah right”, thought Ram, “this lot are about as powerful as they are all-knowing.”

“And”, they continued, “we know of no method to bring back your mother to earth. She is after all in a better place. Sometimes you must learn to let go Ram. We know it is a cruel world, but there are books and stories, and maybe these can help you.”

“NOOOO”, screamed Ram, “I need my mother back now.”

He kept screaming until he found himself back in reality, things were no longer purple, he was tearing the pages of the book in his hands and crying.

He realised what he was doing and stopped.

“Was that all a dream?” he wondered.

“Only one way to test it” he thought.

He looked at the pages in front of him, and could read the words. He put the pages back together using some electrical tape in his pockets that he had stolen from the factory. Then he began to read.

He finished the first story in record time. He kept reading, he couldn’t stop. Now he knew what the trinity meant by letting go. When he was reading, he was really in the book, in a different world for every story, where cows could talk, where small green creatures with pointed ears and hats made shoes, where fairies in twinkling wings played, where life was fun and interesting and unusual, and people could live forever.

The next day, Ram took all the money he had ever saved and went to the second-hand shop again. He bargained and wheedled and pleaded until he had bought as many books as he could, on every topic he could find. Then he began to read. He read whenever he had time, on breaks in the factory, at meals, in the toilet, until he had finished all the books he had. Then he sold these back to the bookstore and bought more. He was in love.

Ram grew up on a staple diet of fantasy and fiction, Enid Blyton and the Hardy Boys, Archie Comics and Harry Potter. He read everything he could get his hands on, from “A Beginners Guide to Gardening”, to “The Restaurant at the End of the Universe”. He discovered Shakespeare and theatre, Byron and poetry, when he discovered a library. But most important of all, he learned to let go, he missed his mother but never ever again wanted to take her away from the special place she must be in. He was content to miss her. He had his books to take refuge in.

Relativity

2008-01-02T00:00:00.001+04:00

Relativity

You walk toward me.
We meet halfway,
Hesitatingly, first fingertips touching,
Then palms clasped.

Our lips suddenly together,
The time between this moment and the last,
Vanished.

We remain locked,
For what seems like 4 seconds,
But was actually an eternity.

Never Strikes Twice

2007-12-09T23:38:00.001+04:00

No, came the reply quick and fast, like lightning on a hill,
Lightning never strikes in the same place twice.
So this was not lightning I reasoned,
She had struck there before.

Once in a high and lonely place,
Where angels in sandals feared to tread,
The lightning first struck twice,
And was firmly forbidden from doing so again.

The proper authorities were questioned,
And the appropriate forms were filled,
Why was lightning, in the same place,
Never allowed to strike twice?

The rhythm, the rhyme, the stone paper slime,
They answered, seeking the time on the edge,
There will come a moment, a frame of space tangent,
Once more, angels will fear to tread.

No, came the reply quick and fast, like lightning on a hill,
Lightning never strikes in the same place twice.
So this was not lightning I reasoned,
She had struck there before.

-Mayank Daswani.

Subtle Rhythm

2007-12-09T23:36:00.001+04:00

Subtle Rhythm

There is a more subtle rhythm.
The wielders of axes know this.
The swish and chop of limb,
Both from tree and from body,
Is one of these.

There is a more subtle rhythm.
The carriers of water know this.
The slish and slosh of water in containers,
Both in vessel and in hump,
Is another.

There was once the most subtle rhythm.
Every cell knew this,
It vibrated their very existence.
Now it is gone,
Forever echoing in the moonlight.

-Mayank Daswani.

The Journey

2007-11-22T15:13:00.001+04:00

The Airport:

I looked at the people around me. They were relaxed, talking calmly amongst themselves, chitter-chatter, little bird-like conversations flying through the air, seemingly innocent. I’m not suggesting they weren’t comfortable in their cosy little realities, but I am considering the possibility.

The woman in the green sweater at the table across me, looked at me uncertaily for a while, but when she saw me start to write she seemed to relax. Seemed to.

I must admit that I did look a bit odd. I hadn’t slept in two days and had been staring into a cup of coffee for what seemed like half an hour. I had stuck a bit of chewing gum onto the end of the coffee mug I wasn’t sipping from and it sat there grinning at me wickedly. I looked completely insane as I grinned back. It was pink and I wanted to kill it.

Some time back, I had tried to get my guitar onto the plane as hand luggage. Apparently this is illegal because a guitar has strings and I could use those to strangle people. I am a Bohemian axe murderer. I am a modern day Jack in their eyes. Cold eyes.

I argued with the guy at the Thai airways counter ,

“I’m not the proper person to speak to”, he said after a while. An Indian at Sydney airport. Sour-faced dude. Just my luck. He referred me to his manager, a candy-faced woman who looked at me with disgust scrawled all over her chocolate wrapper. She’d had a bad day it seemed. A cargo of irate Thai people trying to get home had tried to load over 500 kgs of electronic items on the plane. She had just finished dealing with them and she looked ready to kill. Barracuda lady, power suit with angry walk. Bitch.

I begged and pleaded and managed to convince her that the guitar was my soul, and I was taking it to the devil for Christmas in exchange for a lifetime supply of instant noodles. That seemed to get her sympathy; she must have made a similar sort of deal. She said she would ask the crew whether they would let such an obvious terrorist aboard, or some such snide comment. Did I mention I hadn’t shaved in 3 weeks?

My battle with the bitch seemed to have caught the attention of the other passengers, who were beginning to look worried. It’s strange how something like a guitar could so easily inspire fear in this mindless horde of humanoid forms. They think I’m going to kill them, maybe even hope. I wish I was. I’m going to unstring the guitar now.

-----------

I’m through the customs at Sydney, and boarding the flight. The crew don’t seem to mind having me a board although since they’re changing over at Brisbane, I’d have to do something similar there. Fuck.

I tried to unstring the guitar while waiting for the plane. Fruitless effort, I could only get one completely out, the other ones dangled uselessly hanging on to one end. My fellow passengers eyed me warily; I had just made my so called “weapon” even more formidable. I hastily put the guitar back in the case and waited for the flight. The short flight between Sydney and Brisbane was uneventful. I sat next to two guys who were on their way back from Thailand. They told me to beware of the “lady-men” in Phuket. I don’t have any intention of going there so this information was potentially useless to me.

The terminal at Brisbane airport was ridiculously small compared to Sydney. When I went through customs the second time, I was asked to cut the strings of my guitar by the lady at the counter. I informed her that I wasn’t carrying a knife since that would certainly get me arrested and hence couldn’t cut my strings. She smiled at me thinly and told me not to joke about serious things. There was a sign behind her saying exactly the same thing.

“While going through customs, passengers are advised to take every comment seriously and to weight their words before talking. A joke may be considered suspicious activity. Do not joke about serious things. Fuck a monkey before you board the flight.”

Or something to that effect.

Anyway I went over to the guy who was supposed to cut my strings and he gave me a smile and waved me on. A fellow crusader in the war for terror I presume.

I sat in the transit lounge wondering about inappropriate jokes. I had recently contemplated suicide and this would be the funniest way to go. Get up and shout “I have a massive bomb in my pants. I’m going to strip now and show it off”. Meh.

The girl across me was huge and dressed in pink, like a pink beach ball. She was listening to her pink iPod and probably thought pink thoughts. She made me want to bite her head off. I seemed to be seeing too many annoying pink things lately. Seemed to.

I had an hour to go before the plane took off again and I spent that in planning my heart-rending, soul-wrenching speech of why I had to take my guitar in. It involved using the word fuck over and over again.

The moment of truth had come. I walked confidently to the officials at the boarding gate. They let me through without any event. Why?? All my drama, my planned histrionics, my brilliant fucking speech gone to waste. I doubted the officials at Bangkok would even care if I was smuggling a guitar full of coke through customs.

The flight wasn’t bad. It was 11 hours long and I was sitting next to this not entirely unattractive Malaysian girl. Didn’t speak to her for the first 10 hours, the lights were turned off for the major part of those. I asked for a shot of brandy and prepared to sleep. She did the same. We slept the night through on each other’s shoulders, slightly drunk, occasionally looking deeply into each other’s eyes. This was a joke because we were both myopic, and couldn’t see past the first meter of eye.

I decided to speak to her the next morning. Her name was Ariel and she was studying in Brisbane, going home to Kuala Lampur for the holidays. I tried to hint that we’d spent the night all over each other and she presented ignorance. She gave me her number anyway. I don’t think I’ll call her.

From the airport at Bangkok it was all smooth sailing. I had four hours with nothing to do, and I spent it sleeping. I asked an Indian looking lady to look after my luggage for this time. She did, oddly enough.

The flight to Chennai was spent trying to sleep while this lady from Kancheepuram beside me would keep whispering things to me in Tamil which I only vaguely understood. She was returning from the USA where her son and his wife lived. She wanted me to carry her luggage out of the airport to a taxi. I told her in the best Tamil I could that I was already laden with luggage and directed her to the flight officials. I don’t think she understood a word I said, which was unsurprising; I seemed to have picked up an accent in my nine month sojourn in Australia. This was not a good thing; the bloody auto drivers would double the price at the hint of an accent. Anyway I attempted to sleep through the rest of the flight.

Chennai Airport was empty at 13:00 hrs. I had expected a bigger crowd to welcome me into the filth of the throng. I could already feel the pulse of the city, racing toward a heart attack. Someone just died in a car accident, I could feel that cell being replaced by others almost instantaneously as more people were born, bawling babies who would one day play a pivotal role in this massive coronary waiting to happen. I entered the city into the arms of my parents. I was home.

An Article

2007-11-11T16:40:00.001+04:00

Hmmm....

I don't actually know what this post is going to be about. I just felt the urge to write. Speaking of which I'm supposed to be attempting NaNoWriMo again this year, after my pathetically failed attempt last year. An epic failure I call it. I still intend to finish writing that novel though. Someday. It's brilliant in parts, what with the talking pizzas and the psychic beavers. Bleh.

That's an interesting word right there. Bleh. No other defined word can achieve the same amount of mild disdain, bordering on nonchalance. And of course its one of those words that can change flavour so easily, falling into the same class of words as meh and other words that I couldn't be bothered to remember right now, belong to.

An interesting insult I learned when I came to Australia, is of course the most commonly used one here, i.e. fuckwit. It really is such a brilliant insult, you can use it on/with (not sure what the preposition should be here really; prepositions are such annoying things really, distract you from the true meaning of the sentence. I dunno, sometimes I think we could do without them. Then I realise this would be a nuclear holocaust if we did.

"Oh you meant put the uranium rods in the safety hole(or something) not on them.")
friends and enemies alike, just by changing the inflection and tone of voice and things like that.

"Oh Jack, he's such a dear old fuckwit."

"Sam, she's such a fucking fuckwit. Fuck."

You see what I mean, don't you?

I hope so.

I've sort of lost the thread of this article, if it really had one anyway. I seem to end up going on too many tangents, something my Pakistani friend seems to dislike intensely. I think its an admirable character trait. You never run out of things to say then, because you can always find something interesting to talk about. This is particularly useful when chatting up girls, since you never run into those wide open spaces in conversations, where with a bit of grass a cow could graze for days.

Sometimes it seems to me though, that once you go off on a tangent in a real conversation, its really hard to get back to the circle. Or parabola. Or whatever curve you want the tangent to be tangent to. I mean the conversation. Yes thank you Bob.

Note that Bob here is non-existent. A figment of your diseased mind.

Another annoying thing about the English language is the usage of your and you're. I always have to think before writing them down as they both sound the fucking same. I know one indicates possession and the other is like a short form of you are, and it's all rather obvious, but couldn't you just have one word for both or two words that didn't sound so alike. Damn it all to hell. I think one word for both is a rather good idea though. This is mainly because I thought of it, and also because it would save time in typing things out. I'm always looking for the damn apostrophe key on the keyboard.

You're probably thinking,"Shakespeare is turning in his grave right now " or something to do with rainbows and a nice cup of tea.

I don't think he is though. I mean the old bard invented so many words because he couldn't take the time to look up the words that were already there. This is just a reversal of the process. He would approve.

A.......nyway, I think this rambling post has gone on long enough. I think I should name it now, but An Article is good enough for something like this I think.

Later then.

The Revival

2007-11-09T14:54:00.001+04:00

Hey all,
Maybe this is the revival of this aging and outdated blog, filled with all the rubbish I thought of and photos that, I dare say, are awful. Now comes the revival, the renaissance of this blog. I hope.

A lot has changed since I last posted here. (I don't actually know when I last posted here and couldn't be buggered to find out. ) The main points are as follows,

a) I'm now in Canberra, doing University at the ANU.

b) I have extremely long hair that I don't intend to cut.

c) I have a Maths Exam tomorrow.

Of course the last point is trivial. I should also note that I'm using a laptop, my previous one got stolen and that I have watched Black Books. All 3 seasons. Except one episode, the last. Which I'm saving as a reward (or consolation) after the maths exam.

Black Books is a life changing, sofa altering experience. I cannot explain any further, but I suggest you watch the episodes yourself.

In the last year, I have also grown increasingly more cynical.

I could however be lying.

This is another trademark I've discovered, sometimes I can't stop lying. No doubt I need psychiatric help but then, who doesn't.

I think this post has been sufficiently long, and containing enough sufficiently useless information in order to conclude with the lines,

"Sleep is for the weak, and sheep are for New Zealanders."

Alert reader please notice, I have not grown less random.

Interstellar Rabbits or Space Bunnies

2005-12-27T17:24:00.000+04:00

Seven years ago, a man climbed a mountain. This was no great feat, as he was the one billionth three hundred and ninety one millionth two hundred and sixty one thousandth one hundred and second person to do so. He did not even know why he had climbed this particular mountain. As he approached the peak he saw a grassy knoll that was pink in colour. For some strange reason, this stood out to him as it hadn't to all the 1,391,261,101 people before him. He looked closer and to his surprise found something very surprising. He was in the same spot where the space bunnies met. Here is his account.

"I reached the pink knoll and saw a rabbit. This was not surprising as there were many rabbits around. I chased the rabbit 'cause I'm that kinda person. Then I heard a car screeching to a halt. I looked in front of me and found it was a flying saucer. This was surprising as there were not many other spaceships around.
To my surprise another rabbit got out of the spaceship. It seemed to be holding an Interstellar THINGIE(N) (an acronym of Thing I Expected(Not)) and was calling the rabbit which I was chasing. Apparently, this was a regular meeting place for space travelling rabbits. I watched in astonishment as the young rabbit got in, winked at me and then left. The spaceship was gone."

The author has tried to verify this mind-boggling statement. However, he has been unable to do so as he does not live in Timbuktoo. Readers from Timbuktoo may help out by visiting a mountain in their locality. Thank you.

The Magic of Words

2005-11-06T19:41:00.000+04:00

Part One

Seventeen thousand years ago, the first talking man said ,"Gargh". This was the beginning of a long journey of many years wasted.

For the sake of simplicity, let us name our man Thefm. Now, Thefm was not your average guy. He was The First Talking Man who had made the first word "Gargh". This was regarded as a bad move by many, for until then their vocal chords had been of no use for anything other than screaming. Also they did not know what Gargh meant. Thefm told them what it meant but he only knew only one word so the way he explained it was unintelligible.

An excerpt from his famous speech, "Gargh, gargh, ga...gar.. gargh."

The speech was not met with much applause for it was the first of its kind in history. (Not that they knew what history was.)

Now Thefm was widely regarded as an idiot. This was conveyed to him by the rocks that connected with his head severely damaging it.

It was then that Thefm made his second word, a synonym of the first to explain what it meant. It was "Glug".

Thefm become famous for it wasn’t everyday that a man coined a new word for the second time that wasn’t the same as the first. Thefm was happy. He now was the most eligible bachelor in the world. He married a nice girl who was impressed by the shape of his head (the rocks had changed it). They had two children who he surprisingly named Gargh and Glug. Then he died.

Sadly his children had children and their children had children all possessed with a genetic disorder for languages (and a weirdly shaped head), probably caused by the rocks hitting their great ancestor’s head. All the children were named after the words their parents invented.

Part Two

After around 170 centuries, in 1883 William Norbury Biscuit was born. By the marvel of DNA analysis it can be conclusively proved that he was a lineal descendant of Thefm and had inherited his misguided penchant for languages, in particular, the English language.

(His parents had probably invented the word, ‘Norbury Biscuits’… though this fact cannot be proved.)

In 1953, Bill, now the Lord Biscuit, gave a speech which moved the very rocks and stones of the venue out. The people who stayed to listen died the next day of internal hemorrhaging.

He called it ‘The Magic of Words’, the people called him ‘The man who should be shot’. Surprisingly, no-one threw rocks at him. He lived for 9 years after he had made his infamous speech at the University of Leicester.

His speech was written down and preserved by some perverts at the University, for reasons I cannot fathom.

Readers looking for the content of this speech must look elsewhere. It, however, is easily summarized in a few words i.e. “Gurgh, glug”.

It may interest readers to know that with the demise of Lord Biscuit the line of Thefm failed. (Unless he or one of his heirs had an illegitimate son.)

This may well prove to be the case as the speech was mysteriously chosen to be a part of an English textbook. The person who chose it would have to be either a descendant of Thefm or just plain crazy.

However I leave it to you to speculate…

Note: The characters in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead is purely coincidental and highly regretted ;).

2005-07-23T20:30:00.000+04:00

Me, with a needle in my hand, x-rayed and dead to the world.

I'm Bach.

2005-07-19T17:37:00.000+04:00

hey,

sorry for the long break in the posts. But i've been busy with stuff like the Society or the fact that i had typhoid and was hospitalized.

Yup, this calls for some serious contemplation. I mean why do people get sick. What's the use. I mean the germ doesn,t get anything out of it. I tonly gets killed. You obviously don't get anything out of it unless u miss all ure exams(like me) but still, otherwise its a totally useless equation.
I mean, if there really was a God up there then why on Earth or why in Heaven doesn't he help us. Life's wierd.
These are the questions. If you've got the answers, comment.

May the force be with you.

The Society of People Who Have Nothing To Do

2005-06-19T19:41:00.000+04:00

Neon and I have just started a new blog called The Society of people who Have Nothing to Do.
It's a bit to say in one breath isn't it?
Anyway,
Make sure you visit it. If anyone should wish to join mail me.

May the force be with you.

Review: Revenge of the Sith

2005-06-11T21:40:00.000+04:00

i know this has been a long time in coming but i really didn't have t he time to post anything for a while. So here goes.

I managed to watch the movie the first day it was released here with the new RDX(Real Digital Experience) launch. Nothing very different about the picture quality so i really don't know what the hype was about.
But anyway on to the review.

Revenge of the Sith has turned out to be the best amongst the 3 prequels to the main Star Wars saga. George Lucas has outdone himself in the special effects department with 5 amazing saber duels. A fitting end to the transformation of young Anakin Sywalker to the Sith apprentice Darth Vader under the guidance of the Chancellor who turns out to be the elusive Darth Sidius.
Anakin's love story with Padme Amidala(Natalie Portman) continues in this final movie with some mushy scenes, but nothing much to get excited about anyway.
Ewan McGregor plays Obi Wan Kenobi's part perfectly as the dynamic guru who doesn't really know what's happening to his young apprentice. However, one of the last few scenes in which Anakin a.k.a Darth Vader screams out "Noooooooooooooo" seems to be overacting...
Yoda(the little green Master) , 'the best he was' as usual.
To anyone who hasn't seen the movie yet, it isn't too late...... don't miss it, u might be missing the experience of ure lives.
as always,

May the force be with you.

Carrie Underwear won!!! and so did Liverpool.

2005-05-26T20:56:00.000+04:00

damn it,
Bo Bice was the only truly original singer on the show.
What kinda rubbish ppl live in America anyway.....voting for Carrie.
i m not saying she was bad, I m jus saying Bo Bice was better.

The ppl i support always seem to lose..........last year i supported Diana DeGarmo and now this.

On a happier note, Liverpool beat AC Milan to win the UEFA Champions league match in one of the most exciting finals i ve seen.
They came back from 3-0 at half-time to make it 3-3 at 90 minutes with some fabulous goals. Extra time couldn't decide the winner and so the match went on to penalties.
Liverpool won 3-2 in penalties and thus an English team finally brings home the CUP after so many years.
The Force is with them.
and
May the Force be with You.

BlogStreet India Member

2005-05-12T21:26:00.000+04:00

hey all,
i am now a BlogStreet India Member,

2005-05-10T21:29:00.000+04:00

My new profile pic..... in the palace in Vienna.

2005-05-10T21:24:00.000+04:00

The fountains in Versailles.

2005-05-10T21:22:00.000+04:00

Me trying to build a snowman with my sis.

2005-05-10T21:20:00.000+04:00

A picture of me with my name in the snow.

2005-05-10T21:18:00.000+04:00

This is an amazing pic taken in the UN building in Geneva in Switzerland. It is part of one of the many works of art there painted by a Chinese painter. It has this curious property such that from wherever u look at the painting the entrance is always facing u.

2005-05-10T21:16:00.000+04:00

The Eiffel Tower in case u didn't know.

2005-05-10T21:15:00.000+04:00

A View of Paris at night from the one of the tallest buildings there, the Montparnasse. You can see my camera in the reflection.... it was glass.

2005-05-10T21:14:00.000+04:00

Ofcourse the Mona Lisa...sideways. But still smiling ;)

2005-05-10T21:13:00.000+04:00

The view of the Opera in Schaunburg Palais that i went to.

2005-05-10T21:11:00.000+04:00

This was in the Swarovski Crystal World in Innsbruck, Austria. It's a healing crystal.

2005-05-10T21:10:00.000+04:00

A view of Titlis..... the place where i was supposed to ski, but it was snowed in.

2005-05-10T21:09:00.000+04:00

Jungfraujoch, Switzerland....... the site of the longest glacier in Europe. It snowed there but not as much as another mountain Titlis.

Just Got Back!!!

2005-05-10T20:44:00.000+04:00

hey all,

back from euro trip 2005.

i ll post some pics later,

thats all for now.

May the force be with you.

The Holidays

2005-04-21T20:42:00.000+04:00

hey all,
the holidays have started and i thought i would be enjoying life lazing around doing pretty much nothing.
Well it turns out i was wrong.
As always there's the good part and the bad part.
Bad news first... I have 6 hours of phsics every week..........phew.
Now thats seriously sad for holidays. And that too three hours at a stretch i mean c'mon,
thats really too bad. I m out after 1 and a half.
To add to the misery i m having maths classes also. That's not too bad, maths is easy but its the hols and anything that restricts my time on the ps2/computer is something that's got to go.
Now to the good news, hold on wait,
yes, I m going to Switzerland....!!!!!!
Seriously. I m also going to Paris, and Austria(Innsbruck and Vienna).
So hopefully i will have some fun on this trip.....

Enjoy ure holidays,
themonk.

May the force be with u.

crack this code

2005-03-13T19:48:00.000+04:00

hey,
i like encryption and i thought id see who else did.
crack this and post the full thing as a comment,

IAKRCH FNTEAE YCHANR ORITSE UAS!OH CCGITA

that is it.

it's pretty easy if u think abt it.

A book i read, something i thought of

2005-03-10T21:48:00.000+04:00

hey,
has any1 read a story called Nightfall by Isaac Asimov.
if u haven't plz do read it, its amazing.
its abt this different planet who has advanced much.
they have five suns all constantly circling the earth, and therefore no darkness,
but then an eclipse and they all do not no wat the Darkness iis and they go mad and burn everything in sight for want of light.
Its a beautifully written story and i haven't told u much abt it coz it would spoil the suprise.
Anyway, my question is could that really happen. I mean it was only Darkness, the world was the same.
Its probably possible bcoz of the development of the planet without darkness,when faced with darkness would be a terrible thing.
anyway all of u,
read this story.
any comments,
feel free as usual.

signing off,
as always,
monk.

May the force be with you.

just wondering

2005-03-10T21:42:00.000+04:00

hey,
long time since i ve last posted,
hopefully somebody is actually reading this.

anyway i ve been busy, what with exams and all life is too tedious.so i actually decided to try out something new, but only if i get some response. ive written a story and i was wonderin would any1 want to read it?
if u do plz explicitly say so in ure comments.

just wondering,
monk.

May the force be with you.

are sad song's more melodious than other songs?

2005-02-19T20:13:00.000+04:00

i wrote this essay for an english project.i haven't got any feedbac so i m forced to put it on. rate it, comment on it, argue abt it watever.
its my blog.
here it is

People write poems to express their emotions. People sing songs for the same reason. People listen to songs that reflect their mood at a given time. When we are sad we generally want consolation. This often involves a friend sitting down and telling us how they too were once in a similar position.

A sad song is as good as a sad story at this time and when a friend’s not around it is the only good substitute.

What makes a song happy or sad? We instinctively feel the tone of a song the first time we listen to it. This is mainly because of the emotions of the person who wrote the song. A poem or song reflects the true feelings of the person who wrote it, more so a sad one.

This is because we tend to express grief better than other emotions; because we feel sorrow more strongly than anything else.

But coming to the point, are sad songs more melodious than happy ones? Being a musician myself, I can say that technically both sad and happy songs are equally difficult to play. The difference is that a sad song employs the use of a minor scale while the happy song uses a major scale (most of the time). However whatever the technicalities, sad songs tend to remain etched in our memories for longer periods of time. Haunting melodies somehow make us more emotional than happy ones.

The odd thing about sad songs is that they can be happy songs as well. That song that meant everything good with the old girlfriend can make you cry with the opening notes today.

Sometimes that sad song can indicate an upcoming hope, or desire to climb out of that sad situation. Without the sad stuff, we'd never appreciate the good stuff.
Everything ever created by man has been made so by some driven need he didn't have.
It's always about something that he doesn't have, and has to work to achieve. Sad songs are the stuff that fuels our dreams to become reality.

Lyrics play an important part in defining a sad song. When lyrics narrate a sad story they become more relevant and people relate to them better.

Tell Laura I Love Her by Ray Peterson has truly sad lyrics. The song narrates the story of Tommy who was in love with Laura. However he didn’t have the money to buy her a wedding ring. So he went to the races to win and there his car crashed and his life ended with the words, “tell Laura I love her”.

Another truly moving song would be Cat’s in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. This song explores the relationship between a father and his son. You can figure out for yourself why this song is so sad.

Cat's In The Cradle

Sung and Written by: Harry Chapin

A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok."
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."

Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and he said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad.
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.

A great deal of what makes a song sad is the life of the person who wrote it. Beethoven, one of the best composers of all time, was deaf by the age of 40. By this time he had acquired enough skill to go on composing melodies – by listening to them in his head. Fur Elise, probably one of his most famous pieces, was written after he was 40.

A glimpse at the biography of Beethoven would further emphasize my point.

Beethoven was born in 1770. Beginning in 1798, Beethoven experienced a continual humming and whistling in his ears that gradually grew stronger, eventually making him realize that he was going deaf. In 1802,he considered suicide. Yet he bounced back dramatically afterwards, this was the time that he composed some of his most famous pieces, including all his symphonies except for his ninth. Yet after 1812 the number of pieces Beethoven wrote dropped enormously, he became involved in a number of lawsuits, including one over royalties for what was most likely his worst published work entitled Wellington's Victory. In 1820 he won custody of his nephew Karl, following the death in 1815 of Beethoven's brother. Although there is no doubting his good intentions and love for the boy the arrangements were not a success. Beethoven had never married and wanted to treat Karl as his own son, but his deepening poverty and the fact that he resumed composition meant that his nephew was neglected. The year before Beethoven's death the boy attempted suicide. After the performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony he stood stone deaf on the stage, unaware of everything, until one of the soloists turned him around to see the thunderous applause. Beethoven died in 1827.

Sad poetry is just as moving as sad music, for poetry is music.

A famous poem, written by G.K. Chesterton will perhaps illustrate.

A Ballade of Suicide
G.K. Chesterton

The gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours on the wall
Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"
The strangest whim has seized me. . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

To-morrow is the time I get my pay
My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall
I see a little cloud all pink and grey
Perhaps the rector's mother will NOT call
I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way
I never read the works of Juvenal
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

The world will have another washing-day;
The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H.G. Wells has found that children play,
And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall;
Rationalists are growing rational
And through thick woods one finds a stream astray,
So secret that the very sky seems small
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

ENVOI

Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,
The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;
Even to-day your royal head may fall
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

Love poems are often the saddest of all, for love is life’s greatest tragedy.

This poem by Robert Frost is one of the saddest ever written.

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

Robert Frost

Therefore, I can conclude by saying that I do believe that sad songs/poems are the most melodious, because they are the one’s that haunt us forever, making us appreciate the better side of life.

something

2005-02-18T20:30:00.001+04:00

it is under heavy criticism that i bring out this next blog. ppl these days are just too jealous. hey if u think ure so great why don't u write a blog.
apart frm that i have ntn against comments. plz feel free to leave watever u think of me on this blog.
this is an unofficial update in the sense that it isnt abt anything.
i have an english exam tomorrow and i m cramming for the annoying thing. picked up my books for 1 hr and looked at them while watching T.V.
was watching Donald Trump fire John.
Donald Trump shld be fired. Hez such a git.
anyway i m posting this coz i need material for my next blog. The topic is going to be Music.Comment on anything u no abt Music from its origin to ure fave bands. I ll use the material.

signing off,
themonk.

May the force be with you.

What is Life part 1?

2005-02-13T13:05:00.000+04:00

Hey all,
this is the first real post on this blog and i hope u'll njoy it. so here goes.

My blog being abt Life, the universe and everything, what better topic than to start upon than the meaning of life.
What is life? Life is sometimes called the bridge between death and death. Don't ask me who said this coz i dont no. But anyway i disagree, life is a journey, it may not be a very comfortable but who cares as long as u reach the destination rite?
Some ppl consider life to be a metaphysical speculation originating from some twisted dream. I don't even no wat that means. But as a very famous person said "Life is a stage and we are but the actors".
If we are the actors then there has to be a script. This leads to very exciting possibilities such as God. But why do ppl always assume that someone else is writing the script. As i said earlier , life is a journey , it doesnt matter how we end it as long as we reach our destination.
We should try to script our own paths through life.
This is getting a bit boring isn't it? Yup that's wat i thought.I even confused myself while writing it .
Life ain't a bed of roses. But it can be.
Stay tuned for the next episode of the question of life. Comments are necessary for a blog to survive. Enter urez!

signing off,
monk.

May the force be with you.

Intro

2005-02-12T21:23:00.000+04:00

Hey,
This is my first post and i thought i d tell u wat this blog is gonna be abt. I'm going to post my views on Life,the Universe and Everything(inspired by the Douglas Adams' book of the same title).
First u need to no a little abt me. I am a guy(that's the important part. for all u galz out there).
I like slow rock. I play the keyboard for a band. I play football(soccer). And now that all the borrrrring stuff is out of the way herez the good part.
I am one damn inquisitive person. I sit thinking abt all the most ridiculous topics in the world. Very philosophically if i may say so myself. And i intend to air these views on my blog.
but for now ciaow(or however its spelt,i really don't care!)

signing off,
themonk.