Sepia Mutiny is closing shop today after a very very long run (long in context of the web where most interesting things are transitory). It was among the few initial blogs that I started to read and follow. For the past few years though i had been less and less frequent to that blog (for that matter to any blog including mine). It is sign of the times. The discussion has moved over to Twitter and Facebook long time back. Whatever blog enthusiast were left have moved to busy married life and even more busier jobs. Blogs are seen as passé. Some are now just an extension of the huge corporate media arms where blogs are run like publications with paid writers and moderated content.
I am not convinced that Twitter/Facebook provide the canvas that blogs did. 140 words is not even enough to prepare the construct, leave aside the narrative. But then we are living in a post-post-post-modernism (if there is such a term) where the explosion of media (social and digital) has left user attention span difficult to capture. In such a crowded ecosystem, blogs do not stand a chance. They never did.
Lets see how long this blog breathes. I for sure will not let it go easy!
Showing posts with label myself. Show all posts
Showing posts with label myself. Show all posts
Life in a Village : The Long Lost Times
I had been thinking about writing this for a long long time.. to write about the current rage is much more easier and spontaneous than to write over distant memories that come at their own pace, sometimes of moments that were ordinary and yet still are their in your head for significance unknown among the mindless mambo-jumbo that modern city technology and finance heavy our lives have become. I still yearn for that easier life, though I am not so sure if it would be that fulfilling now. Probably I have outgrown it, but hey! everybody needs a crib. This is my crib.
My grandfather died peacefully sometime back. He was always a hands-on man. Always on to something, never tired and always restless. Never a thing he could not do. I surely had lot of fine moments with him specially on the fields that used be part of our old house (and later the newer house that was built beside it). I still recall what a wonderful green mini-forest we had and all the fruits and vegetable and trees we used to grow. I remember the festive mood that was when we dug out taedu (yams) during Shivratri. I remember the summers when the twirling toona (tunn) seeds would fall out of the sky like snow flakes and the terrace would be filled with it. I remember times when I (along with my sister) would be on the sehtoot (mulberry) tree plucking the sehtoot with our hands and mouth stained by its colors. I recall my grandfather on the big tutari tree (paper mulberry) cutting its branches for fodder of our cows. I recall those winters when we would devour on the sweet & sour chakotra (pomelo) in the winter sun. I remember the times when my grandfather and I sometimes would go to the other field down the railway line to bring the chari (sorghum) and bajra (pearl millet) grass for cow fodder. Sometimes we would bring a bag full of dal (rice bean) pods that would grow intertwined among the tall millet grass. The dal was used to make stuffed paranthas. I remember when we would dug the field to plant mandua (finger millet) and jau (barley) for fodder as well as flour. I remember the big dune the wheat chaff made when the wheat thresher bellowed. I remember the excitement at the great crop we had once of arhaar dal (pigeon pea). I remember the back breaking effort that went into planting the rice seedlings and then later he extracting the seeds from the crop. Sometimes we went to the nearest mill for milling rice and couple of times we went for milling mustard. I remember the very green and gentle barsi (berseem,clover) grass that was grown for fodder. Sometimes our dog (mili) would be running in big leaps having the fun of their lives in those clover fields. I remember when we used to roll the wodden handle (sometimes jointly) of the grass cutting machine. I recall the everyday breakfast of green vegetables mainly rai (rapeseed),meethi (fenugreek) and chaulaai (amaranth). I remember that season when we had so much aeskos (chayote) that it was cooked for our cows. I remember the tall tree of jamaun (jambul) whose fruit we hardly had as it was too high. I remember the vegetable creepers of pumkin, karela (bitter gourd) , cucumbers, loki (bottle gourd), chachinda (snake gourd), tori (ridge gourd) and many other beans that would cover the trees of nashpati (asian pear), mango, tunn, guava, gular (fig racemosa), bedu (fig palmata) and many unknowns. I remember so many days when we both would pick the ladder to pluck the vegetables from these creepers that went straight into the kitchen. I recall when we used to go to break waters for our fields from the bigger canal and in those overflowing fields sometimes a white heron could be seen. I remember the arvi (eddoe) pakodas that were made from its giant green leaves by my mom. I recall the summer season's aam (mango) picking that was a summer holiday must do activity. I can go on and on for a long time for those memories would not stop.
I miss those days. I really do.
My grandfather died peacefully sometime back. He was always a hands-on man. Always on to something, never tired and always restless. Never a thing he could not do. I surely had lot of fine moments with him specially on the fields that used be part of our old house (and later the newer house that was built beside it). I still recall what a wonderful green mini-forest we had and all the fruits and vegetable and trees we used to grow. I remember the festive mood that was when we dug out taedu (yams) during Shivratri. I remember the summers when the twirling toona (tunn) seeds would fall out of the sky like snow flakes and the terrace would be filled with it. I remember times when I (along with my sister) would be on the sehtoot (mulberry) tree plucking the sehtoot with our hands and mouth stained by its colors. I recall my grandfather on the big tutari tree (paper mulberry) cutting its branches for fodder of our cows. I recall those winters when we would devour on the sweet & sour chakotra (pomelo) in the winter sun. I remember the times when my grandfather and I sometimes would go to the other field down the railway line to bring the chari (sorghum) and bajra (pearl millet) grass for cow fodder. Sometimes we would bring a bag full of dal (rice bean) pods that would grow intertwined among the tall millet grass. The dal was used to make stuffed paranthas. I remember when we would dug the field to plant mandua (finger millet) and jau (barley) for fodder as well as flour. I remember the big dune the wheat chaff made when the wheat thresher bellowed. I remember the excitement at the great crop we had once of arhaar dal (pigeon pea). I remember the back breaking effort that went into planting the rice seedlings and then later he extracting the seeds from the crop. Sometimes we went to the nearest mill for milling rice and couple of times we went for milling mustard. I remember the very green and gentle barsi (berseem,clover) grass that was grown for fodder. Sometimes our dog (mili) would be running in big leaps having the fun of their lives in those clover fields. I remember when we used to roll the wodden handle (sometimes jointly) of the grass cutting machine. I recall the everyday breakfast of green vegetables mainly rai (rapeseed),meethi (fenugreek) and chaulaai (amaranth). I remember that season when we had so much aeskos (chayote) that it was cooked for our cows. I remember the tall tree of jamaun (jambul) whose fruit we hardly had as it was too high. I remember the vegetable creepers of pumkin, karela (bitter gourd) , cucumbers, loki (bottle gourd), chachinda (snake gourd), tori (ridge gourd) and many other beans that would cover the trees of nashpati (asian pear), mango, tunn, guava, gular (fig racemosa), bedu (fig palmata) and many unknowns. I remember so many days when we both would pick the ladder to pluck the vegetables from these creepers that went straight into the kitchen. I recall when we used to go to break waters for our fields from the bigger canal and in those overflowing fields sometimes a white heron could be seen. I remember the arvi (eddoe) pakodas that were made from its giant green leaves by my mom. I recall the summer season's aam (mango) picking that was a summer holiday must do activity. I can go on and on for a long time for those memories would not stop.
I miss those days. I really do.
Day Dreaming
This is the second poem that I have written, this is an allegory with tribute to symbolism and fantasy.
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this is a story of a boy who used to walk everyday aimlessly on the stony shore
amid screaming seagulls one day, he finds a lovely shell that he could ever explore
with this shell in his clumsy hand, he climbs down the rabbit hole in his backyard
escaping from the giant locust who eyes the elegant sea shell, he runs feeling scared
down in the bright underground, he sees on the wall a pegasus sitting cross-legged
to the boy's surprise, humpty dumpty was his name, the pegasus hesitantly divulged
the boy tells he wants to go to eden, to the place where he gets to keep his shell
the white pegasus offered to give him a ride till there, in return of a little help
the beast wants leaves from the tree of eternal life, to heal his broken feather
the boy agrees to his simple wish, all he wants is the sea shell and he together
the boy is playing with his shell, on the way they met pinocchio sitting tight
they ask for the way, he babbles while his nose gets longer that gives them a fright
they ran & wander along the red sea, coming across the crying queen of hearts
she points us towards a red big balloon floating, and cries - o my king of hearts
they all rode towards the flying king, catching it just before the dark forest
the queen united with her queer king, thanks us and enquires about our quest
they tell her about the pursuit, she wands her stick and a black faun appears
she says it will guide us, but somehow the faun in place of eyes had only tears
on way forward they meet a princess, who offered them grail in return for the shell
the boy held it close to his heart, which made her disappear as it broke the spell
at last they all reached garden of eden, the boy climbed the fabled eternal tree
as soon as the peagasus had the leaves, the white beast morphed into a nymph free
the beauty asked what he wished, the boy cried asking to be with his shell forever
she altered the shell to a sea maiden, and granted they will be separated never
the boy held the beautiful sea maiden's hand close to his heart, and asked her name
"hope" she quivers, they gently kiss with the full moon shining in back of the frame
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
this is a story of a boy who used to walk everyday aimlessly on the stony shore
amid screaming seagulls one day, he finds a lovely shell that he could ever explore
with this shell in his clumsy hand, he climbs down the rabbit hole in his backyard
escaping from the giant locust who eyes the elegant sea shell, he runs feeling scared
down in the bright underground, he sees on the wall a pegasus sitting cross-legged
to the boy's surprise, humpty dumpty was his name, the pegasus hesitantly divulged
the boy tells he wants to go to eden, to the place where he gets to keep his shell
the white pegasus offered to give him a ride till there, in return of a little help
the beast wants leaves from the tree of eternal life, to heal his broken feather
the boy agrees to his simple wish, all he wants is the sea shell and he together
the boy is playing with his shell, on the way they met pinocchio sitting tight
they ask for the way, he babbles while his nose gets longer that gives them a fright
they ran & wander along the red sea, coming across the crying queen of hearts
she points us towards a red big balloon floating, and cries - o my king of hearts
they all rode towards the flying king, catching it just before the dark forest
the queen united with her queer king, thanks us and enquires about our quest
they tell her about the pursuit, she wands her stick and a black faun appears
she says it will guide us, but somehow the faun in place of eyes had only tears
on way forward they meet a princess, who offered them grail in return for the shell
the boy held it close to his heart, which made her disappear as it broke the spell
at last they all reached garden of eden, the boy climbed the fabled eternal tree
as soon as the peagasus had the leaves, the white beast morphed into a nymph free
the beauty asked what he wished, the boy cried asking to be with his shell forever
she altered the shell to a sea maiden, and granted they will be separated never
the boy held the beautiful sea maiden's hand close to his heart, and asked her name
"hope" she quivers, they gently kiss with the full moon shining in back of the frame
Summer Rain In A Doon Village
I am trying my hand in poetry these days and here is one for the start. This is about the summer rains before the harvest season begins in Dehra Dun. The sights and sounds are all from doon. It is called "Summer Rain"
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somewhere in clouds above, there is intrigue in the air,
the summer sun has taken refuge, hidden in it's lair.
the lands are parched, the winds are dry and dusty,
with his cracked hands, the farmer look above lusty.
dancing with the winds, the salsify tries to keep the tune,
there is electricity in the air, in this animate noon.
the heavens shudder, nearby strikes a blot from the gray,
signifying power & fear, but somehow only my dogs gets sway.
the shiny and mighty eucalyptus, swaying to kiss the earth,
and in this chaos, a million toona seeds escape with the mirth.
in this madness, the tree-stuck kites flutter wildly and toss,
wishing to be rescued, before rains crucify them to the cross.
from my window i see, the fallen wheat crop in fields below,
as if the heavens tried crop circles, with its mighty blow.
the beetles & the bees are long gone, for their work is done,
their labor nearing fruition, which started in early spring sun
the kids are elated in the street, as if they completed high school,
maybe the power lines are down, that's why all these kids misrule.
outside the money-plant is shiny now, and dahlia is pepped up again,
all seem invigorated, i can from my watering job some days abstain.
i tell my sedated dogs, that all this will get over soon,
probably they also like this small relief, from the summer June.
i wait hurriedly, for all this blitzkrieg to be over fast,
for in my mind, is only to collect the fallen raw mango loot.
the rains were intense & muddy,as brown as if the First Curse,
ask the Maker, this is just the beginning of the first verse.
it smelt strangely pleasant,some say as if first rains on burnt lands,
i say it smells like redemption & hope, i say it smells like desire.
perched high up in the air, i wish i was a rainmaker,
bringing life to everything below, acre by acre.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
somewhere in clouds above, there is intrigue in the air,
the summer sun has taken refuge, hidden in it's lair.
the lands are parched, the winds are dry and dusty,
with his cracked hands, the farmer look above lusty.
dancing with the winds, the salsify tries to keep the tune,
there is electricity in the air, in this animate noon.
the heavens shudder, nearby strikes a blot from the gray,
signifying power & fear, but somehow only my dogs gets sway.
the shiny and mighty eucalyptus, swaying to kiss the earth,
and in this chaos, a million toona seeds escape with the mirth.
in this madness, the tree-stuck kites flutter wildly and toss,
wishing to be rescued, before rains crucify them to the cross.
from my window i see, the fallen wheat crop in fields below,
as if the heavens tried crop circles, with its mighty blow.
the beetles & the bees are long gone, for their work is done,
their labor nearing fruition, which started in early spring sun
the kids are elated in the street, as if they completed high school,
maybe the power lines are down, that's why all these kids misrule.
outside the money-plant is shiny now, and dahlia is pepped up again,
all seem invigorated, i can from my watering job some days abstain.
i tell my sedated dogs, that all this will get over soon,
probably they also like this small relief, from the summer June.
i wait hurriedly, for all this blitzkrieg to be over fast,
for in my mind, is only to collect the fallen raw mango loot.
the rains were intense & muddy,as brown as if the First Curse,
ask the Maker, this is just the beginning of the first verse.
it smelt strangely pleasant,some say as if first rains on burnt lands,
i say it smells like redemption & hope, i say it smells like desire.
perched high up in the air, i wish i was a rainmaker,
bringing life to everything below, acre by acre.
Swiss Army Knife Syndrome
What does one want? The versatility of the Swiss army knife or the utility of the mundane kitchen knife. The Swiss army knife with its plethora of tools is helpful in cutting across most tight corners that one may find oneself in, but when at ease, when in the luxury of you home, you really don't want to be using it to do all your cutting with it. This is a quintessential choice I am facing, whether to stick to one set of technologies or be what I had been till day, jack of all trades, ace of none !. I used to like being a multi-headed hydra, but I guess its easier being a simple knife then the fancy-ism of the Swiss army knife.
Two Months Update
This has to go down as my biggest break from blogger since starting out last year. My last months in Boston were pretty hectic by my standards so blog was something that was not very high on my list of priorities. And it has been twenty days back in India & I am still to settle down to the sober surrounding and the not-so-sober Me. I am still to get used to wired internet & that all pervading overhang of that great smog over Noida. Life as such, is going real easy these days, or may be I have made it appear very easy, though there is always that undercurrent of anxiety, that loss of control, that elusive satisfaction, but I guess it doesn't matter right now for I will not scratch the surface harder to reveal the real Self. Yeah, went to Dehra Dun for diwali, also to Pune for a family ceremony, a pretty decent affair though, made decent money on stocks after a long time & the liquor parties seem to never end even though the circle of friends gets smaller every quarter. I guess I have started liking an uneventful life, even in Boston I had developed a liking for living alone, though initially I used to dread getting bored to death especially in foreign lands. This year long visit has kind of reshaped my outward perspective totally. I am becoming more & more individualistic & maybe a tinge of egoistic sprinkled in, to the extent that people seems to be hinting that I am arrogant now. But you know what, I don't really care. At the end of the day at work there is only one thing that matters - Was the work done or not ? All the rest of talk about 'your way' or 'my way' is crap that would be unbundled the next day. People have made a life out of giving advise which nobody really wants. People with three months in project commenting about people who have spent better part of three years here and not looking at their bag-full or maybe train-full of failures. I hate these phonies, I really do. But one thing is good, even with all these jokers around its fun working out here, all this argument and counter-argument just makes you really thick skinned, indifferent. The next time you just shrug them off, and maybe sometime later even the phonies would stop arguing, for even the God is scared of shameless.
Its been over a month since I deleted my Orkut account, and the fun part is the addiction seemed to have gone away pretty easily. maybe it wasn't an addiction, maybe Orkut become the evil & not so innocent victim of my holy pursuit to set all wrongs right within me, and as it was the easiest of the targets that I could have banished. but I don't regret it, its one addiction less. It was a great time killer, especially when you are bored & looking for easy & short fun, but it was far from real. Instead it was a giant unreal that covered the whole real, so that whatever you wrote & whatever you showed wasn't exactly from the top of you mind. It was many times written in ways that was meant to sound different from the actual reality. The picture album has the best of pictures, the smartest ones. The 'about me' is either a crisp paragraph of hackneyed lines or is some high flowing stuff that not anyway related to 'me' but some sterile dream. I am happy to shed of my other skin. These days for most of the questions I have only two answers, I don't know & I don't care. I wonder where I am going, am I getting into abyss where the walls have been built so high up in the sky that even when I look up, the sky seems dark. Maybe I should join the second life. Okay, I am joining second life.
Once this Orkut craze was over, I have now got into another addiction & this time it is on-line movies. but anyways not complaining yet. The reason being the project is in kind of unravelling state and so I have figured out that it's no use working hard or maybe I guess even working. The result is crystal clear, we ain't going to survive the next cutback the client proposes. So chill out & have a good time, for the show must go on. You know, whenever I say that line I recollect a poem that we had in our early school days which had the lines 'For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.'' Its funny for I recollect only one another poem, Robert Frost 'Woods Poem' & that too because every time I come from home in Dehra Dun, the thick dense jungle just reminds me of the last two lines, where the poet marvels at the dense forest & wishes for a path less travelled. Its strange how some memories are there in you mind embedded for ages & there are some I won't say memories, but reaction which are difficult to fathom. say for, whenever I hear Beatles's 'And I Love Her' I feel some strange melancholy but this sadness has no face & has no reason. Maybe I shouldn't hear that song.
Its been over a month since I deleted my Orkut account, and the fun part is the addiction seemed to have gone away pretty easily. maybe it wasn't an addiction, maybe Orkut become the evil & not so innocent victim of my holy pursuit to set all wrongs right within me, and as it was the easiest of the targets that I could have banished. but I don't regret it, its one addiction less. It was a great time killer, especially when you are bored & looking for easy & short fun, but it was far from real. Instead it was a giant unreal that covered the whole real, so that whatever you wrote & whatever you showed wasn't exactly from the top of you mind. It was many times written in ways that was meant to sound different from the actual reality. The picture album has the best of pictures, the smartest ones. The 'about me' is either a crisp paragraph of hackneyed lines or is some high flowing stuff that not anyway related to 'me' but some sterile dream. I am happy to shed of my other skin. These days for most of the questions I have only two answers, I don't know & I don't care. I wonder where I am going, am I getting into abyss where the walls have been built so high up in the sky that even when I look up, the sky seems dark. Maybe I should join the second life. Okay, I am joining second life.
Once this Orkut craze was over, I have now got into another addiction & this time it is on-line movies. but anyways not complaining yet. The reason being the project is in kind of unravelling state and so I have figured out that it's no use working hard or maybe I guess even working. The result is crystal clear, we ain't going to survive the next cutback the client proposes. So chill out & have a good time, for the show must go on. You know, whenever I say that line I recollect a poem that we had in our early school days which had the lines 'For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.'' Its funny for I recollect only one another poem, Robert Frost 'Woods Poem' & that too because every time I come from home in Dehra Dun, the thick dense jungle just reminds me of the last two lines, where the poet marvels at the dense forest & wishes for a path less travelled. Its strange how some memories are there in you mind embedded for ages & there are some I won't say memories, but reaction which are difficult to fathom. say for, whenever I hear Beatles's 'And I Love Her' I feel some strange melancholy but this sadness has no face & has no reason. Maybe I shouldn't hear that song.
Making Sure I Have September Post
I haven't blogged in ages now & in between lot of interesting and not so interesting things seem to have happened, nothing on the personal front though. My canvas seem as drab as ever. Meanwhile the surge in Iraq goes on, India wrestles between the Ram & the Bomb, the sub-prime mortgage misery unfolds out here. In the neighbourhood Musahraff clowns around his lady luck, while Taliban gnaws at the periphery. In cricket 20-20 has reduced cricket to such levels of hoax-ism, I wonder if its a cricket any more or maybe its some kind of fast melting ice cream that still is ice cream but still not the ice cream and if this was not enough then we have media frenzy (CNN) on OJ Simpson (yet again! )
But still I don't feel about writing them any more, and for that matter why should I write them and for whom, maybe they are just some mindless gabble that nobody really reads & nobody really cares out. But given a deep thought, I wonder since when I have started to write for others and care a damn about others. It is my life, its my alter ego, its only here, in this page that I chooses how to live it and I choose how to die in it. This is my soapbox & I am ain't going anywhere yet.
On other things coming up I declined to come back to U.S. again on this project. Maybe it came on too easy or maybe I am not satisfied with my own performance out here leave aside the aimless work & the hopeless project. I don't know if maybe 5-6 months down the line I will regret my decision of not coming back here, especially for the money thing. Damn this bloody money. I think my time is done out here, in this project & in this company, and increasing the stay just adds to the misery. I am going back India in a month's time & then the new battle starts, what to do next with this mortal soul? I hate doing this, I really do, but then that's what life is. That elusive hope, that mindless struggle of the mind against the weak flesh. I am tired. now.
But still I don't feel about writing them any more, and for that matter why should I write them and for whom, maybe they are just some mindless gabble that nobody really reads & nobody really cares out. But given a deep thought, I wonder since when I have started to write for others and care a damn about others. It is my life, its my alter ego, its only here, in this page that I chooses how to live it and I choose how to die in it. This is my soapbox & I am ain't going anywhere yet.
On other things coming up I declined to come back to U.S. again on this project. Maybe it came on too easy or maybe I am not satisfied with my own performance out here leave aside the aimless work & the hopeless project. I don't know if maybe 5-6 months down the line I will regret my decision of not coming back here, especially for the money thing. Damn this bloody money. I think my time is done out here, in this project & in this company, and increasing the stay just adds to the misery. I am going back India in a month's time & then the new battle starts, what to do next with this mortal soul? I hate doing this, I really do, but then that's what life is. That elusive hope, that mindless struggle of the mind against the weak flesh. I am tired. now.
Blogger First Day Out
Hello ... !! Hello .... !! Is any body out there ... anybody listening or reading ...
After much of spending office bandwidth on surfing ... i decided to do something new ....
So here i am now .. blogging on office bandwidth ....
So exactly WHO AM I ..... ?
another bored technology worker fed up with the same old desktop , same client , same work ....
Boy ... I need something new .. something vibrant ... exciting ... anything that brings out the best in you ...except the work ..... i guess !!
How do i describe my self ? Thats a difficult one ....
A S/W Engineer ... single ... spends lot of time in front of the box .. works with a premier Indian tech. company (no puns intended) .... listens music (classic rock baby .....!!) love Pink Floyd , reads by the free time .. now blogs also ...
is confused .... very confused ....and has an opinion on everything ...a la everything u name it and u have an opinion .. from economy ... Jessica Lal .... Iraq .. global warming ......
Not kind of communist or chip of old block belives in free economy ..... kind'of center of right ....
if there is such a political category ....
impressed by ayn rand "capitalism - an unknown ideal" ....Bob Dylan lyrics ..... The Matrix ....kind'of change the world
I guess i need to go back to my work .... this neo-exploitation is killing me ...
~Keep on rockin’ in the free world~
After much of spending office bandwidth on surfing ... i decided to do something new ....
So here i am now .. blogging on office bandwidth ....
So exactly WHO AM I ..... ?
another bored technology worker fed up with the same old desktop , same client , same work ....
Boy ... I need something new .. something vibrant ... exciting ... anything that brings out the best in you ...except the work ..... i guess !!
How do i describe my self ? Thats a difficult one ....
A S/W Engineer ... single ... spends lot of time in front of the box .. works with a premier Indian tech. company (no puns intended) .... listens music (classic rock baby .....!!) love Pink Floyd , reads by the free time .. now blogs also ...
is confused .... very confused ....and has an opinion on everything ...a la everything u name it and u have an opinion .. from economy ... Jessica Lal .... Iraq .. global warming ......
Not kind of communist or chip of old block belives in free economy ..... kind'of center of right ....
if there is such a political category ....
impressed by ayn rand "capitalism - an unknown ideal" ....Bob Dylan lyrics ..... The Matrix ....kind'of change the world
I guess i need to go back to my work .... this neo-exploitation is killing me ...
~Keep on rockin’ in the free world~
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