Friday, October 21, 2011

postcards from Padfoot-1


As I try to make sense out of this absolutely insensible existence, staring down the barrels of my great-grandpa's old Winchester, trying to count the coiling twists inside the cold-gunmetal barrel and loosing track every time... as the world around me fades in and out of existence as I grapple with some eluding thought... as the mind tries to handle the myriads of realizations that keep popping up and bursting into nothingness like insects around the diwali lights... as the consciousness struggles to prevent an absolute overwhelming of the senses and sensibilities... amidst all these chaos in my room, an enormous black grizzly dog sits quietly and stares out into the night, over the moors, and beyond the horizon dotted with the city lights. Every muscle in its body static, the eyes unblinking, its hind limbs coiled and front stretched vertical, it sits still, its breathing controlled,it is quietly watching the moors beyond the housing colony boundaries. As if expecting a silvery doe to float from behind it, almost rhythmic in its movements, a smile on it's face... again... Padfoot is blue tonight. It doesn't show in his eyes, and his tail is still as the night. He sheldom bares his fangs, and never barks. But you could tell it, just by looking at his large black figure outlined in the dark like a giant silhouetted against the night sky... he is agitated. The world is about to change, for him. He can feel it in the air. He sniffs the night air, and casts another glance back at the flight of stairs leading down from the room, just for a second. Then he goes back to gazing at the moors, oblivious to the sounds of dinner table chatters and evening news broadcasts floating from the neighboring houses. He sniffs the air again, as if trying to find some cue of the coming of the doe. Nothing. All he hears is the sound of dinner chatter. Too faint for the human ears, but well within a hound's range. He barely spares any thought to the mindless frolicking of the bipeds, so engrossed in their mass-produced life of 'joy' and 'sorrow'. Some infant is screaming itself hoarse next door. Parents engrossed in soap operas or News Hour debates, no doubt. Or perhaps trying to catch a quickie before dinner. Thoughts flash through his head in an instant. For a moment there, he turns his enormous snout right and glares into the window next door. He could see the baby thrashing around in its cot. For a second he imagines his strong jaws closing around the father's carotid artery. A muscle twitches around his snout, for just a fraction of a second. He snorts, almost contemptably, and turns back towards the moors. Barely noticing the human now typing on a computer in the room. He almost likes this one. He feels a strange affinity towards this particular biped. He has often spied this one staring out towards the same moors. He vaguely tries to think, "What could that one be looking for there? But then... that's where real life is... beyond those moors, where real loneliness is." As the human types on, the enormous black dog sits as still as ever, staring out into the night...

Thursday, October 6, 2011

iREMEMBER

R.I.P. Steven Paul Jobs (1955-2011)



I usually stick to the standard MLA format and use the Times New Roman font, sized 12, to type stuff out. I am more of a formal conformist when it comes to such matters anyway. But I decided to go with the Californian FB this time, breaking tradition. After all I have set out to try and pay my eulogy to a man who broke free from all conventionalities, and in doing so created an urban legend the kind which the world has never known. The life of Steven Paul Jobs, aka Steve Jobs is fascinating enough to put the best of fairy tales out of business. From being a college drop-out, to going from a garage store owner to the CEO of the world’s biggest innovation franchisee, Steve Jobs lived a life no less controversial and certainly in no way less enticing or less revolutionary than the gadgets he designed so passionately, which in their own right, one can justifiably claim, have blurred the line between technology and aesthetics. Here was a man who believed in transforming, transcending and rising out and above the commonplaceness of everyday life, and last night when he finally called it a day in his years-long duel against cancer and passed away, Steve transcended life and transformed into the stuff of myth and legend! And perhaps it was somewhat justified too, that it all ended where it had all began, almost four decades back, Silicon Valley, California, the technological Neverland from where the tech-Houdini worked his miracles. As thousands of mac fanboys, Macintosh users, techies, students and others who have avidly followed Jobs’ every move, hung on to his every syllable crowd the streets in front of his residence, and the world marvels at the life extra-ordinaire of this indisputable genius who excelled in fusing art and technology, the man shall quietly lie in his last abode, and his spirit shall no doubt look down from the heavens above, amused at all the uproar he has caused even in dying, and perhaps be even pleasantly irritated at the sheer lack aesthetics of it all- the crowd, the mess and the funeral. I think he will find it quite amusing that a certain mac fanboy undertaker has designed a special aluminum coffin in steel gray, with the Apple logo on it, and christened it ‘iDied’! While the more conservative will perhaps frown at such attempts, Jobs would no doubt have been appreciative of the innovativeness of the idea. He was, after all, all about innovation.

Steve Jobs began his career from a garage, walked over the heads of monopolistic corporate giants like IBM and Xerox, whom he had dubbed ‘dead gods representing a dead culture’, and came out on top. Had an affair with a hippie girl he never married, had a daughter he didn’t accept for a long time, married another woman, had three children, took in his first daughter into his new family, named his first computer LISA after her, took Apple Inc. from being a newbie to the world’s largest and most innovative computation enterprise, got fired from the company he founded, quarreled with his contemporaries including Bill Gates, was brought back to Apple Inc. through the backdoor, designed gadgets that seems to be pleasant hybrids of Picasso and Babbage, had his liver transplanted, appeared in iconic product launches that have become entertainment events in themselves, and created a cult that has grown beyond all extents of imagination, save perhaps his own. From ‘iMac’ which killed the CPU cabinet and packed everything from the motherboard to the optical drive inside the monitor, to the ‘iPhone’, the ‘iPod’ and the ‘iPad’, he came close to almost trademarking that letter of the English alphabet. From the ‘macbook pro’ which pioneered unibody designs, chiseling laptop computers from solid blocks of aluminum, to the ‘macbook air’ which showed a world in awe that a full-fledged laptop can slide inside a standard envelope, the world never could stop marveling at what Steve Jobs kept rolling out of his backyard. INNOVATION: Something Wonderful In Your Hands, held in Apple headquarters annually, transcended the status of a mere tech-expo, and became an altar for worshipping art in technology, where the veritable God and his army of angels, would unveil miracles and proclaim prophecies that would entice and charm disciples spanning three generations. Over a period of almost over three decades Steve Jobs lived a life one can only dream of, and in doing so created a company only he could have built and transformed personal computing beyond science fiction. When news of his moving on broke out, President Obama hailed him as ‘one of the greatest American innovators’, as friends, relatives and rivals mourned the loss of a visionary. And quite honestly, and without epitomizing the man, and he would have been least happy if he were epitomized, Steve Jobs indeed was one in a million. A ruthless corporate shark, a charming hypnotizer, a billionaire playboy… the world had seen it all before, in forms of businessmen, entertainers and politicians. But never before was that man also an artist! And that is what, perhaps, made him such an icon. A college drop-out, a rude arrogant youth dismissing existing Giants, a young entrepreneur making things that were outrageously innovative, bending rules, breaking norms, setting a new trend and bringing in a fresh breath of air into an industry that had long acquired the tag of being the conventional and the geeky. In his first press meet, Steve Jobs said that he wanted the people in Apple Inc. to be more than scientists, he wanted them to be artists. Here was a man minting money, selling computers and calling himself an artist, and the world seemed to love it! Who ever thought computers could be sexy? Well, Steve Jobs did, apparently. And he was determined to show us that he was right. A colossal Picasso hangs over the entrance to the headquarters of Apple Inc. in California, a constant reminder of the artistic that makes Macs so very much different from other computers. It shall now serve as a sign of the legacy left behind by its founder- beautiful computers that deserve their owners and blend in with the subtle and sublime without standing out as some sort of crude machines. It was a commitment to making things more than just efficient, making them beautiful and pleasant, that perhaps drove Jobs towards risking a dual venture, developing hardware as well as the software that would run the hardware. Never before had a company single handedly done both, and done it so well. Over the years editions of the Macintosh Operating Software version 10, or the Mac OS X, has evolved as the most powerful, crisp and aesthetically appealing operating software in the world, besides having had the privilege of being the first operating software that used a GUI (Graphical User Interface) and allowed people to navigate around their computer using gestures, instead of complicated sets of command strings. Steve Jobs also gave us the modern mouse as we know it. Jobs’ old partner Wozniack recounts, “Every time it was the same story. They would laugh at Steve and ask him whether next time he will try to market something called ‘a dead rat’! It was like, they were Eskimos and Steve was trying to sell them an air conditioner.” But Steve Jobs chopped away at the trunk of the decaying tree that was IBM, removed the handicap that was preventing the growth of the field, and burned down the palace of ‘dead culture’, as he called it. And out of the ashes rose Apple Inc., transforming personal computing like never before, bringing computers within the grasp of people who didn’t have a Harvard degree in computing, and for once computers were as fascinating as TV. Jobs transformed the image of the computer, in the lay man’s mind, from an expensive box that lights up to a machine that does your work and talks right back with you! It was your TV, only smarter and you could suddenly interact with it! As time passed Apple computers got sleeker and prettier, and became more and more efficient. By the late 90’s the Mac had become a symbol of sophistication and taste, and could be spotted in the artist’s theatre and the scientist’s lab! These were the days of the chic engineer! The world marveled, and Steve Jobs reveled, while those that had termed him insane slowly faded into oblivion as evolution sided with the fittest.

Now, years later, when the days of toil and glory are a thing of the past, and Jobs himself has ascended the throne he once rebelled against, and perhaps been guilty of propagating the same monopolistic attitude he had once accused IBM of, one thing still hasn’t changed. Unlike IBM, and other corporations in the IT domain, Apple Inc. never stopped innovating, and never failed to surprise people with each product they launched. One only needs to think about the week long queue in front of Apple stores when the iPhone was launched, or the iPad announced! Now, some would ascribe that to crazy mac fanboys, and to certain extents they would be justified too. But no corporation can report 1.2 billion dollars of profit above the expected margin at a time when others were more than content with minimizing their losses, simply based on fan boys. The fact of the matter is, Steve jobs revolutionized computing, and designed gadgets that were cutting edge and aesthetic. And people loved him for that. He claimed to be an artist, and never failed to back up his claims with actions. The sheer beauty of his designs fascinated a generation that was bored beyond redemption living in a world of mechanical existence, where all that mattered was getting the job done. Steve Jobs got it done, and he got it done in style. Love him, hate him, you just can’t ignore him! And now that he is no longer with us, we will miss his charming smile on stage at all future Apple expos. The man seemed as fascinated with the gadget that he would play with on the stage, as the thousands of people who would gather to watch him. And looking back he was as much the reason as the gadgets themselves for people to flock to these expos. Steve got people excited beyond sanity about all things Apple, because he himself felt that way. You could see that in his eyes, as he fondled and pampered the product while he held it in his hands so the world could meet another one of his creations. Mark Zuckerberg aptly quoted, “We will ever be grateful to Steve Jobs for showing us that what we build can change the world.” Steve Jobs was all about change. And his changes were always for the better, the smarter and the simpler. Rightfully has President Obama hailed him as “One of the greatest American innovators.” But it was his onetime compatriot, and his arch-rival Bill Gates who had the most earnest words for the man, when he said, “We all have rivals. But every once in a while you meet someone who you compete against because you want their respect, much more than you want to beat them. Steve was one of those people.” As Apple mourns the loss of its father, Steve Jobs has left behind hundreds of milestones in technological designing and a company only he could have built. He is gone, but his legacy will live on, and his life will continue to have an impact on generations to come. No, not in the same way Mother Teressa, Florence Nightingale or some other philanthropist would do. But by the sheer amount of inspiration his story would hold up to anyone who comes across it, or watches the movie that documented his and Gates’ rise to fame; ‘The Pirates of Silicon Valley’. Steve’s life is vindication of what Einstein quoted a long time back; “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”

So, farewell then, Steve! You have been an inspiration to us all. You will be missed for your innovative ideas. You will be remembered for your revolutionary gadgets. You will be looked up to for upholding aesthetics in technology. The products you have given us will fascinate the world for years to come. And generations yet to come shall marvel at the cult that could have formed only around you. In a world where contemplating is viewed as a waste of time, and aesthetics has been reduced to phrases like ‘in-your-face’ and ‘cool’, you will be sorely missed. But beyond all that, Steve, I will miss the person who so vehemently dreamt, and showed the world just how much innovation and success can stem from and just how many paradigms can be shifted by sheer passionate imagination! For reasons entirely personal, and having nothing to do with computing, that is most important to me in remembering you. That is why you will always be a hero to me.

Goodbye, and hope you have fun converting Heaven to Mac! I can only feel for those you have left behind, who knew you personally and called you ‘family’. I am sure God was desperately in need of groundbreaking ideas. Or you wouldn’t have left us so early.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

six years, two cousins, three emails, and a failed reunion: closing another unfinished conversation

Ed,

I guess you're keeping busy. Too busy perhaps, even for the old "Bryan Adams Cousins in Music"! Funny... how life can change since high school, isn't it? A bit heart-breaking too. But I guess there's nothing anyone can do. Times change... people change... life goes on.

In your first surprise email, in six years, you had expressed a desire to catch up, and an interest as to when I leave. I was surprised, pleasantly of course, to hear from my old 'cousin'. I was even excited at the prospect of a probable reunion. The only one I would have agreed to since 2006. I have been waiting for your response to set up the appointment... for the last two months. I still am... against all hopes. Hoping against hope seems to be an incorrigible habit of mine. Nevertheless, I felt I should at least keep up my end of the bargain, and let you know of what's going on at my end. Why, if you ask... well, one thing I've learned during the last six years is that goodbyes always hurt. But a goodbye hurts the most when you don't get to say it. That teaching has only recently been reinforced, rather painfully. And I for one, will NOT do that to anyone again. Not even to those whom I utterly despise, and I despise very few people. Hence the next few paragraphs.

I will be leaving on the 22nd of December, 2011. I don't know if we will get a chance to meet again. But, I wanted to tell you that, in spite of our falling apart, you were one of the most amazing persons I've ever met. The two years we were friends... well... lets just say, they have given me a lifetime of memories. I always hoped we will continue like we used to be... 'cousins', if only 'in music'. It was actually heart- breaking when you left. Then I lost the love of my life, too. Well, that one was my mistake. I left her... she didn't leave me. But the directionality of a mistake, as I keep realizing, has very little to do with the damage they cause in terms of heart-breaks, and the price you pay, in terms of tears. I have kept awake many a nights, wondering what happened to our good old days, thinking about the night the three of us walked back from Mrs.Srivastav's house, down the road by that old lake... heaven's lake, as I have pitifully come to call it. I have searched and searched for a way to bring those days back... to relive those feelings all over, till I finally realized that some times you can't pick up the threads of a life gone by. It hasn't been easy, but I think I am coming to terms with it slowly. My years in Hyderabad taught me that sometimes, even as Life takes away a 'cousin', it also gives you a brother. But I will not pretend it has lessened the trauma at all. Losing her, and you going away were two of the most painful experiences of my life. But what could I have done differently? Where did we go wrong? I don't have any answers to that one, mate! It was great while it lasted... divine and blissful... That is my only consolation, if there can be any consolation at all. I guess time ran out.

As I look forward to my days in Auckland, I feel a strange sensation of pain, resignation, mixed with apprehension and excitement. What lies ahead? What kind of life will it be? There will be new people to meet, new experiences to go through... and a remembrance of what was, what is, and what could have been...

I have never been much for goodbyes. No. Not me. Perhaps it's a weakness. A folly, may be? What else can you call this incorrigible tendency to fight the inevitable? And is it not justified too... is it anything but utterly proper? All good things must end, they say. Then, by extension, perhaps, so much the more for all things 'great'. As Oscar Wilde would have put it, had he been alive and chanced upon my letters ;

"Oh! The tragedy of the youth... They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever."

So, goodbye then, my long lost friend, my estranged 'cousin'. I will hope, since I've long ago found myself incapable of praying, that you find life as you wanted it to be, that you make it big, and that wherever you go you might bring a fraction of the joy you brought to my life during those years of trials and tribulations, to whoever might have a need for them as I once did. I will always remember you fondly, and hope that the feeling is reciprocated. For in those memories, we, as 'we' used to be, will live on.


Best
Sam

Sunday, July 31, 2011

of writers, writings and romantics

Dear S,

Taking off from your last lines, the fact that you are simply 'glad' that you bring a positive effect to some lives, however big or small, is what enables you to be that person. I have always had trouble relating to full-time 'gurus'. And now I understand, that is because if being 'helpful' is your profession or even vocation, then you are not being helpful or comforting for the sake of bringing relief... you are doing it for the same reason a Harvard Law School topper would defend a raped woman against a billionaire convict- not because he feels any kind of empathy (although he most certainly can), but because that is what he paid $60,000 a year to earn the license to do. It's his job, and he is neck deep in student loan. But when you pick up a kid from the playground, wipe her tears, wash the skinned knee, and then suddenly blurt out, "shit! I'm late...", and run off to wherever you were headed, you are acting out of genuine concern, and good will. That's what makes you that person. As Ali once said, " A champion never forgets where he is going. But a legend never forgets where he is from".

Yes, you are right. I am an incurable romantic. Much like you. And perhaps I am much more too. But, as romanticism goes, lets just say while I chose to roar and thunder, you have chosen to look up at the moon and quietly sigh, not in desperation, but in silent appreciation of its beauty without craving it. No, I am not epitomizing you. Both kinds have their uses. While romanticism, I believe, benefited from Shelley, Keats and Wordsworth alike, the romantics concerned experienced life in very different ways. One should not be foolhardy enough to try a qualitative analysis here. But it is undeniable that the way they composed and the way they experienced life, at some level, fed each other. I guess, this is why you and I react so very differently in certain situations, while sharing very similar experiences and philosophies, and a much alike emotional constituency.

You say people tell you that you write very well. I think they are right. That is being very condescending, coming from me to you, I realize it even as my fingers work the keyboard. But you are not the kind who would like to read an encyclopaedia entitled " Life and Times of S++++v+s S++++th+++ar: A Look Back in Gratitude", are you? So I guess I would do better to leave out the details. But you ARE extremely fluid while painting with words. I'm sure you've had your suspicions. If I were you, and I do not feel I am half as good ( not with words, certainly not with Linguistics, and work ethics is a far cry), I wouldn't. But that's why we are different. That's why while I choose to stand against the waves, and challenge there might, and then look around and realize I'm neither victorious nor vanquished, but simply by myself, alone and solitary, all the while still fuming with pent up aggression, you can afford to turn yourself into the liquid, and change shape and find your way in and out of all the snares, and be at peace. When you write, or at least when people read what you write, it feels like listening to a lore-master recount stories and experiences of a lifetime. You write to speak. You are, like James Joyce, the artist who has chosen exile and solitude to express himself in utter freedom, unrestrained and unaffected by what he writes. "Ars gratia artis".

I, on the other hand, get involved with what I write. Writing, for me, is a safety-valve that lets out the excess pressure and prevents the dam from rupturing. I get so utterly involved with what I write, so emotionally attached, that the text and the author becomes alter-egos. My texts are like my own doppelgangers. I have to rely utterly on my limited ability to get along with words to maintain my identity. I am afraid, that if my writings do not tell about the place inside me, where I am all by myself surrounded by my angels and demons, as they wage a war to claim me for their own, I will forever lose my way and be lost in my own personal Neverland. Perhaps you are too generous. Perhaps you have at some time, long ago when you were young and unwise like me, have felt the same emotions, and can still recall what it's like to live a double-life- one in the world around that has no sense, one in the Neverland inside the 'self' that you can't make sense out of, yet. But be that as it may, the artist in you has long reached maturity and found that truth and beauty seldom co-exist. The aspiring one in me, is still getting used to the joy of being able to handle the pencil without breaking the lead.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

never been a right time to say goodbye (2)

I have always known this day will come, sooner or later. Known it for the last six years. Every waking moment of my consciousness have reminded me of this one absolutely unavoidable certainty. Yet, as life teaches me yet again, and perhaps for the millionth time too, knowledge and acceptance are two very different things.And today, when I stand before my own reflection, staring into the eyes of the all so familiar stranger, full of regrets, questions and a hint of despair and rejection, somewhere there is also a sense of vindication... of one long dreaded event. The eyes stare out, as if trying to make sense of the endless void around... and somewhere, as a certain flight takes off, carrying a certain person across the ocean, it all feels so damn empty- an endless void... a vacuum filled with silence... not even the strength left for a sigh. As the heart grapples and wrestles with memories lurking in the shadowy corners of the subconscious, the mind vaguely repeats to itself...

"He tries to peel the image from the sticky yellow backing, to show her the next time he sees her, but it clings stubbornly, refusing to detach cleanly from the past."

~~J.Lahiri~~

"I will not say do not weep... for not all tears are evil"

~~ J.R.R.Tolkien~~

“It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

~~~Jack Kerouac~~

and finally, in somewhat of a pathetic self-mocking tone,

" ... it's only words
and words are all I have.."

~~ Boyzone; Words~~

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

MAD GIRL'S LOVE SONG : Sylvia Plath




[note: I thought, given the days of utter lack of creative inspirations and literary barrenness on my part, it might be a good idea to share one of my favorite pieces of poetic work with everyone. So, here it is... an unbelievably touching poem by one of the most breathtakingly beautiful and awe-inspiringly talented female poets of all times... Sylvia Plath]



I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)



The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.



I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)



God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:

Exit seraphim and Satan's men:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.



I fancied you'd return the way you said,

But I grow old and I forget your name.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)



I should have loved a thunderbird instead;

At least when spring comes they roar back again.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Friday, April 8, 2011

parasomnia

Is it now, really?
Better drunk, than angry?
Bitterness is too much of a nuisance;
I would rather this bitter aroma
take over. Like a sweet love-child!
Doe-eyed, full of promises...
Unfulfilled words, and forgotten kisses;
Like the evening light, and
A naked moonshine.
Did we really run out of time?
Too busy
Working on those dreams I never planned.
Failed to notice you weren't around.
Girl! It's a harrow feeling'
Now that it's come to dealing
With facts, and I know you're missing.
I keep waking up... hoping
I was dreaming.
Six years of dreaming, Girl!
But do I have to?
Please tell me,
Do I have to keep realizing?