The quaint little platform was deserted at this early hour except for Malay, a tea vendor and a wet baby monkey, which had lost its way perhaps. Malay stretched his lanky frame on the bench, his clothes were drenched and the cut on his forehead kept throbbing. He was thankful for the tea vendor, the strongly brewed tea was just what he needed. The great Indian monsoon had ensured that his train would be delayed by another four hours. His rucksack had gotten wet on the way to the station. He opened it to make sure the documents were still dry. The plastic covers had done a good job in keeping the papers safe, everything else was damp. He squirmed at the thought of soggy packs of gajak stuffed between his dirty clothes. Nirmala made sure he never left Ittara without some snacks for his journey back to Kolkata. Her determination veered on stubbornness sometimes.
It was a similar rainy morning in June, a few years back when Malay announced to his parents his resolve to go into the publishing business. 'I want to start a new magazine, the market is just right now' he had declared. His father was the Principal Secretary - Urban Development in their small town and his mother was a professor of Hindi at the Hill University. They had expected Malay to follow in his father's footsteps or at the very least to complete his engineering education and get a comfortable job.
Malay's mother did little to hide her dismay. In fact she had launched into a full blown tirade punctuated with tearful pleas to the Gods. Malay had trouble discerning whether she was more angry at him or at the huge bevy of Hindu deities. He could not help chuckling when she complained about the best quality Kashmiri apples she had them offered them for twenty-five long years and this was all she got in return. His insolence further infuriated her and she warned Malay in an ominous tone that a profession in publishing was not as easy as being the editor of his college newsletter.
The college newsletter was indeed where it had all begun. The biweekly had very little to do with news but had a significant contribution in the mud slinging game going on between different factions in college. As publisher and Editor in Chief, Malay was actively pursued by the leaders of each faction - the north Indians, the locals, the Gujjus, just about everyone. People wanted to be in his good books. Malay basked in the attention and the freebies were an added incentive. He decided that it was time to take it a degree further and get into the real world. Rub shoulders with the who's-who of the country and be sought after by them. At the age of twenty one confidence and self-belief were certainly not in short supply. He had a flair for language and could add his own twists to news to get the reactions he desired. The heady feeling of power was intoxicating, a much better high than the marijuana from Manjunath's shop could ever give.
Malay had grown up watching ministers and other dignitaries at close quarters. He was not tongue tied in front of them, he was not awe stuck by celebrity like most of his friends. But it was not political figures and current issues that Malay sought to pursue. His aspirations lay in reams of glossy pages with stories about the rich and famous, scoops about the glamor world, the possibilities were endless. This, wisely enough, he did not reveal to his parents. He did nothing to dispute the general assumption that his magazine would be of a political nature.
Malay's father - Haridas Bogate, assumed a more tolerant face, encouraging even, he had not forgotten his own frantic attempts at poultry farming in his early days. His initial resolve and enthusiasm had melted in the face of failure. Malay would be no different he supposed.
Besides he was a bureaucrat, frantic breast beating was the bastion of the politicos, his forte lay in having alternate plans ready for execution. He figured that Malay had about five years to dabble in the publishing business. After that hiatus he would surely be able to lure Malay back into the folds of bureaucracy, he would welcome the prodigal son. That would still give Malay another five years of time to crack the IAS.
Malay smiled ruefully as he thought of that day. He pulled out his pocket book and under the lines
"La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos" he scribbled his own version
"The same rain washes the same earth.
We, we who were, are the same no longer."
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Chapter 1
Malay clutched the chocolate bar and his ticket tightly in his fist as a group of young girls squeezed past his aisle treading on his toes, as he hurriedly tucked his feet in. He looked around him, yes, his seat had to be the best in the auditorium today. Lakshman kaka would come in an hour to pick him up. Until then he was a grown man, on his own, showing his ticket to the usher, making his way into the semi darkened auditorium and then perching confidently in the big chair. Was he a little scared ? Nah that must just be the thrill, adrenaline rush as they called it. His hands were sweating and the chocolate bar had gone soft. He unwrapped the bar, the chocolate sticking to his fingers, and took a bite.
The minister dressed in flawless white took the stage. Even his shoes were white, offset only by his slicked black hair. Malay chuckled to himself, 'Ermine-man, that sounded fine he thought'. The minister welcomed the performers to their town with all the eloquence that he could muster and after what seemed like an endless speech, the curtain finally rose.
Malay jumped up and clapped, he could hardly wait for the show to begin. In the rush he dropped the half eaten chocolate on his feet smudging his new Nikes. Well it did not matter so much he told himself, the show was finally beginning.
Carefully he folded the counterfoil of his ticket and put it in his pocket. They would check again during the interval, he had to be careful not to lose it. People settled back in their seats while the Joker and the cycling parrot took the stage. This was followed by the tigers following the ring master's whip and whims. Malay checked the program schedule again, yes after another performance it was the turn of the Russian acrobats to take the stage. Today it was Dimitri Illyich who was doing the act of the human top.
Two weeks back it was the image of the human top on a hoarding that that drawn Malay on his way back from school. Traffic blocked his view but he was captivated by that one glimpse. Boys his age wearing bright leotards spinning around inside gigantic hoops, while others leaped high in the air from the trampoline. Yet another balanced on his fingertips. That evening Malay cut out the ad from the day's newspaper and put it inside his Geometry book. For the next few days he and Puran had spent the entire lunch hour trying some of those stunts only to end up with soiled uniforms and some bruises. Puran's mom had not given him permission for today's show. "These human tops will give you vertigo" she said. She had almost succeeded in stopping Malay too, but he was smarter.
And yes now it was the turn of the Russian acrobats. Malay's heartbeat quickened. A young boy about his age took the stage. He started off with what looked like simple tricks and somersaults but soon he started forcing his body into the most unbelievable contortions. Two more boys came onto the stage and started juggling with fire. Malay kept moving his head like following a tennis match making sure not to miss a thing. The music changed tempo now and the acrobats moved back a little making way for the human top. Dimitri was a boy of about eleven. He took the stage with the litheness of an athlete, a dancer. He had a big hoop in his left hand and with a flourish he set it rolling, followed it around and then in the blink on a eye he was in the hoop stretching his limbs like the Vitruvian man, a full stretch. The hoop miraculously kept on rolling around the stage in tune with the music. Malay willed the young him on. Dimitri's face seemed to be flushed from the effort and the concentration. Malay watched with clenched fists and a throbbing heart hoping that the 'human top's' hands were not getting sweaty.
Everyone was sitting up on the edge of their seat now. The tempo of the music quickened as Dimitri executed a perfect jump. Once more, twice, thrice and on the fourth jump something went amiss. His foot slipped out of the hoop and he could not regain his balance. He hit the floor head first. The auditorium went up in a collective 'ohhh'. Malay's throat felt dry, he looked at the Dimitri's face. The boy was looking abashed almost guilty now, he was not badly hurt though. Malay felt embarrassed for him, wanted to reassure him. What might be going on in the young boy's mind ? Would he get up and and start performing again, his hands must be shaky from the exhaustion and the fall. Or would he gather his hoop and take a bow with an embarrassed smile ? For a professional this might not be as big a deal as Malay was making it out to be. Before Malay could contemplate further four more acrobats came onto the stage with a trampoline somersaulting high into the air. The crowd was distracted. The spotlight fell on them now. In the background Malay watched a small figure picking up the hoop and limping into the wings.
Dimitri Illyich with his gigantic hoop and Malay Bogate, they belonged to two different worlds yet hadn't both been cast out of the circle of comfort in front of an expectant audience ?
So what does one do after vouching for non-conformance? Malay knew he did not want to slink into the backdrop, he had to pick up the pieces and try again.
The minister dressed in flawless white took the stage. Even his shoes were white, offset only by his slicked black hair. Malay chuckled to himself, 'Ermine-man, that sounded fine he thought'. The minister welcomed the performers to their town with all the eloquence that he could muster and after what seemed like an endless speech, the curtain finally rose.
Malay jumped up and clapped, he could hardly wait for the show to begin. In the rush he dropped the half eaten chocolate on his feet smudging his new Nikes. Well it did not matter so much he told himself, the show was finally beginning.
Carefully he folded the counterfoil of his ticket and put it in his pocket. They would check again during the interval, he had to be careful not to lose it. People settled back in their seats while the Joker and the cycling parrot took the stage. This was followed by the tigers following the ring master's whip and whims. Malay checked the program schedule again, yes after another performance it was the turn of the Russian acrobats to take the stage. Today it was Dimitri Illyich who was doing the act of the human top.
Two weeks back it was the image of the human top on a hoarding that that drawn Malay on his way back from school. Traffic blocked his view but he was captivated by that one glimpse. Boys his age wearing bright leotards spinning around inside gigantic hoops, while others leaped high in the air from the trampoline. Yet another balanced on his fingertips. That evening Malay cut out the ad from the day's newspaper and put it inside his Geometry book. For the next few days he and Puran had spent the entire lunch hour trying some of those stunts only to end up with soiled uniforms and some bruises. Puran's mom had not given him permission for today's show. "These human tops will give you vertigo" she said. She had almost succeeded in stopping Malay too, but he was smarter.
And yes now it was the turn of the Russian acrobats. Malay's heartbeat quickened. A young boy about his age took the stage. He started off with what looked like simple tricks and somersaults but soon he started forcing his body into the most unbelievable contortions. Two more boys came onto the stage and started juggling with fire. Malay kept moving his head like following a tennis match making sure not to miss a thing. The music changed tempo now and the acrobats moved back a little making way for the human top. Dimitri was a boy of about eleven. He took the stage with the litheness of an athlete, a dancer. He had a big hoop in his left hand and with a flourish he set it rolling, followed it around and then in the blink on a eye he was in the hoop stretching his limbs like the Vitruvian man, a full stretch. The hoop miraculously kept on rolling around the stage in tune with the music. Malay willed the young him on. Dimitri's face seemed to be flushed from the effort and the concentration. Malay watched with clenched fists and a throbbing heart hoping that the 'human top's' hands were not getting sweaty.
Everyone was sitting up on the edge of their seat now. The tempo of the music quickened as Dimitri executed a perfect jump. Once more, twice, thrice and on the fourth jump something went amiss. His foot slipped out of the hoop and he could not regain his balance. He hit the floor head first. The auditorium went up in a collective 'ohhh'. Malay's throat felt dry, he looked at the Dimitri's face. The boy was looking abashed almost guilty now, he was not badly hurt though. Malay felt embarrassed for him, wanted to reassure him. What might be going on in the young boy's mind ? Would he get up and and start performing again, his hands must be shaky from the exhaustion and the fall. Or would he gather his hoop and take a bow with an embarrassed smile ? For a professional this might not be as big a deal as Malay was making it out to be. Before Malay could contemplate further four more acrobats came onto the stage with a trampoline somersaulting high into the air. The crowd was distracted. The spotlight fell on them now. In the background Malay watched a small figure picking up the hoop and limping into the wings.
Dimitri Illyich with his gigantic hoop and Malay Bogate, they belonged to two different worlds yet hadn't both been cast out of the circle of comfort in front of an expectant audience ?
So what does one do after vouching for non-conformance? Malay knew he did not want to slink into the backdrop, he had to pick up the pieces and try again.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The fine art of dissolving sugar in coffee - Karmic wisdom in a cup
Have you, on long summer afternoons, sitting in the comfort of you air conditioned office felt the ardent need for a cup of coffee? Not that one must be particularly fond of coffee for that to happen. The need arises simply when you have the watchful eyes of your boss on your back just as the biriyani you had for lunch starts having its soporific effects.
Yes I admit I have been assailed by such urges and have rushed cup in hand, to the comfort of the vending machine. But on many occasions after getting my cup of coffee and adding sugar (we use paper for this) I have realized to my horror that there was no spoon around, not even plastic stirrers!
Now that must be the work of some sadistic prankster or is it a health freak who wants to impose his/her health fads on hapless colleagues?
I like my sugar. There is a can full of it standing near the vending machine and I have a heap of it in my coffee. But ironically I must now be deprived of its sweet taste until the last over-sweetened sips of my cuppa!
Metaphorical almost of the long yearnings of life- getting what you want but not what you need. So then is it some philosopher who is stealing spoons to disperse some karmic wisdom ?
Well whoever it might be, I am not one to be outdone by such minor glitches. I have devised a strategy. One that will undo the work of health freaks and philosophers alike.
To begin with get some sugar into your cup (use paper for this or simply pour). Vending machines usually have a steam dispenser. So a get a few initial shots of steam in your cup and then shake the concoction with all your might. The hot steam melts into water and also dissolves the sugar. Now that you have the base ready you can get a shot of your favorite latte or espresso.
Lo and behold your perfect cup of coffee is ready! I know lovers of filter coffee will beg to disagree. But in a world where one is forced to cut down on ones needs and likes and fall in line with the rest, ingenuity is our only weapon and this is the best one can do.
As the wise old Mick Jagger says: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need"
Yes I admit I have been assailed by such urges and have rushed cup in hand, to the comfort of the vending machine. But on many occasions after getting my cup of coffee and adding sugar (we use paper for this) I have realized to my horror that there was no spoon around, not even plastic stirrers!
Now that must be the work of some sadistic prankster or is it a health freak who wants to impose his/her health fads on hapless colleagues?
I like my sugar. There is a can full of it standing near the vending machine and I have a heap of it in my coffee. But ironically I must now be deprived of its sweet taste until the last over-sweetened sips of my cuppa!
Metaphorical almost of the long yearnings of life- getting what you want but not what you need. So then is it some philosopher who is stealing spoons to disperse some karmic wisdom ?
Well whoever it might be, I am not one to be outdone by such minor glitches. I have devised a strategy. One that will undo the work of health freaks and philosophers alike.
To begin with get some sugar into your cup (use paper for this or simply pour). Vending machines usually have a steam dispenser. So a get a few initial shots of steam in your cup and then shake the concoction with all your might. The hot steam melts into water and also dissolves the sugar. Now that you have the base ready you can get a shot of your favorite latte or espresso.
Lo and behold your perfect cup of coffee is ready! I know lovers of filter coffee will beg to disagree. But in a world where one is forced to cut down on ones needs and likes and fall in line with the rest, ingenuity is our only weapon and this is the best one can do.
As the wise old Mick Jagger says: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need"
Friday, June 13, 2008
Occupational Hazards
Organizations all over the world are waking up to the need of a safe, healthy and green workplace. But what about office conveyance...aren’t companies responsible for ensuring a health and safety there too? And no I am not complaining about rash driving on bumpy roads. I am talking of the other travails of travel.
Firstly there is a chance that you don’t a get a seat on the bus despite all your elbowing. Well then you can look forward to a series of fluid oscillations to match the sporadic motion of the bus. And my dear sisters if you happen to be well heeled (pun intended), then I’d say a little prayer for your toes.
Secondly there is a possibility that you get a seat on the wrong side of the bus. By wrong side I mean the sunny side. And in this glorious Indian summer that’s some experience as you can guess. Don’t they say one can contract Melanoma from over exposure to the sun’s harmful UVA and UVB rays?
Thirdly if you do get in the bus and manage a seat on the right side you would be a fool if you start celebrating your triumph too soon. Because now you are exposed to the ever increasing hazard of having to lend an unwilling shoulder to the flopping, drooling heads of slumbering colleagues. Yes, it is a very real threat. Not only are you forced to spend time in a confined place in close physical proximity with strangers but there is also the threat of having to share the intimacy of sleep. Mortifying I must say!
So how do we deal with these hazards? Years of commute have taught me a few tricks and smart moves that can keep you safe amid all these perils. For point number one and two all you can do is to say your prayers. For point number three however, you can be proactive.
So the next time you see someone lurching towards your shoulder in a sleep induced trance, don’t be afraid, simply change your position. Move back and forth, fiddle in your bag, move your arms like you need a stretch, anything goes. Instantly you will notice the ‘sleeper’ regaining composure and sitting up straight. Sometimes if that does not do the trick then you can shift your weight towards the sleeper’s side or maybe try a slight inadvertent nudge or start tapping your feet to some dance number playing in your mind. And if that fails too, well then you have met a tough match and you can now start sulking.
These survival strategies are not foolproof; they have their failings. What I am suggesting here, in all humility, are just a few stop-gap measures we can take until the powers-that-be take notice and mitigate our plight. So, is anybody listening?
Firstly there is a chance that you don’t a get a seat on the bus despite all your elbowing. Well then you can look forward to a series of fluid oscillations to match the sporadic motion of the bus. And my dear sisters if you happen to be well heeled (pun intended), then I’d say a little prayer for your toes.
Secondly there is a possibility that you get a seat on the wrong side of the bus. By wrong side I mean the sunny side. And in this glorious Indian summer that’s some experience as you can guess. Don’t they say one can contract Melanoma from over exposure to the sun’s harmful UVA and UVB rays?
Thirdly if you do get in the bus and manage a seat on the right side you would be a fool if you start celebrating your triumph too soon. Because now you are exposed to the ever increasing hazard of having to lend an unwilling shoulder to the flopping, drooling heads of slumbering colleagues. Yes, it is a very real threat. Not only are you forced to spend time in a confined place in close physical proximity with strangers but there is also the threat of having to share the intimacy of sleep. Mortifying I must say!
So how do we deal with these hazards? Years of commute have taught me a few tricks and smart moves that can keep you safe amid all these perils. For point number one and two all you can do is to say your prayers. For point number three however, you can be proactive.
So the next time you see someone lurching towards your shoulder in a sleep induced trance, don’t be afraid, simply change your position. Move back and forth, fiddle in your bag, move your arms like you need a stretch, anything goes. Instantly you will notice the ‘sleeper’ regaining composure and sitting up straight. Sometimes if that does not do the trick then you can shift your weight towards the sleeper’s side or maybe try a slight inadvertent nudge or start tapping your feet to some dance number playing in your mind. And if that fails too, well then you have met a tough match and you can now start sulking.
These survival strategies are not foolproof; they have their failings. What I am suggesting here, in all humility, are just a few stop-gap measures we can take until the powers-that-be take notice and mitigate our plight. So, is anybody listening?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Sarkar Raj - A review
Some reviewers gave it four stars ands some gave it one.
And how does yours truly rate it ? Well I think one star is a little harsh, I will be generous enough to give two.
The Good ?
Abhishek and Amitabh Bachhan are good in their roles.
Aishwarya does a fair job too.
The photography is interesting but after a point these shots from behind people's elbows and ears seems overdone.
The Bad ?
Inspite of an interesting plot in the backdrop the execution makes the movie seem predictable. The suspense is not taut enough to make you spill your popcorn while you inch to the edge of your seat. Oh no...but some of the jarring bursts of background music might do the trick. The twists and turns are reminiscent of Sarkar.
Tanisha's acting is labored in the few scenes that she has. Well one could not expect much after her horribly timed proposal to Shankar in the original.
The bad boys are oh so cliched in their plots and their mannerisms. The lesser said the better.
Shankar's right hand man Bala or is it Billo has just one dialog in the entire movie 'Shankar ko sab pata chal gaya'. (Now thats an ominous dialog, go on Bala you have the baddies quaking in their boots.) No wonder then that the poor fellow looks so angry all through the movie.
And the murderer...well it seems a little tacky to show just the boots and the gloved hands, a tribute to the villains of the 70's perhaps. And who, ladies and gentlemen, would be able to walk around in Bombay wearing such hideous golves in the middle of summer and not raise any suspicion?
The Ugly ?
Well ugly would be an overstatement but to do justice to the format I must write something under this heading too. The movie drags on towards the ending and the sitar strings harping on sadness do not help the case.
My take-- its a good thing that the office sponsored this one and I did not spend my money on it or I might have come out with a more scathing review.
I thought it would have been a much better twist in the tale if the pretty maiden had been the mastermind behind the mayhem...heck I kept expecting that to happen till the end and all I got was a sad sitar score!
And how does yours truly rate it ? Well I think one star is a little harsh, I will be generous enough to give two.
The Good ?
Abhishek and Amitabh Bachhan are good in their roles.
Aishwarya does a fair job too.
The photography is interesting but after a point these shots from behind people's elbows and ears seems overdone.
The Bad ?
Inspite of an interesting plot in the backdrop the execution makes the movie seem predictable. The suspense is not taut enough to make you spill your popcorn while you inch to the edge of your seat. Oh no...but some of the jarring bursts of background music might do the trick. The twists and turns are reminiscent of Sarkar.
Tanisha's acting is labored in the few scenes that she has. Well one could not expect much after her horribly timed proposal to Shankar in the original.
The bad boys are oh so cliched in their plots and their mannerisms. The lesser said the better.
Shankar's right hand man Bala or is it Billo has just one dialog in the entire movie 'Shankar ko sab pata chal gaya'. (Now thats an ominous dialog, go on Bala you have the baddies quaking in their boots.) No wonder then that the poor fellow looks so angry all through the movie.
And the murderer...well it seems a little tacky to show just the boots and the gloved hands, a tribute to the villains of the 70's perhaps. And who, ladies and gentlemen, would be able to walk around in Bombay wearing such hideous golves in the middle of summer and not raise any suspicion?
The Ugly ?
Well ugly would be an overstatement but to do justice to the format I must write something under this heading too. The movie drags on towards the ending and the sitar strings harping on sadness do not help the case.
My take-- its a good thing that the office sponsored this one and I did not spend my money on it or I might have come out with a more scathing review.
I thought it would have been a much better twist in the tale if the pretty maiden had been the mastermind behind the mayhem...heck I kept expecting that to happen till the end and all I got was a sad sitar score!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Those were the words on my mind while watching Federer go down against Nadal in straight sets in the French Open Finals.
The match was a clash of titans, old rivals; one seeking to equal Borj's record and the other seeking to prove his detractors wrong the lay his hands on the silver trophy that had been eluding him. History beckoned and the occasion called for high drama, an adrenaline rush.
But that was not to be, after ominously losing his serve in the first game itself Federer went down like a pack of cards. In all he could wrest only four games from Nadal who played a power packed and smart game.
All through I kept expecting Federer to rise from the ashes, elevate his game and show some flashes of brilliance. True there were a few good points and rallys, but not enough. Not enough to stop the Nadal juggernaut. In the end instead of being a well fought contest it turned out to be a mere whimper.
Will we see Federer on the clay court finals the next year ? Will the master be able to brush aside younger more lithe competitors to make it to the finals ?
And if he does what aces must he have up his sleeve to beat Nadal ?
It has been debated that Federer may not stand a good chance in this championship in the coming years but surely it is not the end of daylight for Federer's French Open campaign. It may be dusk, but not nightfall yet and the honor that has long belied him might just come in the hours of dying light, or so I hope, because that would be poetic justice.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Those were the words on my mind while watching Federer go down against Nadal in straight sets in the French Open Finals.
The match was a clash of titans, old rivals; one seeking to equal Borj's record and the other seeking to prove his detractors wrong the lay his hands on the silver trophy that had been eluding him. History beckoned and the occasion called for high drama, an adrenaline rush.
But that was not to be, after ominously losing his serve in the first game itself Federer went down like a pack of cards. In all he could wrest only four games from Nadal who played a power packed and smart game.
All through I kept expecting Federer to rise from the ashes, elevate his game and show some flashes of brilliance. True there were a few good points and rallys, but not enough. Not enough to stop the Nadal juggernaut. In the end instead of being a well fought contest it turned out to be a mere whimper.
Will we see Federer on the clay court finals the next year ? Will the master be able to brush aside younger more lithe competitors to make it to the finals ?
And if he does what aces must he have up his sleeve to beat Nadal ?
It has been debated that Federer may not stand a good chance in this championship in the coming years but surely it is not the end of daylight for Federer's French Open campaign. It may be dusk, but not nightfall yet and the honor that has long belied him might just come in the hours of dying light, or so I hope, because that would be poetic justice.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Apocalypse now ?
According to Hindu mythology there are four great epochs in time: Satya Jug, Treta Jug, Dwapar Jug and Koli Jug.
After koli jug which ends with an apocalypse supposedly the same cycle repeats ..hopefully?
Pundits propound that we are now living in koli jug — in a world infested with impurities and vices. Floods and famine, war and crime, deceit and duplicity characterize this age. It is said that strange things unheard of before will come to pass in the koli jug specially before the apocalypse.
Look at the unbearable heat these days. Pollution, noise, people's total disregard for the world and its resourses -- all point to the ominous dark age read koli yug. Now what more proof does one need of that than the recent news of a cow eating chicken and an elephant making a self portrait in true Picasso style!
Don't believe me?
Go watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LHoyB81LnE
Well I'd say we should make the most of now...hurry up and be done with all our unfinished business because these events that challenge our fundamental premise can only be an omen.
But the question is, should we try to salvage the day and go back to the path of virtue or simply indulge our senses decadently because when the world is recreated it will the age of truth and spirituality sans the materialism of this age ?
Well I'll leave these existential questions to philosophers and will just head to 13th Floor now for another Howitzer (Bacardi with lime juice and mint).
Got to clear my mind you see.
Cheers!
After koli jug which ends with an apocalypse supposedly the same cycle repeats ..hopefully?
Pundits propound that we are now living in koli jug — in a world infested with impurities and vices. Floods and famine, war and crime, deceit and duplicity characterize this age. It is said that strange things unheard of before will come to pass in the koli jug specially before the apocalypse.
Look at the unbearable heat these days. Pollution, noise, people's total disregard for the world and its resourses -- all point to the ominous dark age read koli yug. Now what more proof does one need of that than the recent news of a cow eating chicken and an elephant making a self portrait in true Picasso style!
Don't believe me?
Go watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LHoyB81LnE
Well I'd say we should make the most of now...hurry up and be done with all our unfinished business because these events that challenge our fundamental premise can only be an omen.
But the question is, should we try to salvage the day and go back to the path of virtue or simply indulge our senses decadently because when the world is recreated it will the age of truth and spirituality sans the materialism of this age ?
Well I'll leave these existential questions to philosophers and will just head to 13th Floor now for another Howitzer (Bacardi with lime juice and mint).
Got to clear my mind you see.
Cheers!
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