Some notes on Paper

Drown

2012-01-31T00:19:00.000+05:30

If you were an anvil,
and I drowning,
I'd embrace you, kiss the water
And welcome the cold dark.

2012-01-21T13:18:00.000+05:30

Every time it is harder to awaken
My rage,my happiness or my disgust.
Like a wick lit too often,
Crumbling to ash and growing shorter.

When the flames go out it isn't over,
Not even if no coals remain to smoulder.
The stains of this ash shall ever remain,
A darkness for lost light.

No matter how hard we try,
No matter how far we fly,
We ever have baggage pulling us lower.
Whatever we say - it isn't over.

Build another fire if you will,
But pick another spot I say.
Any light you build here will,
Be marred by the darkness of memory.

You may change whoever you were,
Hide all signs of that unwanted stranger.
But under the sediment,those layers of dust,
You know lie the fossils of what we were.

No matter how hard we may try,
No matter how far we fly,
We ever have baggage pulling us lower.
Whatever we do - it isn't over.

And frozen in another realm,
Our old selves may stay.
No more than phantoms in our thoughts.
Perhaps even those may be erased.

But the blows we gave each other have shaped us,
We have been burnt by our mistakes.
And unless you forget the past to be burnt again,
Never shall you be rid of me.

No matter how hard we try,
No matter how far we fly,
We ever have baggage pulling us lower.
Whatever we think - it isn't over.

I don't know what paths lead from here,
Or if I have the will to walk.
I feel like a wineskin drained - bitter dregs all that remain.
Unknowing if I shall hold sweet intoxication again.

We may part company,
Never see one another again.
Or later converge,
Maybe together remain.

But no matter how hard we try
And no matter how far we fly,
We ever have baggage pulling us lower.
And wherever we roam - it isn't over

Familiarity

2011-12-25T01:45:00.000+05:30

Contempt I hear by habit is spawned,
When every flaw seems larger than life,
But there stops not the tragedy dawned,
For there is an investment even in strife.

That particular road ends in indifference,
When wonders are invisible even in sight.
When we take for granted and in sufferance,
What another would see as a miracle in light.

The breeze we notice only in a calm,
The scent of a flower only in a midden;
Only with a bruise we feel the balm,
And admire beauty after it is hidden.

What leads us to assume grace everlasting,
When the world about us may tumble?
Our fate is as the die for casting,
The ground may at any time make us stumble.

But against nature is not worst this sin,
For she is moulded true,
Always as she has been,
Change is for me and you.

But humans why do we assume unchanged,
We forsake them, expecting to find them again.
But they mutate when left estranged,
Gone like lightning in the rain.

So I treat them,angels all.
Like a boat,tethered but adrift.
They are in truth a lark's call,
Left only in memory and fleeing swift.

Yet what have I done with this insight gained?
Naught for I remain ten of the fools.

Leaves on the current

2011-12-25T01:18:00.001+05:30

One often hears that time is a river,
Our lives are leaves upon its flow.
Our time upon it, a mere sliver,
Bobbing with the current,
High and low.

But leaves flow alone,
Yet we seldom do.

Changing Pain

2011-12-03T08:44:00.000+05:30

Sometimes death is the cleanest and sweetest form of change.
It is better they be dead and remembered than live and tarnish the memories of what once was.

2011-11-28T01:25:00.000+05:30

An insult was thrown instead of a stone,
Thus it began and how it has grown.
Civilization tames our inner beast.
Or if not,we hide it at least.

Mine was never a quiet foal,
It smoldered in my dark soul.
Caged away it paced and lashed,
Against its bars it clawed and gnashed.

All the time it lay out of sight.
Keeping it there a constant fight.
There came along one who set it free,
Made me embrace that part of me.

Not only that,she embraced us too,
Setting us free for moments few.

Again and again,she'd stoke the beast,
Feeding it unimagined feast.
Only too late she saw the danger,
And i found myself with a stranger.

From my beast she then recoiled,
And that rapture was then spoiled.
Away from she then she ran,
Found safety with another man.

In my rage I could not see,
How so happy she could be.
While the human could understand and care,
This beast of mine does not share.

And I'm glad they are not near,
For the taste of blood has never been as dear.
Meanwhile I small and talk,
Amongst civilized men I walk.

I keep my beast on a short chain,
Keep him from making blood rain.
But even though for now is balanced the scale,
A part of me wishes I fail.

2011-10-15T04:18:00.001+05:30

Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Her heart was of ice and she trampled upon his.
Though any fault of hers 'twas not,
for to be an equal she had always fought.

In a crowd of men, she was the only girl,
and in a bunch of hooligans,he was but a churl.
An oft written story, theirs may be,
I cannot say until the end I see.

A charming and pretty maid she was,
And for her they drew straws.
But for that he wouldn't stand,
'twasn't luck that'd give him her hand.

But when his mind to her he spoke
their loving bond she broke.
For each saw love in a different way,
together they could no longer stay.

But he was her anchor, she his star,
and once their relation she did mar,
She began to drift and he began to hurt,
they grew cold and they grew curt.

She once again stood alone,
he turned his heart into stone.
Perhaps she wanted him not,
perhaps 'twas another she sought.

All I know is simply this,
they both plunged into an abyss,
She grew lonely,distant and cold,
And his precious soul he sold.

Whose fault it is matters nought,
Just that help could not be sought.
My ink could run dry,
describing how matters ran awry.

Both their sins I shall omit,
the follies they both commit.
All that I did spake,
was watching them my heart did break.

Loneliness

2011-09-09T02:06:00.000+05:30

Alone in a crowd,
Between friends and amongst foes.
Life is a corridor one person wide.

Shadownman

2010-12-14T21:02:00.002+05:30

Put yourself in a shadow's shoes,

consider once the world it views.

The world is different in my eyes,

than it is in yours my human muse.

I walk in a spectrum of grey,

not for me the black and white.

Darkest in the light of day,

dimmest in the light of night.

I stand with all, none may escape,

though I follow or lead from time to time.

Fluid amorphous is my shape,

amalgam of opposites, yet sublime.

Yet how often have you noticed me?

Skimming me over with your sight.

I am only truly seen,

when I loom and block your light.

I listen to every word you say,

ever standing by your side.

I dogged your footsteps all the way,

and your every whim did I abide.

Yet always am I ignored by you,

preferring instead anyone else in sight.

All are equal - if that is true,

why always pay me this slight?

Emotion is possessed by even a wraith,

and I lie alone in neglect.

But willingly in you did I keep faith,

so fault lies with me, in circumspect.

But sometimes a little affection I craved,

just appreciation for this thankless task,

a little sympathy, nothing grave,

is that then too much to ask?

I follow every step of the way,

ask only for thanks at the end of the day.

Walk a mile in my shoes,

and consider my views,

look through my eyes

at your indifferent abuse.

Examinations

2010-12-10T21:43:00.004+05:30

One bad, two bad, three bad semester exams,

Four bad, five bad, six bad semester exams.

The days of respite I spent alive,

To study I did not at all strive,

Screwed up my first paper,

and then there were five.

My next chance I did ignore,

invited a horrible encore,

the second paper was worse,

and then there were four.

For an entire week was I free,

spent it just being nutty,

wasted an easy paper,

and then there were three.

I procrastinated and time flew,

my golden chance I blew,

favorite paper went bad,

and then there were two.

I decided I wasn't beaten,

I swallowed my texts like a glutton,

it proved inadequate,

and then there was one.

the last one was just games and fun,

it should've been very easily done,

turns out I was wrong,

and then there were none.

One KT, two KT, three KT in semester exams,

Four KT, five KT, six KT in semester exams.

PS: Sing to the tune of ten little indian/injun boys (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ten_Little_Indians)

Brown eyed girl

2010-06-14T00:58:00.001+05:30

Oh she with her chocolate eyes,

speaks to me with calm and cool.

And such are our ties,

I'd gladly be her fool.

Doesn't matter what she tells me to do,

how hard to do or tough it is,

when love is what binds people two,

one gladly jumps into that abyss.

But I know she cares for me,

and I know she does,

so damned though I'll be,

obeying her gives me a buzz.

And the part that really causes my heart to stir,

is that I know she too'd do anything I ask of her.

Journey - a haiku

2010-01-08T23:22:00.003+05:30

A journey I begin,

on paths I cannot see.

I yearn for it.

Fear unknown,

of journey's misty myth.

Seek to face it.

Choice faced,

to walk, to return.

I risk it.

My road forks,

difficult to choose.

heart obeyed.

Danger looms,

for some oppose.

I overcome.

Footstep unsure,

for destiny awaits me.

I find it.

Then I see,

an end too is a start.

I walk again.

What we know

2010-01-08T23:14:00.002+05:30

There isn't much that men know,

knowledge then is just a myth.

For in few beats they come and go,

see a little,understand a tithe.

Highly mutable what we call fact,

what we believe seldom true.

For reality changes with every act,

and truth is but a point of view.

When even the past we cannot remember,

the misty future we try to predict.

Then all sense do we surrender,

our vaunted logic we evict.

Of somethings though, we may be sure,

of death and taxes, but no more.

C'est La Vie

2010-01-08T22:59:00.003+05:30

The path of life is tricky indeed,

impossible to know where one's feet lead.

For cliffs and mountains that merrily mock,

are often easier than paved roads to walk.

The worst is our free will,

it means you always pay your bill.

Uncertainty and inaction compound the fall,

when you choose not to risk, you risk it all.

What you can't live without you can seldom have,

to try and gain in you may lose what you have.

Even when you have it, it may not last,

for change is certain, whether slow or fast.

None of this of course is for those who just exist,

drudgery and discontent is their lives gist.

It can't be denied that there are moments ofjoy,

that make it worth every tera you cry.

But sometimes in life its impossible to choose,

sometimes worse to win than it is to lose.

This free will does another problem spawn,

what one calls dusk,another names dawn.

And creatures then shall against each other pit,

every sinew,muscle,scrap of marrow and spit.

They shall rend each other till only stands one,

no matter who it is - the victor is none.

This is also in words nigh impossible to convey,

for it changes with person, with night and with day.

No more of this tale, for futile it'll be,

rumor it is, for knowledge is to see.

But a scrap of advice, I hope shall with you stay,

Lad, forget your plans for life - that minx will have her way.

What does it say about me?

2009-01-08T22:11:00.002+05:30

I write a poem to make a point,

what does that say about me?

The poem itself has no rhyme,

nor any order, nor any structure,

what does that say about me?

It reflects my life I feel,

what does that say about me?

I still think it is beautiful,

what does that say about me?

I know a white lie is just color distinction,

But I donot admit to cutting the cherry tree,

what does that say about me?

I cannot share anything I love,

as if I were its owner.

And yet i expect them to set me free,

what does that say about me?

I wish to fly like a free bird,

but want a nest to return every night.

Yet loathe to work for either,

what does that say about me?

I want to know what I wish of life,

but am also scared of the answer.

what does that say about me?

I have trouble percieving others as real,

what does that say about me?

I cannot put another's hopes above my own,

what does that say about me?

I am 18 and a cynic,

yet also young and want to be loved,

what does that say about me?

I am shy and act an extrovert,

hiding behind a facade.

By now, everyone belives it,

what does that say about me?

I love reading books.

the only time I am happy is while living a lie.

Another's lie.

what does that say about me?

I'm a coward.

Too scared to stand up.

Too weak to make a change.

Yet strut like an achiever.

what does that say about me?

I believe in convenience,

and convenient are my beliefs.

what does that say about me?

I donot care what any think of me,

yet it still hurts sometimes.

what does that say about me?

I am incapable of originality,

Yet lap up praise for my art.

what does that say about me?

I trust none.

Not myself.

But I believe them all.

what does that say about me?

I rarely forgive and never forget.

Yet often expect both.

what does that say about me?

I cannot believe I am wrong.

Let alone admit it.

what does that say about me?

I know that all that glitters is not gold.

Yet I yearn for those trinkets.

what does that say about me?

I can understand another's view,

without agreeing with a bit.

Yet their ignorance angers me.

what does that say about me?

I donot think there will be any answers,

or that I will heed if any be given.

Yet here I ask.

what does that say about me?

I understand none.

Least of all me.

what does that say about me?

I know that all the stanzas start in 'I'

and are about 'me'.

yet I write this one.

what does that say about me?

I don't know if I've made my point.

I don't know if any will see it I have made it.

I tried anyway.

I don't care anyway.

what does that say about me?

The birthright of equality

2009-01-08T14:33:00.005+05:30

Some lie swaddled in silk,

born as they say with a silver spoon.

Some though know none of their ilk,

cloaked a night in just the light of the moon.

One be born into beauty and grace,

the greek god of his race.

Another though was never whole,

crippled in either body or soul.

One may possess Achilles' feet,

sure and quick and light and fleet.

Another though has just the Heel,

can never hold an even keel.

One's life is rigged-jury,

another's is touched by houri.

One all life's pleasures await,

another faces a tougher fate.

One could be Socrates reborn,

another's mind is cruelly shorn.

One may dance with lady luck,

another trodden into the muck.

And some of us are lucky sods,

others children of lesser Gods.

And only as the last bells chime,

dawns the irony of our times.

The only place equality lies,

is with the dead under the skies.

People's lives foundation,

found only in death's station.

A belief that gave their childhod mirth,

one drilled into them at birth.

A lie that by life was torn,

that they were all equal born.

For such is a tragic lie,

that democracy chooses to live by.

And everytime this cornerstone is laid,

The beginning of catastrophe is made.

Blank Verse

2008-12-09T01:26:00.004+05:30

NOTE: I tried blank verse for the first time. Its actually harder than normal since I have a tendency to rhyme.

The world I know is a beautiful place.

Never stagnant, ever changing

yet ever perfect.

We face infinite scenes of joy,

and just as countless,

poignant vistas.

Some that take decades to pass,

wonders that a few

fortunate can see.

Others crowd our daily lives,

So much, they be

easily forgotten.

But one and all are scraped away,

by the abrading sands of

passing time.

The only places they do survive,

be in memories and in

minds of man.

Sometimes they lie crusted in paint,

and others sung in epics,

or a ballad.

Yet some more be hewn from living stone,

and some be guessed from

fossil and bone.

But not all men may cast in art,

for many leave their

verses blank.

And fortune smiles upon the most determined of those

who wish to preserve these miracles in life.

For though they be lacking in art,

it forces this beauty into

their hearts.

And the lives of such men are beacons of light,

capturing souls with stories

by firesides.

A painter's muse

2008-12-08T03:22:00.002+05:30

Lies across me a canvas stretched,

waiting to have a memory etched.

Shall I capture a winter fey?

Or immortalize this very day?

Memorize that swift's sweet flight?

Or wait and cast this eve's light?

Picturize the Pheonix rise?

Or catch the Lion stalking a prize?

Then I see that magics lie,

not in jungle or the sky.

Instead it rests under home's eaves,

dances amongst my orchards leaves.

So I put upon the easel with paint,

my silent, beautiful, radiant saint.

But my heart clenches in a fear,

as pilgrims draw from far and near.

Their praise and worship does me please,

but cannot put my doubts at ease.

Perhaps Da Vinci would understand,

I care not what thinks the land.

He knows he would be free of terror,

if only Mona Lisa smiled at a mirror.

I feel like Nero played, to make it rain.

2008-11-16T01:41:00.002+05:30

It was fortune alone that gave it to me;

But not just misfortune could loss be;

For bonds of love can also chafe.

I loved you beyond measure;

Your happiness was my only pleasure;

But happy is not just safe.

Now I feel Nero played, to make it rain,

When he saw his city, rise in flames again.

You wanted to live;

Existence is all I could give;

It was just another emotion.

Maybe you understood, for you never complained;

I know your love for me was never feigned;

You gave me your devotion.

Now I feel Nero played, to make it rain,

When he saw his city, rise in flames again.

Sorrow I gave, I can never forget;

Sorrow is what I now beget;

For now I write an apology.

All that is left for me are your ashes;

Those and your unfulfilled wishes;

It takes form of an elegie.

I know now that Nero played, to make it rain,

Tears can't quench flames;

they rise again!

NOTE: Nero was the last emperor of Rome, belonging to the Julio-Claudius dynasty. He was accused of both ineffectiveness and apathy, so much so that the phrase ' Nero fiddled while Rome burned' is used extensively in pop culture.

The poet just though that sometimes, well meaning actions can cause infernos. And forgiveness and understanding are hardest to take for such mistakes. But most importantly, when Rome burns, all you can do is play. And hope it rains. Your tears are just too impotent.

The poet and author of this blog cannot take full credit for this poem because he actually thought of the poem by mistake. And some lines to the tune of 'Aeroplane by tal bachman.' But he is happy he can write again.

Crippled even more

2008-11-05T20:05:00.001+05:30

Somehow, there's only one thing that really upsets me. And it happens periodically. And it happes because anything I enjoy ill bring it on. Some kind of genetic weaknes I guess. Too bad. Right now I'm depressed enough to contemplate suicide. But I know I'll get over it. Until the next time this happens.

No questions about this shall be entertained.

Chapter 5 - the diary in my head

2008-07-04T18:36:00.003+05:30

Hey, my name is Leo. Well, its actually Hadrian but no one calls me that. No one who matters anyway. Anyway, this is the diary in my head. I generally write ( is it writing or thinking?) into it to clear up some things and give me insights.No, it doesn't work, but its kinda fun so I keep doing it. At this point you've realized that I talk too much and make too many bad jokes. Hey, don't put it down. Its kept me sane.

Shit! I stormed off, all self righteous and on my high horse.But Rash has my book list. Great, just Great!!!Yes, with a capital G!
Someone bumped into his shoulder, jarring him out of his reverie.
"Hey, watch where your going!"
"I'm sorry young man, I was a bit distracted."The man was genuinely apologetic and it was hard to keep up that anger in the face of that disarming voice.Besides, it wasn't completely his fault was it?
"Its ok sir.As much my fault as yours I guess."I tell him my name is Hadrian and he just smiles as if to say, 'I know son'. Weird if you ask me. But then I've lost the right to call anyone weird a long time ago. First stone and all that.
"You look lost. Looking for the bookshop? Next square, take the lane to your left. Its called 'Books,stationery and other materials'. Has a large sign of a vellum parchment over it. Hard to miss it. Guy in the shop will tell you directions to wherever else you might need to go." Well, no one could accuse him of being vague or unhelpful but there was something about the dude made me uneasy.

Like, you now, there was something I was missing, something I should've known about him.His legs flashed. When I say flashed, I mean sunlight glinted off them. A closer look showed me that they were metallic. Now I'm not Sherlock but hey, I would've remembered something like that! Still that sense of unease. Now it would've been rude to stare so I nodded politely, thanked him and started moving off.

I could feel his gaze following me, not like that of a predator or something. But like that of a favorite uncle who has just seen his nephew after a long time but for too little time. It was comforting. Don't ask me how man, its just how I felt.
I imagined hearing his voice saying,"Nice to have you back Leo."

Then it struck me like a board across the knees. Had the man called me LEO?????

Weirder and weirder.

Words.......those inadequate tools I use.

2008-07-02T00:46:00.004+05:30

For the touch of her soft hands,
I would give up titles, wealth and lands.

To feel her sweet and warm breath,
I would gladly face the touch of death.

I tell her, 'a voice is soft and sweet',
she feels it is her I taunt;
but one man's poison is another's meat,
a whisper in my ear is all I want.

She thinks that she is barely pretty,
that here and there she is badly flawed;
to me,my dear Aphrodite,
you look like a long lost Greek god.

She leaves me wanting for more,
words fail me as they have never before.

Never thought this pen would refuse,
to write about my life, my muse.

PS. I'm dedicating this to Chelsea, my month and half old kitten. For I know not who else to dedicate it to.

Underdog

2008-03-28T12:46:00.002+05:30

A bird with a broken wing shan't fly as high,
For god never meant it to touch the sky.

Held back with anger, pity or outrage,
Always stuffed in the wings of world stage.

It dares leap aloft, unafraid of the drop,
Knowing it will hit rock bottom to reach the top.

After the crash, half blind and dead with pain,
It arises as if right as rain.

And when fails, at him they jeer,
His rise of him teaches them fear.

But it would rather than go fighting, than lay down to die,
Knowing its destiny to climb through the glassy sky.

They say, when they see him still walking tall,
"Admirable so far, yet now he must fall."

The favorites and he show a contrast stark,
They're champions, he's the horse dark.

But when ends the final melee and lifts the fog,
The only man left standing is the underdog.

A path less trod

2008-03-28T12:23:00.004+05:30

It started with that sheep, who was always wild;
A sense of adventure, curiosity mild.

Walked the well tread path, set into boredom;
It willed to break free of herd, roam in freedom.

The monotony to it, seemed hollow;
Their lead it would no longer follow.

At pain of isolation and society's wrath;
It made its own way, the less traveled path.

A pariah, a leper, an outcast made of him;
He saw his own way laid by just his whim.

Constrained by none, it rapped at destiny's door;
It did all it thought to and even more.

Its deeds earned it eternal fame;
those that scorned it, now praised its name.

History saw the deeds, what it did do.
Remembered the what, but forgot the who.

"An angel! A Messiah!", they sang "It be."
When it was just what they'd become,
if they set themselves free

Chapter 4

2008-03-09T22:07:00.002+05:30

"You boy! First time here eh? Grab a table, you're blocking the portal." His voice was very soft for a man of his girth. In fact, the kind smile contrasted greatly with the rough beard and gruff manner. Shuffling nervously, Leo walked over to a table near the fireplace. Great way to impress your to be schoolmates buddy, he though to himself looking at the kids around the place. 'Kids' would be a very misleading expression considering they ranged from 12 to 20. Most of the younger ones he realised weren't there to go to school at all. They generally were accompanying kids about 15 - 17 years of age. A couple of guys who looked about 18 or 19 had siblings and parents with them too, but these were the ones who were pretending they were alone.

As he looked around, he realised that hardly anyone was looking at him. It was a flash of insight - he wasn't the first one to do that and nor would he be the last. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. It was the guy at the next table. "Dude, I've been calling you for ages now. First year?"
"Sorry, I was just kind of...... you know. Yeah, first year. Hadrian, my friends all call me Leo."
"Me too. I'm Maximilian. Please call me Max. And this is my sister Minerva."
Funny as it was, it was only then that Hadrian noticed the girl sitting with Max. She was strikingly beautiful. In a way that could be described as just...... elfin. Fair, slightly canted eyes that were blue as midsummer's sky, hell she had slightly pointy ears. It was like she was right out a Tolkien novel. Sitting next to a boy of about average height, tanned face and roguish but slightly unremarkable features, the effect was even more pronounced. Or maybe Max just seemed unremarkable next to his sister. Generally any eye in the room would be drawn to her, but Leo had noticed her just then, an indication of just how preoccupied he was.
"I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you guys don't look like siblings at all."
"Nah, we get that all the time. Max is my half-brother. And please call me Min."
"Wait, so you're Max and she's Min? Well, someone has a wicked sense of humor."
"It was our mother's idea of a joke, of course, she doesn't have to live with it all her life."
"Calm down Max, most people don't even realise its funny."

Hadrian's interest in the conversation was cut short at this point by movement at the portal. Patrick had just come through, and Susan was halfway to his table at that point. Patrick had just caught his eye and Susan was looking somewhere over his shoulder. Both looked pretty grim and Hadrian had a fair idea of the tongue lashing he was about to get. Where's rash? She'll probably kill me if she gets her hands on me before those two. As it turned out, he was wrong. He'd turned his chair around a bit to talk to Max and Min and his legs weren't under the table anymore. It was then that Rachel made her presence known by kicking him on the knee, not very gently.
"Ow! You could let me explain!"
"This was your second time today, and a third will get you killed!"
"Well, at least wait until I've introduced our new friends, rash. Ah, Pat and Sue are here too. Guys these are Maximilian and Minerva, Max and Min for short. By the way, I've made that joke and they didn't like it."
"No one likes your jokes Leo."
"And these are Patrick and Susan. You've already seen Rachel."
They exchanged pleasantries for a while, Min was a second year student, so she'd been here already and so had Max and their shopping was already done. So after giving them directions to the book plaza, the two took off.
"So where to first guys?"
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to get my arithmetic and pseudo-science books first."
"Wait, you get to pick subjects yet you pick arithmetic Leo? GEEK!"
"Wait a sec guys. Leo, what do you mean... you dont now about us? We're coming with you."
"No thanks guys. I'm really happy to meet you guys. But now that I know you guys are safe and sound, I have a few issues with you. If you manage to solve them, I'll be sitting at that parlor Max and Min were planning to visit. Else, I'll see you at the ship."

Then without another word, he turned and walked away. They just looked at each other, no excuses for what they'd done though it was with the best intentions. This might take some time to fix, but fic it they would.

Prologue - I

2008-01-26T23:43:00.000+05:30

Prologue - Part 1

The night was dark. The kind of dark that was creepy and filled hearts with fear. The kind of night that evil would be abroad. It was the kind of night that darkness stirred in mens hearts. The moon shone with a sick deathly ivory light. A dank silence reigned all over. An unnatural, eerie, silence.Not a sound could be heard. The owls were silent, the crickets were still, not a single nocturnal creature moved. Even the wind dared not whisper. Suddenly the hypnotic effect was shattered by a figure moving in the night. Slowly, some people broke away from the trees.

"My lord, you must leave. It is the only hope we have left. We would like that it is not in vain that we give our lives."

"No, you can come with us. The safety of the castle is but a few miles hence. Or maybe we could fight them out. You men make the best phalanx I have ever seen, you certainly are the best warriors." The voice was princely and kind, it held not a trace of fear.

"You know in your heart that what you speak is no longer possible, sire. Our pursuers ride those damned black lizards. Our own mounts are beyond recall. But it is kind of you to think of us, even at a time like this." Another voice intoned.

Suddenly a couple of flashes lit the night. Two flaming arrows descended upon the royal couple. The answering volley instantly silenced the attacking archers. Shields were conjured from thin air and the arrows burst in harmless flame on the shields. But they had done their damage.
They had been found.
"Adon, we must leave. There is no time left for talk."
"The princess Ethelea is right , O prince. Leave. We will cover your retreat."
"Farewell Captain. It appears time is our enemy. May we meet again."

The prince looked at his companions in the moonlight. Suddenly it grew dark. An eclipse had taken place. An evil eclipse. Dark shapes with wings were silhouetted against the bright pale disk in the sky.

"There is nowhere left to run, my friend. It is too late for you to go anywhere." The voice drifted down from somewhere above. It was followed by a cold, harsh laugh that the prince knew only too well. So did the others.

There was an intermittent silence that was interrupted only by the clash of swords, hiss of javelins, swoosh of arrows and minor explosions. The cordon was being assaulted. It was to be breached. It had to be breached. A lot depended on it. There had to be an escape. But the seals held firm. The prince's warriors were too few. The darkness had grown too strong.

Suddenly the captain spoke. "I'm afraid you were wrong sire. I'm afraid time is our only remaining ally."

The prince and his wife understood, they saw the implications and knew the dangers of what had just been suggested. But they also knew that it was the only way out.

The rest of the warriors prepared to make their last stand.

A low hum arose from the throats of the the prince and the princess. It dawned upon the black commander what was happening. There was just one way to stop it. The assaults were undertaken with more fury. But the defenders were possessed. The assault ended up only leaving more aggressors dead.

A minute later, the prince and the princess turned. Gone was the bundle between them, instead they held two unsheathed swords in their hands.

"Ethelea, if this is the end, I want you to know that I love you more than I love myself." The prince looked into the beautiful brown eyes of is wife for what could be the last time. She looked back at the dark form of her husband and just smiled.

"Has it been done sire? It has not all been in vain then?"
"It has been done captain. Allow me to say what an honor it has been to fight alongside you, even if it is for the last time, Athelius."
"You are overly kind sire. The honor has been mine now and it has been mine since childhood when we played together dear Adon."

Those who saw the battle from afar reported that it looked like the very elements were rebelling against each other. They were only too right. As the battle raged through the night, the sky was cleaved, the earth rent and fire rained down.

By dawn the grove was a chaos, a disruption of the natural balance. All signs of life had ceased to exist there. The place was named 'Rider's glade' in memory of the last of the famous riders who perished fighting there. Twenty five years on, the glade is a beautiful place. But the details of the battle that resulted in its christening are sketchy. What is known is that the prince, the heir to the throne, and his wife perished that night in the grove. And not much else.

What is not known is that the grove is wrongly named. The last of the Wolver riders did not die there. For they did not die at all. Some still lived.

Prologue - II

2008-01-25T15:50:00.002+05:30

They walked in silence, something not unusual here. A graveyard is usually a place where silence reigns. What was unusual was that it was almost midnight on a moonlit night and the figures walking weren't your average John Smiths. At an average of 6'2", they wouldn't be small anywhere, but they were so well proportioned that their height was not very obvious from a distance. As if that weren't enough, they were both dressed in some kind of cloaks that obscured the rest of their clothing and ...... faded into the background.
"Are you sure of the time?"
"I was there, and its really difficult to forget that kind of thing, even 14 years on.", said a man walking with a detectable limp, and there was an occasional glint of his metallic leg, not just a foot, his entire leg was metal.

They all reached the middle of the glade. The man with the steel leg winced at the memories this place evoked. The two men flanking him were about half head taller and definitely dangerous. It wasn't their posture, or stance or their manner. In fact, the two men had kind and honest features, offhand someone would say that these were men who disliked violence. But as they walked this night, anyone with an ounce of brains would prefer not to offer any sort of challenge. As they reached the middle of grove, the two of them, their carriage and self assurance proclaiming their noble blood, deferred to a slightly stocky man in front of them. In any other company, he would be of slightly less than average height and a little portly. In contrast to the others, he was dwarfed looked wider than he should've. But the man was clearly comfortable in his own skin.

At a signal, the five others stopped and arranged themselves around the lame. To anyone watching from above, he would've been at the center of a pentagon, or maybe a pentacle. As the others faced outwards, he lowered himself to his knees and murmured something in an almost ritual chant. A resonant sound arose, as if from the bowels of the earth itself. There was a flash of light and a bundle appeared in his hands, cradled as if made from glass. But that flash had also illuminated something else - dark forms approaching the pentacle, outnumbering the defenders far too much.
"Betrayal!", screamed a man's voice as a group of horses broke cover and headed towards them, white as snow and swift as the wind at their backs. The night suddenly filled with cries and a torrent of emotion broke free of the attackers - surprise, fear, anger, recognition and confusion. But the defenders showed only a kind of desperate resolve. In a moment, all hell broke lose, but the man and the child in his hands had disappeared. Ultimately, it was a hopeless fight for them knights, but they had done what they had come to do.

That night, five of the famous white knights gave their lives just as the worgir riders had done 14 years ago at the very same spot, for the very same reason. And though none would ever realise the extent of their sacrifice, the knights had brought back hope.

And though none knew and wouldn't for some time, their kingdom had hope again. It was safe again. Their prince was safe again.

Chapter 1

2008-01-24T15:39:00.000+05:30

Hadrian Healer, toying with the knife in his hand, knew something was wrong with him. He didn't fit in. How, he couldn't tell. Lately he'd begun to think he was crazy.
At 15, Hadrian was a sort of popular kid. He was an above average student, outspoken, at times even rude. Those who knew him, swore that he was weird. Unpredictable, volatile, funny at a time, serious in a blink. He was quite open to a level, friendly and courteous, but that was as far as anyone got. Well almost anyone at any rate. There was a solid, impenetrable wall in his personality somewhere, one that had not been breached. He himself didn't know what to do, they said of him.

It was all true to a level. But it wasn't completely accurate. For under Hadrian's worldly demeanor , lived someone strange, to use a British understatement. That person was detached, cold, logical, cruel even. He's been cast aside by a world, isolated by it that you could almost term him merciless. He had no love for anything. maybe just a passing infatuation at times. He found the 'real him' scary and dangerous, tried to keep him away from evil. He believed that it were men like these that caused most problems. Swords for hire, ideologically promiscuous, with a perfect cover........ who's suspect the nice little weak boy from the neighborhood?

He was thinking of ending his life.... Hardly did he know, that by nightfall, his world would be shaken on its hinges.

A day ago, Hadrian had returned from a three month camp. He'd achieved many distinctions at the military camp, but the most notable one was for any sort of one-on-one combat. Trainers had been awed by his almost superhuman skill with a blade. But they didn't realize that Hadrian had wanted to wield a blade from his childhood. He'd dreamed of being a knight in armor. He loved the life that it signified, the values it symbolized - chivalry, strength, grace, skill and nobility. He dreamed of a magnificent blade and a dark armor. Everyone thought this normal. What no one ever realized, not even Hadrian himself, was that funnily enough he never dreamed of a horse. He wanted to learn to fence. That was a joke. But he'd do it, and he knew it. He was now preoccupied with other things....he felt his life was meaningless. If anyone would've told him his life would change beyond imagination in a few hours, he'd have thought them mad. He'd have been wrong, they'd have been right.

Hadrian thought he'd dreamed up a footfall when he heard it. But he respected his senses too much for that. He woke up and reached up for his glasses out of habit. He didn't need them anymore. Stealthily pulling the knife from under his pillow, Hadrian tiptoed out of bed. As he unsheathed the blade, he realized he'd been waiting for something like this. The knife was there, because he's been expecting this after the last few months.

His sixth sense tingled and Hadrian spun around. There was a draft on the back of his neck.... like a breath of the wind.
You didn't grow or achieve a sixth sense, you had or you didn't. Hadrian had it, but he hadn't realized it till the night when his world shattered.

Carefully he moved, tread silent as a cat's. He was really good. But his quarry, it appeared, was better. Suddenly out of the darkness there was a flash of steel at his throat. He parried the blow out of instinct and in the same fluid movement let loose a thrust of his own. Nobody, nobody, had been ever able to keep it up with Hadrian for more than a few minutes, that too with utmost difficulty, never. But this man managed to swat aside each blow as if it were just an annoying bug. Something was wrong, Hadrian realized, when he had to exert all his strength and skill to defend himself while his opponent did it with an uncanny ease. But the tought had lost him concentration and he earned an nick on his left bicep.
It roused him into a cold fury, something erupted within him and he become more acutely aware of his surroundings. His body had just released a flood of adrenaline. His opponent was caught off guard, he'd expected Hadrian to knuckle under now that he'd been gashed.

Suddenly Hadrian was blinded by brightness. The lights had come on. His quarry stood in front of him. A lean man, not much taller than Hadrian, both with the same lanky build, standing at around 5'6". But that was where the similarity ended. He had a scarred sort of face, Hadrian's was smooth and unmarred. His grey eyes were in sharp contrast to Hadrian's hazel, the fair hair contrasted to Hadrian's jet black.

"Congratulations, my boy, you just passed your entrance test." The man's voice was a strange deep and satisfied tone. It would've been impossible to guess his age, maybe because of his attire. The man was a cross between a knight and a robot. He belonged to no time, the past or the future. A cloak clasped at his neck, partially hidden by the fair cascade of hair till his shoulders. A beautiful brooch that clasped the cloak to his neck. He wore what looked like a robe out of the middle ages. There was a beautiful ring on his finger...... similar to the one Hadrian himself was wearing. The lamp was at Hadrian's back but an aura seemed to effuse from somewhere behind the man. Thinking of that, how had he managed to put on the lights? Hadrian was perplexed by this man and his talk. Entrance test? He'd just passed his exams with a distinction, topped the class as a matter of fact. But he didn't want to continue school. Was this a prank? This touched a nerve and he flung the knife at the man. No, it was not possible. It looked like the man just shimmered for a moment, and the knife passed right through him. It embedded itself in the far wall and hung there. the throw was deadly accurate and should have taken off his head. But it just passed through him. He was dreaming.

But the man continued,"You're being a bad boy now. Why not just listen? Then I'll spar all you want. The knife vanished. Vaporised; like it had never existed. "You learnt that yourself Leo? I'm impressed." Hadrian was sure he'd not met this man before, hadn't uttered a word until now, hadn't even seen him ever. How does he know my name? What does he want from me?

Suddenly the man's gaze darted from Hadrian's eyes to a small almond shaped scar between his eyes. His eyes seemed to pop out from his head. "God no. So that is why he sent me. But it cannot be. No I saw with my own eyes then."
Hadrian had just about enough about it enough of it, a crazy werido having a fit of disbelief in the middle of the night, right in his bedroom was the last thing he needed.
"Look, if you want to have a fit of disbelief, leave, I'm not in the mood for jokes."
"Oh, please excuse me. My name is Zargus and I'm here on business Hadrian. You are now 15 years of age as of three days ago and must begin this year at Theratus, the school we all attended, the home of you and your friends for the next 5 yrs."
"I already have a school."
"You don't have a home. That will be your home. Besides, you don't want to go to that school Leo and you know it."
"How the hell do you know my name? My pet name even? Look, I'm not interested. read my lips. Whoever you are, Zargus whatever, I don't want to join your school. Please leave." a cold ede had crept into his voice and he felt the beginnings of his quiet anger.
But the man appeared not to notice."Yes you do boy. You just don't know it." That mystic smile again.
"I can't afford it." he said flatly."Whatever my parents left me, cannot be touched by me until I'm 18. There's no way I could attend Theratus or whatever it was you called it."
"We have a fund for students like you."
"It's not charity. Its more like a scholarship. Look all zoleats must attend one of the twelve great schools. You don't want to be stuck with humans do you?"
"What do you mean? I'm human, though I think you might be some freak."
"No, Leo. You're a zoleat. Like me. Like Rachel, like Patrick. Like Susan. They're nice kind of people."
"They're dead."
"They're not. In fact, Rachel is downstairs. Waiting for me to call her up. I didn't want her to be a surprise. You might have flipped or ,worse, attacked her or something. She's a nice kind of girl."
"She's dead. I attended her funeral. You are a sick, crazy man." despite himself he felt a surge of hope.
"She's alive. I collected her myself. She didn't want to come, just like you. But then she realized that you'd be there."
"Prove it or you're dead."Something in his voice said he wasn't joking.
He walked to the door and called. Hadrian never heard what Zargus said. His ears were ringing. His hear was pounding wildly against his ribs.Like a bird struggling to be let out. He almost didn't believe his eyes when she actually walked in. Rather apprehensive herself. Her face lit up at the sight of him. It's some kind of trick, he thought. He felt like crying, but didn't let it show.
"I still think it was funny, rash."
"And I'm still going to kill you, you overgrown baby." They both were happy beyond words.......
"Well thats decided then." The third voice made them look up, raising their heads each others shoulders. They awkwardly let go of each from their hug and looked at Zargus.
"So, I'll leave you two to pack. You're bags are already taken. Rachel, you know where to go. Your tickets are with you. First to the Ripler's replenishing route. then to theratus. So, goodbye then." He walked out. But they heard no footsteps on the stairs or sound of the door. As they looked out of the window, they saw the tinge of red at the horizon.
Hadrian looked into the eyes of his friend and for the first time since he could remember, he cried. At 5'4", Rachel was shorter than Leo. Jet black hair, round face and slimly built. Leo thought she looked beautiful with her large round eyes, the shy smile and the red cheeks when she blushed.
"What happened? Suddenly one day, Zargus came to my family. he talked to my parents. I don't know what he said. They seemed to know him. They agreed with whatever he said. then, he told me I had to leave. I spent the days in some godforsaken warehouse. Reasons of security. today zargus tells me to come with him. Said we were going to meet you."Suddenly she caught Leo looking at her."will you stop that? It makes me feel awkward." They both knew it wasn't true.

They didn't know how much time had passed. They were looking into one another's eyes , happy to be reunited. Suddenly there was a scraping noise and the door opened.

Chapter 2

2008-01-23T17:01:00.000+05:30

Zargus' head poked in from the door. The two of them relaxed. It had been a night of surprises and their nerves were frayed.
"Hadrian, I'm going to leave at your packing now. But before I do. There's something I need you to know. The family you lived with was not yours."Images of his happy life flashed before him. It was weird to think of the boy in those images as not really being him."We are all zoleats. You, me, rachel, patrick, susan, all of us. I found it kind of funny that you four stuck together."

"The zoleats evolved from men. We're tougher, more cunning and more powerful than any other race, alive or dead. But we are unbelievably pig headed, stubborn and have an archaic sense of honor and justice. We've shot ourselves in the foot, one time too many. This has led to our gradual decline."The bitterness in his voice surprised Hadrian." Now, we are king less . The old king is dead. His elder son died 25 years ago, and the heir to the throne is missing since then. There was rumor of the prince being found 15 years ago, yes around the time you were born." He knew what I was thinking. "But they were baseless, though some deaths around that time have not been explained. The younger son of the old king was disinherited and died two years ago in exile. The last remaining member of the bloodline is the duke of Narcus. He is ultimately heir to the throne on his twenty-fifth birthday if the lost prince, the last descendant of hector, does not show up till then. As and when the prince shows up.... the throne is his."

"Patrick is the Lord Marquess of Caradhras. Susan and Rachel are the duchess' of Remagen and Magrase. So Leo, yu're among royalty..... you too hold a ring of royalty it seems, but the insignia escapes me." So that's what they are. We've always wondered how we got such beautiful rings and they're marks of royalty! "I don't wish to get your hopes up Leo, it might just be a souvenir sometimes given for services rendered. Your scar.... it reminds of of something I must check up on. How long have you had it?"
"As long as I can remember."

"Now allow me to take leave of you Hadrian. Farewell my lady duchess of Magrase." This time, he turned around, opened the dor and strode out. As soon as he closed the door behind him, his footfalls ceased. Like he'd disappeared.

"What time is it?"
"I don't know, I've never been up this early before." it wasn't true, but they liked to joke about how much he slept.
"I think its about 3.30, and we have to be at dead man's hollow at 8.30, so we'll have to leave in 4 hours."
"And your point is?"
"The pigsty you've made this place, there's no way we're going to find everything we need in 4 hours and pack it up too." She got a pillow in the face for her trouble.

Still teasing each other about something or the other, they continued packing. Tomorrow would be a long day, and tonight had been a long night.

At dawn, Leo and Rachel set out for dead man's creek. They were to be met there by patrick and Susan. The hollow in the marsh had been their meeting place from childhood, their secret. Patrick, Susan, Rachel and Hadrian, troublemakers of yore. Pat and Leo had been like brothers, the 'like' as good as non-existent. Sue and Rach were sisters, first cousins and none had any siblings. Patrick was a tall muscle bound, 6'1" boy, and in complete contrast to Leo. He had warm beetle black eyes and rather long brown hair that rested on his shoulders. A low forehead, broad shoulders, and a thick neck. A jock, if ever was one.
Sue, standing at 5'6", could be described as pretty as many boys undoubtedly would. A well cut face, high cheekbones, delicate but firm features, Pat said they reminded him of Hadrian. Hadrian and Rachel had been at the hollow at 8.30, despite Hadrian's protests that if he was there on time, it'd soil his reputation.

They'd been waiting for fifteen minutes when Patrick and Susan walked up, hand-in-hand, lost in each other's eyes. Rach and Leo gave each other 'we-should've-known' look. They had a point there. Patrick and Susan had been going out since they remembered. Nobody remembered how it had happened and anybody who bothered to ask got a 'who cares?' kind of stare. Hadrian had gone out with more than his fair share of girls, but none had even approached serious. Rachel was chased by a lot of boys, none had ever done anything except fail miserably. She must have been the most popular girl they knew, even more than sue, possible because sue was already serious about pat. But she hadn't ever gone out with anyone, they joked that her first date was either part of ancient history or the distant future. They told once upon a time in a far away place sort of stories about her dates.
Once, Leo had teased her about this, she'd half jokingly said " I'm waiting for you to ask me out." He hadn't found it funny and didn't think she meant it to be funny.

Sigh, the two of them are so happy, I hate to interrupt. Outwardly he said" Greetings your highness." Leo's sarcasm had been the scourge of his teachers, they never realized when he was leading them on with a straight face until the class burst out laughing. "Quiet lowly peasant, or it'll be your head on the ground." They hugged fiercely and exchanged a few playful slaps. " Pat, I think you take this stuff too seriously. It feels like we ended up in the middle of some fairy tale. Personally I think this is nuttier than a fruit cake."

"Anyway, I suggest we get going", Sue's eyes were sparkling with joy at the sight of Hadrian and Rachel. "I'll second that. Lets get this show moving before you macho men start your reunion stuff." Sue's sister had a knack for sarcasm too, a product of too much time spent with leo, "let's trade stories on the way."

They left the hollow and Sue explained how they'd been trapped in an avalanche.They'd been on vacation, and had been cut off from the rest of the world without any means of communication. Then some guys came with rescue teams and talked to their parents. They'd heard that they were, all four, adopted kids. It was finally agreed that they attend whatever school that was. Rachel and Hadrian then told their respective stories.

"Well, this address for Ripler's route says 21 wet end road."
"21? you sure you got that down right pat? 21 would be somewhere in the creek.West end road is a cul-de-sac"
"Yeah poochie, we went there last time remember?"
"You call him poocie sue?? POOCHIE??"
"Aw shut up rash, you wanna do that too......"
Patrick had just earned himself some punches.

"Oh my god. Patrick, we're switching schools!!"
"Woke up early huh Leo? What seems to be the problem in that?"
"Well, you oaf with a brain the size of a pea, unlike you, I have a girl who's still in the same school. What about Deborah? I can't leave without even saying goodbye can I?"
"Well, I'm betting you can and you will"Patrick was grinning wickedly." Look bro, everyone thinks we're off to a boarding school for 'special students' or dead. Special translates to crazy, so people wouldn't ask much more.What was her serial no. anyway?"
They joked that leo had so many girlfriends that he gave them serial nos.
"Umm...... I think I moved into four figures sometime this year. But it still feels kind of horrible. I think I'll send a postcard..." Another grin to match Patrick's.

By this time they had reached the point where the road ended, on the banks of the creek. Right at no. 20. Hadrian was walking backwards while talking to them, when Rachel suddenly screamed"Leo, watch out!!". Hadrian had barely registered the fear and concern on Rachel's face when he was airborne. He realized a split second late what had happened. He'd tripped over the embankment. As he fell, it dawned on him that with the suitcase strapped to his wrist and the backpack, he wasn't going to last long.

What a stupid way to die, he thought as he hit the water.

Paradox.

2008-01-22T23:35:00.000+05:30

Like any sane 17 year old, I hate exams. I physically hate them. So the idea that writing a paper can be an enjoyable experience was a paradox to me. So, right now I'm probably insane to say that this is the first paper of the board exams and I'm actually enjoying writing it! The credit I suppose goes to the girl sitting next to me. Generally, a girl as pretty as her would have my total and undivided attention. Today is pretty much the same, but for entirely different reasons.

As I'm thinking this, she's facing my way, waiting for me to tell her the next question I want her to answer, which is of course each and every one. I whisper the 'fill in the blank' to her and she whispers back her answer. 3&1/2 hours for a 40 marks paper and I certainly wasn't in much of a hurry. She misses the next one, and i say it out louder. Unfortunately for me she wasn't the only one who heard me this time. The invigilator turned around to face me, but thats my first offense so I get off with just a glare. I'm betting she wont be so nice this time. I warn my companion to pay more attention next time and tell her what just happened. Her neck is as much on the line as mine.

2 hours later, I realise I shld've put in more writing practice for this. "Hey can't you make these answers any shorter? I think my hand is partially withered by now." I tell her.
"I didn't realise you were a crustacean." "I'm a marine animal?" " You're shellfish to be exact."
"Hey shakespeare, take it easy." Thats when it hits her that the answer to the first one was the bard. Not totally ignorant am I?

After what seems like an eternity, it ends. Though it didn't seem that much of an ordeal this time around. She hands in her paper, turns around and extends her hand. I shake it. "Same time tommorow?" "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Then she puts on her dark glasses, extends her cane and walks away. I never realised being a writer for someone could be such fun. Paradox indeed.

Chapter 3

2008-01-22T18:45:00.000+05:30

The three of them watched in horror as Hadrian went over the edge. They all rushed to help him but running with all the baggage was impossible. And it would take too long to take it off. This was looking hopeless. Strangely, though none of them realised it, there was no splash.

The three of them reached the waters edge, mystified. Not a ripple marred the smooth surface of the green water of the creek. They just stared helplessly, feeling lost.

Patrick looked at Rachel. She had gone numb. The face was wooden and expressionless. Her eyes were downcast and moist. He thought his eyes were deceiving him when he saw expression flicker on the stonelike face. He thought he'd gone crazy when the flicker went to bewilderment, from bewilderment to dismay to confusion to joy. Susan was as utterly perplexed as him when Rachel turned to them, grinning from ear to ear.

"I wish that boy had the patience to take the stairs one at a time,like a normal civilized person." Amazed, Pat and Sue looked down to realise that there were stairs leading down to the water and beneath its edge.

Hadrian hit the water with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. He expected to hit the cold water hard. He hit hard, it was cold - cold, hard stone Gingerly rising, he tested his limbs for breaks. Luckily there were none, but he felt like an apple used to play cricket - fine from the outside, but bruised and battered from within. He looked up to find that he was in front of an embellished, heavy, oak doorway. There were footsteps at his back and he swung around to find the troika climbing down. Sue said mirthfully,
"I reckon you're right Rachel, he just doesn't have the patience to be civilized. Why can't you climb down normally without all the hurry Leo?"
"What? And miss out on the experience of what an ant beneath your feet feels?"
"If you two are quite finished, we might want to figure out a way to get behind that door."
"Well, rash, I always assumed we the way to do that was open it and walk through."
"Bright idea Leo, now all we have to figure out is how."

It was then that Hadrian realised what Rachel meant. The door was solid oak, must've been about two feet thick by the looks of it. No knocker, no doorbell, no handle, no nothing. Just a beautiful sign beaten out a a golden metal that said 'Talons and Arms' . Hadrian put his hand over the sign. Suddenly his body went all cold. Cold as death. He shut his eyes involuntarily. They were all shocked at what happened next, all that is, except Hadrian. He never realised what happened.

To the others he suddenly looked like a bad quality, badly tuned TV. He blurred, faded and then altogether disappeared. Patrick spoke after a pause,"I reckon you girls were right. Not only is he too impatient to be civilized, he's too curious too. But that door is weird. It looked like that thing just sucked him in." Truth be told, they were more than a bit shake and unsure of themselves. But there was only one way to go - ahead. There was no way Leo was going to go this alone.

Hadrian felt like he'd passed through a slab of ice. It was suddenly and unexpectedly warm again. He was dry as a bone. He opened his eyes to find that he was in a smoky room. A roaring fire blazed in one corner, tables were scattered all around him. People were moving around, most were quaintly dressed. There was a bar at one end, wooden like everything else. The place was dimly lit, however, it was impossible to tell where the light came from. Perhaps it was the smoke. The only things that did not belong, along with Hadrian, were a few people dressed in jeans and shirts, seeming around his age. He looked around at everyone's faces. The wouldn't be out of place out on the street if it weren't for the fact that they wore robes and weird belts. And a good many had daggers at their waist.

"You boy!!" the bartender had appeared to direct this at him. Suddenly all eyes turned on him. He froze - like a deer in the headlights.

Something was wrong.
Seriously wrong. After Leo had stepped through unwittingly, Rachel had come forward. to their bewilderment, she just kept flickering and blurring, but never completely disappeared. After a few seconds she turned to Patrick and Susan. her form had stabilized again. "Its very cold. I couldn't keep my hand on it anymore."
Something was wrong.

Right man for the job

2007-10-25T19:21:00.000+05:30

He sat there in the coffee shop, sipping his coffee. the sign over his head proclaimed to all passersby 'Cafe Coffee Day'. They said the brew here was pretty good. Huh, give him his 'kawa' any day. He waited in an island among the throng. People seemed to avoid him unconsciously and throw him sympathetic glances. It didn't bother him anymore but he did not wish to spend much time around here. Where was his companion anyway? This place was altogether alien, to fraught with infidel influences. Where was he anyway? He hated it when friends kept him waiting like this. Had something gone wrong? No, nothing should go wrong today, could go wrong today. God was on their side.

The cup slipped from his agitated fingers. The shattered cup on the floor brought two attendants scurrying towards him with practiced ease. Most people just averted their eyes and a few offered him sympathetic smiles. An attendant politely offered a replacement, courtesy of the management, he refused just as politely. His sight wandered to his hand as he flexed the digits out of habit. His hand? All further thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a man at the edge of the crowd, sliding towards him. He waved in recognition. The man froze.

He spotted his friend sitting at a table, watched as people milled around him. He walked forward, parting the crowd as he did so. The man glanced him and waved. IT stopped him cold.

A cripple? His hand was a prosthetic limb. Is this man worthy of the job? He had his doubts. They dissolved in moments. His resolve and confidence returned with an increased strength.
The man saw his 'friend', the clouds of doubt and the dawn of comprehension. Good, he did not wish to pull authority today.
"It will be a little chilly later in the day I think."
"It is a beautiful morning, how would you know?"
They had confirmed their identities.
"Ah, my arm is better than any barometer and right now it tells me hell is on the way."

Well, he could not complain, not today.The limb was unusually well padded today. They spent some time talking. Each too anxious to really contribute to the conversation. Sometime later, a crowd had gathered there to cheer the return of their messiah, their hope. A hope for their country. Thousands had gathered, and amongst them none noticed a cripple and his caretaker slip away. the handicap was missing an arm.

Somewhere amongst the rubble, a radio squawked "Red alert, red alert - principal and alpha group lost. Many neutrals injured or dead."

The news blared," Along with the returned exile, hopes for a truly democratic nation lie dead and lost amongst rubble."

Somewhere, a man tried to flex his digits by reflex. He no longer had a hand to flex them. His hand? No, it had never been his hand, but for some time - it had been god's hand. He smiled morbidly at the thought.

Letters

2007-10-25T18:21:00.000+05:30

The bus was a total hell. He wished there was a way to travel without getting roasted, stamped upon and having to smell people who stank worse than an entire brood of skunks. the bus stopped and she entered at her usual stop. That brightened his day considerably, in fact, it was the only reason he put up with this everyday. Just the sight of her was worth going through this grind. They'd begun to talk lately, had actually grown quite close. She was even coming over for dinner tomorrow. He was so excited that he'd even gotten his sister over to come over and clean up his place for him.

He smiled to himself. She smiled back at him and waved. His grin threatened to tear off his face into two but his hands were both occupied in ensuring his survival in the bus. Damned bus and damned crowd. He decided then that he'd go home and write her anther letter today. Ah, his letters. Those had become legendary.

A friend of his had caught a glimpse while helping him out with the occasional cleaning and now they'd grown into something of a legend about him. Everyone had heard about those letters but nobody had ever laid eyes on them. They contained his deepest feelings about her, he'd written them as a way of expressing himself and getting confidence. Well it had worked. Of course, most people had never as much as laid eyes on them. She knew about them, he'd seen her eyes and seen the happiness and acceptance in them about the letters. But, they weren't for everyone's eyes.

Suddenly his phone rang. It was his sister - cleaning up his place.
"Hey Chirag, I found a bunch of letters in the second drawer of your bureau. they don't have any postage on them. Want me to post them for you?"
"No, thanks. I'll do that myself. Leave them just as they are ok? They're a bit personal. I'll be home in 30 mins. See you then."

He'd post them. Yeah, right. Those weren't for anyone's eyes. he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would never post those letters.

Work is Worship

2007-10-18T21:32:00.000+05:30

The man looked haggard beyond his years. His hairs had grayed prematurely. A shrunken shell of what might once have been an impressive figure. Immaculate work clothes. But an air of despair floated around him. Like a man who has lost his last hope of salvation. He walked at his normal pace but his feet dragged. Not one around him could fail to notice that the face that normally might have been serene and at peace with the world was today drawn and haggard.

He greeted people in passing, his heart not really in it. Years of loyalty, of leaving his past life, of giving up everything and starting over earned him this? His faith, his life had been shaken on its hinges today. His belief had dwindled, his belief in divine justice.

Arthur Pembridge had been a notorious man to be sure. A drug addict, alchoholic, womanizer and one with friends in the right places. finally, at 34, he'd turned over a new leaf. No one had thought this would last. After 20 years, even his greatest detractor and cynic would have to admit himself in the wrong. Arthur, or Arty, had turned over a new leaf and gotten a good respectable life and a job. And a family.

He passed one of his children, without seeming to recognise her.
"Father, what is wrong?"
"Oh, Leah, child, how are you. I'm sorry, I was a little distracted."
"What is wrong father? I've never seen you so distressed."

The old man finally broke down. He sobbed out the fact that he'd received a termination of service letter.
"I can't leave now! There's so much to be done yet! I have children to take care of. What will happen to me?"
She tried to calm him down. But there was no placating him.
"Three months. that's all the notice I get. I'll never finish everything I have to do."
The man wasn't even crying for himself.

He walked off. The letter he had clutched to his chest got left behind. Leah opened it slowly, dreading that she might be right. It was some kind of medical report. At the bottom was a scrawl she recognised as belonging to Arty's doctor friend.

"Arty, I'm sorry. There's the nothing I can do". The report had a short synopsis.

Aneurysm.
Inoperable.

Leah looked at the receding back of the man.

The priest had only three months to live.
And he wasn't even crying for himself.

Maybe he had earned his salvation.

Family Matters

2007-10-14T17:27:00.000+05:30

There they were. Two ordinary, unremarkable, upper middle class people - husband and wife - out in the noonday sun, doing a job the hard way.

"What was the address again dear?"
"This is the right place, stop acting so nervous."

They were dressed immaculately in their best clothes. After all, first impressions mattered a lot, and only more so now.

As they walked in through the front door, they were greeted by a smiling pudgy face that was very obviously plastic. The proprietor of the bureau, most probably, they both thought.
"Welcome Mr. & Mrs. Kurien. You're a little early. please excuse me. I shall be with you in five minutes."

They took a seat, sweating in anticipation despite the AC going full blast. This would mean a lot to their son. Their only son. The poor young man had lost his companion. The grief was compounded by the fact that they had been friends since childhood. Even the two of them had been badly shaken by the cruel quirk of fate.

But he had to move on. He had to reconcile himself to the loss, pick up his life where he'd left it. It hard, but he had to. He just had to.

They were both lost somewhere in the recesses of their minds when the voice of the pasty faced assistant called out to them," If you'll step this way sir, I'd be glad to provide any assistance I could.

This might help him get over it. This must help him leave the ghosts of the past in the fog of the past itself. Hopefully, they scanned the photographs in the album in front of them.

"She's beautiful. So beautiful." The sigh evoked some pleasant memories. The unsavory successors would not be far behind.
"Yes, sir, she is. An unfortunate one, that. Fate dealt her a bitter slice of the pie. Lost all her dear ones a few months back. Mother, siblings, everyone. An unfortunate accident."
They knew just what it was like. " We'd like to see her in person. As soon as possible."
"Of course, of course. But she's rather reticent sir. They'll get along eventually, but is he responsible to take care of her? Her guardians would like to meet him too, she's family. And they will have to hear of his misfortune too, best it comes from you." All his 'buts' and advice betrayed genuine care and also made it amply clear that he preferred the boy to be there. The old fashioned parents coming just didn't go down with him.

"He will. " "It will be done." And that was the end of it.

As they walked out a voice from the interior was drifted out on the wind.
"Luck to the both of them. I pray this works out for them."
the husband hazarded a smile. The boy and the kitten would just be right for each other.

No one could say that pets weren't family.

Home, sweet home.

2007-10-08T01:26:00.000+05:30

Back where it began. Back where it had all started. Back where he belonged – where he had always belonged.

He was finally home. Home, sweet home. This wasn’t the first time he had left, nor was this his first return. Hell, it wasn’t even the third or fourth.

The guard at the gate looked at him and gave him a small mocking salute and a warm smile. He returned it double fold. Just too happy to be back I guess.

“Good to see you back Nitin.”
“Great to see you too Patil. Where’s Ghargeji?”
“He retired a couple of months back.”
“Pity. I’d have liked to see him too.”

It was hard to dislike Nitin if you knew him very well. He was a pleasant, jovial sort of young man, though he could only be called young by tortoise standards.

A brother nodded and smiled at him as he made his way inside. He’d been away too long. There was a lot of catching up to do – friends to meet, cards to play and gossip to update.

Few birds return to the nest once they’ve flown for the first time. Most make their own separate lives, far away. But not this one. This one always came back.

Nitin walked in on the Patriarch. Silver haired, a flowing white beard, soft aged features, weathered countenance lined with worry lines and creases, but a very hard nut to crack – the very image of a father if there ever was one. He looked up and gave a weary smile at the sight of Nitin’s familiar face.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, son”

Respect, discipline and decorum were the holy trinity of this lion’s pride. This captain ran a tight ship.

“Can I have my room, sir? I know I’m here without any notice and all that, but…..”

“Come on Nitin, its empty and clean – as usual. All yours.”

“Who was that, sahib?” an apparent newcomer enquired.

“That was Nitin, an old hand around here. Nice boy, but keeps getting into some scrape or the other.”, he shook his head, “ Sometimes, I think he does it just to come back.”, said the jailer.

Nitin was a different bird. He was a jailbird.

Co-incidence

2007-10-06T10:36:00.000+05:30

In Mumbai, it never rains, it pours. Those monster clouds blot out the sun and pour down solid sheets of water. Its a gloomy sort of weather. But nothing, nothing at all was going to dampen his spirits today. Finally, after all these years it was happening. But it was only the icing on the cake. There was another reason he was happy. More than just happy in fact. he was totally, completely exhilarated. He had a huge grin pasted onto his face as he trotted down the steps to the sidewalk where his little maruti was parked. Would that change too? No, the car had too many memories.

Suddenly, as he looked towards his car his grin faded a bit. She was standing there.A co-incidence? What did she want? She'd slammed down the phone when he'd invited her to the big event. His ex looked at him and smiled. She hadn't done that since they'd broken up.What could she possibly want?
"Hi." "Hi. Congratulations for the marriage. And from the big grin, also for the contract. Finally managed to get it huh?"
"Yes. And thank you."
"So it finally figures who you were cheating on me with and why we broke up." Both of them seemed oblivious to the pouring rain around them and their own wet apparel. he was nervous. He hadn't been cheating on her. But it had just been too much. She'd become too possessive, jealous and unstable. He offered to go and have a coffee out of the rain where they could talk. She refused. It went how it had always gone lately. It ended with her screaming and crying and begging him to come back.He got into his junk of a car and drove off. He was too pre-occupied to notice the small puddle beneath his car.

He thought about it. Life was almost perfect. Nothing was going to spoil it. The light turned red. The bar over the railway crossing went down. He hit the brakes. And nothing happened. Everything suddenly became clear. Her standing there in the rain waiting for him. Her standing in the rain. Her normally immaculate hands covered in oil. Brake oil.

Not a co-incidence then. God, this can't be happening. Not now. Not now, please.

The train hurtled towards him. Darkness fell.

Appearances

2007-10-06T00:33:00.000+05:30

" If I may say so Colonel, Col.Nagpaul was some piece of work. I cant begin to imagine how he brought you in. must have been one of his biggest coups, and that's saying a lot for both of you." Sheryl d'Souza, 24, was not used to the kind of looks she was presently getting from the man seated across her. After all, how many men, would openly express their displeasure at a beautiful woman like her? Especially if they were 26 and single? Realising he'd said something wrong, she instantly back tracked." I mean sir, we generally don't have a nouveau rich, industrialist, city bred guy amongst our ranks. Of course, sir, you're the closest to the proverbial 'perfect guy for the job' we could have gotten." Seeing that she'd just managed to aggravate the situation, she decided to shut up.

The six footer seating across leaned towards her. His cold light brown eyes bored into her scared inky black ones." Sheryl, I realise that you're pretty new here, but my name is Karan. That is how you are to refer to me henceforth, always. otherwise, I will personally have you thrown out. Clear enough?" Looking at how shaken his partner was, he berated himself - he never realised how intimidating his cold and angry side was. He smiled warmly to defuse the tension and said"Right now, we're looking just like the typical arguing lovebirds. Good. How about we kiss and make up?" She laughed but her awkwardness was still visible to anyone, including an outsider. "I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to be so harsh." He smiled again.

But Sheryl knew that she'd just crossed two lines; she had broken the unit's motto "In secrecy lies strength, in strength lies safety". Second she'd touched her Commanding Officer's nerve by mentioning the previous CO's death. Lt.Col. Karan had been promoted to head of the unit after the death of his mentor. Col.Nagpaul and then Major, Karan had gone into a hellhole. Only the major had come back alive. She'd joined the unit 6 months after an unwilling Lt.Col. had taken command of the unit, the same day her father had retired from the very same job. He'd told her that the protege loved and respected his mentor like a father.

Karan sat looking at his junior, Capt. Sheryl while she thought of what had just been said. She was preoccupied and feeling guilty. A situation generally fatal in the field. Luckily they weren't on assignment but providing a lot of unnecessary backup. This was mostly because Karan had felt that Sheryl could use the experience.
"You're thinking you offended me by speaking of the late 'chairman's' death? Don't worry honey, its nothing of that sort." He patted her hand, trying to comfort her.
" May I ask what the matter is? I mean since we're supposed to be a couple, there shouldn't be any dark secrets between us, right?" A rare mischievous smile.
" Good, you're learning. You're just like your father, dear. I trusted him with my life. And I'd trust you.
Tell me, you really like me don't you? You think I'm the best thing after independence, to quote you verbatim."
"I,uh, how? I mean preposterous.
Actually, yes. Is it that obvious?"
"Yes and especially when you speak in a bugged room."
"You've been spying on me!!!!"
"Well, nice to know we're getting to know each other. The truth is, I didn't like the old man. In fact I hated him from the bottom of my heart. His recruitment policy wasn't exactly great. When I was given the choice of joining this force, it seemed to me, that the only choice I had was whether I was gonna be shot and tortured by terrorists or hung by the law."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Well yeah sure, you're excused. Well, the long and short of it is - he framed me. For treason. I dont pretend that I didn't break the law or wasn't guilty of anything. I was. But not of this."

It was two in the night when they came for me. I was escorted to the ATS headquarters. I was obviously shaken, not because of anything these people could do, but because of what my parents might feel. The details of what happened there were pretty unpleasant. Suffice to say that by the end of the six hours my father waited to call his lawyer, waited out of shame at what his son might have done, I was a mass of purple bruises with an eye that would barely open.

The next morning, I was visited by a gentleman from the army. The offer was simple. I had to join a unit he said. 6 months of active duty. High pay, in the form of army contracts for my company, provided we met with the requirements at a reasonable rate. And the army life.Oh, and a rank of captain to go with it, not to mention some very fast track promotions. It was obviously a no-brainer. The deal was perfect. In fact, a bit too perfect. When something that good comes along, its either a dream or there's the 'little' catch. That was two years back.

As everyone must have figured out by now, I joined the covert services - Urban Ops. We were charged with the wetworks - military speak for all sorts of illegal work. Torture, kidnapping, you name it, we do it. Though mostly we had to bump off some terrorist or mercenary - gangsters were beneath our notice and just incidental kills. In covert circles, we're called the death squad. We call ourselves pest control.

Doesn't sound like the good guys does it?Normally I'm not a very squeamish person but some things we do make me want to throw up and cry. Like tonight. Its dirty work. We lose a few guys doing it - good guys. But it has to be done. And there's no one better than guys like me to do it. No one would suspect a rich spoilt kid like me to be a dirty player.

But, I had a feeling I'd been conned and recruited.So my feelings for the old man weren't exactly cordial, understandably.
" But Karan, whats that got to do with our late friend?"
"You remember his habit of pounding his fist into his palm?"
"Yeah he did that whenever he was excited."
"I noticed it the first time on the night of my interrogation. There was a man in the shadows sitting where he thought I couldn't see him."
"Wait, if he was in the shadows, how'd you see him?"
The question was greeted with the most insolent grin Karan could manage." Peripheral vision. Stare at a spot in the light, you're eyes will make out whatever is in the periphery. He picked a bit too well I guess. I can't really blame him though. Two years I thought about it and for the life of me, I can't see what he could've done different."
"But still you hated him?"
"That wasn't all, though thats how it started out. I was suspicious."
"And you finally found him out to be a cowardly, manipulative, treacherous eel?"
" Bluntly put, yes."
Her eyes widened. Shock, disbelief, horror, outrage and maybe a bit of fear flitted through them.
"You better be able to back that up mister." There was no mistaking the heat in her voice. This was someone who had lost of security that moment - she was feeling a little unsafe. Maybe more than a little. My suspicions hardened a bit.
"You've heard of Kirtar Singh right? Subhedar kirtar singh."
"No." But she knew the name, I could see it in her eyes.
"He was supposed to have nagpaul's six. Watch his back. We were out to take down a local LeT sleeper. We found no sign of him. But Kirtar never made the rendezvous. Just disappeared. An NBF - no body found. We thought he'd been captured, but turning the screws on a few known terrorists turned out that they hadn't ever heard of him. It was a puzzle.
Two weeks later, I got a sealed letter. Kirthar had kept it in his lawyer's custody, to be sent to me in the event of his untimely demise. He said he suspected our chief to be a mole. He knew me and kirthar were on his tail, or atleast suspected it."
Her face had turned paler than a piece of parchment and her hands shook. Anyone looking on could see that something was amiss. They decided to leave.
"Lets step out of here. I'll ask Aman to tail us. I'll drop you home like a good date should."

Sheryl's mind was reeling under everything she'd heard. She walked as if in a haze. The next words were barely whispers of the wind in her ears.
"We generally weren't posted at the border, but a particularly covert assignment took us down there. In hindsight, I think it was because a war zone is the only place where a bullet riddled corpse will go unremarked."
How could all this be happening? She had thought this man as one of her own. She had loved him. What could she do now?Her world was shattered.
"We went down for the job. It was a lone ranger thing. Easy meat. Just me and Nagpaul. Turned out to be an ambush. Someone must have pointed me out. I was a good 500 hundred meters back providing cover. The spot was chosen by both of us. When the ambush came, I'd have been a sitting duck. My suspicious nature, however, had made me choose another spot without informing the big man."
"You killed him? You shot him yourself?"
"No. That isn't me. That's what he'd have done. I took out his contact with my sniper rifle. His own employers didn't realise who he was and finished him."
They had reached her house and stepped out of the car. And she made her decision. Self preservation before all. And the satisfaction of a vendetta. she didn't hear his next words. She fondled the gun in her purse.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, he was your godfather, wasn't he? You were in on it from the start. His behind the scenes agent provocateur."
He knew too much. It had become a necessity, a distasteful one but one nonetheless. She drew her gun." You underestimated me." "Maybe."

Aman was driving behind the colonel's car. He had a bad feeling about this, but he had his orders. Consequently, he was waiting for the shot. Almost immediately, his satellite phone chirped in an androgynous voice:"Officer down!!"

Epilogue

The Phone rang. The old man had been waiting for this phone with a mix of anxiety and fear.
"How did it go?
We were right?
How I wish it wasn't so.
No I don't hold it against you.
You did what you had to."
He put down the phone. Walked back to his chair. And cried his heart out. A lifetime of being a soldier hadn't prepared him for this, hardened him against this. He did the only thing he could, cried.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way subhedar sahib."
Lt.Colonel Karan looked at the phone and put it down. He had to tell the man he loved and respected like a father that his daughter had been what he had fought against his whole life, along with his best friend. The flesh wound in his bicep where he had taken her dying shot burned, but it was nothing compared to the anguish he felt.

Things weren't as bad as they appeared maybe, but some things just have to be done. And there's no one else to do them.

Life goes on

2007-08-07T03:40:00.000+05:30

Note: Not all we do gives us pride to look back on it. In fact, there are things we do that makes us despise ourselves more than anyone else could ever. The guilt of our existence and actions has racked many a good man, for his conscience would not let things lie. But some things that once done, can never be undone and no amount of good deeds will compensate for it. As much as we would like to change what has happened, we cannot. What is done is done, just leave it alone, though you may regret it. You will just have to accept the fact and move on, trying to make sure that what you do now will not cause you anguish and grief 10 years hence.

I walk in the sunshine
with a steady gait,
life has been kind
to me of late.

I laugh with the wind and
whisper to the leaves,
Play with the vines
hanging under the eaves.

In our wanderings
we meet a fellow,
tall, lean, young,
while we are mellow.

When him closely I see,
The youth seemingly,
reminds me of me.

It seems in the same
mould we were cast,
unexpectedly, demons rise
from my past.

Life for me, has not
always been spring.
I am not proud of
everything.

This guilt i live with,
is worse than death.
it strangles my heart and
chokes my breath.

Sometimes I hear people
about me talk.
they refer to me often
as the Gibraltar rock.

As in my heart,
I wish I'd die.
It would be a surprise
to see the rock cry.

Tears stream down,,
there is no reprieve for me,
Things just are
and so they will be.

Remorse-filled my eyes
turn to placid lakes,
I realise I must
live with my mistakes.

Questions

2007-07-14T00:31:00.000+05:30

A large question mark, thats what a life is. Questions, quests, desires, wantings, needs - thats what we live for. Can you imagine what would happen if we were all perfect? Capable of doing whatever we want without even the least effort? Life, would be meaningless, nothing to do - utter boredom. We all enjoy pushing ourselves right to the limit, sometimes beyond it.

So rather than looking for the right answers, look for the right questions. What questions you ask show what you want. What you want is what you become. We all change, but we are all always as perfect as we would really need to be. Look at the clouds, look at the sea, look at the sky - are they ever static? Aren't they always changing? But have you ever seen an iota of imperfection in them? So also it is with us. So ask yourself the same questions, see how your answers will change.

Now when I think about it, I don't want to be the all knowing persona. I wouldn't want to know what will happen tomorrow, don't want to know what you might be thinking, what you might say. I'd lose all interest in talking to you, there wouldn't be anything to talk about, I would have nothing left to do. So, I rather think I'd like to keep learning and never be omniscient.

Coming back to perfection, I am not sure about absolute heaven, but if there is an absolute hell it is in total perfection. We humans live for the pain, for the daily struggle of existence. If there are any gods as we imagine them, I have no jealousy for them. For them everyday is just like the next and like the previous. There is always that feeling of deja vu, always that - haven't I already done this before?

So, the point of this is, I don't want to be perfect, not yet anyway, but I'd like to be pretty damn close. Its like those sculptors, after making their statues, masterpieces, with their own hands they would chip off a piece. They would mar it themselves after having worked hard for years maybe to achieve that 'perfection'. They would slightly deform those sculptures, sculptures that I would want to be like.

Something that is very close to perfection but isn't quite there yet. Because perfection is not for people like us, it is the privilege of the gods. It is their curse. There is a character in the Mahabharata, Ashwatthama who committed a grievous sin (pretty complicated stuff - maybe later). He was said to have been cursed - cursed to grow immortal.It was the worst punishment that anyone could think of inflicting.

So, ask yourself - what is it that I want to do? Whenever you do something, ask - is this what gives meaning to my life?

Random musings - again

2007-07-08T00:58:00.000+05:30

I didn't blog for almost a month. My apologies to anyone who bothers to read what I spew. But a lot has happened in this month that would be exciting enough if you were in my place but is mundane otherwise. Btw, I got out of my creative phase.

What I actually was writing this blog for was the fact that I read paulo coelho's "witch of portobello" . The book synopsis or tag line says, ' how do we find the courage to be true to ourselves - even if we are unsure of who we are'. I liked the book and I did not like it.

Heron Ryan, a character from the book, says he feels tired to talk in abstracts. Heron, I feel tired too, but I like to talk in abstracts, I dislike using language as it is made by someone else, of giving specific examples, it makes me uncomfortable. More than that it makes me misunderstood more often than not. I speak not to sound smart, I speak not to be precise, I speak not to convey importance, I only speak to let my emotions free and maybe allow them to touch yours. And I find that the best way to do this is abstracts, the best way to learn is abstracts.

I can teach you nothing and you can teach me nothing, but we can prod each other into learning from ourselves by making us ask questions. An abstraction is to me a thought that allows me to draw my own mould while still moulding my ideas. Like prodding me to move ahead without crowding me in a set direction - giving me freedom to make my own drawing while still making me use my pencil.

Language, I think, was developed as a way of connecting to each other. Trying to tell someone to use the right language is like telling someone to use the right soap - what might be gold to you might be a shiny yellow hard stone to me. What might be a sparkling bubble to you might be a diamond to me. What others calls a hodgepodge of colors may to us be a rainbow. So allow me to apologise Paulo for criticizing you. But I'd like to express myself as well.

As of right now, I have only one wish, to know what I want - when I do I'd have a goal to achieve, a desire to be quelled. But then, what is wrong in wandering around aimlessly? Does it make my journey any less beautiful if it does not have a destination? Why am I so afraid to face the void in my life? So afraid to do what I might want to do? Why am I afraid that i might be a cosmic accident and that I might not be a piece in the puzzle? I have no answers, but I hope I do have the right questions.

Why do I want to get into IIT? Why do I want to earn a lot of money? Why do I want to be handsome? Why do I want to be tall? Why do I want to be popular and smart and intelligent and loved? I think I know the answer to what I want to be - I want to be omniscient, not perfect just omniscient. I think I have all the answers to my questions - I want to learn, to learn. Not to earn. To me, knowledge is not the means, it is an end in itself.

So, I have just one more question I need to answer - how do I do it? There Socrates, I've followed your advice - not because you're a great man, but because it seems sound to me - would you please help me out with this one?

Through the Cold Eyes.

2007-04-23T02:29:00.000+05:30

Author’s Note: This poem is about death. I had initially decided not to write about death because it is an over emphasized topic by many. Personally, I feel it has to come to us all, and I’ll cross that bridge only when I come to it. There’s a guy who said “I’m not going to waste my life thinking of my death. ‘cause when death comes, I wont even notice. I’ll be too busy looking good.” I share his opinion. However, few friends have expressed faith that I’d be able to write a good poem on the subject. So I decided to see if their faith was justified.
This poem just shows what I think an angel of death would feel, the picture as seen through his cold eyes.

Through the Cold Eyes.

I am, one of
the angels of death.
Leaving in wake,
garland and wreath.

Unceasingly,
I roam the lands.
Touching all life,
with my cold hands.

My arrival in a life,
means the curtain.
That I must be greeted,
is all that is certain.

For I take some that are ill,
some right as rain.
To some a boon, to some,
their bane.

All men be different,
I have seen each type.
Some yet to bloom,
some way over-ripe.

Before my arrival,
no two were the same.
The differences were leveled,
as soon as I came.

Most humans I meet,
Are meek and predictable.
They waste their lives,
running from the inevitable.

But to the multitudes,
let us not refer.
Instead see those,
who beg to differ.

The people’s heroes,
refuse to leave this field.
Despite life’s pain,
To me wont yield.
Taking their breath,
a guilt I feel.
Before them I shall,
unashamedly kneel.

A handful of men,
are tired of strife.
They want it to end,
no more of life.

They are the cowards,
Who want me to call.
But they are not,
the scarcest of all.

There are those,
who shrug off my yoke,
Make me wait,
Till they finish their joke.

The rarest of rare,
These men be.
Those who will,
just laugh at me.

PS. My favorite quote is not related to death at all. But I do have a favorite quote related to death. It isn’t mine, it is actually from the movie called Gladiator, it goes:
“Death smiles at us all.
All a man can do,
is smile back”.

The First Crime

2007-04-06T14:16:00.000+05:30

"Let's race."
"What for?"
"What do you mean what for?"
"You'll have to give me a prize when I win, man." A crooked grin.
Cocky b******, I thought. "You can have the Persian vase back, the one you liked, for free. And then, the winner gets to tell all." Like, yeah, I was gonna give it to him. But he was going to get a prize all right. I turned into the wind, and got going.

Mr. Shamit Playboy Kapoor had started it all a year back, right around here. Me and Sheila come to the Andaman every year for our annual holiday. The Kids are never interested in coming, and go off somewhere, mostly camp. They never came sailing with us. Not that I was complaining.

Our yacht was generally moored in Mumbai. But every summer it came to the Andaman islands for a month. A couple of friends took a cruise here every year in it. Stayed in the islands at their native place and went back by the yacht. Their idea of a cruise. It worked out well for us, to have our yacht with us.

We landed up at our usual place at the marina, only to find that the Xiphos had company. " Darling look, there's another yacht next to ours." And there it was. Another J25, right next to our Achilles24. The Xiphos was being kept company By the Sea serpent. Someone was returning in a skiff, apparently after a sail. ( His sailing rig was on him and it was splashed with sea water.) I wondered who this guy was, with the slightly bigger yacht.... well just a foot longer.

"Shouldn't we go and be nice neighbours honey?"
"Sure, why not?" Sheila had a be-nice-to-everyone obsession. Personally, she could've done with a mean streak in her like every other wife.

That's how we ran into Shamit. Turned out he was just back from a sail. His 2.4MTR looked familiar, and I remarked on it. It was familiar. It belonged to my college bud Amar. The guy who's sailboats we used while here. He shuttled between Port Blair and Mumbai and consequently kept his boats here and used our boats there. I noticed right from the start that Shamit was rather attracted to Sheila. Not his fault. I dint have to be reminded how lucky I was to have a wife like Sheila. But he was persistently hitting on her. This made me dislike him somehow. Not that its easy for an average, 40yr old to dislike a tall, charming, well built 45 yr old rich guy. But, heck I was a little rich too and could afford disliking him. Besides the fact that he flirted with Sheila, even in front of me, made it easier to dislike him.

But Sheila seemed to rather like him so I invited him to an antiques exhibition that i was holding after we got back to Mumbai. I would've rather enjoyed the evening if Shamit hadn't spent it exclusively with Sheila while I was forced to circulate around as the host. But he seemed to like a rather expensive antique Persian vase. "Do you mind if I take it home for some days to see if it suits the decor?" "Sure why not. Just put down a 10% deposit amount.and I'll have to check with your bankers." " Sure." I called his bankers and they confirmed that he could pay the full amount.

And then a couple of days later I ran into Amar. He looked wearied and tired. " What's going on Amu? Been tiring yourself out lately?" " No Ashwin. the divorce kind of wore me out."
"What? When did that happen? Man, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"To tel you the truth, I'm kind of relieved. She was cheating on me a lot anyway. But that Shamit guy was the last straw."
"What?" Suddenly, he had all my undivided attention.
"That b****** hits on my wife. Then, he put down the deposit for a Merc SL50, wanted to see if it suits him. A few weeks later, he return both my car and wife, both used. It was too much."
"Oh man, I'm sorry. I'm always there you know. Come over sometime. Kids haven't seen you in years."

The next part of this conversation was a blur. I wondered if I should tell Sheila. I didn't.
Then i got my vase. Just as Amar said I would. And a call. "Sorry dude, but got tired of it. Not really my type." The same appeared to be true of Sheila by this time. She avoided mention of his name. Pretended not hear things about him and that sort. Now he'd done it. No one, I mean no one, behaves like that with her and gets away with it. I decided to make him pay.

I'd never committed any crime until then. I paid my taxes on time. Parked on the right side of the road. Never had a fine. I'd never even been punished in school. I had no idea how to kill someone, and get away with it. Shooting would be a problem. my gun was licensed and I couldn't get an illegal one. Besides he'd die too easily. Stabbing was messy. Strangulation and drowning was out, the shape two of us were in, I'd end up dead here.

I set about doing my research. Read about famous and successful murders, gathered information, read biographies,etc. Few were too fantastic and impractical. Others didn't suit me. But most of all, they had one critical flaw. They all got caught - that was not part of my plan.

It was Churchill who finally guided me. 'A man's biggest enemy is his routine'. I'm sure that's not what Churchill meant, but it'd do anyway. I knew he took his annual holiday for the same two weeks every year. I planned our vacations around it. A plan had formed in my mind....... I remembered being told that there are lots of white horses (dangerous waves.. they suck in seamen) and whirpools. But I was going to need all my litle sailing skills.

From that day, for the next six months, I planned and practiced my sailing. I took out my gem of a 2.4 out and practiced after years. I took unscheduled breaks, fictious holidays, business trips and practiced. I did it in utmost secrecy. I dint plan for Sheila to find out what I was up to. I planned so I'd get three chances at least to carry out my plan....I didn't want chance spoiling my game. I felt prepared for my 'holiday' after six months of work.

Well, then came the spanner in my works... kids wanted to come sailing. I couldnt have that, I paid them to go to camp. I cited need for privacy..... luckily, they didn't say anything more.

This time around too the Sea Serpent was moored, but not at the next quay....it was a bit farther off. Not surprising since the next quay as well as ours was Amar's. There was no sight of the villain for two days and I was afraid I'd missed him. But on the third day, he was spotted in a restaurant, apparently seducing another innocent woman. Suddenly he saw us, I smiled. Its difficult to say who went redder, Sheila or him. Tommorow was the day.

I hardly slept that night. I was just too excited. Funnily enough, I wasn't afraid at all. He deserved what he was going to get. I woke up the next day at 3.00. The first time in years I'd done so. I got into my sailing rig and took out Amar's fastest sloop, I'd need it if I was to survive this one. I was nervous and clumsy and the rigging slipped twice before I managed to unsecure it correctly. I pushed it into the water, and off we were.

As I expected, there he was, gauging the wind and adjusting his sails. As I got closer, I noticed he wasn't using Amit's sloop anymore, hardly surprising huh? And then we were where I started narrating. But talking to you has lost me my concentration. He's breathing down my neck, he tacked to catch up with me. Mind you, I was still ahead only because of those six months and because I knew the course backwards...... I'd set it of course. In a minute he'd overtake me, just as I wanted. Oh, did I mention that I rearranged the buoys last night? now they led to a small whirpool and a cove famous for its white horses. Suddenly the 2.4 accelerated. She was being pulled towards something. That was my cue. I turned the sail and hit the line holding together the buoys and tried to burst out of it. In my clumsiness, I hit a buoy and thought I was going to capsize. Somehow I managed to right the boat and ride out of the tug. As I looked back, I saw him trying to get out, he looked at me scared and perplexed and then he capsized. Last I saw, the boat was overturned and he was stuck with a hand entnagled in the rigging. Not a pleasant feeling I was sure. After making sure there was no one around to see me, I put the buoys back into place. I somehow got the boat back in place, changed out of my wet rig. Kept a new one where it had been and stealthily got into bed. I was feeling euphoric and guiltless, he'd had it coming. Sheila was still fast asleep, not surprising since it was barely 5.30, I'd been out since before 4.00.

She moaned and turned over. We did some of the nice things you do in the morning. Finally she got out. I joined her in the shower. Its a lot of fun. Finally we went out for a day of sailing. "Let's use the opti today." I happily agreed and not n;y because I was too preoccupied to argue. What she really meant was, lets be together today. An opti takes two people to sail it, while a 2.4 MTR takes just one.

The first thing we saw as we hit the water were numerous Coast Guard skiffs. " I wonder who drowned."
"Must be Shamit, he always goes sailing at dawn, don't look so dumb, you know he goes sailing at dawn, he told us when we first met him."
Actually I'd been struck dumb by her actually talking about him, when she continued,"Good. I always disliked him."
"You did?"
"Yes, he made a pass at me once. I hated him." Oh my god, I thought. I began thinking if I'd done the right thing. Technically he was still all those unflattering things Amar referred to him as. But he hadn't been bad to Sheila. Suddenly I felt like I was flying. I had been leaning in oreder to balance the ship in a turn, when I lost my grip on the sail rope. I went into the drink. I gulped seawater generously, not a good idea. As a rule, that is bad for you. Sheila sulked all the way to the hospital, when she wasn't cuddling me like I was a sick puppy. I would've normally enjoyed this, but right now, I have other things on my mind. The doctor took a little blood, ran a couple of tests just as a precaution.

"He's fine Mrs. Dixit, you'll be able to sail again tomorow."
"Afraid not doctor. We're leaving tommorow, with a few friends back after two weeks. Want to see the other islands." I marveled at that bit of planning.

Suddenly a row of charts and x-rays on the wall caught my attention. "So many patients this early in the morning doctor? Must be having a busy day."
"Oh, they're all the same man. Ran into some white horses, idiot. My 12 yr old can avoid white horses by now. His arm got tangled in the rigging when the boat capsized. She turned over trapping him underneath. He banged on her underwater a few times, broke a few bones. His lungs almost collapsed. He'll have amnesia, definitely a concussion.Well, he'll probably be scarred for life, but luckily he'll live." He shook his head in a the-stupid-patients-I-get-sometime.
I hadn't realised but I was holding my breath until now. I don't remember how I got out of there. As we got into the car I said " He'll live." To my surprise, Sheila just looked at me.
"Yes. Pity. after all the trouble you took I was rather hoping you'd succeed."

A confused request....

2007-03-30T03:02:00.001+05:30

Note: This poem too belongs to that time. It was since then that I’ve been a little confused as to what to do. I have no desire to be a part of this rat race. Money holds o allusion for me. What I crave for is change. I want to meet different people. See different things. Learn something new everyday. I don’t want to be a jack of all arts master of none. I’d like to be a master of all arts. Sigh, I don’t want to bore you off even before you’ve read the poem, so I’ll put an end to my rant here.

A desire to be different

There’s something on my mind,
Something that nags.
A filthy little thing,
all dressed in rags.

What am I doing, for what do
I live?
What is to gain, what is
to give?

When I ask these questions,
Be a darling and listen.

I can find the answers, I know.
But of it I am not sure, though.

I’m just a little confused,
that you must realize.
It’s not some symptom,
Nothing to analyse.

I want to be different,
So please just hear.
Don’t give me any advice,
just lend me your ear.

If I don’t get this,
There’ll be nothing to see.
Then I wont be the greatest,
But atleast I’ll be FREE!

A young heart prays

2007-03-30T02:59:00.000+05:30

Note This is my oldest recorded piece of poetry. I wrote it in 9th grade, like more than two years ago. A couple of words have been changed that is all. The rest remains the same. It was really what I prayed for. This was just to put it in writing. It is NOT a figment of imagination.

An honest Prayer

God, give me intelligence,
To know false and true friend
For it is a most important thing,
With me, right to the end.

God, give me strength,
Will determination and power,
To overcome the difficulties,
Rising an unholy dark tower.

God, give me strength,
For I must conquer fear,
Which is but inevitable,
When my destiny is near.

God, give me love,
For I must have compassion;
But it must rise from the heart,
Not be worn on sleeves as fashion.

God give me mercy,
For many errors will be near,
But they must improve by realization,
And not out of fear.

And lastly oh God,
Please do all but one,
For if I were perfect,
I would not be human.

2007-03-26T01:26:00.000+05:30

This is actually my first sonnet(atleast what I hope is a sonnet). It took me around 5 minutes to write this one. It doesnt exactly put shakespeare to shame, but I hope he wont be doin a spinning jenny in his grave after reading this.

In the cool of the dawn I rose,

When the grass shivered, the dewdrops froze.

On the morn of a summer's day,

Under an oaks shade I lay.

I wandered in a sea of wheat and oats,

at noon I watched the grazing goats.

Moved through colorful orchards of flowers,

Bathed and drenched in fragrant showers.

Tired and happy I saw from afar,

Rising atlast, the dim evenstar.

At night on the wide grassy plain,

Listening to cicadian sounds, I'd lain.

In nature's lap, I thought with glee,

This is true happiness for thee.

PS. Thanks to Vishal for idea on this one.

Exams

2007-03-25T21:30:00.000+05:30

You know what? Like every student, I'm sick and tired of exams. Hold on. I know you think that's because its just normal. This is different.

My college exams started on the 29th. So? Well, as I write this I still have a paper to go. I hate this. To top it all of, I get a call from someone who's supposed to be from my classes.
"Hello? May I speak to Harshad Rane please?"
"Yes, this is him on the line."
"Harshad, I'm speaking from yukti. Your tests start from the 16th."
"Tests?? etste?" I actually fumbled on the phone. Don't remember the last time I did that.
"Yes. Take down the time table please." She proceeds to dictate six days of exams.
Just the thing to make my day.
"Now please study and attempt your tests. Its compulsory. Have a good day."
Click.

Yeah I'll have a good day all right. Exactly what I needed. Another six days of exams. And preparations.

Now, I'll be finished by the 21st. (Pun intended). Then my 7 and half hours a day classes will start. What a vacation. I'm really looking forward to it. My exams will last just a week short of a month. Not counting the practicals or the Vivas. I got to really hand it to the education system. What a way to learn.

PS. Did I mention that I've sprained or pulled a muscle in my back and now it hurts to even sit? No? Well it does, and I have to write papers for three hours. This is really making me happy. I bet I'm learning loads.

My Friends

2007-03-19T18:53:00.000+05:30

Sigh. I know this is my second post for the day. Actually this is not for any of the people who know me. Not aimed at anyone in particular. I also know that I should not be so prolific and spend so much time online. From today I promise I wont. All those who know me but have not met me face-to-face, I would request you to stop reading any further. I know very few will have stopped. So I must tell you that I do not intend to offend anybody. I am just writing what I feel.

For a lot of days, it has been at the back of my mind that I cannot actually count net friends as my friends. They donot know me. The only reason we end up together is because they have the same net timings as I do, and are bored enough to talk to me. Long ago I have accepted that I am not the most terribly interesting or charming person. This is partly due to the fact that I donot often enjoy company and prefer to be left to my own devices. But, fool that I am, I have an affection for some people I know through the net. I actually assumed they are close to me. That they understand my feelings or are in sync with me. That, I'm afraid is not the case.

When I first started using online forums, I acted as I would in real life. Often my actions would be misinterpreted as would my words. Slowly I realised that the net and real life are not the same. Then I participated in a few more forums. Those places made me feel at home sort of. Like I belonged. maybe my previous experiences were because of the people I had previously encountered. Sadly, I was proved wrong this time.

The net is not that enjoyable a place anymore. I get bored here more often these days. I realise how 'close' I am with my 'friends', realise how much they 'understand' me. I'm not going to get bitter about this. I'm just going to get more productive. I will devote my energies to better things.

NB:There are some exceptions in this.

The net has made the world come closer but has thrown people a little farther apart. I think I'll overcome my fear of interacting with poeple and seek less net friendships and more real poeple.

Signing off till don't-know-when.

PS. Comments have been disabled for this particular post. I don't want anybody's comments, simply because I don't want anybody to actually read this. I know you've read this.

The thread of my life

2007-03-19T14:48:00.000+05:30

Today, I woke up in the morning, and I realised another year had passed. It was Gudi Padwa today. I looked back on the last year and saw nothing........ there was not a single day I can remember.
Each day of my life passes quite like the last. There is nothing new in it. Most of us, normally, have experienced this sometime in their life. Utter boredom. I realised fully today the phrase 'familiarity breeds contempt'. I am too familiar with my life, good as it is, to value it.
My life is like a thread that is unwinding from somewhere, a spool hidden from me. A little passes through my fingers everyday, when I can choose what to do with it. I can make it into knots and complicate my life; let it go as it does and just be that spool for someone else, knowing that I am losing something, but fearing to knit for I may create a knot of trouble; I may knit it a little everyday, not knowing what I make, but at the end, it will form a beautiful picture.

Most of us let this life pass as it is, altering but a little of the thread's nature. Occasionally a knot comes our way, we perceive it as a problem, something to ruin our life's harmony. Frantically, we direct all our energies to untie it. Slowly, we forget the value of the thread that passes through our hands. It maybe silk, yet we value it lower than the coarsest of rags. These yarns hold more attraction for us than the magnificent piece-in-waiting that we have. All our thread is finally over, we look back and see nothing but a few delicate strands for the rest has already blurred into oblivion.

There are the people who succeed in entangling themselves. Their life is full of mismatched knots. They have weaved a net that ultimately ensnares them. These are the people who set out to make a rosy picture, but they do it the wrong way. They try to build their Rome in a day and end up with a Rome of the 4th BC, a once magnificent empire that had crumbled. That is not to say do not go fast, for many overdo this and go far too slow. They weave an intricate drawing, only to realise that they took too much thread and the picture lies unfinished.
Both types donot realise their limits, one overestimate their skill, the other overestimate the length of their thread.

Their are the third kind, the rarest of rare people. They start out slowly, making small knots in their life, working hard everyday. To others it is but a mess, but they themselves can see in their minds eye the portrait they weave. They realise their limitations, and leave behind a beautiful picture that unfortunately lacks in details. These details are filled by the thread that their heirs provide.
Among this type are those who build a big and beautiful picture filled with detail, by cutting corners in the weaving. They constantly mend the little holes and put in place stopgaps to prevent the picture from crumbling. But inside it is fragile, and as soon as the makers thread ends, and he is not their to mend the picture constantly it begins this slow but inevitable crumble.

As I write this, I feel the thread passing through my hands, not knowing what to do with it. What is better to do, and if I can do it.

Untitled - I couldn't think of a suitable name.

2007-03-12T14:42:00.000+05:30

Author's note: The poem is about a man, who sets out crusading for others. But somewhere along the line, he loses sight of what he set out to do. The means to an end are so intoxicating with their power or strength that they turn into an end themself. The journey turns so enticing that he is loathe to end it. Those who venture to clean the mud must remember to come out of it, for they are not lotuses.

I battled to end the pain and strife,
I had warred alone all my life.
But more and more, though I had peace seeds sown.
The harsh winds of corruption had harder blown.

I had traversed the mighty heights.
Also had I shared a leper's plights.
So high and mighty have been my flights.
Yet, fallen have I like windless kites.

My comrades have been few and far.
Many's fortunes we together we make and mar.
All my allies by now fell.
All too often I hear death's knell.
But now it seems like music to me.
Though, others still before it flee.

I know I've lost many a times,
but giving up isn't one of my crimes.
Standing alone the fight I survey,
watching from beyond a causeway.
Towards the battle as I walk,
they break upon me likes waves on rock.

By now I am a warrior of old,
To enemies, a death, bedecked in gold.
The archangel is me, meting out death.
I bring with me, pain's purple wreath.

I see myself through their eyes,
they shake on seeing my blade arise.
They are worthy to with me fight.
Like a storm does blossoms them I smite.

At last as they die and burn,
it makes them my enmity spurn.
For me however there is no rest.
The crusaders armour lives on his chest.

PS. To rise you may have to fall. The lower you fall the higher you can rise. Its not a crime to stumble and fall flat on your face. What is a crime however, is staying right there. Even though it might seem difficult, futile, impossible, or just plain tiring an useless, keep doing it. Don't stop because you don't see that light at the end of the tunnel, it , might be a few yards ahead, just around a corner. Doing what you set out to do is the ultimate crowning glory. There are people who give up because they donot get a few words of appreciation. Some do it because the initial rush has worn off.

PPS. This poem is dedicated to all those who refuse to give up, despite the odds.

A life worth leading - II

2007-03-07T10:58:00.000+05:30

Author's Note: The second part of this poem follows the protagonist as he undergoes a sea change. Though it is understandable all on its own, it would be preferred that you read the first part before reading this.

I was doomed then I knew in my heart,
An end I was groomed for, right from the start.
I looked back upon those corridor of powers.
stained with blood and thatched with bowers.

It occurred to me, when I'll be buried,
These trinkets I leave, they cannot be carried.
Away, my whole life has been frittered.
I had none loved, to watch my bones interred.

When in reflection I saw a man; though poor by far,
He was to me what gold is to tar.
Surrounded by friends, they held his hands.
They would journey with him into hell's lands.

While I had run for worldly pleasures,
He had quietly picked up this world's treasures.
When I was alone, dry and high,
They brought his heart unbidden joy.

I went to him; asked to be taught too,
He smiled and said, learn yourself, I shall be you.
Milling about loving the commons,
I waited for the royal summons.

It was while searching for thee,
I found him residing in me.
As to leave the world I was urged.
I felt forgiven, all sins purged.

For at the moment when I depart,
None can tell us two apart.
As the light dwindles to but a cube,
I say to myself: "Maktub"

PS: Maktub: Arabic. meaning: It is written. from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

PPS. This part of the poem venerates all those who have changed. It is human to err. That is not to say I condone peoples acts of greed and violence only because they've changed. But for a changed man, living with his past crimes, knowing he has no excuse for them is the worst punishment of all. Death and punishment would only ease his conscience, make him feel he has paid his debt. Rather it is better to let him squirm under that burden. For when the time comes, there is none as merciful as the one who has power to punish.

A life worth leading - I

2007-03-07T10:30:00.000+05:30

Author's note: The poem is not a reflection upon anyone's life in particular. It only points out the ridiculous way we live in the rat race. Chasing mirages in the desert. Most people slave away their lives for money only to realise that they wont enjoy the fruits of their labour. At 60 they feel they have lost sight of what they set out for, like the guinea pig on a wheel. The faster it moves the quicker the wheels turn, but they get you nowhere.

I woke in the desert,a babe in the woods;
all around me reigned chaos,in cloaks and hoods.
a darkness descended, I stumbled about,
my soul confused, all senses in rout.

A blind it seemed was over my eyes,
Pulling it away I made to rise.

At first glance all seemed nice and rosy.
Every happy, nice and cosy.
When I got closer then I observed,
the poisonous fangs and hidden daggers.
What startled me most was wind's breath;
That which should give life was meting out death.

Then I flowed along, going with the stream
Moving in a trance as if in a dream.
One day I found me at the head of the column,
Destination unknown just leading the herd.

Then I was happy , ambition fulfilled.
A joy erupted, a thirst was killed.

Clasped I my hand, to my heart, only to find a dagger of gold,
Stowed away beneath the robes' fold.
It shone, I saw, with innocent blood,
It dawned I had fangs, with poison's flood.

A burden had, on my heart lay,
One I carry to this very day.

PS. Part 2 of this poem follows. It deals with the protagonists eventual transformation. A transformation each of us would like to undergo but few are able to. Once it a quagmire, it is difficult to rise. and for most people it is nigh impossible to climb very high after that rise. However we may all aspire to do so, and nothing stops us from trying.

PPS. This poem is dedicated to all those who have success ill gotten. It is for those who have worked hard but have had their prize snatched by someone who 'Plays-to-win'. Donot be discouraged for what goes around, comes around. Those tempted to build their nest by damaging someone else's need only remember that justice might be delayed, it will not be denied.

Beauty and Love

2007-02-28T00:15:00.000+05:30

A note before you begin: The poet wrote this poem in a sudden burst of energy that allowed him to penetrate the fog that clouded his mind. It was simmering below the surface for a long time and has finally emerged. During this period it took on some deep undertones that are visible once you overcome the mundaneness on the surface.

She's one of nature's gayest creatures,
endowed with finely sculpted features.

Her eyes are soft, light and warm.
They ignite in me a summer storm.
Those round and delicate luscious lips,
the dainty little fingertips,
And that laugh like gushing fountains.
It gives me strength to conquer mountains.

Turning the corners of her mouth down ,
she makes my whole world upon me frown.
If by misfortune she ever wails,
in my heart agony quails.

I store her words in my minds Rutter,
each syllable sets my heart aflutter.

I picture her in frill and lace;
prancing with a does' grace.

I see in her not a flaw single.
In her all desirable seems to mingle.

She has not vanity's trace.
They tell me she's an ordinary face.

'tis the truth, so I wonder why,
that for her I'd fight Earth and Sky.

'tis not her beauty! I give a start.
It is with our love; that she rules my heart.

Extraordinarily for a plain Jane,
she drives to madness a man so sane.

She's my ruler, queen supreme;
giving me joy and pain extreme.
SHE is my darkness, my sunbeam.

PS. The poet is definitely single. He has no girlfriends. No, he is not in a relationship. No, neither does he wish to be part of a couple. The inspiration for this poem is unknown. I have absolutely no idea from which corner of my mind this old thing sprang up. I am personally against relationships and consider it stupid to engage in such liaisons. However in all fairness I do not blame the people who succumb to the temptation and security.

PPS. The above poem is dedicated to all the plain Janes who feel that they will never get the man of their dreams 'cause of their average looks.

Girls!!

2007-02-24T23:33:00.000+05:30

Now that's one topic every teen aged male has spent considerable time and energy on one way or other. It is also a topic that NO male has ever ever been able to comprehend, to any extent.
Girls are, alternatively or simultaneously, the most irritating or entertaining creatures in the whole world. Let's have a taxonomy 101. Girls fall broadly into three categories: Beautiful, plain, and ugly ( a superficial classification : pun intended).

Beautiful:This class is most in demand by the male of the species. It is characterized by a lack of brain, one that is very primitive or rusted due to lack of use. No person, unless blind, will have difficulty in recognizing a specimen. Quite rare. Leave a lot of sprained necks in their wake. Generally have multiple boyfriends. Show a complete lack of personality. Heads are extremely beutiful, though swollen to the size of weather balloons.

Plain: The most common kind of females. They range from extraordinary geniuses with great personalities to the plain dumb kinds with an apparent lack of personality. Generally have some fool or idiot who's their boyfriend. Personally liked by the author. Make good girlfriends. Most donot have an oversized ego with a few notable exceptions.

Ugly: This class has ceased to exist since the advent of makeup and cosmetic surgery. Sightings must be reported. Leave a wake of sprained necks (sprained while looking the other way) and heart attacks n their wake.

PS. The author is not anti feminist. he likes females as much as the next guy (read : A LOT).

Statutory warning: Please donot lynch or kill the author, it is injurious to his health

One of those things i got down to writing

2007-02-14T11:15:00.001+05:30

Well, here's one of the very few poems I got down to typing of the few I ever get down to writing.

I walk out from home, a knight in armor.
To conquer the world with its golden sands;
the rain filled forests;
mystic peaks and rustic lands.

I see returning, a warrior of old.
His face face lined with worries,
shoulders sagged with sorrows.

I wonder why he, who has the world at his feet,
would cry like a child at the sight of me?
Onward I walk,to my conquest, that memory lost
My face eager, with joy embossed.
I meet companions, we drift.
I'm all happy and merry.

Then I hit the desert,those golden sands,
Gleaming in the sun.
We walk on eager to win, let free our ambitons,
They wildly run.
Then I realise not all is fun.
A fear gnaws at me, my sorrows have just begun.

We conquer the desert ,to mount the white peaks.
It will not be much diffrent or so my heart speaks.

And so it goes through the vales and hills.
They see my small battles and ignore my worhtless kills.

Sometimes while sitting in the rain,
I feel the world with me cries.
The bolts of lighnting are like daggers of pain,
they cleave my heart and rent my soul.

We have won many victories, but I myself have lost.
Things I've held dear dear to the sun and the frost.

I am alone.
My only constant companions are sorrow and pain.

The I decide I must return, to see my offspring play.
On that very ground, where I saw my first day.

It is then that I see a young knight;
personified joy, ambition and thirst.
Looking at him, knowing the future,

I can see my eyes wetten

and feel my heart burst.

An abstract Poem that I dont know why I wrote. Ultiamtely, god is a mathematician, he loves geometry and symmetry. He's made life a full circle. The cycle of life does not end, but the characters change. The sight is distressing, or soul lifting, to those who see the mantle being passed.

A boring first blog

2007-02-12T13:35:00.000+05:30

Oh well,

Finally, I got down to writing a blog. An exercise in futility since I have absolutely nothing to write about and nothing EVER happens in my life. However since there was nothing else to do, except maybe study (which I am loathe to do), I decided to write a blog.

A typical day begins with.................. hey wait a sec, I never have a typical day. My waking time ranges from 5.30 A.M. to 11.00 A.M. , that is on the days I actually manage to sleep at night. Otherwise, I'd just get up and mope around doing nothing in the night. Then either run off to classes, I mean run. I inevitably end up getting late for my 7.00 class. No matter what I do, I either manage to a)miss the bus , b) Forget my wallet , c) Forget to take the wallet with money in it, d) something equally stupid, but unexpected.

Of course there are the times I actually get there on time when two things may happen: The professor is late or the class is cancelled. In the event that none of this happens, I will be there, so will the professor, but not anyone else. So class goes on till 9.30, an interminable and dreary period of two and a half hours when my brain goes into automatic shutdown mode, not to restart until the evening.

That has never caused a problem to me since there is no occasion to use it. From then I hurry on to college, either stopping in the way to play counter strike until college hours are over or to go to college and sit in the library staring at the window (I have a Ph.D. in windows by now).

Then, hurry home or run to the nearest mall with friends, which happens to be less then a stone's throw away... no I mean literally! At home, I grab a plate of chow and park my butt in front of the PC. (Timings vary greatly) At around 5.30 I realise I must go to the gym or to the shooting range depending upon the day. An exciting period, where either my gym trainer or my shooting coach attempt to kill me.

After that its back home have dinner, the regular time pass and then sleep. To get out of bed at two and move around the house like a zombie, doing nothing.

Notice: Many of these are subject to change, as intermittent bursts of sleep assault and plague me.