beduin in search of shangrila

Realisation

2011-09-07T21:25:00.000-07:00

a silent medley of yore stringing through my heart..
a lilting tune , a passing smile bequeaths me of memories lost..
sifting through the past , dawns to me what I had left back was me…

Alternate world...

2011-05-19T04:55:00.000-07:00

Things move past in a blurr. The old dog on the road scurrying across or the woman with a pail of water, all registered but not really so. The gears change, the engine noise changes its depth, the smell and the wind .All are being soaked in, yet not quietly so. I am in a different world, alternate or parallel world.

Stories change, names change, my physical attributes change. Even my parents are swapped to a different lot!

Far from slammed doors or loving hugs or the perpetual heaviness of the soul, it takes few seconds to move far away from all these. In a moment I am transformed into the willow wielding young cricketer or a writer in his mid thirties winning booker and leading a luxuriant life. And all these with a knowledge of the real world , yet I summon these alternate realities where its on me to create the glory or its inherent luxury.

From the reality of not finding a job to switch from the current one , I float into a world of a UN consulting role paying me handsomely. Work I truly appreciate and learn. A far cry from reality. I wonder , is this an imposed blindness. imposed to mask away the daily rankling of reality ? . When not earning enough is the bone of contention I conveniently slip into this parallel world where I make quick bucks on the market, making money at a rate where pundits gape. again , is this an escape route or an alternate reality which I readily slip into. Is this the placebo which prevents the reality from taking its due toll ? from making me realize my under achieving or underporfming life. The bike whirrs and I realize I have a window of 30 odd minutes to slip into the alternate world. Where success or love or life is a malleable commodity waiting for my approval. Hmmm….I change gears and move on…

FRRO Bangalore

2011-05-17T05:22:00.000-07:00

FRRO Office Bangalore

Postal Address : No.55, Indira Nagar Double Rd, Near ESI Hospital, Bengaluru, Karnataka 080 2520 2053 ‎

Landmark : ESI hospital ( the office is very near to ESI , you can easily locate the place from ESI if you were to ask for directions from shop keepers , also a basic googling of ‘FRRO Bangalore’ will throw up the map. A building with an yellow façade , you won’t miss this J )

Registration Procedure ( to obtain Residence Permit) :

1) Collect the application form for registering yourself ( for residence permit / Registration ) Where? At the Registration Help desk counter .First thing you see as you enter the premises, a window opening out to the premises.

2) Once you are through with filling out the application form and are confident enough of having all the requisite documents approach the help desk to collect the token.

3) The officer issues a token number and captures your face through the web cam and issues a slip with the token number on it

4) There is a token number display board and you get to hear constant announcements , keep a tab of the current number and wait your turn

5) As you will have figured out by the time your turn comes up , you will have to approach the counter right opposite to the visitor seats , ie adjacent to the registration help desk counter. The officers run through your documents. This is just the first level of screening !!. If you are short of any documents, please get them and approach this desk again. Now if you are unable to meet the requirements within two hours of the time the token number was provided , you will have to start all over again ( not really certain on this tho !)

6) Once the officer at the counter gives you a go ahead , you will be asked to head to the first floor. Proceed to the first floor , approach the counter to your Left ( not the cabin of the frro , the counter is adjacent to the cabin.You will notice few officers scrutinizing the documents ). Remember there are counters with numbers to your right , these guys are to be approached at the end of the process , not right away.

7) The officers at the left of the room run through your documents again , fill out a form which assigns you the counter number to approach.

8) Please get the signature of the officer who sits adjacent to these officers.

9) After his signature , please proceed to the counters and wait your turn

10) These officers at the counter go through the documents and ask you to come back after an hour ( usually) to collect your residence permit.

11) Come back after an hour and approach this counter , you will get your Residence permit ( yes..you finally made it ! )

Process time : This really is unpredictable , I will suggest make it early , you sail through !!

Note : they do not ask you to handover your passport and leave it with them. They have a look at your passport and return it to you. Incase they ask you to leave the passport , just make sure why you need to do that.

Amenities :
You do have a restroom , water logged most of the time.
Nearby shops have photocopying facilities

PS : feel free to let me know if there are any changes to the process detailed above or if I have to edit few things !

untitled....

2011-04-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

a lure I cannot resist , her brightness and mirth draws me close..
captivated in her ethereal dance, my salvation lies in her arms..
they quote me often , the firefly and the flame..
for they do not know , the purpose of my life is entwined with her mocking glance..
her smile to bring me joy and her embrace to beckon my death..
yet I await the moment I fly into her ever welcoming arms..
for its her lure I can never resist

New Post to keep the blog alive

2010-11-26T04:39:00.000-08:00

Well a new post for the heck of it !!
Few things which have changed..
1) I can't write anymore !! ( well, was never good at it in the first place)
2) I sound more like a cross of victorian didatic writer and a psuedo IM convert
3) Even If i do write..ends up in bulleted format ( like this post ??)
4) Hmmm...nevermind , why am i listing out all of this in the first place !!
For other ppl who blog often , check this out.. http://msmephistopheles.blogspot.com/search/label/Reflections
New post 'Little Joy's '...did realise that I am not in touch with my Little Joys anymore..have drifted far too away to be brought back ashore...and yeah , why do we lead dead lifes ? ( an oxymoron,yes....but is this not true for so many of us ?)

listless as a cloud...

2009-11-12T22:47:00.000-08:00

listless as a cloud I wander around ,
muted and hollow ,detached and vagabond..

faces cometh and souls depart.
untouched , untrammeled and unknown..
some gather soul to pour their heart out ,
only to remain a sweet footnote , in the lost and found..

and I still wander as a listless cloud..
never to register even a tiny blip in the vast memory zone…

Magazine menace

2007-10-23T05:33:00.000-07:00

A burly arm woke me from deep slumber. I was obviously sitting on the seat intended for the man, who had poked me in my rib to wake me up. No, there was no betel juice traces on his shirt, nor was his hair slick with oil. Weirdly, there was an air of un-assumed meekness in a man of his frame. More like a lab mice with a pitiable face resting on a gorilla’s body. With all my pretentious western civility now firmly buried, I studied this specimen with unabashed curiosity. Some unspoken tragedy was written all over his face. Amicably dressed with a decidedly too clean a shave, there was something amiss from this whole façade of the person.
After one long of hour of juggling all possible combinations to break ice with this person, I fell asleep. Don’t really know how time flew when the same arm poked me in the very same place. Now this was really not being civil said my voice within. Why does he need to poke me!! When all he could do was make some kinda noise to wake me up! .Reality hit home very soon. I saw his fingers making some symbolic gesture. I was staring at his fingers, when senses took over. He couldn speak. Took me a split second to realize what had made him to overcomehis shyness .He was bored and had noticed that there was a glimpse of some form of magazine which was conveniently serving as my pillow. The gesture was simple, “could I borrow the magazine”. A pall of gloom settled on me. A pseudo puritan that I was ,had smuggled playboy from my friend for an ‘exciting’ journey. With a move that even Mohammed ali would have failed to see coming, I quickly covered the magazine. Now the question was, how do I say that I actually couldn give the magazine as it might offend his sensibilities. Was he deaf too?? .I couldn say it out loud for him to read my lips ,as my co passengers would immediately put on “there is this pervert amongst us” face. This again made me realize my piquant situation. How do I convey this to him????. Using hand gestures would have been atrocious, unthinkable!!.

The hand poked me again , somehow this time it wasn that heavy as previous two times. As I looked up , saw my boss glowering over me(ya , no prizes for guessing..was sleeping in my cubicle ). “Lord, he had asked me to subscribe for the construction magazine”. And what I blurted out has always been one of the best thing that ever happened. Yes, I got a brand new boss , and of course a new company to subscribe magazine for ...!

crack in the window pane

2007-06-25T01:46:00.000-07:00

An all familiar rankling stirred the sleepy eyes. A spray of rain drops from that almost invisible crack on the window pane brought back a flurry of thoughts. Navigating byzantine memory lanes isn't all that difficult, especially when you know what you are looking for. It was the same old crack which had set of a chain of events. It still remained there, not speaking about the complacency of the resident, but of those memories it harbored…
Come monsoon, skies are awash with grey looming clouds. The drizzle had already made its presence felt to me…I wasn't out in the rain, but sleeping on a bed.. rather more like another article forming a sea of inanimate objects jostling for space on that tiny little bed. Chill breeze through the crack brought along an occasional bout of spray, refreshingly frosty and a break from the monotony called life. Somehow, the spray of misty blue water was an aberration to an otherwise placid stifling setting of the room. I decided it was time to fix the crack, not because I was annoyed by the spray, but more because of the fixated lunacy about the spray being so genuinely out of place in this lifeless room of 10 x 10.
Walking up to the window and trying to give one hard look at the mischievous crack which dared to try me, my eyes narrowed on to a shuffle outside. Had it not been for the voluptuousness of the creature out in the rain, my crack would have still held my gaze. Here was I, trying to improve my gaze, get more of what was being thrown at me. It should have been eons since man made his first civilized break, yet here was I ,stirred to the basest of instincts a man could feel. There was something more ,those eyes…
Large black eyes, a bit larger and it would have fit the description ,'bulbous'. There was a glint of wild yet draped by genuine unfathomable warmth. She was wet ,her silhouette making its presence amply felt .There is something innate about certain actions, which throw the seeds of doubt, inhibition self evaluation right through the window. It was same for both of us, for what transpired next was in line with those actions…actions, which in any other circumstance, context would be baptized by some very alluring adjectives. I threw open the window and asked her to come in. Not even a for a moment did the doubt of her refusing flicker , even for an effervescent time.
What happened next is for your lucid (lewd?) imaginatory juices to take over the reigns …yes, the crack still remains and so does the bizarre events which followed and more so the memory like a whip flogging a horse, a horse for which the laceration inflicted is just another thing…yet, no denying it…it does surface, every time the spray spouts like a beached whale ………

a post to fill up t gap

2007-05-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

dunno...just wanted to post something...anything for that matter...deluge of thoughts,but no significant drive to give vent to them in form of a post .Its been a mixed bag ,the usual share of happiness with dollops of hurt.At times,life just flows....no words to capture it...how could i ?its been a schedule where even to thinkof the events which unfoulded is such a pain.A terrific job profile ina nascent stream which demands the best in me...will sum up my vision towards a life which i always wanted to pursue.A real close friend banging the door on me forever...sums up life on personal front.k i got to go n hit t sack...

Loo Monologue

2007-01-17T05:09:00.000-08:00

Last over of the match, a deathly silence prevailing over the sea of humanity watching. beads of sweat forming on the brow, the heart beats loud and clear, 36 runs from six balls…a feat if achieved would shame miandad’s last ball a six.. no living mortal yet to achieve this in international cricket …the bowler chugging in …you see the crowd thinning , disappointed to the bone…for we always fail… suddenly the background to fade in the oblivion…the first bounce of leather and a wild swing…catapulted to seven skies…a long stare with feet rooted to ground …waiting for the umpire to raise his finger to relieve the unbearable burden…there is a movement at the other end….he is raising his hand, albeit both his hands…IT’S A SIX !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ...rest as they say ‘is history’ :) .Wild with joy I swing my arms, one comes crashing down on the flush handle and the other skids on to the bucket nearby splashing water all over. Sounds familiar ???? (still grappling to transcend my word play ???? i was the batsman facing shoaib :) ...

Maybe it has to do with humans hibernating in a bag surrounded with crap for about nine months, loo I guess is the way we connect to this primal truth. for all those who just believe in going through the motion..(just love this bit 'going through the motion’ for this context :D ) and having a jaunt for a couple of minutes, stop right here and head to the next blog.
Welcome to the world where all of us have been the loveable neighbourhood spider man to the dreaded jack the ripper, wondering why on earth did Newton have to wait for the apple to fall for reality to dawn (that brings me to an important theory….the western commode I believe was the culprit, lack of visibility deterred this life saving realsiation of all important gravity !) .. a place where we have battled our demons and yes ,romanced with our loved ones .Strategizing to win over the love of ever elusive to being Juan duan for every other girl in town. Ayn rand to Marx… ,Hinduism to its latest offspring called modi , ya…AIDS to piles !! ( when you spend hours in the loo…piles is very often not a blip on the radar of thoughts, what say ? :) ). Ever wondered the fertile of thoughts (and of course the unmentionables) to be born in the most daunting of circumstances :) .For the legions of humanity, to deny the ‘loo’ its rightful place in the pantheon of intellectual labyrinths is a crime !!. the creepy lizard on the ceiling to running water.. every single object including 'pure ether' to produce such thoughts and someone said to crap is to is to relieve yourself !! maybe that was the most profound statement ever to be made. Maybe the marketer who coined the term ‘captive audience’ hit upon the word in the loo,we are all captive for we cannot deny the law of nature, to sit through and prevail , (so ain’t ‘captive’ just the word :) ) …guess its left to us…to just ‘go through the motion’ OR….to dream …………..

PS note : for those who believe this to be a truck load of crap…well, as crap being the premise…what else did u expect :)
Acknowledgement : my cozy loo, without which this article wouldn have been possible…and last but not the least…thanks to nature…which gives me an occasion to dream and still remember it fondly :)

I Love You

2007-01-01T10:06:00.000-08:00

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

------------------ Pablo Neruda

" the journey called life"

2006-11-05T09:26:00.000-08:00

the work so flawed,
jagged lines running criss cross,
shades so confusing..
dash of flamboyance marked by streaks of grey..
yet, an aura of tranquil to surrond the work
for the doer had christened it right ....." the journey called life"

fleeting thoughts.....

2006-07-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

Lush green paddy fields fusing with the blue canvas,an occasional lamppost whizzing past, soft hum of the engine combined with the trademark clang of the wheels.A calming effect to frayed nerves. A deluge of thoughts ,dark and dreary breaking the reverie ,its an armageddon of sorts, nature and memories out to annihilate each other in a deathly embrace.nature pinning down thoughts, obliterating the void deep within,yet memories failing to accept defeat ,resurfacing at every passing moment. If there was a discontinuation of view outside, it was only in the mind.. as memories had blocked the world outside. Helpless and cowering as darts of pain in the form of memory gripped my mind.

The engine pushed forth like an enraged bull, yet my heart was drifting, towards the start. a swirling mass of faces were calling out my name .A smile spread across the hollowed cheeks. strange was the feeling as the irony set in. The faces which prompted the flight were beckoning me back. I had tried reaching out to them in vain, my love spurned and the care i bestowed was scorned. I had stood my ground, hoping for the realization to sink into the loveless souls, “they need me” was my only refrain. What is it that they abhorred in me ? why was I shackled with loneliness when my heart was brimming with love ???How foolish was I , as I looked back ,I had forgotten the inherent fallacy of altruism ….serve others, love them with all your heart, but…. it never spoke of expecting the love back !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

8.07.06
Frankenstein ………

the gust of wind ...

2006-05-28T12:47:00.000-07:00

a gust of wind brushes past
leaving in its wake a troubled heart
the wind never to be held
life more like the autmn leaves,
twirling in t wind , the momentary high
jostling together in a circular brace,
only to fall on the path
for some sprightly soul to walk past...
to leave a crushed leaf...
its momentary high , the lovely brace
all to come to a naught....

trapped in a pose

2006-05-26T08:39:00.000-07:00

the pose perfect,
affectation at its best,
somewhere on way , a search ensued..
lost in t haze was someone I knew…
my eyes strained, for t effort was in vain …
searching for t vestige of the mortal remains,
of a person ,cut above the rest…
the pose perfect,
affectation at its best,
the search stopped,
for I could not drop the pose ,to reclaim my lost self ..............

A good read - article by Gurucharan Das

2006-05-21T01:21:00.000-07:00

A Metaphor of India

Raghav FM Mansoorpur l is a radio station which used to beam Bhojpuri and filmi songs, give community news and advice on all sorts of things, including AIDS and polio. It was started by Raghav Mahto, a 22-year-old mechanic in Mansoorpur, Bihar. Bored with running an electronics repair shop, Raghav stumbled one day on an innovative way to broadcast radio from his thatched roof shop by slinging a transmitter on a bamboo pole with a total investment of Rs 50. The do-it-yourself community station became an instant success. Raghav was happy and popular, besieged by requests from his fans to play their favourite songs. He earned Rs 2,000 a month — a nice return on his Rs 50 investment — fed his family of five and won the respect of villagers in the surrounding districts of Muzaffarpur, Vaishali and Saran within a 35 km radius of his radio station. "I air devotional songs at dawn and dusk," he told BBC, and this made him more popular with women than men. Two weeks ago, on March 27, his station was closed and his equipment seized because he broke two laws, he did not possess a licence and he gave news on FM radio. A formal police complaint has been lodged against him. Disappointed villagers are learning to live with silence. They could tune in to AIR's self-righteous programmes, but they want to hear the chat of their community — who has stolen whose cow, their MLA's broken promises, about the approaching Vaishali festival — and they want to hear it in their local dialect. And pray, what is wrong with thousands of Raghavs offering community broadcasting across the country? What if Raghav had started a newspaper? No problem. What if he had launched a TV news channel? No problem, again. But giving news on the radio is illegal, except by AIR.
Nothing quite dramatises the gap between the aspirations of the Indian people and the stifling bureaucratic Indian state than the long struggle waged by our people for freedom to broadcast over radio. Kicked and dragged, the government has reluctantly offered some crumbs. It allowed a few FM stations to broadcast after paying outrageous fees. Soon these stations were bankrupt and the government was forced to abolish fees and agreed to share revenues with the private stations. Since this has eased entry, 340 stations have now got licences and are about to begin. But they are still not allowed to give news. Raghav FM Mansoorpur l is the quintessential metaphor of a diverse and plural India. Mohandas Gandhi would have celebrated the idea of a radio listening community that might help to unite our caste ridden, factionalised villages. Community radio can also initiate development, empower women and Dalits, and advocate legislation from below. True, the government has reluctantly permitted colleges to run campus radio stations, but the licence process is so cumbersome — it requires approval from four ministries — that few have got going. The lesson from Raghav's story is that the state must de-license community radio based on an 'open spectrum' policy. Anyone should be able to start a station as long as they do not hog the airwaves. As for news on the radio, the only remedy is to challenge this contradiction in a court of law. Only a twisted babu will try to justify that one can deliver news in print and on TV but not on the radio in the world's largest democracy. gurcharandas@vsnl.com

waiting for a caption shruthi...

2006-05-17T01:52:00.000-07:00

deep within my heart, I cry…
uncertain about t day so dry…
for t one who loved and cared for me…
is no longer mine and let me be…
at t mercy of t cannibal, to devour me at his will…
mould of clay have I become…
for tomorrow, t dawn to come…
t potter at his artistic spree …
Will ruin me or let me free?

---- shruthi

nirvana on t battlefront....

2006-05-15T12:52:00.000-07:00

he stood rooted to the ground…
t frame had freezed…
t frenzy clamoring for more…
white specks on the bloody ground…
macabre as it was…
t sword refused to be sheathed…
t moment of ecstasy was so near…
a dull throbbing pain…
a flicker of of smile to brace his quaint lips…
colors of every hue exploded in his head….
as t dart had found its mark….
to be lodged deep in his heart...

what if ?

2006-05-06T11:05:00.002-07:00

Ever wondered (guess most of us do this every time thou !) what if some things never did happen ?...like you are late by 5 mins to t class…thx to t dumb cop who flagged u down for t routine drill.. What if he didn ? and thx to those 5 mins ur sweet heart sits next to this macho guy and all your dreams vanish in thin air !...well most of us have these kind of tales…don’t we ? ...and end up forever cursing and wishing….what if ???
…………curiously history has even more strange situations which would leave any avid follower of history saying…what if….
Well….t lady was into her seventh month…she looses her husband and her son…in misery she tries to kill herself and t baby in t womb…she survives t attempt…and so does Saddam Hussein….
T two armies are facing each other in t battle field…t king with the bigger army is confident of a victory…to his dismay…he sees 80,0000 of his soldiers join t ranks of his enemy…broken hearted he flees to the jungle..he fights till his death…but never to taste victory….
Rana sangha …loosing out to Babar….
A huge army of Indian soldiers outnumbering their captors by one is to ten are lead through t state of bihar…people …mind you..lakhs of them jeer at t captured soldiers….what if they had picked up a stone each and pelted a motley platoon of british soldiers? …after t battle of Buxar….(defining moment of t british raj!!!)
The general ….t most venerated military strategist ever…his artillery skills are spoken to this day…misguided by a local about the terrain…add to his misery, it rained t previous day….looses t battle …a victory would have changed t way t world looked forever…
Napolean at his nemesis ….waterloo…
Guess there are such momentous occasions in history were a slight change of path would have altered t history of generations…so… what if …. ?

Hollow....

2006-05-05T01:27:00.000-07:00

a smile spreads across…
every nod to acknowledge my victory…
being extolled to skies, for my knowledge was vast….
my prowess acclaimed…
yet…a fear lurks deep within...
hear a voice calling out….
pull down t façade, for t truth to dawn…
an impostor that I am….
an impostor….

Inexplicable....

2006-05-03T22:11:00.000-07:00

" There's something I would like to understand.And I don't think anyone can explain it...There's your life.You begin it,feeling that it's something so precious and rare,so beautiful that it's like a sacred treasure.Now it's over,and it does't make any difference to anyone, and it isn't that they are indifferent, it's just that they don't know what it means,that treasure of mine, and there's some thing bout it that they should understand.I don't understand it myself,but there is something about it that should be understood by all of us.Only what is it? what ? "

We the living --- Ayn Rand

musings...

2006-05-01T08:28:00.000-07:00

slicing through the milky darkness...
a beam so intense...
an abyss set ablaze...
so ephermal was its presence...
darkness strikes back, tightening its firm embarace...
its trying hard to wipe the beam's every trace...
the fire in my heart burns bright...
for i have seen the LIGHT......

That Which is Seen, and That Which is Not Seen

2006-04-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

http://bastiat.org/en/twisatwins.html ........ by Fredric Bastiat....Frédéric Bastiat (1801-1850) is a French economist and politician, wrongfully ignored in France, though recognized as being an author of foremost importance in many other countries ..........this work of his will find an immediate adulation from Rand fans........thou he was a precursor to her :)

2006-04-30T06:28:00.000-07:00

the evening raag seeps through…
memories of every hue waltzes through…
lilting tunes leave a quaint feel…
eyes brim over, pearl drops to leave a glistening streak….
eagerly waiting for those faint steps….
belief to transcend reality, even as t wait is for eternity….