Epsilon

Between midnight and morning
When the dust has settled
And yet there are sounds
Of new beginnings
A pen makes autocorrelated patterns
On old forgotten about parchments
Freshly found from the bottom of my drawer

There is much inside
The center cannot hold
Dissipating fragments of evanescent memories
And yet there is so little
That the mind wanders to create ceaseless futures
Parallels in a world
Where we much choose a single straight line

Between yesterday and tomorrow
Is the sound of my nib on paper
Conveying the idea of epsilon
In a world of Continuous Time

I stand my ground
In a moving world
Clinging onto little rocks of past
Hoping they fit inside
My suitcase.

Perspective

To us on the earth
The sun is an eternal, enlightened traveler
Of the seas and lands not merely of the mortal man
Setting on my shores
To rise in yours
Across the great separating waters
A golden journey across the diameter of our hearth
Twenty four hours of crazy crimson mirth

And yet, for Apollo himself
- To him it seems
That it is we who make the journey
Encircling him in a binding, unfailing orbit
Three hundred and sixty five days
Of warmness, wetness and the winter cold

What might i say of who is true
The astronomer who says that we are the voyagers
Or us who see with our eyes a good sunset
Perhaps the answer lies in the ether filled
Spaces of the somewhere-in-between
And so it goes for other things

A return to escaping

My spirit craves for Adventure. I want to be on a bike and race against the wind in the open terrain, breathing in what multitudes of green, pine-tree laden mountains exhale for my benefit. I want to be mother nature's son, climbing up her mountains and working my way down to her valleys. I want to rest in her fields of rye, where occasionally, I might help a misguided child and stop him from falling over into the abyss of cynicism. I want to run into strangers and benefit from their stories, or confide in them mine. I want to read a good book and live out its meaning. I want to think a noble thought, and reflect it from a mountain so all souls can see it. I want to, like Whitman, ask important questions about blades of grass. I want to be the first human being to walk or swim in some part of the earth, land or water, no matter how small. Among other things.

And the shadows we made with our hands

I'd slept at 3:30 last night, I have been craving for hooka for no suitable reason, I've quit alcohol consumption until the time I resume and I saw three dead piegons at three seperate places in the city today. I am done with the rains, which a friend of mine says, is like an unending bong art festival. I am in the seeking desolation mode yet again. I am reading a wonderful book called One Hundred Years of Solitude by one Mr. Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

I think that this country is going to nuts. I also think, that that's probably how things will remain. Cynicism is infectous and hope a challenge. I think the pursuit to progress is a good idea, and the evolution and the progress of a society rests on it. I believe that, as my dad once told my mom, we are all extensions of the society we live in. But I also think our individuality ought to stronger and respected more than it is; and that the individual should be less reflective of the society and more reflective of what he would have been in it's absence. I think that we, as strong headed individuals, should dictate the what our society should be and not vice verca.

I dont think that I am the 'relationship kinds'. I think I like to play the tragic hero. I think that you can either live by your values our completely do away with them, throw them in the bin, let everyone know about it and walk emphatically towards doing what you must. I dont believe there's a middle path, and I think both the options are equally ethical. I believe in love.I think there's too much pretence and human beings, without exception, can be incredibly fake entities. I think there's stark contrast of emptyness and wholeness in everyday life and how you look at it has a lot to do with the life you go on to live. I think I crave for love, but dont really expect any to come my way. I think that I like myself, and that I'm the most important person in my life. I dont completely believe in the virtue of selfishness, but I think it's very important.

I think I agree with Hamlet when he tells his mother, "woman, thy name is frailty". I think women like to let men take over their lives, and decide it's direction while they can relax without having to worry about where it's headed and go on enjoying life. But I think I'd be a staunch feminist and kill anyone who ever said what I just, if i were born a woman. I think that, for whatever you think they are, in any case, I love women :-).

I think escapism is the most edurable of all human tendencies. I think that the language of poetry, music, fiction and other arts is the true language of the soul, and the only language the citizens of shangri la should communicate. I think that imagination is the most important of all human virtues and all of fate relies on it.

I think that I, like all other psuedo intellectuals, think too much. I think we are the last thing this world needs, and smart people who're into making decisions instead of analyzing them are the first.

I think this is where I end. For now, at least.

In Condolence

)(Taken from a candle light vigil held a day after 7 different blasts across Mumbai killed more than 200 ordinary citizens)

Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

- 1st September 1939, W H Auden.

Cryptic and Comprehensible.

I'd forever talk to you
But soon my words,
They would turn into a meaningless ring.
For deep in my heart
I know there is no help i can bring
Everything passes,
Everything changes,
Just do what you think you should do
And someday baby,
Who knows. maybe
I'll come and be cryin' to you.

- "To Ramona",
Another Side Of Bob Dylan [1964]
Bob Dylan

So, so you think you can tell ..

It is drizzling. Pouring, now. One of those pink-floyd-wish-you-were-here kinds of rain - where the birds fly out just above your head on a cool, breathing, not-so-wet mumbai afternoon and waves emrace the outer edges of the Marine Drive. And you spread out your arms, look up and see uniformly white (not grey) clouds everywhere you lay your eyes and fill your grey t-shirt with numerous visible, wet dots.

And then you may break into a run, with the sounds of waves indulging with the favorite song playing on your headphone to create the world's best fusion music, chasing Bus number 138. The bus is stalled at the signal and you run towards it and take the gamble that the lights will be red till you get to the bus, rather than going to the bus stand and waiting for another 138 to come. More that midway through your run, the traffic lights turn green. You accelerate, but so does the bus.

You're almost there, and the speed of the bus and your own run co-incide. You reach out to hold out the bar railing and look to climb onto that moving bus. It is now or never, any further delay and the bus will outspeed you. It is the point of no return. And in that one golden moment, you make that leap and get onto the wonderful red, best, double decker 138.

Walking up the stairway, listening to the David Gilmour singing about two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, you are filled with a sense of achievement from a successful, trivial pursuit.

And after what seems like ages, you smile.

A Day In The Life of a Positive Pessimist

From: editor-fiction@museindia.com

Reply-To: editor-fiction@museindia.com

To: bhuvan.jain@gmail.com

Cc: gsprao2003@yahoo.co.in

Date: May 24, 2006 3:29 PM

Subject: RE: Your Submission of "On Cylcic Dreaming"

Dear Bhuvan,

This refers to the fiction "On Cyclic Dreaming" you have submitted for our consideration. We have assessed it for inclusion in the "Young Voices" of next issue of Muse India but find that it falls short of our expectations. You may submit any other work of yours for our consideration. If it reaches us before the end of this month, we can consider it for the next issue.

We appreciate your interest in Muse India.

Warm wishes,
G S P Rao
Managing Editor