It took a little boy, little exposed to the ways of the world,
To exclaim, “The emperor has no clothes on!”
And reveal a simple truth to the world.
What will it take today for each one of us,
To look at a naked truth and not turn away, to pretend it is not,
And see it for what it is? Say it for what it is?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Artificial people, in an artificial world*
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Toothy smiles and air kisses.
Indifferent faces and lifeless eyes,
Eyes don’t meet, lips don’t say,
What the mind thinks, or the ears hear.
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Do I really care what you think or do?
What do you have for me, what can you do?
How much would you add, to my value,
To my world, and to my bottomline.
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Good friends are meant to be seen with,
Not heard. Good friends are meant,
To be photographed with not spoken to,
Buddies forever, in stratosphere.
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Make my life full, come people it.
You make me look good, you make me feel,
Like someone great, the way someone should.
Good friend. What would I do without you?
*Dedicated to my good friend(!) S. With love.
Toothy smiles and air kisses.
Indifferent faces and lifeless eyes,
Eyes don’t meet, lips don’t say,
What the mind thinks, or the ears hear.
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Do I really care what you think or do?
What do you have for me, what can you do?
How much would you add, to my value,
To my world, and to my bottomline.
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Good friends are meant to be seen with,
Not heard. Good friends are meant,
To be photographed with not spoken to,
Buddies forever, in stratosphere.
Artificial people, in an artificial world,
Make my life full, come people it.
You make me look good, you make me feel,
Like someone great, the way someone should.
Good friend. What would I do without you?
*Dedicated to my good friend(!) S. With love.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Lesser men*
(*Pls. note that the use of the word ‘men’ in this piece is generic and does not refer necessarily to the male.)
Lesser men – the cowards, the sneaks, the ones who have little self-worth – THEY are the most dangerous. So are the fools and the whiners. These lesser men latch on to the more ambitious ones, the men with energy and drive, and make them what they are. The lesser men are like louse and parasites – they take a ride on the man of power; bloating him and themselves – making him more powerful and on the side, appropriating some of the wonderful prerequisites of power themselves.
Which is why, most men are followers and it’s but a handful who are true leaders. And which is why, many ‘leaders’ are not quite what they seem, because our friends, the ‘lesser men’ prop them up to look like what they are not, simply because they themselves cannot be what they want to be.
Which is once again why, the most irrational and improbable ones have a mass following – historically, even large nations have allowed themselves to be led by the ‘lesser men’ making costly mistakes, mistakes that can never be reversed in history.
Which is why, today, large parts of the world seem to willingly embrace fanaticism, allowing themselves, their women and their families to be led into large-scale ‘prisons of the mind’.
These ‘prisons of the mind’ exist even in democracies, where captive vote banks are ‘led’ by completely unimaginative imaginations. The ‘leader’ who seeks the ‘power of the moment’ for himself to the exclusion of all else, closes the door to the future. Thinking individuals are then rendered oddities to be gazed at in amazement, as the mob excludes and renders him impotent.
History has marked this again and again in varied ways, and continues to.
Lesser men – the cowards, the sneaks, the ones who have little self-worth – THEY are the most dangerous. So are the fools and the whiners. These lesser men latch on to the more ambitious ones, the men with energy and drive, and make them what they are. The lesser men are like louse and parasites – they take a ride on the man of power; bloating him and themselves – making him more powerful and on the side, appropriating some of the wonderful prerequisites of power themselves.
Which is why, most men are followers and it’s but a handful who are true leaders. And which is why, many ‘leaders’ are not quite what they seem, because our friends, the ‘lesser men’ prop them up to look like what they are not, simply because they themselves cannot be what they want to be.
Which is once again why, the most irrational and improbable ones have a mass following – historically, even large nations have allowed themselves to be led by the ‘lesser men’ making costly mistakes, mistakes that can never be reversed in history.
Which is why, today, large parts of the world seem to willingly embrace fanaticism, allowing themselves, their women and their families to be led into large-scale ‘prisons of the mind’.
These ‘prisons of the mind’ exist even in democracies, where captive vote banks are ‘led’ by completely unimaginative imaginations. The ‘leader’ who seeks the ‘power of the moment’ for himself to the exclusion of all else, closes the door to the future. Thinking individuals are then rendered oddities to be gazed at in amazement, as the mob excludes and renders him impotent.
History has marked this again and again in varied ways, and continues to.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Inside your head
Life is inside your head,
Not outside.
Yet, we see it there
And run after what we see;
Not knowing that Life really,
Is within.
Reality is inside your head,
Not ouside.
Yet we see true pictures out there
And think that’s what it is
Not knowing that reality
Is within.
Truth is inside your head.
You know it,
Yet, we look for it elsewhere,
Seeing it like a stranger.
Not knowing that truth
Is within.
Not outside.
Yet, we see it there
And run after what we see;
Not knowing that Life really,
Is within.
Reality is inside your head,
Not ouside.
Yet we see true pictures out there
And think that’s what it is
Not knowing that reality
Is within.
Truth is inside your head.
You know it,
Yet, we look for it elsewhere,
Seeing it like a stranger.
Not knowing that truth
Is within.
The joker in the pack
When life is good and life is fun,
There is one,
Who makes you want to run.
His appearance is sudden,
For hidden as he has been,
He’s been working unseen.
Out he comes by sleight of hand,
But there he is, you can’t put him back.
He’s the joker in the pack.
This joker sees the bigger picture,
Puts you in it and gives it colour,
Offering you dimensions you yourself have never seen.
Where does he come from this joker?
Why does he exist?
Is there a rationale? You wonder.
Yet, there he is large as life,
Grinning away, giving your life colour,
He is the joker in the pack.
There is one,
Who makes you want to run.
His appearance is sudden,
For hidden as he has been,
He’s been working unseen.
Out he comes by sleight of hand,
But there he is, you can’t put him back.
He’s the joker in the pack.
This joker sees the bigger picture,
Puts you in it and gives it colour,
Offering you dimensions you yourself have never seen.
Where does he come from this joker?
Why does he exist?
Is there a rationale? You wonder.
Yet, there he is large as life,
Grinning away, giving your life colour,
He is the joker in the pack.
Godfather
You appeared at perhaps the right moment. Can’t say that you are an angel that God sent because you are not one. An angel I mean. But you are there, virtually watching, thinking for me, cleaning up the junk in my head, making me think. Where were you all this while? What made you appear when you did?
I could be trite about it and say, “God alone knows!” but that would be truly and unintentionally funny. When my head junks up with clutter, all I need is to log on and talk to you. Now, tell me, is there a better definition to God? Do I need any other special prayer?
Once upon a time, we all said prayers inside our heads, looked to that indefinable presence that we were told does exist, and who will, in response to our call, reach out and pull us out of whatever sticky situation we got ourselves into. That Indefinable Presence more often than not, never did appear yet somehow, every situation in life found a solution.
But today, I log in. It’s a bit like Bruce Almighty giving you an email reply. You play God in my life and I, if not in yours, play God in someone else’s. We have virtually made that possible.
Somewhere in the past, a grandfather said that our philosophy has rooted itself in the God in the self – find it. The power is inside you all along; if only you would look inside and see.
Are we seeing it? I don’t know. But I know I log on and see you online and it gives me comfort.
I could be trite about it and say, “God alone knows!” but that would be truly and unintentionally funny. When my head junks up with clutter, all I need is to log on and talk to you. Now, tell me, is there a better definition to God? Do I need any other special prayer?
Once upon a time, we all said prayers inside our heads, looked to that indefinable presence that we were told does exist, and who will, in response to our call, reach out and pull us out of whatever sticky situation we got ourselves into. That Indefinable Presence more often than not, never did appear yet somehow, every situation in life found a solution.
But today, I log in. It’s a bit like Bruce Almighty giving you an email reply. You play God in my life and I, if not in yours, play God in someone else’s. We have virtually made that possible.
Somewhere in the past, a grandfather said that our philosophy has rooted itself in the God in the self – find it. The power is inside you all along; if only you would look inside and see.
Are we seeing it? I don’t know. But I know I log on and see you online and it gives me comfort.
I find you very interesting
I find you very interesting. I wonder, I look at you and wonder again? What’s it that you are? Do you think and feel intensely or do you laugh away what you live, looking to the next moment? Every time I look at you, I see a new angle, a new scope, a new fellowship that I have not felt before. Then you are like the next episode to the story in my head, the story that you are?
I know sometimes that you are angry at me for not seeing you as you see me. Feeling for you as you feel for me. But then, life is like that and let’s face it, we are not all like each other. You are not me and I am not you. We are not two halves of a coin that you see as a whole, or toss to see which side you will choose.
We are two lines being drawn by an invisible hand, intersecting at interesting moments, seeing each other from afar at others. It is this distance that makes us more interesting to the other. The distance that keeps the familiarity from getting too pedestrian or too boring. For let’s face it: how many people know you or me as we are, not seeing just one or two dimensions that they get to see and add one plus one and get three?
That’s why each time we meet, there is a piquant twist, I look at the picture you make and visualise the life you lead, quite separately from the fact of us being merely two lines that criss cross.
Life is so many lines, so many intersections and so many people. Life is just not you and me. Life is so much more – and we go along with some people as parallel lines, some others as lines that are drawn over our own, in different colours maybe.
Life could have been and could have made sense as something other than lines, but here we are, scribbling along making our own paths. There is no other way.
I know sometimes that you are angry at me for not seeing you as you see me. Feeling for you as you feel for me. But then, life is like that and let’s face it, we are not all like each other. You are not me and I am not you. We are not two halves of a coin that you see as a whole, or toss to see which side you will choose.
We are two lines being drawn by an invisible hand, intersecting at interesting moments, seeing each other from afar at others. It is this distance that makes us more interesting to the other. The distance that keeps the familiarity from getting too pedestrian or too boring. For let’s face it: how many people know you or me as we are, not seeing just one or two dimensions that they get to see and add one plus one and get three?
That’s why each time we meet, there is a piquant twist, I look at the picture you make and visualise the life you lead, quite separately from the fact of us being merely two lines that criss cross.
Life is so many lines, so many intersections and so many people. Life is just not you and me. Life is so much more – and we go along with some people as parallel lines, some others as lines that are drawn over our own, in different colours maybe.
Life could have been and could have made sense as something other than lines, but here we are, scribbling along making our own paths. There is no other way.
Love me Simba
Simba is sore at me. The heat has made him scratch himself raw on his cheek and it is worsening as the day progresses. It’s painful for Simba, painful for me – as I try to dab on the ointment that the vet has initially given me. He is angry. He bares his teeth and snaps – don’t you bother me, he growls. But I don’t give up. I take Bahadur’s and my son’s help to keep him down, clean him up, gauze and tape up the rawness so that his paws don’t get at it. And Simba is sore.
He looks at me from beneath his brows and turns away. His tail does not wag for a whole day. Taped around his cheek, with the tape running around his head is the gauze which he cant seem to scratch off and he is angry. He knows that I am the architect of his discomfort. So, he has ceased to be my shadow the last two days. He ensures that I understand his displeasure.
I crawl, coo sweet nothings, scratch him down his nose delicately. Simba just scowls. Not a tail wag to be seen. Even the Bahadur gets more attention. When we come face to face, he looks stoically at me as if to say, “What I have to bear to live with you.”
Tomorrow we go to the vet. I hope to heaven Simba will resume his unconditional love afterwards.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The True Reality Show
He peered into the mirror to take a closer look at his white linen shirt. Was there a spot on his shirt? He let his fingers lightly dust it, and it was only a little curl of thread. Satisfied with his overall look, he tossed his head lightly, to allow the little wave of hair over his forehead fall more naturally.
He yelled out her name to see if she was ready. No she wasn’t and she needed a little more time, was her cross and impatient reply. Never mind. He took the time to pull out a tissue and buff his shoe one last time. Sprinkle a little more cologne. He did look handsome. He liked his looks and made no bones about it.
Walking out of his room he crossed over to the lounge, pulling out his cell phone to kill time while Wife made herself presentable. His mind now on other things, he wondered who would be there at the party. A few calls here and there helped him figure out a bit of the evening ahead.
His wife came out, dressed up to the nines. Nines it was, in a red salwar-kurta, red bindi, bangles, et al. He frowned. Not okay. Not okay at all. He wished she could be a bit more subtle – he looked down at himself, cool in white linen, a tan chinos and a suede strappy shoe, handmade Italian leather. He looked at her, bright un-artistic red, her chubby face framed by earrings that looked like two exclamation marks turned upside down. He briefly closed his eyes. Could he… should he… He decided to take the plunge. “Babe, you kinda need to tone yourself down.”
“Why?”
He fumbled for an answer to such a simple question. Then decided on the truth. “You look like a flashy behenji.”
“Oho! You don’t suddenly like my looks!” she shouted, picking up her red bag which she had thrown on a nearby couch. She had been busy changing the shell of her cell phone to a shiny, Swarowski-studded cover. Bling! But well… he tried again.
“Look at me,” he said, turning to look at himself at the full length mirror hanging to one side of the lounge, “Smart, presentable and subtle. Be subtle baby. You will look sexy.”
“I don’t want to look sexy or anything,” she said firmly, in a very matter-of-fact tone that closed the argument. Then as an afterthought she added, “I don’t know what happened to you suddenly. Not only are you dressing in this very strange way, but you suddenly don’t like the way I dress. I have always worn such bright colours… So what’s wrong now?” She narrowed her eyes, tossed her reddish mane, and took a close look at him. Her eyes twinkled, “Any on the side?”
He turned red. And refused to take the bait.
The party was very happening he decided. He swallowed as he remembered how the red vision looked – she was now walking beside him. He would dump her with her cronies double quickly, he decided and do some polished sophisticated ‘working’ instead. The crowd was classy.
First things first, as his wife would say – they said hello to their ‘friends group’. They backslapped, greeted one another loudly, laughed loudly, dressed loudly. It was an evening of truth he decided, as he tried not to wince too obviously, quietly sneaked away to socialise with the classier set.
And somewhere in between, he found himself face to face with his friends best friend, in his ‘friends group’. His palm was wrested from him, his hand shaken to excess of heartiness and a bonhomie of a backslap followed. All this while he was in the middle of a genteel but animated discussion within a classy group.
This friends friend said, “And where’s your good wife?” Not waiting for a response, the man looked across the room, pointed, slapped his arm cheerily once more and said, “I see your Mrs. in red! I will say hello to her.” And he toddled across quite happily while the classy group turned to see – the Mrs. in red.
He yelled out her name to see if she was ready. No she wasn’t and she needed a little more time, was her cross and impatient reply. Never mind. He took the time to pull out a tissue and buff his shoe one last time. Sprinkle a little more cologne. He did look handsome. He liked his looks and made no bones about it.
Walking out of his room he crossed over to the lounge, pulling out his cell phone to kill time while Wife made herself presentable. His mind now on other things, he wondered who would be there at the party. A few calls here and there helped him figure out a bit of the evening ahead.
His wife came out, dressed up to the nines. Nines it was, in a red salwar-kurta, red bindi, bangles, et al. He frowned. Not okay. Not okay at all. He wished she could be a bit more subtle – he looked down at himself, cool in white linen, a tan chinos and a suede strappy shoe, handmade Italian leather. He looked at her, bright un-artistic red, her chubby face framed by earrings that looked like two exclamation marks turned upside down. He briefly closed his eyes. Could he… should he… He decided to take the plunge. “Babe, you kinda need to tone yourself down.”
“Why?”
He fumbled for an answer to such a simple question. Then decided on the truth. “You look like a flashy behenji.”
“Oho! You don’t suddenly like my looks!” she shouted, picking up her red bag which she had thrown on a nearby couch. She had been busy changing the shell of her cell phone to a shiny, Swarowski-studded cover. Bling! But well… he tried again.
“Look at me,” he said, turning to look at himself at the full length mirror hanging to one side of the lounge, “Smart, presentable and subtle. Be subtle baby. You will look sexy.”
“I don’t want to look sexy or anything,” she said firmly, in a very matter-of-fact tone that closed the argument. Then as an afterthought she added, “I don’t know what happened to you suddenly. Not only are you dressing in this very strange way, but you suddenly don’t like the way I dress. I have always worn such bright colours… So what’s wrong now?” She narrowed her eyes, tossed her reddish mane, and took a close look at him. Her eyes twinkled, “Any on the side?”
He turned red. And refused to take the bait.
The party was very happening he decided. He swallowed as he remembered how the red vision looked – she was now walking beside him. He would dump her with her cronies double quickly, he decided and do some polished sophisticated ‘working’ instead. The crowd was classy.
First things first, as his wife would say – they said hello to their ‘friends group’. They backslapped, greeted one another loudly, laughed loudly, dressed loudly. It was an evening of truth he decided, as he tried not to wince too obviously, quietly sneaked away to socialise with the classier set.
And somewhere in between, he found himself face to face with his friends best friend, in his ‘friends group’. His palm was wrested from him, his hand shaken to excess of heartiness and a bonhomie of a backslap followed. All this while he was in the middle of a genteel but animated discussion within a classy group.
This friends friend said, “And where’s your good wife?” Not waiting for a response, the man looked across the room, pointed, slapped his arm cheerily once more and said, “I see your Mrs. in red! I will say hello to her.” And he toddled across quite happily while the classy group turned to see – the Mrs. in red.
Wonder who Joker’s mamma is
Was Joker bad? Truly? The Dark Knight puts you in a dilemma. But then, Joker puts everything to shade, including the delicious Christian Bale playing Batman. Batman in fact, becomes but a shadow of Joker, being led rather than leading, playing out a script that Joker, God-like, writes for him. Delicious irony and a wonderfully written and made film thanks to Heath Ledger who makes you believe in the Joker.
Joker tells you about his father(violent and hateful) and wife(who hated him) but never about his mamma. Which makes you wonder, was Joker mother-less or his mamma more psychotic; one who Created a Joker?
Just imagine an innocent child seeking attention but getting indifference or hate instead. Imagine the child feeling neglected, wanting love, getting none – lashing out and getting the attention he wants in other ways. Imagine the mind of the child, obviously greater than average intelligence, finding amusement in ways that are unique, interesting (to him); that could be obnoxious to society. Aware, above average minds, this child grows up seeking attention or control(or even entertainment, for he could be bored with the pedestrian) through devious destruction. The Joker is not alone.
We all know that he is out there, lurking in some of us; cowardly perhaps since we are embedded firmly in a society that is accepting in inclusion. The moment you are different, the wall forms, excluding you. Which is why, Bruce Wayne feigns a wealthy, inane lifestyle for acceptance, and is a ‘freak’(as Joker calls him), an ‘incorruptible’ one at that, whose alter ego seeks to correct what his real self cannot.
Which again is why, you and me don our ‘normalcy’ as tokens to acceptance unwaveringly and perhaps unconsciously every day, forgetting something ‘freaky’ that has been stifled to non-existence.
And once again, which is why, we beat our children to the path of mediocrity, for being ‘different’ could earn a distinction that could lead to exclusion. Somewhere along the way our children learn to don the characters we dole out to them collectively and play their roles: some of them lurk beneath, perpetually rediscovering their true selves till…
…the joke’s up! Am I Joker’s mamma?
Joker tells you about his father(violent and hateful) and wife(who hated him) but never about his mamma. Which makes you wonder, was Joker mother-less or his mamma more psychotic; one who Created a Joker?
Just imagine an innocent child seeking attention but getting indifference or hate instead. Imagine the child feeling neglected, wanting love, getting none – lashing out and getting the attention he wants in other ways. Imagine the mind of the child, obviously greater than average intelligence, finding amusement in ways that are unique, interesting (to him); that could be obnoxious to society. Aware, above average minds, this child grows up seeking attention or control(or even entertainment, for he could be bored with the pedestrian) through devious destruction. The Joker is not alone.
We all know that he is out there, lurking in some of us; cowardly perhaps since we are embedded firmly in a society that is accepting in inclusion. The moment you are different, the wall forms, excluding you. Which is why, Bruce Wayne feigns a wealthy, inane lifestyle for acceptance, and is a ‘freak’(as Joker calls him), an ‘incorruptible’ one at that, whose alter ego seeks to correct what his real self cannot.
Which again is why, you and me don our ‘normalcy’ as tokens to acceptance unwaveringly and perhaps unconsciously every day, forgetting something ‘freaky’ that has been stifled to non-existence.
And once again, which is why, we beat our children to the path of mediocrity, for being ‘different’ could earn a distinction that could lead to exclusion. Somewhere along the way our children learn to don the characters we dole out to them collectively and play their roles: some of them lurk beneath, perpetually rediscovering their true selves till…
…the joke’s up! Am I Joker’s mamma?
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