It’s been quite a while since this space has received any writing. Plenty of stuff has changed since the last time I wrote. It’s been quite a busy trimester, with me falling head over heels for ‘the law’ yet again, not only because of movies like Witness for the Prosecution (a highly recommended movie, though surprisingly, the Agatha Christie short story is not as good), but also because of enjoyable courses like International Law and IPR, apart from other assignments and initiatives, like this one, books like Uncommon Law by A.P. Herbert.

Love Affair

As I, along with five other people carried my almirah down, a formal end of something was marked.
And I was reminded of this picture I took in June, 2006.



To all and sundry, thank you for all the love and lessons.

I Got Mail!

Despite having a heavy load of work for the coming night, I was whiling my time away going through my mailbox and all the pleasant and not so pleasant memories. Since my mailbox is systematically labelled and all, there are two labels which are sort of forbidden, because they conjure the ghost of the past. One might advise me to get rid of and delete them, but I, as a rule, never delete any of my mails. So while reading some mail conversations in those label raised a smile and brought fond memories, the more recent ones just shook me enough to disable me to work tonight, putting me in a precarious position with regard to my work. I shall bid myself a pleasant night with these words:

"Try to realize it's all within yourself
no one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small
and life flows on within you and without you"

(George Harrison, "Within You Without You, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band)

Twenty running on twenty-one

They say that when you're twenty-one, you're a full-grown adult. I don't know how much of that is true with respect to me, but surely 2007-08 was possibly the most eventful year of my life so far (however people might smug at me and say, "Is that all?". I would say "Yeah, that should be it.") It is quite a transition, and I feel so transformed in a year full of storms, depressions and love.

It is fittingly marked by a most perfect vacation. Of pure bliss. Of peace and calm. Of enjoyment in simple pleasures of life like enjoying the monsoon with a cup of tea between the fingers and an umbrella over the head and the cup of tea, with trousers rolled up, and with the missing cigarette and its smoke.

Now twenty-one running on twenty-two. I hope I make this one fruitful.

Blae

“Dude, have you ever felt that the world's come to an end?”

“Oye! What’s wrong with you? It was just an exam!”

“I couldn’t attempt 20 marks out of 60. I’ve effectively flunked the course!”

“You won’t. And even if you do, it’s ok. Happens to everybody. You’re anyway probably the chap with the lowest CGPA without repeat in your class! And in any case, since when have you started taking exams so seriously? How can you get stressed out by exams?!”

“Hmm… I always took them fairly seriously but never get stressed out by them. But I really feel the end of everything right now. I mean, I didn’t even feel this way when I saw that sms from that wretched person with a meretricious disposition. Not even the day before that. Never before. It’s a new feeling – sort of despising myself. I mean, I’ve indulged in plenty of self-deprecating exercises earlier. But this is something new. An active hate and loss of faith in myself.”

“Uh ho! What’s the big deal, sir? Just three more days, and then you can revitalize yourself. Have you heard the concept of an unlucky number?”

“No man.”

“Yours is nine. All of us have our bad luck. So relax.”

“Stop throwing silly superstitious bullshit at me, boss! Unlucky number and all. You and your shady Oriental nescient nonsense. Get a piece of rationality in life, man!”

“Ok ok. Sorry. But there’s no use crying now. Assume you’ve got a repeat. Study for it. What else? It’s a perfect opportunity for you to learn, which you were planning to do after exams anyway.”

“That’s true. But it’s not that I didn’t know what to write. I probably knew more than most other people in my class. I was up till 5 o’ clock studying for it. But I just feel so helpless right now. One of those escapist feelings to go into absolute seclusion and become a recluse. Possibly a hermit. But I subdue those because I know I’m here to do something. There’s a purpose. A long term noble purpose, which cannot be allowed to be overridden by these escapist tendencies.”

Blues

It's such a shame that a course like Evidence Law, which seems more interesting than anything else currently, has been destroyed because of a snooty teacher, who randomly decides to concentrate on CopyRights and a lack of replacement for Mr. Ape-resh - a mongrel dog who has left me and my compatriots helpless, not just clueless. Hoping that this vacation will finally see the construction of that destroyed building called "The Law of Evidence". Prior promises in relation to other wrecks like Property Law, Contract Law, Administrative Law never materialized. But then again, there's always a first time.
Apart from that, there are those old-age blues, which I have always experienced in June but are exalted this time by the fact that I'll soon be a great grandfather.
Old. Rankwise. Rollwise. Wisdom-wise, hopefully.

On a brighter side, I've realized that My Back Pages (Bob Dylan: Another Side of Bob Dylan) and In My Life (The Beatles: Rubber Soul) are splendid, one filled with hope and revival- "Coming Back To Life" types; and the other of good memories, and a romantic past.

Music

Time to brag a little.

“Great music that is not in the mainstream needs a host – someone to bring you into the fold.” –John Mayer

And as part of a dedication to that host, I’ve downloaded arguably some of the greatest music I’ve had, in the last 50-odd hours.

Little Juju

Roland Garros for me is the most looked-forward-to Grand Slam event. Yes. Even more than Wimbledon. Sadly, the Ladies Singles title this year becomes 'without-having-to-be-defended'.

------

I always thought that she was the female counterpart of Bjorn Borg in more ways than one. Apart from the same coolness and calmness of Ice-Borg, she too retired on a high - at her prime, being the only women tennis player till date to retire when on top. Twenty-five. An age when most other players become great or grow greater.

------

Sometimes, when someone leaves, you feel that a sort of void is created. That's exactly what I feel about women's tennis right now. You might say there is Maria Sharapova, Serena Williams, Ana Ivanovic, Venus Williams, and so many more. What's the big deal?
I mean. There's Ana Ivanovic.
But then.

Would you see that little girl, looking angelic in a white jacket walking into the court with her red Wilson kitbag again?
Would you ever see that coolness and elegance on the court again?
Would you see that greatest-backhand-ever (footnote: John McEnroe) again? - That high powered inside out single-handed backhand hit down the line, while the opponent lady is just changing the grip of her racquet, and after the ball passes by, she's left gaping. That disguised drop slice backhand. Would you ever see it again?
Would you see anyone as emotionally tough as her again?
Would you ever come across a lady who carries on her shoulders the hopes of an entire nation for an Olympic gold when she walks into the court?

Would you...?

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now - it's just a spring clean for the May Queen
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.
And it makes me wonder.

Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know - the piper's calling you to join him
Dear Lady, can't you hear the wind blow, and did you know - your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

- Led Zeppelin, Stairway to Heaven (written by: Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, 1971).
[#31, RS 500 Greatest Songs of all Time]

My Hippocratic Oath

I have often been asked, “Would you defend a rapist if you know he committed the heinous crime?” And I have often responded by saying that I would because he is not guilty till he has been found by the Court to be. A variety of recent incidents and observations have made me relook the question, though my answer remains the same. I know that I’m going to appear in the Court about two years from now, in the capacity of an assisting counsel initially, and then I might find myself in such a situation (although the chances of it happening are very low) where I am asked to defend a horrendous criminal, perhaps a terrorist, a child molester or a serial killer.

As I look at it, for a person who respects the rule of law, the question of defending a rapist seems a silly one. For he would argue, “Well, sir, who are you to sit on judgement over him for raping a woman?” But a more practical person would retort, “The Court will take ages to convict him. And it is so obvious that he is guilty. Why should he roam around freely when he raped and killed six women?” True, our legal system is depressingly slow. But, is public ostracisation the solution? Some people might consider that to be the answer. But frankly, it is a hard choice. I think we, as subjects of a rule of law have no right to hijack the legal system. As I have earlier stated, it is the Court who is to decide, not me or you. In his latest post (which prompted me to write this), Vikram probably suggests something similar when he feels that a Public Interest Litigation should be filed against the Mysore Bar Association for issuing a fatwah of the kind it did. It is, in fact, a sad thing to happen that Bar Associations or the press prevent the smooth operation of law and fair trial.

In the Nuremberg trials too, the defendants who were charged with abetting the killing of millions of people were represented. You might argue that the reason for that was that the counsel who took up these cases felt it necessary to save the little left dignity to the Germans after the War and the Holocaust. I think there is a better reason. Everyone, never mind how degraded or horrible the criminal is, must be afforded a fair trial. No matter what. And if somebody has to do it, why not me? I know I will be sincere in doing it, and I shall do it – to the best of my ability. Without any manipulations. Without any trickery.

The job of everyone in a justice system is simple and well-defined. And if all do their job honestly and sincerely, there is no reason that justice, in its truest sense cannot be served. The job of the investigative agency is to produce all the evidence and witnesses before the Court. The job of the lawyer is to use this evidence and aid the Court to arrive at the correct conclusion as far as possible. He owes a duty to the Court and the decision-making process before his duty to the client. It is the job of the Bench, then, to judge.

So, even if I personally believe my client to be guilty, I, as a lawyer, am under the lawyers' version of a Hippocratic oath to defend him. My personal notions are entirely de-linked from my duty, which is above everything else.

At the end of it all, if I, as a lawyer, have done my job to the best of my ability and more importantly, honestly, I will walk back home as the happiest man.

Before Sunrise

It was a beautiful spring afternoon in the Capital. Perfect setting, you would say. His mind, for a change, was not preoccupied by that place down south and the people he had met there in the span of about three years. He was wearing his blue shirt, and was all ready to meet her after years (five, was it?).
Eagerness. A bit of nervousness like an 11-year old in love for the first time. No sooner did he think of smoking a cigarette than he was rung by his name in his ear. She had grown more beautiful than before. Much more, actually.
He was telling his heart to behave himself. It behaved. And so did the adrenalin.
And then it began. With the surprise that it's not overly hot weather, it followed on to catching up of the last five years. It went on to other things. They walked in that Circle, exploring various coffees, milkshakes, sandwiches and Lasagne. Delectable stuff. Nothing close to the company, though. She spoke in the same dignified manner, he thought. They talked and talked and talked. About alcohol and tobacco, eros and adultery, Wimbledon and IPL. About Simon and Garfunkel and RD Burman, castes and religions, Barrack Obama and Hillary Clinton, Taxi Driver and Fight Club, fullerenes and torque, marriage and children. About Notting Hill and Annie Hall, Dostoevsky and Wodehouse, Delhi Metro and Bangalore auto-rickshaws, Nokia and Sony Ericsson. He surprised himself by his volubility.
The venue changed, but the beauty of conversation continued uninterrupted.
It was two, and then she said, 'it's time for bed'.

But then again, perfect setting, you might say.

There are very few phases in one's life when one feels so inspired. And he sees good in everything he sees. And gets inspired by everything. Then, one doesn't even wish that those phases would last forever. Because he'll just live on those tiny phases, if at all they end.
And that's as good as it gets.

Top Five

One. The food, of course.
Two. 39 deg C outside. 20 deg inside.
Three. Delhi Daredevils v. Rajasthan Royals at Feroz Shah Kotla!
Four. The sleep.
Five. The last metro from Rajiv Chowk to Indraprastha, singing the first few portions of All Together Now. And thereafter. Sigh!

Because of the last two, I can't distinguish between the real and the dream.

The Song and Dance Man

Since I’ve been quoting Dylan so madly on this blog, I believe it’s appropriate to make a mention of his recent acquisition – a special citation from the Pulitzer Board. Possibly that sort-of recognizes (if any was necessary, that is) his songs as 'literature' and will prompt the Swedish Academy to honour him in the near future for an award he was first nominated in 1996.

For one of the most profound songwriters, who has revolutionized the way songs are written, it's an honour most deserving and fitting. More than being just a great song and dance man, the most incredible aspect of his life is that it is in so many distinct stages. (For atleast six of them, see the film I'm Not There.)

A man of exceptional wit as well. It's a recent incident narrated by one of my classmates which I later googled and verified. At an L.A. Party, to which Dylan was invited, Peter Grant offered Dylan a warm handshake and introduced himself, "I'm Peter Grant, the manager of Led Zeppelin." Dylan replied, looking at him queerly, "I don't come to you with my problems, do I?".

And now for, what I believe, is a good observation on Bobby, Zimmy, or as George Harrison would like to call him, 'Lucky':

"He walks out there alone. He comes back off that stage alone. He writes those songs alone. He is his own man. He stands proud in his own shoes. He don't need nobody to do nothin'.."

- Carole Childs, as quoted in his biography by Howard Sounes, Down the Highway: The Life of Bob Dylan.

Unforgivable

There are two kinds of mistakes people make.
One. Mistakes which can be forgiven.
Two. Mistakes which cannot be.
Instance of One. What some people did to me. Which is why they're forgivable. They've done nothing but wasted my time. I guess that's forgivable.
Instance of Two. I guess I made a big mistake, an unforgivable one, a hundred and ten days ago. A mistake that will leave me devoid of any trust in human beings for very long. I hope that somewhere sometime I regain that essential faith, that gives and sustains all life. I'm so ashamed that I can't even try apologizing to myself.
Some people learn it the 'hard way', I guess. And I'm one of them. But I want that faith and trust to come back to me. I wish I were gullible again. I don't like to be so paranoid and careful while dealing with people! I wish I could go back in time and banish some people and erase some events from my memory, just so that I make myself believe that human beings like this cannot, by very definition, exist. To make me believe that there are 'nice', genuine human beings as well. With character. Without pretense.

In a different, lighter and less whiny vein, it's astounding how all the things I've done in the last three months are so ludicrous.

Don't Think Twice

"But goodbye's too good a word, gal
So I'll just say fare thee well
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right"

- Bob Dylan in "Don't Think Twice"

I know this blog is becoming quite a lyrics blog. Yet, I can't help when I find what I feel so accurately replicated in a song. Life is becoming increasingly beautiful! I'm much more composed and much happier than a fortnight ago. :)

Of Humiliation in the "Manchester of the East"

It was shameful. A horrifying performance by the Indians at Motera, an anticlimax to the spirited performance against the hosts Aussies and the batting plunders at Chepauk. They collectively failed to show any cricketing acumen against the South Africans, from deciding to bat first on a green top after winning the toss, managing to put up a dwarfish score, batsmen coming and going like what one sees with the best of counsel on Mondays and Fridays in the Supreme Court of India; and then thanks to the bowlers who had already given up on winning the match, conceding a 400+ run first innings lead. To be fair to the Indians, they could never have avoided a thrashing after a first innings score of 76 by a famed batting line-up – possibly just deferred it to the fourth day, which in all fairness, they tried their best to; or prayed for rain, which also attempted to do its bit, but like Indian batsmen, couldn't persist.

In the bargain, they got embarrassed to an innings and 90 run defeat, their biggest at home in almost 50 years, with Dale Steyn, being my man of the match (though AB De Villiers was the official man of the match for an unbeaten double ton).

As one of my classmates observed, now I see why people in India are so glued to cricket and not to the national sport, hockey, because the well-fed men in blue are so erratic and the result so unpredictable that it never gets boring, just humiliating at times, while with Indian hockey, the result never challenges the anticipated.

Dedication - III

Maybe, I'm just using this blog to improve my PR, readership and the volume of the comments block, but, I consider it just a day when I find it appropriate to dedicate posts to a few people.
So, here's the third dedication, and probably the last on this blog (to use the cliche: not by any stretch of imagination, the least) to someone who I consider one of my dearest friends - who's always around for me; who senses (albeit mostly incorrectly) that I'm angry; who listens to my boring talk, angst and whine patiently, but gives the most objective response; who calls me by various names; who's the only person in the whole wide world to recognize my dancing capabilities (which, out of not just modesty, but fairness and objectivity, I say, are non-existent), who's great fun to 'chill with'. For the one who always wants me to 'win' the tennis of life. Because you're worth it. And dumb people must also get some recognition, isn't it? Though this is hardly a recognition.
So here's to all the chilling, with a fervent hope that this friendship remains this way forever! Cheers!
Thank you.

Atleast it's better than those testimonials people write on orkut.
Posted on 4/4, because my phonebook tells me you're obsessed with 4.

Dedication - II

This is dedicated to another friend of mine, and the latest addition to the list of this blog's readers, who I know only in bits and pieces now, who I miss off and on. This post is dedicated to those ancient-seeming times. To gulabjamuns, khaa ke aaya hoon, rajma chawal, schoolbus fights, teasing with body-sizes, carrom board and trade, Carmon Sandiego and of course, names in discord with the genders.

In retrospect, I think I've always been bullied by women of my age. Sigh! Curtain rods. And what not.

Dedication

This post is dedicated to a very dear friend of mine - our very own handsome man, a charming conversationist, a Wodehouse and Viju Shah fan at the same time.

Exhibit A (Courtesy: m-w.com).

Main Entry:

em·pa·thy

Pronunciation:

ˈem-pə-thē

Function:

noun

Etymology:

Greek empatheia, literally, passion, from empathēs emotional, from em- + pathos feelings, emotion — more at pathos

Date:

1850

1: the imaginative projection of a subjective state into an object so that the object appears to be infused with it 2: the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner; also : the capacity for this

Main Entry:

sym·pa·thy

Pronunciation:

ˈsim-pə-thē

Function:

noun

Inflected Form(s):

plural sym·pa·thies

Etymology:

Latin sympathia, from Greek sympatheia, from sympathēs having common feelings, sympathetic, from syn- + pathos feelings, emotion, experience — more at pathos

Date:

1579

1 a: an affinity, association, or relationship between persons or things wherein whatever affects one similarly affects the other b: mutual or parallel susceptibility or a condition brought about by it c: unity or harmony in action or effect sympathy with the scheme as a whole — Edwin Benson 2 a: inclination to think or feel alike : emotional or intellectual accord sympathy with their goals b: feeling of loyalty : tendency to favor or support sympathies 3 a: the act or capacity of entering into or sharing the feelings or interests of another b: the feeling or mental state brought about by such sensitivity sympathy for the poor 4: the correlation existing between bodies capable of communicating their vibrational energy to one another through some medium

----------------------------------------

Exhibit B (Courtesy: askoxford.com).

empathize (also empathise)

• verb: understand and share the feelings of another.

sympathy

• noun (pl. sympathies) 1 feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune. 2 understanding between people; common feeling. 3 support for or approval of something. 4 (in sympathy) relating harmoniously to something else; in keeping. 5 the state or fact of responding in a way corresponding to an action elsewhere.

— ORIGIN Greek sumpatheia, from sun- ‘with’ + pathos ‘feeling’.

----------------------------------------

Exhibit C (Courtesy: dictionary.com)


en- ¹ or em- or in-
pref.

1. 1. To put into or onto: encapsulate.
   2. To go into or onto: enplane.
2. To cover or provide with: enrobe.
3. To cause to be: endear.
4. Thoroughly. Used often as an intensive: entangle.

syn- or sym-
pref.

1. 1. Together; with: synecology.
   2. United: syncarp.
   3. Same; similar: sympatric.
   4. At the same time: synesthesia.
2. 1. Same; similar: sympatric.
   2. At the same time: synesthesia.

----------------------------------------

I hope I am owed some cash now.

All Along The Watchtower

Probably one of the most meaningful songs I've come across in a long time.
All Along The Watchtower (written: Bob Dylan; guitar: Jimi Hendrix) is about the joker and the thief (possibly two of the most timeless characters), who realize that they need a new life and head towards a castle occupied by the princes, women and barefoot servants and which is well-guarded. In three verses, Dylan manages to create such amazing drama, which is brief, yet full.
The joker wants to escape because "there's too much confusion"; he feels used ("by businessmen" and "plowmen"). The thief can however appreciate the worth of all his efforts and is sympathetic towards the joker. Both of them understand the value of each other. But the last lines of the lyric show how despite the fact that they desperately want to begin new valuable lives, having realized that life is not a joke, they can't possibly enter the castle, and are left outside with the growling wildcat.

Of Tamed Horses

Mr. Yusuf Raza Gillani of the PPP was sworn in as Pakistan’s new Prime Minister recently. He heads the Pakistan People’s Party and Pakistan Muslim League (Nawaz) coalition Government. Before I proceed to the cynical part, I must confess that as a well-wisher of Pakistan, I feel utterly relieved that elections were held peacefully and a Government in opposition to the Presidential brand of politics has been set up.

Be that as it may, I somehow foresee a dangerous trend emerging in the subcontinent (if not the world) politics – that of puppet Prime Ministers. A few days ago, I read that the PPP co-chairman Mr. Asif Zardari (Benazir Bhutto’s widower) remarked, “I want to be a Sonia Gandhi.” Now such a fancy sent a little shiver in me. This tendency to have puppet Prime Ministers like Mr. Manmohan Singh and Mr. Yusuf Raza Gillani is a little disturbing for me. It results in shifting the power centres, while constitutionally, the person holding the post is accountable. It is like agency without responsibility. So, if tomorrow, Mr. Zardari (who, I presume, will hold the maximum amount of say in important policy decisions) advises Mr. Gillani to do something against his will, Mr. Gillani will still have to do that and have to face the consequences of it. Like Dr. Manmohan Singh, Mr. Gillani will presumably have no say in choosing his Cabinet – it will depend (almost entirely) on the whims and wishes of their respective equestrians. Assuming for a moment that their judgment is sound in important policy decisions, they definitely don't/won't participate in the everyday working of the Government. Then, is it safe to leave the day-to-day working of a Union Government to a person whose Cabinet has incompetent people or corrupt politicians, or generally, people who he does not get along well with? The Prime Minister is supposed to be the captain of the ship and if the ship has crew-members who do not listen to him, because they know their captain does not have any say in telling them to behave themselves, isn't the ship bound to face navigation problems?

Just Like a Woman

"Nobody has to guess
That baby can't be blessed
Till she finally sees that she's like all the rest".

They have more than one meaning. Think again.

I'm in the "nothing is real, nothing to get hung about" state.
It doesn't matter much to me. Doesn't matter at all, actually. I've come clean out of this shit. The Sherlock Holmes in me helped me, let's say.

"You are remembered for the rules you break." -- Douglas MacArthur

"Always trust your instinct. It is inevitably correct." -- Anonymous

Kicked a sandcastle. Divine intervention, must we say, eh? :)

See also: this.

"I really don't know what more there is to do."

Sourav Ganguly, March 8, 2008.

Two gentlemen in conversation. One of them a Sikh cabby (S), and the other a passenger in the cab (P).

S: Sir ji, Shivratri nahin hai kal? (Sir, isn't it Shivratri tomorrow?)
P: Nahin, aj hi hai mera khayal. (No, I think it's today.)
S: Achha, kyunki kal kaafi sangat sadak te jaaoondi vekhi si main. (Ok, because I saw a procession in the streets yesterday).
P: Hmm...
S: Eh Shiv bhagwan ohi nahin see jo ke bhang bade chaa naal peende ne? (Isn't Lord Shiva the one who enjoys drinking bhang?)
P: Haan ji, ohi ne. (Yes, the same).
S: Achha, taan phir Shivratri nu bhang vee mildi honi hai. Mildi hai? (Ok, then bhang must be served on Shivratri, isn't it?)
P: Nahin ji, mere khyalon bhang taan nahi mildi. (I don't think so.)
S (disappointed): Kyun?! Jiven guru, ovein chela honda hai! Leh! Eh vi koi gal hoi! (Why?! Disciples are just like the guru. What is this?!)

I know translation ruins it all, and even reporting does. But if you're in Chandigarh, you can't miss such things.

I'll be back in hell this time a week from now. How very very unfortunate!

Hans Raj Khanna (1912-2008)

(July 3, 1912 - February 25, 2008)

To his sister days before delivering the sole dissent in the Habeas Corpus case: "...I have prepared a judgment that is going to cost me the Chief Justiceship of India."

[From H.R. Khanna, Neither Roses Nor Thorns (Eastern Book Co., 1987)]

"How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it."

Marcus Aurelius.

27.

27.
Cube of 3.
Atomic number of cobalt.
Number of amendments to the U.S. Constitution (so far).
Width of the tennis court (in feet, without the galleries).
Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison: all died at the age of 27.
The Italian Job: 27 million dollars in gold.

But most importantly, 27=1/2 of 54.

Ever experienced a vacation drag?
Such sluggishness.
So painful. Sigh!