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

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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’.

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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.

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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.