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.

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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.