We just don't see colors, we do so much more with them.
Ever closed your eyes to really close them?
You see an iridescent net enclosing you, challenging you to stop it from shifting,
its weight about the infinity that your eyes stare at that when they close.
You wish you can see past it, red light, green light, speckles flecked with gold,
the world matrix, colorful.
Purple seethes over over me, a cry of angry red and soulful blue,
mystified by its keeper, a silver snake, slithering about my wrist,
it gazes at me, tongue flickering, releasing purple madness with a twist.
And blue alone, my blue, my everclear. Blue is the bridge, but not quite,
it is the uncertainty in black and white,
irregular, but just perfectly so, rays and rays of it,
wherever I go.
Colors are your brain giving your blind eyes a taste, of what it really feels like to feel;
To reel from sheer, dear sight.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Nexus
The wind was surprised, as someone cut through it,
introduced an unwelcome pollution in its foamy air,
raised his hand, bade it to rest,
stopped it's path headed west.
Neurons flickered out bright,
fed by stars in a starry night,
and connected, soared,
and ignited the minds of thousands more.
Thousands looked up to the sky at once,
resonated amongst each other, liberated,
a mind collective, one objective,
widened their eyes and cheered.
The wind drew an icy chord between them,
their hair flew as they looked forward,
whole races, in mental embrace,
seared with a thought of a single chase.
introduced an unwelcome pollution in its foamy air,
raised his hand, bade it to rest,
stopped it's path headed west.
Neurons flickered out bright,
fed by stars in a starry night,
and connected, soared,
and ignited the minds of thousands more.
Thousands looked up to the sky at once,
resonated amongst each other, liberated,
a mind collective, one objective,
widened their eyes and cheered.
The wind drew an icy chord between them,
their hair flew as they looked forward,
whole races, in mental embrace,
seared with a thought of a single chase.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
The Deal
The boy jumped about, running away from his mother while she tried to feed him, and only when she started reading out a story that he did he (at first) start to slow down and pay attention, and then meekly sat down next to her with his mouth and ears open. The Seera (an Indian sweet dish) seemed to keep melting away in his mouth as the story filled his mind with detail, and bought a sparkle to his eye. He was five, and had started to need something more than Clifford the Dog to keep him seated in one place.
"Do you like the seera, child?"
"Yes, but it's not as good as what Pati..."(his mom's mom) "...makes. However its a great attempt mom, I think you've gotten the sweetness just right".
His mother smiled at the critique delivered in a thoughtful tone. She did learn how to make seera from her own mother, though she'd been more drawn to the sour and spicy dishes as a child. She started to wonder how many more bites her son would sit down with her for...
"Mom, when I grow old and have kids, you're going to have to make all of them seera, and make it nicer and nicer each time"
"All of them? Just how many children are you going to have?"
"I think 12 is a good number, 6 boys and 6 girls", he said.
His mother couldn't stop laughing at the thought, and proceeded to read him next chapter of the story. At seeing his demand smiled on, the kid turned his mouth away from the proffered spoon,
"Mom, you must promise!"
"Well, before that, don't you want to know the Katie is going to start going to school in the next chapter?"
Mothers have tricks, ranging from subtle distraction to outright bribery - the current story book seemed to fall into both categories. The kid's eyes widened as his mouth opened in surprise and fell silent.
A chapter later, once the boy had had enough to eat, the mother abruptly got up and said, "Its time for me to fix your brother some food, I'll be back, the next chapter is really good". She then walked into the kitchen, without any intention of walking back in the next two hours.
The kid waited as his brother was served, started to get irritated, but his mother seemed to be occupied every time he tried to drag her back. She managed to be on a phone call, in the bathroom, working in the kitchen. He was torn between the indignation of not getting the attention he wanted to what really was going to happen next in the story. Just as his mother had hoped, curiosity won the better of him as he slowly began to read. He managed two entire, narrowly typed chapters in three hours before he quietly curled beside the book and went to sleep. His mind had started to buzz with stories and the possibilities of getting more and more of them from books. Only then did his mother almost mystically appear, put a pillow under his head and blanket over him. As she was about to turn off the lights, she heard his deep slumbering breaths and said, "My son, we have a deal."
------
Happy Mother's Day, ma :)
"Do you like the seera, child?"
"Yes, but it's not as good as what Pati..."(his mom's mom) "...makes. However its a great attempt mom, I think you've gotten the sweetness just right".
His mother smiled at the critique delivered in a thoughtful tone. She did learn how to make seera from her own mother, though she'd been more drawn to the sour and spicy dishes as a child. She started to wonder how many more bites her son would sit down with her for...
"Mom, when I grow old and have kids, you're going to have to make all of them seera, and make it nicer and nicer each time"
"All of them? Just how many children are you going to have?"
"I think 12 is a good number, 6 boys and 6 girls", he said.
His mother couldn't stop laughing at the thought, and proceeded to read him next chapter of the story. At seeing his demand smiled on, the kid turned his mouth away from the proffered spoon,
"Mom, you must promise!"
"Well, before that, don't you want to know the Katie is going to start going to school in the next chapter?"
Mothers have tricks, ranging from subtle distraction to outright bribery - the current story book seemed to fall into both categories. The kid's eyes widened as his mouth opened in surprise and fell silent.
A chapter later, once the boy had had enough to eat, the mother abruptly got up and said, "Its time for me to fix your brother some food, I'll be back, the next chapter is really good". She then walked into the kitchen, without any intention of walking back in the next two hours.
The kid waited as his brother was served, started to get irritated, but his mother seemed to be occupied every time he tried to drag her back. She managed to be on a phone call, in the bathroom, working in the kitchen. He was torn between the indignation of not getting the attention he wanted to what really was going to happen next in the story. Just as his mother had hoped, curiosity won the better of him as he slowly began to read. He managed two entire, narrowly typed chapters in three hours before he quietly curled beside the book and went to sleep. His mind had started to buzz with stories and the possibilities of getting more and more of them from books. Only then did his mother almost mystically appear, put a pillow under his head and blanket over him. As she was about to turn off the lights, she heard his deep slumbering breaths and said, "My son, we have a deal."
------
Happy Mother's Day, ma :)
Friday, April 22, 2011
Endgame
These nights, I give myself time to play or listen to music before I go to bed. Today, I know I will wake up earlier and fresher because of it. There's something so therapeutic about leaving a day behind, to turn and focus on something you know simultaneously relaxes, strengthens and assures your mind. Especially while listening to music, focusing on just the beat initially keeps you right in the present. But the recesses of your brain then catch onto strains of harmony and melody that evoke lucid visions in your now clear brain. Visions of those you love, what you care for, all tinged with an emotion that's impossible to comprehend without the memories it is playing on. Now I realize my breath. Now I open my eyes. Now I breathe. I feel sweat gently turn inside my veins. Me and my body have just lived.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Drawn to the River
I read Shusako Endo's "Deep River" - a story about a group of Japanese tourists visiting India, especially Varanasi. The book combines two of my favorite cultures and I had to say something about it :)
Sunrise touches wrinkled foreheads,
as ashes rain down in commemoration,
over the deep river, dust to water,
cast from a young one's hands.
Teachers pray, and prayers teach
Chaos inspires peace here,
with reason, comes some resonance,
of no reason at all.
A single mother flowing, glowing,
taking all's cries and tears,
with her, surely she must,
shed some of her own.
A family sits, bound together,
by the belief that such a sight exists,
and will forever remain,
as the Ganges flows through their veins.
Sunrise touches wrinkled foreheads,
as ashes rain down in commemoration,
over the deep river, dust to water,
cast from a young one's hands.
Teachers pray, and prayers teach
Chaos inspires peace here,
with reason, comes some resonance,
of no reason at all.
A single mother flowing, glowing,
taking all's cries and tears,
with her, surely she must,
shed some of her own.
A family sits, bound together,
by the belief that such a sight exists,
and will forever remain,
as the Ganges flows through their veins.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Holmes
My favorite fiction character of all time. And the subject of most of my college essays. Blast from the past. For me.
Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence. (Min 250 Words)
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know.”
-The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
Thus spoke Arthur Conan Doyle’s brilliant, multi-faceted Sherlock Holmes. I have gained a lot of enjoyment from innumerous hours spent reading Sherlock Holmes, but have learned a lot from his character as well. Though this man only lives on paper, his persona and the ideals he stands for deeply inspire me.
Holmes, the famed detective, is famous for solving countless fictional mysteries, uprooting hundreds of criminals on the way. Along with his lovable sidekick Dr. Watson, Holmes conducts investigations all across Europe, some of which have consequences of international significance. Yet, Holmes refrains from pursuing personal glory or illustrious clients and remains committed to the game for the sake of it alone.
I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers.
-The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter
Indeed, Holmes wields an astounding array of ‘powers’, and is quite candid about them. He possesses a fine faculty of observation, and an extremely articulate deductive ability. He observes minutiae that all others miss, or have only ‘noticed’. He uses his vast knowledge base very frequently to connect the dots. He is a master of all sorts of disguises. Holmes’ ‘methods’ are undoubtedly scientific. He deals with hard facts, creates hypotheses and efficiently proceeds to test them.
It was as a child that I first came across ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’, and unconsciously started to try and think like him. Holmes’ was my first introduction to the scientific method, long before I entered school. I even find Holmes’ ideals of logic extremely useful and resonant in my own chosen field of Computer Science. I realize that the deductive and organized approach of his is essential in my ambition of a technical career, or rather, in any strait of life. Coming from an academic family, I admire the practical perspective that Holmes creates so well. Inspired by Holmes, I try and inculcate as much practicality and reasoning into my actions as I can. Holmes’ rational mindset is relevant in all wakes of life today and I cite him as an important influence in developing my own at an early age.
“To the man who loves art for its own sake, it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived.”
-The Adventure of the Copper Breeches
Holmes is an artist of the highest order, concentrating only on the challenges posed during investigations. He ignores the glamorous aspects of his profession and often leaves public recognition to the members of the official police force. He maintains a wide range of pursuits, ranging from practicing amateur chemistry to playing the violin to training in the martial arts. His only interests are mental stimulation and the pursuit of absolute perfection. This feature of Holmes is one part of my ‘image of perfection’. I find that I am at my best when I apply myself completely to the task at hand, and when I focus on mastering every nuance I come by. Swayed partly by Holmes’ versatility, I chart my own course to become an ‘all-rounder’. I read voraciously, practice hard on my guitar, and profess a competitive spirit to be good at in whatever I do. I may not attain the unreal standards that Holmes does, but I am inspired to try to nevertheless.
There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation…
-The Adventure of the Copper Breeches.
Leading all of Sherlock Holmes’ innumerable talents is a strong set of moral values. He comes across many ethical dilemmas in his investigations, which he counters with a lot of aplomb and grace. From this I learn a very important lesson. No matter how high your status, how many talents you possess, your entire work is meaningless if done without a sound moral compass.
This creation of A.C. Doyle is fantastic, to say the least. Maybe it is easy to learn from an entity that you admire, like and look up to; maybe Sherlock Holmes’ parallels just come naturally to me. All the same, I can say without doubt that he has greatly influenced me, and that I have benefited greatly from this association.
Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence. (Min 250 Words)
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know.”
-The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
Thus spoke Arthur Conan Doyle’s brilliant, multi-faceted Sherlock Holmes. I have gained a lot of enjoyment from innumerous hours spent reading Sherlock Holmes, but have learned a lot from his character as well. Though this man only lives on paper, his persona and the ideals he stands for deeply inspire me.
Holmes, the famed detective, is famous for solving countless fictional mysteries, uprooting hundreds of criminals on the way. Along with his lovable sidekick Dr. Watson, Holmes conducts investigations all across Europe, some of which have consequences of international significance. Yet, Holmes refrains from pursuing personal glory or illustrious clients and remains committed to the game for the sake of it alone.
I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers.
-The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter
Indeed, Holmes wields an astounding array of ‘powers’, and is quite candid about them. He possesses a fine faculty of observation, and an extremely articulate deductive ability. He observes minutiae that all others miss, or have only ‘noticed’. He uses his vast knowledge base very frequently to connect the dots. He is a master of all sorts of disguises. Holmes’ ‘methods’ are undoubtedly scientific. He deals with hard facts, creates hypotheses and efficiently proceeds to test them.
It was as a child that I first came across ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’, and unconsciously started to try and think like him. Holmes’ was my first introduction to the scientific method, long before I entered school. I even find Holmes’ ideals of logic extremely useful and resonant in my own chosen field of Computer Science. I realize that the deductive and organized approach of his is essential in my ambition of a technical career, or rather, in any strait of life. Coming from an academic family, I admire the practical perspective that Holmes creates so well. Inspired by Holmes, I try and inculcate as much practicality and reasoning into my actions as I can. Holmes’ rational mindset is relevant in all wakes of life today and I cite him as an important influence in developing my own at an early age.
“To the man who loves art for its own sake, it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived.”
-The Adventure of the Copper Breeches
Holmes is an artist of the highest order, concentrating only on the challenges posed during investigations. He ignores the glamorous aspects of his profession and often leaves public recognition to the members of the official police force. He maintains a wide range of pursuits, ranging from practicing amateur chemistry to playing the violin to training in the martial arts. His only interests are mental stimulation and the pursuit of absolute perfection. This feature of Holmes is one part of my ‘image of perfection’. I find that I am at my best when I apply myself completely to the task at hand, and when I focus on mastering every nuance I come by. Swayed partly by Holmes’ versatility, I chart my own course to become an ‘all-rounder’. I read voraciously, practice hard on my guitar, and profess a competitive spirit to be good at in whatever I do. I may not attain the unreal standards that Holmes does, but I am inspired to try to nevertheless.
There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation…
-The Adventure of the Copper Breeches.
Leading all of Sherlock Holmes’ innumerable talents is a strong set of moral values. He comes across many ethical dilemmas in his investigations, which he counters with a lot of aplomb and grace. From this I learn a very important lesson. No matter how high your status, how many talents you possess, your entire work is meaningless if done without a sound moral compass.
This creation of A.C. Doyle is fantastic, to say the least. Maybe it is easy to learn from an entity that you admire, like and look up to; maybe Sherlock Holmes’ parallels just come naturally to me. All the same, I can say without doubt that he has greatly influenced me, and that I have benefited greatly from this association.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Inspired Feather
Ballerina, threaded gray, white and a hint of orange.
Her backbone twirls her form.
No gale of nature lessens her grace, merely adds to it.
She... sits in a time and space in motion
of contours that gravity contrasts with.
Merely dropped from a child's hand,
the earth pulls her closer, closer,
this inspired heather, falling lonely,
at the end of her song and flight.
She lies, fluttering on the floor, rippling so,
waiting for the next breath of air to give her song.
Her backbone twirls her form.
No gale of nature lessens her grace, merely adds to it.
She... sits in a time and space in motion
of contours that gravity contrasts with.
Merely dropped from a child's hand,
the earth pulls her closer, closer,
this inspired heather, falling lonely,
at the end of her song and flight.
She lies, fluttering on the floor, rippling so,
waiting for the next breath of air to give her song.
Runner
"Keep counting. Keep counting..." Nine beads of sweat on his face. Two strands of muscles in his right thigh screaming, and who would scream at him even more tomorrow.
"... breaths". Everything ceased to exist then... except a beat going on when all begged it to stop. He could feel his eyes see the road ahead, showing a fast approaching silhouette of another runner about to be crossed. But he didn't know that. Right then, he lived on a rhythm fueled by oxygen and that sharp, sharp fix that he got from it's near absence. Hours of training in minimizing his motions befan to pay off in letting him sustain his speed. The human body does have limits, but his was a story in retelling all of them. No more ankles, no more sweat, just a life pumped beat.
"... breaths". Everything ceased to exist then... except a beat going on when all begged it to stop. He could feel his eyes see the road ahead, showing a fast approaching silhouette of another runner about to be crossed. But he didn't know that. Right then, he lived on a rhythm fueled by oxygen and that sharp, sharp fix that he got from it's near absence. Hours of training in minimizing his motions befan to pay off in letting him sustain his speed. The human body does have limits, but his was a story in retelling all of them. No more ankles, no more sweat, just a life pumped beat.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
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