Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Marco Guptaji


She believed that even the slightest twitch in his body was a result of  intricate motion of countless gears and wheels. His fabrication was perfectly aligned with and governed by facts and undeniable logic. The robot could not feel. He could not emote. He could not express. He fed off his lack of emotions. It was the source of his strength and the root of his downfall.

After meticulous analysis he concluded that the butterfly gathered all her might to stay  unfettered every day of her life. Flapping  her radiant glistening wings, she would take the course set by the winds, no matter where, no matter how unpredictable. Maybe that's why even her creators couldn't identify a sequence or pattern for the course of her flight. If she had her way, she would cover all flora that existed. Sadly, she could not see that her zeal often converted into impetuosity.

The two spent an inordinate amount of time wondering if they were alike. Both thought one's basic structure antithetical to the other's. One not restrained by any boundary, the other devoid of all emotions.


On that fateful day, the robot helplessly saw the butterfly fly away in the subway along an atypically methodical path, as a teardrop rolled by his cheek. Years later, as if in a long-forgotten dream, they would realise that the two were more alike than they ever imagined.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

She Thinks Not

Quite often in my life have I, like most emotional beings, felt the euphoria arising from discovery of one’s true soulmate. Subsequently, and almost as often, have I also been utterly crestfallen and forlorn, for reasons that are not difficult to fathom. I think I’ve finally found her. She thinks I’ve not.

This turmoil of emotions is not easy on the good ol’ blood-pumper. The good ol’ basket-of-grey-matter decides to take matters into its own hands (unintended pun alert). The good ol’ basket-of-grey-matter fails to apprehend the onslaught of depressant hormones and a general lack of blood supply from the good ol’ blood pumper. I give up on both of the good ol’ mates and decide to indulge myself with some imaginary violence.

A typical bout of imaginary violence has the same effect as this sequence of events:
  1. Break a few ceramic plates and glass …. well, glasses.
  2. Scream aloud and do some hair pulling
  3. Decide that I don’t give a four-letter f-word
  4. Suddenly realize that I am still left with a few four-letter f-words to give
  5. Repeat steps 1 to 4
  6. Decide to jump off from the fifth floor of a building. Realize that my twisted ankle (or sore joint …. you get the gist) would hurt severely moments before my ultimate demise. Decide to not jump off. Repeat steps 1 to 5
  7. Try to convince myself that true happiness lies within. Search for true happiness lurking in some deep corner within. Get acquainted with what truly lies within : forlornness. Exchange pleasantries and all. Leave the rendezvous after many awkward silent moments later. Feel more depressed. Repeat steps 1 to 5
  8. Try my hand at poetry. Stop trying my hand at poetry. Try my hand at prose.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

2011

On a warm February afternoon in Bangalore, as I retrospect on the year that just went by, a realization surges within me. I realize that I do have the aptitude to perform a more constructive and demanding task than just dawdle. At the same time, I remind myself that dawdling is so very convenient. It’s not very difficult to fathom which of the preceding propositions wins (by a landslide margin, by the way). So, in the true spirit of dawdling and after invoking the true gods of dawdling (*ahem* HR people *ahem*), I dawdle.

2011 Keywords:

Promotion

Anwar’s knot

Ligament Tear (cast on the right leg)

25

Seefay

Deviated septum surgery

Zeroeth Keys

DL6CC2690 (green)

Kaju big-bro’s knot

Jai & Juliet (Bangalore) / Desires Unlimited

Kiran Chaturvedi / KC / Felix

Iris – Butt – Honey

Are-you-sure’s knot

Club club

Tennis elbow

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Peace out, man.

After a long hiatus, finally a nightmare-free sleep.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

The MOST Intelligent Person on (at least) Earth

Over the last three years of my stay in Bangalore, I have come to realize that I am a highly intelligent and potent sample of the species Homo sapiens. This is the only logical explanation to what has been bugging me all this time; Phlegm.


My nose has been exuding huge dollops of phlegm continuously for the last seven days. This has been a recurrent event throughout my life, sometimes occurring randomly and mostly when I’m trying to impress a girl.


It obscures the clarity and coherence of my thoughts, just the thing a rival country or species from another planet would have wanted. Otherwise, owing to my intelligence and potency, I would have solved all of the problems of humanity. So, phlegm was planted in my body to prevent me from using my intelligence to its fullest – a perfectly reasonable and mostly logical conclusion.




Given below are my phlegm’s properties:


• It’s huge. It grows and occurs in huge dollops.


It’s not tasteless. It tastes awful.

It is not odourless. It smells awful.

It’s not colourless. It’s coloured awful. If there can ever be a general consensus on an awful colour, the awful colour would be the colour of my phlegm.


It’s thick.

It’s very thick.

It’s mind-bogglingly very thick.


It’s stubborn.

It’s very stubborn.

It’s not mind-bogglingly very stubborn, though. It could, however, pass as mind-bogglingly stubborn.


It has no evaporating point. It does not evaporate. It stays. Forever.

It’s highly viscous. It could stay put and party in my nose and breathing tract forever sans my body’s efforts to dispel it. Maybe it plays cards all this while in my breathing tract, or does something else to while away all the time (like composing songs for the Indian Coke Studio or drafting US economic policy).


It self-replicates/reproduces vigorously in my body. Research is underway to replace guinea pigs with my phlegm.

It was rumoured that Iraq was studying my phlegm to create biological weapons.


It’s a lot like love. It make one breathless. It makes one stammer. It seems to attempt to fill every void/pore/empty-tract of my body. One can get it from another.


It’s very irritating. If irritation could be condensed into tangible matter, phlegm would be the result.

It’s absolutely useless. For example, it can not produce electricity. Otherwise, I could have used myself to charge my laptop. In the process, I would have saved a tree or two, much to Rajendra Pachauri’s delight.


It’s an obnoxious little twit, much like the HR folks.

Finally, and oh-so-frustratingly, it’s inescapable. Again, much like the HR folks.



Eff You Phlegm. May you rot in Splitsvilla, or a Paris Hilton's leaked video. Forever.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Awesome Ringtone!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZNc2CMkaD0

Friday, October 29, 2010

The Transmuting Phantom and its Ephemeral Existence – Part I

This post is about a chain of thoughts that almost made me let myself run over by a car.

I believe that one must brood upon and create ideas that one may not be otherwise required to. Being the (ostensibly) only living species that possesses the wherewithal to rationalize and philosophize, man is not only privileged but is also obligated to do so. Otherwise, one might as well be replaced by an animal or a robot (which will, by the way, pretty soon develop such faculties).

Coming back to “the” thought chain, it was a progeny of a conversation with one of my close friends. For the sake of this post, that friend shall be referred to as BMP2. The seminal conversation occurred largely in the most unexceptional fashion. However, it led to a major shift in my perception of BMP2. Later on, a retrospect on the outcome of the conversation led to “the” thought chain.

Before elaborating on the thought chain, a short discourse on my hypothesis of life. What is life? It is not, and I don’t expect too many dissents on this, just a corporeal operational system – the living body - inhabiting and serving a customary purpose in a co-operative societal setup. Consciousness. This is a word that is too often used (and even abused) for describing the core essence of life. What, then, is consciousness? It is the reply to this question that I will take a (rather juvenile and jejune) shot at giving.

Consciousness is plainly the cumulation of memories of different experiences. Here and during the remaining of this deliberation, I use the word experience interchangeably with perception of the experience. A new experience might react with, instantaneously or over a longer duration, other experiences in ways that alter one or more memories incurably. For example, an event “a” might be experienced by an individual “X” in a way a-X. Therefore, X’s consciousness is the set {a-X}. With the termination of X, the unique sub rosa set {a-X}, completely owned by and defining only X, ceases to exist. Hence {a-X} perishes with the death of X. This could explain why people write autobiographies. An autobiography could be X’s attempt to share and materialize {a-X} in a perdurable fashion. Such a venture, if successful, would result in sustained existence of {a-X} which is the definition and form of the person X. This points to X’s voyage in man’s eternal quest for immortality.

For a person Y such a set would be {a-Y}. The possibilities and permutations abound. The sets {a-X} and {a-Y} might have common elements. An element of one set might, directly or indirectly, influence an element of the other set. A new element of a set, apart from being added to the set, might alter the already existing elements of the set. In this aspect, such sets are dynamic and inter- & intra- dependant. Now, a lot of challenges and brickbats might be thrust upon this theory. Children, animals, artificial intelligence, nature, supreme consciousness, dreams are just some of the many entities from our immediate milieu, the justification and resolution of which demand a vigorous scrutiny of this theory. However, in the interest of the current context, I reserve such scrutiny for future time. In the meanwhile, I will have to be humoured by the prima facie acceptance of this theory.

Now, “the” thought chain. The conversation contained a particular soliloquy from BMP2 that changed markedly my perception of BMP2. So, my memory of the experience “BMP2” was altered irrevocably in one go. Though this was a drastic and glaring change in my consciousness, it pointed towards changes that often go unnoticed. These numerous, and very often unheeded, subtle metamorphoses occur in my, and for that matter in everyone’s, consciousness every second of our supraliminal existence. This implies a ceaseless modification in one’s consciousness during the course of one’s existence. Such modifications might have a somnolent tinge or might, in other cases, be accentuated.

What does the recognition of such a continuous change connote? Well, a lot. The first idea that germinated in my sciolistic mind was the futility of judging people. My perception of people, of whom I have a perception, mutates every passing moment. I might or might not be consciously aware of such mutations. Also, there is a possibility that after several modifications, I might come back a full circle – arriving at a particular perception of a person that had already existed in the past. In light of the ever-transmuting nature of this phantom, passing judgment on a person based on the prevailing perception is futile, if not wrong. Whether such estimates, an apt alternative to the word ‘judgment’, are required under certain circumstances or not is a different question.

Resorting to the set representation, my consciousness at some time “t” would be {a-Me-t}. Each element of this set is modified, to varying degrees, with each passing moment. At time t’ my consciousness would change into {a-Me-t'}. At time t, I might have utilized element ‘P-Me-t’ to form an opinion on a person P. At time t’, when P-Me-t would have developed into P-Me-t', I would realize that the earlier formed opinion has changed. So, the act of forming the opinion was an exercise in futility.

This thought is replete with logical inconsistencies and gaps. However, if the thought is accepted for a brief instant, an experiment that I carry out on myself with a lot of other thoughts, a liberating feeling surges. Many a knots, intricately wound together by grudges held against others, unravel.

The set representation of consciousness acted as a precedent to another thought, even more liberating. The proceeding thought was far-sweeping in the elements of life directly conflicted by it. This was the thought that almost made me let myself run over by a car. More on that later.