Tuesday, 29 December 2015

Leadership of the Lesser

It is healthy to write. Even when you copy and write in verbatim. An excerpt from page 35 of John's The Log from the Sea of Cortez tells:

In the early morning before daylight we came into the harbor
at San Diego, in through the narrow passage, and we followed the
lights on a changing course to the pier. All about us war bustled,
although we had no war; steel and thunder, powder and men ---the
men preparing thoughtlessly, like dead men, to destroy things. The
planes roared over in formation and the submarines were quiet and
ominous. There is no playfulness in a submarine. The military mind
must limit its thinking to be able to perform its function at all.
Thus, in talking with a naval officer who had won a target
competition  with big naval guns, we asked, "Have you thought what
happens in a little street when one of your shells explodes, of the
families town to pieces, a thousand generations influenced, when you
signalled Fire?" "Of course not," he said. "Those shells travel so
far that you couldn't possibly see where they land." And he was
quite correct. If he could really see where they land and what they
do, if he could really feel the power in his dropped hand and the
waves radiating out from his gun, he could not be able to perform
his function. He himself would be the weak point of his gun. But
by not seeing, by insisting that it be a problem of ballistics and
trajectory, he is a good gunnery officer. And he is too humble to
take the responsibility for thinking. The whole structure of his
world would be endangered if he permitted himself to think. The
pieces must stick within their pattern or the whole thing collapses
and the design is gone. We wonder whether in the present pattern
the pieces are not straining to fall out of line; whether the paradoxes
of our times are not finally mounting to a conclusion of
ridiculousness that will make the whole structure collapse. For the
paradoxes are becoming so great that leaders of people must be less
and less intelligent to stand their own leadership.

Monday, 28 December 2015

Nighty Walks

The best hours to walk leisure in Ahmedabad city is probably in the wee hours of morning when the dusk is changing into dawn. The dust in the air and the traffic on the roads is at its minimum lowest. Perfect time to walk. But, a lot of Gujaratees complained long ago that the Cantontement authorities won't let them through their gates. Is it not a free country?

No, not when you aunties put on your nighties and go for your morning walk. And, worse you guys are scattered all over. Later, the streets will have your badly shaven husbands.

Sunday, 20 December 2015

Pop Art - Some thoughts

Pop Art is a well known form of art after it was noticed and accepted in British 50s and American counterpart ways as a movement. In my opinion, infusion and inclusion of popular culture expressions into a work of art is how it is manifested finally. In India, the dusty and hot East, Pop Art has been existing in abundance after the movement, mainly from the post independence (post colonial?) filmy cultures, and subsequently Mumbai's Filmistaan becoming one of the major hubs. While, Filmistaan has moved ahead with modern times and embraced modern technologies, and is now called BollyWood, the importance of Art , 'Pop Art', in this case has been left somewhere behind in the backseat. In this myriad of increased demand, consumption, pomp and money, Mr. Pop shows up infrequently now. So, the good thing is Pop still exists, and provides limitless opportunities which can be Popp'd, !

Thursday, 17 December 2015

A Word After A Few Days- Milquetoast

Now, this one is difficulter to explain so as to memorize- Milquetoast.

Yes, you got it right. Milk plus toast. A noun here, which means- a spineless or a timid guy. The word's origin is not even hundred year old, and comes from a character called Caspar Milquetoast, the protagonist of the cartoon strip The Timid Soul, by American cartoonist, H. T. Webster.

I will strongly suggest looking at a few cartoons to eternally memorize the meaning of the word.

Man World! I love blogging!


Wednesday, 16 December 2015

A word a day- Antediluvian

I have subscribed to a daily mail from dictionary.com which basically sends me one new word in my inbox to know of. I have made this subscription with the intent to improve my vocabulary; and, because I have very low -- I honestly mean really low -- memory retention capacity, all I do is get to know the word and soon I have forgotten the meaning of this word. I have been unable to digest this daily staple or knowledge. Maybe, what I should do is blame my current surroundings and environment where I cannot retain the word like 'Antediluvian' because it has no real use or is a redundant word here in my climate zone; but then, if the word such as Antediluvian is useful to me perhaps in future, at least for the sake of improved literary capacities I must probably resort to internet, and make use of things like emails, chats, blogs, facebook or all. Ah! another idea- I can have some quality conversation with my wife, or I can make a random phone call to people who love or like literature; at least one conversation a day with someone known, unknown or bygone. ByGoid I wouldn't have got this idea had I not started writing this- blog. Man, I love writing!!
So, today, the word I got in my inbox is antediluvian
( Audio Pronunciation )
, is an
and means:
1. Of or relating to the period before the Biblical flood.
2. very old, old-fashioned, or out of date; antiquated; primitive: antediluvian

And, dissect the word Antediluvian,
- Ante is Latin for something before or something preceding,
- ian is like a suffix giving a time, event or a person a general larger identity,

hence, 'Ante .... ian', which isunt a complete word unless there is something between. The closest word I am getting from my plenty of education and experience, that is why some memory is there, is 'deluge' which I can put in between. So, let us go to old times and instead of calling the word 'deluge' call it 'diluv' instead.
Ante + diluvee + ian

Remember, there are three words to be kept in mind and in an arranged manner now. Also remember, an additional adjective is always worth if it is handy in your ready to use vocabulary arsenal. I hope this has blog has helped the reader, and ironically I am still just too distracted. After all this dissecting and exploring, and repeated writing of the word 'antediluvian', I still wonder the word will stay in my memory for good enough long time.

p.s. after all these edits, spell-checks and revisions, an example on how to use Antediluvian comes to my mind- It seems India's policy makers are making their decisions based on an Antediluvian mind set.

Saturday, 12 December 2015

A glimpse from Colonel Gautam's notes

Generally I find quoted quotes, and even most originals, purty quoty, that is good to know, and that is it. But, I am amazed by this one original by Colonel Gautam. In verbatim:

Traditionally, in India, when a child is born, his/her birth is celebrated based on the gender, but those who are blessed with person with disability, their celebration starts with the well being (physical and mental health) of the child. They wait for the cry of the child and sucking of mother's feed or any such existing activity for the newly born baby. They never think of gender.

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

Is there any need for an object?

How can letters or words be made to dance and so make an interesting sentence? How can then these be danced to make a whole comprehensible piece of a paragraph or writing? What works to make all this work?

So, why are there questions when there is no need for any answer? Is it lack of structure? Or, just lack of inspiration?

Is there some static force in play leading me to a status quo or a vacuum? Or, is there some too much vague movement to handle- dance or no-dance?

Sunday, 16 August 2015

Apparitions / Aberrations

I think most of the kids, most of them not yet nubile, just abruptly stop when their notebook's they are writing on nears the end of its pages. They get into a state of temporary soft shock. There is a pause, an interlude, and you can call it 'aberration' when kids are informed, and maybe call it 'apparition' in the case of creative ones. The next notebook then, or the next blog or the sketch is just better and maturer.

I hope all the kids will agree- We don' need no education! Apparitions / Aberrations are just as good.

Sunday, 9 August 2015

The interlude.

Although I don't need it, it is not in my hands that I can avoid it; and, running away isn't an option because I will be returning back. The intermission you have in the movie halls is snappy, but I don't mind it then. Rather, I like it most of the times. It is interesting- a sudden yap of light is all around you, and you are taken by surprise that you were not the only one watching the movie. The chiliad strangers in their seats around you, emotioned pretty much like you, and unsuccessfully trying to stretch their bodies, are looking in random directions collectively; and, are going to watch some more of the movie along with you. A few of these have impatiently risen up from their seats and are hopping away for refreshments or refreshing or refresh. After some minutes, the hall is filled again with an aroma- of popcorns mostly. So, I must thank the interval. As much as it is not needed it is will anyways come by for a short visit.

Friday, 24 July 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 07

Take it easy kid, my Papa's sis tells me,
your taxi's been arranged, so, no anxiety there, see.
Bua thinks anxiety is her own little child,
and should stay home all the time, with only her to mind.
So, I not dare any more opinion,
and straightaway head for oblivion,
seeking peace, raw greens of native home.
So, squeezed again, with my sisters and brethren,
the mountains deepen,
hills become lonelier, 
and hillier, and sunlight soft-lier .
The Gorges where sun is rare,
and the heat doesn't dare,
to mess with the noisy and frothy river,
sporadic waterfalls wett'n the land, so don't go near,
or you will get, 
rather turn around,
see the grasslands bound,
village kids jumping galloping, 
with gay'r dogs, mostly black fur, hopping,
bopping, bouncing, little silhouettes they roam,
solitary taxi stuffed with Pahadis nearing home.

Saturday, 18 July 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 06

A few days now delayed,
staring north at the mountain's face,
Mini me kneeling on Himalaya's knees,
and so, I so feel so free,
soothed, calmed, spirited, entertained,
next is another drive of half a day,
which will easily take away a whole day another,
to a town called Pithora-garh.
A scattered hill town,
so beautiful deserves the Babel crown,
the quality of life pretty high,
check for yourself, talk to locals and get to know why,
an airport on its way in one of its dell,
excavators are in full swing then air tickets will soon sell,
just wait only a few years locals say,
under some spell their eyes look pretty gay,
they are not at all in hurry and are happy to wait.
Until then let the street vendor men,
from India's plains dominantly Northern,
are violently selling their vegetables and other production,
while they have been nicely told by the administration,
that if they shout  to sell they will be fined, even forbidden,
for to enjoy living in these mountains,
a common man needs quiet and calm brethren,
whose natures are needed dignified and gentle,
call it need for comfort or call it solace, or living simple.
Anyhow, the poor from mainland with their excuse,
get back to hagling and shouting as the law becomes a little loose,
reminding me this is an Indian city afterall,
people are many, and all need basic food.
Better look are free and furry street dogs,
Tibetan Mastiffs, Pomeranians, Chinese and a mixed lot,
of who not.
Most are lucky, have a choice to sleep in a warm home,
a slopey curvy town where alcohol and its bars are forlorn,
you will shun this spirit evenwhen you are alone,
as starry skies are all around at the eye's level,
chilly night town, looks semb'led pretty well.

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 05

The eyes get foliage and sunlight scatters,
curvy and twisty slopes we drive and turn into tatters,
while the greeny chromes turn into black and white,
wind gets cooler and soon I am with my kind.
I head solo to the dusky temple,
and see my people are going home,
in the land of Gods where I hear,
Mr. Bob and his friends have roamed.
So, I bow my head see the city lights,
from the top, from the famed Kasar Devi shrine,
Soon I am asking my own people, these stangers,
a hotel where I can drink and dine.
In no time I find a paid homely entrepreneurial stay,
strong and heavy beers have come walking too,
dine in the company of frugal travellers,
they ask you if you have your hiking shoe.
I say yes, and thank you, and so long,
you have a long stay, and a long way,
I am heading home, which is near,
bus is cheaper and expensive are taxi keeping hustlers.
There is no stopping with them,
like water flows, flows cream, Mcdowels and rum.
Another day has passed by,
new friends and old brothers show up and show,
and I can't be bothered why,
For, days are limited I know.
And, now I must head home,
but the shadows here, like silohuttes in Delhi, are attractive,
banana trees, other trees, their leaves and weed,
around are singing,
faith is the only friend,
rest are transcending.
And, I am to remind,
Wait, Dogs? Where are they?
Why didn' I talk to any testerday and today?
Why not even a hello or a bark on the way?
The brother hustler tells me,
here they all have become urbane,
remember Dajyu you have only reached until,
the knee of your mountains.

Friday, 10 July 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 04

The song could have been pale,
the words flat,
Eye S Bee Tee, a beautiful name
with even a beautifuller stat,
Of travelling Indians mostly,
poor, rich, destitute, and lonely.
Even hawkers will eventually head home,
yet Eye S Bee Tee will stay like foam.

The bus engine roars,
old highway isn't empty anymore,
real bad food in an expensive halt,
only slumber can get rid of this fault.
A snap and dawn it seems has come,
Great Himalayas are in view, some,
an obvious sense of awesome.
Dream is it or has the bus stop come?
It doesn't matter, a much needed break it is,
I step out of the bus and see,
Paharees families in bunches squatting,
waiting to migrate for greener living,
town litter piled neatly by the side,
like a choir they are singing,
we will pick odd jobs or work as labourers.
And I can't understand why leave the land to its elders.
Brother asks to stay for a few days,
and I hesitate,
I say next time maybe,
hills this time are really calling and I am desperate.
Can you hear the mountain mastiffs roaming freely there are Howling,
Can you hear them brother? They are calling!
We both turn our heads and look at the misty mountains,
Silence sings about blue birds, wolves and its fountains,
This small town we wander quick and soon it is noon,
in the squeezed shared cab there is enough room.

Wednesday, 8 July 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 03

The airplane it dangl'd, the passengers they tumbel'd,
I rambled, I talk'd random, I sketch'd,
I taxied, I walk'd,
soon to be with brothers and friends.
Hanging around getting my pending urban share,
soon I realize comforter can be cooler air.
They call this place Delhi,
I call it fuck-it.
The nights they flow by and turn into weeks,
the brilliant silhouettes I decide I must leave.
The heat has become overwhelming,
even the air conditioners are not helping.
People are loosing calm I can see,
the Dogs already have, see,
see their teeth.
See their eyes,
see the sign,
or run away,
take the pills,
fuck it,
say, Good Bye dear Dog, I am heading to the hills.

Wednesday, 1 July 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 02

The wonderlusty green lawns with mounds,
I pick up somebady's guitar and pluck some sounds,
handy as the guitar is, so I sing more, Harry Mclintock's,
Big Rock Candy Mountain- you don't need any socks,
neither any money. There, a burley bum by the shady lanes,
of the sugar canes,
in this month of May...

So on this hot summer day,
A rucksack and another bag on my back,
I say good bye temporarily to Jack,
he wags his tongue along with the tail,
I kiss him a lick, and he licks me back a kiss,
I will miss you I tell him, and then I sneak out, quick.


Monday, 29 June 2015

Flats to the Hills- Shamless Travel broadcast- May and June 2015 - 01

It is getting hotter day by day,
day after day is passing away,
The arid desert is left behind,
and mountains are coming to mind.
The brawling air conditioner gives needy resting,
makes complacent, sleep is in,
remembering past isn't that bad,
darkness or light, I wonder what is more exciting,
tucked in a city with a whiff of intelligence,
I dream of travel North,
where it must'be cooler,
while the dog sleeps, I shall pack my bags.

Sunday, 28 June 2015

Dear Farmer, You should live my way (House and Money)

A farmer's acquaintances, friends and family wanted him to live in apparently a prosperous way. The farmer's shack did not appeal much to them. In addition to the regular grains and few vegetables the farmer was growing, his acquaintances, friends and family then asked him to grow some exotic crop. And, he did so. All loved the sweet watery tomatoes he grew. Filled with lost memories while dining they all then asked the farmer, rather advised him, to build a better house; and, so he did the same with some robust material he could find around- things like wood and mud mostly. Everybody, his acquaintances, friends and family pitched in with money, materials and labour, and the house was not only beautiful, it was the handsomest of the houses they had seen before.

Then the farmer was told that the world has progressed and stronger houses can be buit from magical materials and magicians knows as experts. These modern houses have value just like exotic crops. These houses cost more. The farmer owns a plenty of land, so, he can easily loan some in exchange of money or something else. The farmer liked the idea. The next house he built was a neatly done boxed house. It looked like a gift pack tied in ribbon.

Settled in the easy chair of his new sweet box house the farmer looks outside its larger windows, and ponders at the immense land which he still owns. In the porch he can see his family, and his cattle. The cattle sleeps in the old handsome house in the night. And, in the room there is another box, it has some left over change.

Friday, 12 June 2015

Dear Farmer, You should live my way (The Progress)

A farmer, not a long time ago, had plenty of land to farm on. With this he also owned a shack, a family and cattle. He used large bodies of accumulated water and exploited rains; and so, fed himself and family. Sooner, number of family and friends grew, and he fed them all. Everyone, along with the farmer, pitched in with growing of the food. He cropped, and all helped, and farming got better with time.

Soon, some in the family and acquaintances who did not find much fun in farming and raising cattle started doing other interesting work, such as craft, pearl diving, travelling, making houses, bridges and so on. They needed food to eat, so they exchanged either money or goods with the farmer for the food he raised. Time went by and the world around the farmer got bigger, and a little more complicated. People evolved into many other types of livelihoods such as, gamblers, dacoits, cops, robbers and so on. The notion of family, which was a group of people living together changed into a small group of people living together.

All in all the society prospered, everybody prospered, and the categorizations prospered too. The farmer gave a part of his land for others to live and still had  plenty of land to farm on. The houses became better, man walked on the moon; the world progressed, and so did farming. Lesser area of farmland gave more crops. And, along with the farmer, his cattle, his acquaintances, friends and family prospered; only, with some lesser land.

Tuesday, 2 June 2015

A short play on Service Tax Increase to 14%.

Since you have increased service tax , to now 14%, rather than efficiency of government you may be causing increase in corruption in government. Think about it, executing a government task has become more easier and flexible with more money which will be coming in.

Now are you going to teach me how to run the government Mr. Someone Smarty?

No no sir (shrugs) the Government is yours. I have nothing to do with it. I am just passing by, I noticed, so I told you. Can you see most people of your country operate in the informal service sector? Oh, you do! Can you see more people joining informal service sector? Oh! do you? Can you see people trying to break into formal service sector with genuineness? Do you? Probably, you could have reduced taxes to make things better for most of your people, and made your operators more accountable in the process. 

Ah ok, now that this has nothing much to do with you, you are a well to do guy, can you can just shut up and mind your own private businesses.

I don't run a private business Mr. Prime, do you?

Sunday, 17 May 2015

Intent for curves in buildings

They ask me, why curves? When most buildings are boxes and straight lines, and it is much cheaper to build them the regular way?

Yes, admitted, but it looks different and ... ummm probably fancier


perhaps curves are interesting, and perhaps more importantly, liberating. Live in a cave compared to a house, you are bound to become more liberal.

It is like couches maybe, aeroplanes and large suspension bridges maybe. Straight ones may not be comfortable when compared to the modern ones which have incorporated ergonomics in designs. Or maybe, forces of nature have just forced them to become aesthetically more interesting.

Why do you need bend on a road? Simply because it makes things more interesting. It is in the air, a manifestation of the air to allow to see what great things it contains.

Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Usefulness of Dreams

To dream and then to experiment with the same dream in probably one activity humans can look to pursue. Although, when I notice Banjo -- note a dog not a human being -- dreaming while sleeping I wonder if he is also looking to convert them into reality? Anyways, it doesn't matter if he is or not. Probably, his life because of his dreams is already much interesting; probably more entertaining than the human observer who believes more on reality.

And, since the dog's interpretation of dreams also relates to us, the humans, should the task of dreams converted to reality matter more to us? And, so, shall we look to pursue it?

Two hours for work, two for chores, two for somebody else's errands. Rest eighteen for dreaming which includes sleep could be Life worth living probably.

Thursday, 30 April 2015

Why Stop

I think I am missing on a beautiful activity on most of my days. That is, to spend time writing, and hence-on, also improving my hand on the craft; the craft of writing.

Call it critical writing, observational writing, creative writing or so on, perhaps this pause in my writing output can be called  Writer's Block, as famously put by many. And, I think it is an insulting remark. For, it shows- One, I have become lazy. Two, I probably don't enjoy writing. Or or And, three, the writer in me isn't confident that what I am doing is creative.

Then, I notice why people don't face this Writer's Block when carrying out writing activities, such as writing exams, filling out application forms or creating petitions. Why? Perhaps, simply because,  these things do not suffer from requirements of a creative force, or if I am right, a motivating creative force which will eventually create something new. And also maybe, creative writing is such a beautiful animal that though it cannot be undone it can always be redone, redone again or newly done again.

Genuine creative written matter, doesn't suffer from any block, I think; for anything written genuinely will create something new. Creativity just doesn't equates with any stoppage or a block. Writing is about flow of words, free flow or hindered flow but yet a flow. Hence, the term Writer's Block, is therefore clearly a weed in the process of creative writing; maybe an expression which is unnecessary.

Someone who likes writing should just keep writing, perhaps.

Sunday, 26 April 2015

What can Bhola do?

Bhola is in mid twenties and runs a small shop in a desolate single lane road which connects two obscure regular villages in a typical flat arid terrain in India. The ten by five feet mud shack doesn't serve any tea, but keeps some handy bidis, biscuit and chips packets, a bicycle repair kit, and perhaps some other handy items of local village consumption or a local passer-by's use. A shade next with a mud floor and a mud  bench is also handy to usual gathering of the youth in the hamlet.

Many reports on many youth like Bhola and my personal observations after meeting him show an evident charm in him towards innovative farming, participating in improvement initiatives in his village housing environment, and also nearby travelling as a desire. But for the farm hand and part time shop owner, lack of income opportunities accentuated by inclination to stay with own in the villages perhaps keeps Bhola still in the village, and continue a frugal life. Perhaps, as Bhola says, it could also be lack of good jobs in nearby cities, as they are hard to pursue because of inability to adjust to demanding working conditions, out of context exam questions and the question of settling in a new environment.

Seems for Bhola now, there is no-place exciting to go to -- or stay -- for any new ambitions, when really a lot can be achieved by him and his gang of scaterred youth in his own very hamlet he is living in these days.


In the the above lines, something's seriously wrong. Isn't it?

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Classy Road

As I walked up the few hundred yards to my workplace from my rented house here in Dahod I listened to a Thin Lizzy's 'Cowboy Song', a much unheard classic, thanks to

Usually, my mornings after I wake up stay shitty for a few hours. This is one reason, perhaps I am so afraid to go to sleep the previous night. Therefore and admittedly, I am also an insomniac. And, so I
was really glad because of this song that happened to me this morning. Seeking a suitable APP for a daily classic song, which I couldn't find one, the dailysongfix website came up in my search. This drove my morning blues away to an extent, and now I am happy too that this site will give me some good daily fodder of at least  some good classics I will ever hear; so, that Dahod's conditions, including walking conditions, will stay good for me until my patience expires here in this town.

Now, as I walked this morning, the 'Cowboy Song' admittedly and weirdly drifted me to classic times; in those sixties and seventies. The narrow road I walked was dirty, droppy, and dusty; a rough and a badly maintained and kept surface. The path stank too because of cattle droppings and the house waste scattered typical of these classic times we live here in small towns of India. This rough small walk of few hundred steps were a road it seemed I walked within a classy time, which I evidently relished. And, to complete this five minute or so song I walked some more, taking a drift within my usual Dahod route, re-listening the song once again.

Tuesday, 13 January 2015

Good Cocktail

Do the two fields of Human condition , i.e. Development and Art make a good mix? Think about it, it can either be nicely cocktailed or it can go really bad. Asit is right in reminding me, that tradition is something to learn from, and what really have you done when you haven't added your art to it? Hence, where will development and empowerment come from otherwise?

These words inspire me to think about all the work we do with building houses in poor regions, rural settings and disaster situations. Shouldn't the rural artisans or regular contractors involved in daily work must be inspired to put art in their development work?

Really, how much of this cocktail can really go bad?

Thursday, 8 January 2015

Good Morning Gloominess

Is it isn't because of the gloom and the feeble struggles of lights trying to seep inside this room from the few windows it has that I can see the vapour rising from my new hot cup of tea?

Imagine what would happen when suddenly you find that this next morning you have your tea cup missing from its usual place?

Nothin. You just might wanna sketch it.