Tuesday, May 29


We constantly look to live a life that has meaning. We live life looking for that meaning. And when we get our meaning, we realise it's not what we wanted. Our meaning has changed. It's never the same. It changes with time, and we are always left looking for the elusive meaning to our lives. It' also the beauty of life. It's the change that stops us from getting stale.


Love. Strange how we never give up on it. Even if we do.
Strange, how it always remains the subtext in every context of our lives.
Strange, how every context is so incomplete without it.


The principle of vulnerability : A system is only as strong as it's weakest point.

We only let certain people inside, people with passwords. Yet, there are some that hack us. Get deep inside. See right through us.
Love is a master virus. It has been our weakest point. The point of our greatest vulnerability.
The perfect hack.


Such are these days of my technical odyssey. Finding subtext in the context of technology.
Finding life in machines. Finding machines in life.
Finding love for computers four years after i should have.
Hope it isnt another 1 - exam stand.

Saturday, May 19

Maybe not

ICSE results were announced today and I just got off the phone from my cousin bubbling with enthusiasm at the opposite end. Needless to add, she fared very well. In an instant, I was taken back by six years, to a midsummer night’s nightmare in Calcutta. I was there on a vacation, having just finished my board exams in very favourable fashion. After having completed most of my schooling in the warm embrace of academic excellence, as in all Bengali families, I was the blue-eyed boy who was to be their next doctor or engineer. Sixteen. I remember that age, all over again. Brimming with hope, enthusiasm and a composed confidence about my abilities. I wanted to be an engineer, a doctor, a musician, a painter, an artist, a film-maker, a copywriter, a footballer, a wildlife photographer, a monk in Ladakh, an IIM graduate and everythin that i could ever be (certainly, this was before the invasion of nicotine, alcohol, spirituality and common sense!) I not only wanted, but believed I could be these things. In my head, i already was on the threshhold. It’s the beauty of being sixteen. An inherent fearlessness about everything.

A belief that this world is for the taking, and a belief that you can grab it with both hands. Sixteen. I also remember the days of being a lovelorn teenager. Hah! Thankfully I wrote a diary those days that has a string of entries dating to the present. Sometimes I re-read those pages and re-live the innocent years of being so madly in love. How priorities change over time, and how falling in love becomes a matter of judgement and choice as we age, is a probe i need to make into myself. Now when I flip pages of those teenage archives, I really wonder if those days will ever return. Atleast in spirit ( pun heavily unintended!). Such is age, such is ageing. The funny part is, my brother is exactly the same age as I was when I took to penning my thoughts. It’s really strange to see the rise of a generation right in front of your eyes. So different, yet so much the same. The difference is only superficial. Deep down its just the same. In hindsight, the wisest thing I must have done when sixteen, was maintaining a diary.It marks my growing phase so lucidly, that I can almost re construct the fag end of my adolescence- How reckless I found myself in love, how brilliantly I handled myself during family crisis and how effortlessly I found myself in multiple moments of clarity having simple conversations with the passive diary. (I actually mis-spelt it as ‘dairy’ on more than one occasion!)

There have been some moments of stupidity, innocence that continue to embarass me before i burst out in laughter, yet, there have been moments of profound insights with a frequency, that eludes me even now. And yet, like when I was sixteen, I still can’t chain my thoughts. A case in point, is this interjection. This was so meant to be about the summer’s night, the day my ICSE results were declared.

And now, i don't even feel like getting it back into my mindspace. The train of thoughts is headed elsewhere. Yet, it should suffice to say, in more than one uncanny way, that night was the first chip to bring about a cascade of dominoes, in what proved to be in later years, God’s strangest roll of dice.

Would i have it any other way?
Maybe. Maybe not.

Friday, May 11


Once again when the whole world sleeps..
in deserted solitude, the cold night weeps.

For most of my years so far,
i've kept time for the night and its stars
post drudgery when these shoulders drop
soothed by night, my imagination crops
and as deep into its darkness i gaze
somehow i find my lost ways..
Almost, always.

Thursday, May 3

Good News, please.

Can't read the newspapers anymore, can't watch the news channels. Sometimes i really wonder if it's all true, if these sordid events actually occur day in day out. Thefts, robberies, rapes, murders, scams, conspiracies, deserted newborns, discarded foetuses, organ trade, dowry fuckups, fake encounters, land acquisitions of the bloody kind, accidents, accidental accidents, bride elopes, groom doesnt turn up, damn damn damn... and if not this, then some crappy PR exercise in a manner that is all but subtle, some really 'unwanted but in your face' gossip, even in the main papers these days, and cheap media gimmicks that will make you flush the newspapers after your morning read, with you know what!
Bad way to begin the morning.
Reading newspapers early morning is now a habit i want to kick more than anything else. More than nicotine, more than the customary pint, more than 20 cups of tea, more than ennui. . more wedding stories, so what if its irrelevant, more of them.. its candy floss, that sugarcoats and scantily hides the relevant. The relevant is too nightmarish anyways.
A perfect downer after you wake up, sipping the strong coffee. Only far stronger, bitter and inordinately longer than the caffeinated aftertaste.

A rare moment of solitude at home, and i'm thankfully not introspecting on anything. Make myself a cup of frothy coffee. Shamelessly flick cigarettes from dad's sealed packet. I'm sure he would have found out by now. And i dont know why i did it. I mean, the whole purpose of not stocking smokes with the intention of cutting down, well that certainly doesnt help. So, here i am, in my loo, sitting on the pot sipping coffee, inhaling, exhaling, carefully out of the window.
Even at 22, this is a rare thrill. Hiding and smoking.
Without a contingency plan for a sudden doorbell. But there's a thrill
There will probably be a time when i wont have this trivial fun anymore.
Wonder what i will miss more..
My thrill or my lungs.