At the stroke of midnight hour, when people aren’t home

At midnight, my parents wonder why my brother isn’t home yet. Perhaps we should call him, my mother suggests.

As I yank clothes off the line, i reflect on their wonder and apparent blindness to the exhausting possibilities future held; i shan’t name the ones I mean for they aren’t the kind of things I’d wish upon anyone, much less my brother.

They wouldn’t have been wondering had it been me. Sirens for me sound within an hour or three in broad daylight. Had *I* not been back home by midnight, they would’ve torn the city apart in my quest.

Huxley’s world seems to have come to a mangled realization. Hordes of sexually crazed oafs looking for newsworthy ways to an end have begun picking women all-fucking-over the place like fat ruddy gnats.

Initially i assumed that fault lay with the country- most Indians will blush crimson and call your parents in heaven or in the infernal pits of their hellish abode to complain that you just uttered the s-word. How rude! Is this how you’ve been brought up?

The sexual repression theory is very widely accepted; it wins approval from Indians themselves. It surely has its merits. The land which authored the treatise on imaginative copulation and boasts of quite the number of topless chicks in stone grew bored of its reputation or whatever. So when middle age crisis struck, India turned its back to whatever it is that makes babies and decided to hump a dead economy and a weak rupee instead. Right. Turned their backs to baby manufacturing plants. And storks. Which deliver them. Continue reading

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How do you know?

What would a perfect piece of literature read like? The kind that can move me to tears and make Gordon Ramsay kneel in front of it?

i am young and there are many titles i am yet to read. will i know, when i read something, that what my eye perceives and my mind decides to see is the most flawless transmutation of thought?
In middle school, I scored a flimsy, greasy score of 96 on 100. my disappointment wasn’t one which held curtain to chants and curses of the teacher’s conspiracy to fail me in the subject; rather it was one which was afraid the teacher had been unable to follow the quintessence of my writing through. Having gone through countless mediocre examination papers, even if shiny lustrous black unicorns with a horned knight atop with a crown of fire threatened to impale her, I doubt she’d have paid much attention. Teachers have deadlines to correct these papers, you know. They can’t go on forever.
‘You will never be perfect in literature. Whatever you write, there will always be a better way to say it.’
That did become one of the reasons why I picked Sanskrit over Hindi, the other being that it is hailed as the mother of all European languages and is considered the perfect language to code in. It remains one of the things you should experience once before you die. given what poorly translated death Urdu is dying, the impulse to take to learning Sanskrit and give the Bhagvad Gita lying at home a shot at translation seemed an obvious progression.
But can language be used to achieve the zenith of perfection? As a medium of expression, it is a tool to help communicate, as good as another that heats your food.

I think TED forgot the Internet.

TEDxMasterCanteenSquare was a not much widely known event held on the 21st of April, 2013 in Bhubaneswar, Orissa. An audience of 100 was privy to the minds and ideas of eight minds from different disciplines and ages. Much was said in its favor, much against. I was part of the organizing team and even after a good month or two, the experience warrants some sort of noting down.
Back in my first year of college study, I’d decided I will organize a TED conference and people brayed into my face. No one doubted my ability to get it done; they were extremely sure this wasn’t the sort of thing people would spend their time on. Not unless you’re paying them for it, not in Orissa.
Almost a year later, a senior includes me in the team. I have no chronological clue to the extent of preparation, although TED guidelines being many and particular, I could only imagine. The final day was a deserving finish to all the loose ends we dealt with as a team while the date drew closer.
Once the lineup of speakers was finalized, tickets for the event went up for sale. We shared links and pictures and quotes and posters and advertised our numbers (not all of us, of course) in case anyone was interested. Five tickets sold during the first four days.
 
Seriously?
 
Eventually, and I will not make this sound casual but that eventually took a lot of work, quite a number of curiosities were piqued by the idea and I could not help wondering how people could not know.
It’s not a bad thing but given how vast the internet is, you would expect college undergraduates to know more than sink all their time into social networking. Which is sort of a backfire when you live in a dorm. Anyway, I explained the idea behind getting people to speak on stage and stuff. Occasionally, someone would wonder very loudly, ‘TEDx hai ya FedEx?’ Continue reading