Hail Comrades!

Note : Translated from orthodox German. Bear* with the divergence from the obsolete grammatical complications of orthodox British English. No word, or anything between the lines, however, is lost in translation.

Comrades!

Hail Fuhrer! Hail all neo-Nazis and the dedicated followers of our dear Fuhrer! He has personally sent me a divine, yet grave message from beyond the grave! Believe it or not, there is a camp currently in the making that we, as able descendants and scions of the revered superior clan, must protect and aid at any cost!

The camp is stationed at Bhopal, in the state of Madhya Pradesh, India. Kindly visit the link for the geographical coordinates. It was initially disguised as a Lord Ganesha temple, supposedly sacred to the Hindus of India. The Hindus believe our revered black Swastika to be a sacred theological symbol of some sort; they adorn the walls and floors of the temple with their Swastikas. They use them once they bear children, occupy new homes, ride new cars, scooters or the weird gear-less things they call scooties (Thank goodness for German engineering!), or any other sacred possession. This is usually accompanied with the smashing of an exotic fruit called a coconut. They consider this absurd ritual to be a symbol of happiness and prosperity to come, and protection from the evils of the unknown dimension. The third world country, needless to say, is beyond the comprehension of the Third Reich.

However little importance all this may be of, it is necessary to note that these Hindus have, through our telegraphic, telephonic and telepathic influences, distorted their original Swastika sign to many a different figures. Reversed, rotated, they twist and turn it at will. However, my dear comrades, it is my utmost pleasure to relate to you that an increasingly large percentage of such distorted signs is created by the rotation of their Swastika by forty-five degrees, clockwise. Yes, dear brothers and sisters, that becomes our symbol. The symbol of our struggle! The crown on the flag of our nation!

The fraction of our Swastika shall be enough for us to occupy the temple in due time. Hence, brethren, we shall together raid this camp three days before Judgement Day, so that once and for all we may take over what is rightfully ours. Come together, comrades, and make our Fuhrer proud!

* Or beer with ... Cheers!

Mr. Confusions, Episode 1.

He strutted with pride, to fall in puddles,
Stirred stride-by-stride, as ever befuddled,
And 'cause of his generosity,
Of incessant curiosity,
His own cat died, the one he cuddled.

A chameleon he met, and 'fore him press't his case,
"Aye", he did fret, "whatever be thy race?",
"Not black, not white,
I'm seasoned; yet spite,
Gifts plenty-a colour-set, so I hide my hideous face."

DreamTheatre 01

Disclaimer : The following chronicles are accounts of dreams. They might not make any sense whatsoever, but I somehow find it imperative to record them. So there go the chronicles of a million contradictions and random, involuntary thoughts. Although I am tempted to include them, no interpretation, no separate facts, no representation of real life or real things is intentionally added here. There is no theory subscribed to. All coincidences are purely imaginary, and bear who-knows-what resemblance to anything living or dead or trying to be alive.

The night of May the 24th, 2007.

I am a prince, the would-be 18th king*, of the Rajputana clan. My father is the present emperor, ever since my grand-father had decided to hand over the helm of worldly activity to him. My grand-father looks forlorn, and my father, determined - all, including me, dressed simplistically, but with vibrant colours. However, there is immense tension in the household as there is an argument regarding who will climb down the hill first. On the top of this hill is none other than the Rajputana palace. Through the torrential rain, I was one of the last to climb down, followed by servants clad in white. We reach down to a barren, red land, where we continue the argument.

There is a blank**.

My little cousins and I are all aboard a super-fast train, extremely smooth and complete with fibre-glass window-panes and automatic doors. This time, all of us clad in white. All my cousins are wearing a transparent white traditional Muslim head-cover, but I am not. There are no seats; we are all sitting on the ground. Suddenly, a Muslim fundamentalist enters the train from infinity, with an automatic black rifle. He sports a white kurta-pyjama, has a young black beard and has the appropriate head-cover. He shoots and kills each person without the headgear. Nobody gets up in panic, all sit and wait; and so do I. When he reaches me, he pumps in six bullets straight into my head. Immediately afterwards, his attire turns blue. I feel heavy, but I get up and grab him by the collar, and shove his head out of the running train door. His head is severed, yet no blood is spilt. He is lifeless and I leave him on the floor, only to return to my seat on the ground.

* From what I remember, there was a papyrus script, engulfed in smoke, and on it was written in English with red ink the successive kings, I assume. And the last on the list, number 18, was my real name. It seems I tried to turn back the pages to 'visit' my ancestors, but there were no names against the previous numbers, starting, of course with 1.

** Let me term a sequence of events I cannot recall as a blank.

In The Line Of Corn

Just this other day, I was waiting in queue for a bag of cheesy popcorn at a beefy price. I had this seemingly distinguished gentleman in front of me. He had a hoarse voice, when he conveyed, probably to his child over the phone to not wait up for dinner, as he was catching up with a friend. Now, I had observed nearly a minute ago, that a lady-voice called out for a cup of coffee, on her way to the rest-rooms. And he had responded. After pondering the obvious (My goodness, what have we come to), I gave it up, thinking it was none of my business.

A little background. The counter was large, adequate for two queues, yet there was one. There were three people waiting for their precious corn. The gentleman in front, ordering, then me and I had observed another dude had arrived behind me.

“There is a line, Sir”, the gentleman said, to this other dude who had mistaken (I hope) the vacant space at the counter to be for his kingly benefit. “Nothing comes without wait, dude”, I thought. Any which way, the dude obliged and joined the three of us, at the back.

Moments later, an elderly gentleman arrived in a hurry with a 50-buck note, occupied the same space, conspicuously glowing with absence of mankind at the counter and shrieked for a large popcorn packet.

“Excuse me, there's a line”, I said as I gestured towards the four of us, all of whom looked at the gentleman, with a mildly-forgiving smile.

“But there's..”, he said as he now gestured towards the vacant space.

“Yes, but we've been waiting, Sir”. I think he mistook my 'Sir' to be either sarcastic or contemptuous.

“Well, then take it”, he retorted, coming as quite a surprise to me, I recall. He patted me hard on the back, as if condescendingly appreciating my quest for order. Pun intended, by the way. And he marched off.

“The gentleman seems to be having an ego problem”, the gentleman in front of me remarked. I nodded sideways, agreeing and contemplating at the same time.

“Yeah. But this is the attitude we've got to take if this country is going to change”, I remarked in a way foreign to me before.

“Cheers”, he nodded, as he picked up his corn and beverage and walked off.

Thank you, unknown gentleman. Couldn't have done it without you.

The Protestant Grantha, Chapter 01

The Basic Truths

Sons, Daughters :

Disclaimer/Statutory Warning/Foreword : With this, thou doth not guarantee thyself heaven, hell or anything in between or thereafter. But thou doth hold the key to a meaningful life. And maybe even the fifteen minutes of fame thou fo'ever hath wisht for. Read this. Learn this. And pass this on via email to at least ten other people, else thou shalt face the wrath of thy own self and the misery of thy own infinite potentiality. Oh, and this text has been drastically abridged and hellishly simplified for your benefit. Also, the word hellishly was coined before the word hell. What? You Protest? Good. Anyway, this scripture does not endorse the concept of 'hell'.

Behold thy God. It is I. And I am thou. We art one. And that is the lone truth. Trust no gospel, trust no sermon. But hold this psalm in thy palm, and thou will glide through life.

Protest, my child, is expression of the sacred human voice, true to itself. It doesn't precede anything, it doesn't follow anything. It just exists; engulfing every other form of expression, if not taking its form, instead. Everything else, in comparison is just a hypertext link to further Protest. The essence of Protest lies in the very basic human instinct of negation, denial and self-centered thought. And of course, in the basic law of mathematical proportions. Through the explanations of these basic truths, you shall gain the requisite knowledge to advance to the more grave chapters of this sacred scripture, that of course, you must revere more than any other object or desire.

Basic Truth Zero :

The foremost basic truth of life, O' dove of peace, is that the world revolves around first, the Sun and then, Protest. There is nothing said, no deed done before a Protest against the same subject. And henceforth, my carrier of wisdom, it becomes your duty to uphold Protest and negate any statement or deed that defies this basic truth. You will exercise Protest if there is something done without Protest. This is because I create, and I destroy. And if there are anomalies, it is the duty of my children to abhor such ghastly mutations.

Basic Truth One :

Child, there is no statement that cannot be contradicted. And your finite life will have infinite such examples. There is no saying, no deed that is entirely true, entirely beneficial or entirely positive. You shall, for the sake of completeness, comply with this basic truth and henceforth uphold Protest and negate all, I must be clear, all statements and deeds, for the above reasons.

Basic Truth Two :

A statement or deed made by any non-believer in appreciation, in support or in aid of any being of a different caste, creed or whichever other divisions you may wish to create, is directly in conflict with your interest. You will, by all means, at all times worry only about your own interest. There exists no other person, under no circumstance, that you should consider the health, wealth or life of. Live, my wonderful creation, and let die. Uphold Protest, hence, O' young learner, and earn your rights in this cruel world, for others think just like you.

Basic Truth Three :

There is nothing that I, as your commander, can allow that can please and appease all of you. This is in compliance with Basic Truth Two. Do not worry. There is no hidden agenda, no celestial vendetta behind this. Yet again, you cannot comprehend the necessity of this fact. For your benefit, it would be best to understand that it just exists. Hence, there is no statement, no deed that must be left without making it the subject of our Protest.

And hence I retire this Chapter with these following words. You have now the Basic Truths, my child, and with that all the knowledge required to while away your measly existence in your mortal body. Follow these, and you will be on the path to correct Protest, founded with the eternal beliefs and the infallible wisdom of Protest. Rise in masses, my children!

The World Protests

There is just the one thing, safely assuming, common among the innumerable religions of this known world – they all comprise human beings. And from this assumption lies the underlying principle of the 'religion' that governs each man today. Hence, if there is that one religion that is universal, that binds the very spirit of mankind today in such a simple, yet inane manner, that upholds the nature of the thought process of today's man, woman and child alike, then by mathematical and logical induction, it has to be Protestant. Protestant, not just against the Church, ladies and gentlemen, rather against anything that has or hasn't the courage or the muscle to bat an eyelid. The question is not whether I'm politically correct or not, but whether we are ready to accept our true calling. And the truth is, lovely ladies and magnanimous gentlemen, The world protests.

Now with this fundamental knowledge, my dear brethren, I wish to reveal to you my most startling revelation! But first, a few basic ideas. Since we have accepted that all humans alike have immense faith in Protest, we must be concerned about, one, the subject of protest and two, the nature of protest. And in this respect, I scavenged for the ultimate truth. The truth that shall unite us! And lo! I stumbled upon The Protestant Grantha, the sacred scripture that has been preserved to this day and age only to be found by me, to preach to one and all. Behold, the wonderful protesting people of today, I have discovered your faith!

Washing Away Those Years

Aww. The Delhi monsoon. Yeah, I see it as a kid now, on experiencing two severe and seasoned monsoons in Bombay. But the cheerfulness of this cute child is as cherry-red as a new-born's blush. For the unfamiliar, the North Indian monsoon irregularly interrupts, as a bright child questioning it's mother, rather a defiant one troubling her, the horrific heat waves spreading their spans across the entire half of the country, comprising probably half a billion people, a million cultures and a billion cuisines*. Searing temperatures nearing fifty degrees Celsius are quenched, although momentarily, by the magnanimous supply of water. Though these impulsive and unpredictable puerile spurts are few and far between to say the least, you couldn't possibly count the bright smiles of the young-at-heart at India Gate or the number of "happy cupples" out on long drives on wide highways after a pre-monsoon shower. Probably, just as a result of getting some unexpected respite.

Hmm. So much for the initial information. Now for my story. At times, with 'external influences', certain youthful, (childish, rather) urges emanate from me. And I find it extremely difficult to purge them, as would anyone, I presume. One of these 'influences' is rain. Plentiful rain. And as I was planning my trip to somewhere nearby, I saw half the night horizon intermittently lit up by fiery strokes of lightning. Instantly, equally lit up were my eyes. The opportunity to let go of all worldly-elderly responsibilities, and bring to life my inner child, was just a measly impulsive reaction away. And so, with expectations from the sky above, however rare an occurrence that may be, I chucked the keys to the car, and I chose to walk a then lonely road. It is only now, while scribing my account, that I realize that I didn't contemplate at that instant what a pity it was that the roads I tread on had just the singular patron. Now I have. It is no less a pity now.

Any which way, all worldly or ethereal thoughts aside, I was finally greeted by a huge cloud burst and embraced by a blanket of water droplets. The sparkle in my observant eye noticed through minimal visibility a vast number of silly old fools running for cover, worrying about their health, and for heaven's own sake, cursing the rain. I paid little heed, as another opportunity came my lonely way. I saw the ice-cream parlour waiting to close, as if inviting the last customer, the best for last, of course. And I enjoyed my lovely butterscotch cone like I had never had one. Like I had never had one, huh. You can't possibly imagine the exhilarating current of air produced when you hold your cone close to your chin. Now that's something you ought to do before you die. The flowing air before, after and during the rain cools by convection and you feel a cold wave on your face. A cold jitter preceded my carefree smile. Time to make a dash for it, I said to myself; and I purposely ran toward my house, not intending to leave an inch of my clothing as an offering to the heavenly aqueducts. Which made me momentarily think. It has been proved that one gets more wet while running, as compared to walking. However, obviously, one reaches one's destination that much quicker. Now how much water have our clothes absorbed in either case, comparatively?

Aww, darn it! Let the bigger boys think about that. I made my way splashing on puddles, dirtying my jeans finally to my home; as I regained a dozen years in a matter of seconds. These years, of course, I hope to lose again, sooner rather than later.

* This statement inspired by a statement made by Vir Sanghvi, in his show, 'A Matter of Taste'. A post on food shows or shows for foodies is obviously pending.

Off-White? Nah.

Once upon a rare time I looked at myself in the mirror and the first and most instinctive colour I could describe my teeth was 'Off-White'. My faked smile turned natural. The reason? I remembered the blessed advertisement in which the amazingly cute kid replies to the seemingly under-rated question "What colour are your teeth, kids?". And he says, in an angelic tone that I or any other person who's ever seen that advertisement would ever forget, "Off-White!". I loved it. It's one of those things one remembers that will never cease to paste a smile on one's face. It's a happy statement.

But this raises a question that I've been wanting to ask. What was the brand of that toothpaste? Which, in turn, brings me to the question that this post revolves around. Are the choicest of advertisements bigger than the brands they endorse?

The Hutch ad (I hate using acronyms and slang alike. I'm learning to adjust through this, though. Thank goodness for blogging) with the unforgettable pet dog; the brilliantly choreographed Nokia ads featuring the tatooed guys and the canoes; the creative genius of the Honda ad (I'm not sure if it's open to public eye), to name some of my favourites. Noticeably, though, none of these actually have any direct relation with the attributes/features of the product/company. It seems Ogilvy, Mather and (warring-)family have moments of creative brilliance, pieces of of extraordinary audio-visual/emotional appeal, and that in the process somehow relate it to one of their core principles or fantastic features. Far fetched, no doubt.

Now there are three kinds of ads today. One, the simple, low-budget 30 second reminders that this product still humbly exists in stores near you. These may also include scientific research of some kind. "Bah! Who cares?" Second, where the starlets and models start to filter in. They reveal, with much hesitation, some new product/feature available to the dear consumer in an (modestly termed) 'innovative' way. "Bah! Who cares? Hey, but who's that model, man?" Another sub-type of these exists, which purely attack the sentiments/emotions of the to-be consumer. I don't like. They unnecessarily exaggerate. "Poor old man, had to go all the way to the bank earlier, now just has to make a phone-call!" The third, well, is nothing but an ostentatious display of raw brand power (read money). Here, the big stars dance, act, flaunt and flex their muscles. And they say to you, "Yeah, well, we are endorsing something. But don't bother about that, guys. Get a load of this first!". And the girls go, "Gawd! Ooooh! Look at Hrithik! Isn't he looking, just, you know, like, fab!?"

Let me say, at the very not-so-outset, that I dislike interruptions in the cherished time I share with my television programmes. I hate forgetting what I was watching. Of course, one or two ads in the middle, tickling the creative fraction of my mind are most cetainly welcome. But then, of course, coming back to my trivial point, I am easily able to associate the ads mentioned a few paragraphs ago with their brands. Any which way, I think it's genius, this business of advertising and marketing. Who knows how they affect market share or if anyone, for that matter, is compelled to buy the product after seeing flowery advertisements which, in my opinion, have nothing to do with the product under consideration. But I like. Stay within limits, Mather, and thou shalt be appreciated with all my heart and soul.

Sivoham

Beyond the waking, dream and sleep states; beyond the conscious, unconscious and memories; beyond ignorance, knowledge and intuition; beyond all thoughts, feeling and psychic modifications; beyond all qualities, definitions and words; beyond sights and forms; revealed in the silence of the pure heart I exist. In me, worlds and words resolve. I am peace absolute, goodness absolute and oneness absolute. I am the fourth dimension, the great beyond and I am Siva.

Sivoham
~Manudkya Upanishad, Mantra 7.

With you..

My soul-wings have grown,
And with the seeds we have sown..
Green breathes life divine,
Through this sea of a lifetime..
And within, above,
This ocean of love,
I can sense Sunshine..

Apart from the poem, let me stress on the fact that it's a 5-7 syllable pattern.. Also, it's a sort of a combination between a routine aabb rhyme with a limerick-style bbccb, which creates a half-Sonnet as I like to call it.. Yay!