<mayuresh> After the ravaging episode at Tulsa with a danseuse and the speeding ticket on the way back, Salauddin had problems getting up to reality the next day. The hangover with its customary diabolic headache aggravated partly due to the fact that he had to assist his roommates to shift to an apartment nearer to the university campus, added to the misery already. “Yaa allah”….
Aladdin (ol’ Chumch), Gibreel and Farishta were already up to the task at hand when Salauddin made his way struggling through his daze. It was a complete overhaul that they had to undertake of the place at hand. They had stayed there for a year now and were relieved of the fact that they will not have to bike one-half mile every time they wanted to go to the campus and same back from now on. But they were attached to the place that had provided them succor in this distant land and had been their home for a while now.
The cleaning was even more a painful exercise than the packing. It had been a complete foe-to-friend story. Dirt, filth, trash, empty beer bottles were their friends now.
The morning tea and coffee session was quite sedate with everyone just a little fearfully apprehensive of the stuff that remained to be cleaned. It was almost a little after noon, when everyone was up with a broom, that they realized that the electricity and utility connection had already been put off by the civic office.
A storming silence was followed by the storm-in-the-cup. A conflict followed between Salauddin and Gibreel about the untimely disconnection of ‘light’.
(Gibreel)“Lite kaisey chali gayi, Sal..tumney kabhi bola tha ki lite kaat daalo”…………(Salauddin, exasperated from the adventure from last nite and also by the toil at hand) “Ay bhosidikey…abhi dimaag mat chaat….ek taarikh sey bola tha mainey”…………(Gibreel). “Phir abhi kya hua?” Ek kaam bhi dhang sey nahi kar saktey ho kya?”………(Salauddin).”Bola naa….abhi gaand marao”……….(.Gibreel) “Abhi ..kyun…mainey tabhi 44.95 bhar diyey theey tabhi….Mainey tabhi theek kiyaa tha…mainey koi galti nahi kii thi…phir bhi kitnaa bola tha mujhey….abhi teri galti hai to..abhi kya hua?”……………(Salauddin) “ Bhaenchud !!.....bola naa mujhey kya malum ….kii yeh log chutyey hai itney……………
(Gibreel) “ Puchney kaa nahi tha kya…abhi kholi vaccum kaisey karengey………………
(Salauddin) “ Vaccum ki maa chuudaao…..mein kya karu”………
Chumch, who was not new to calming down raging tempers, intervened “ Thandaa lenaa bhai..theek hai…chalo udhar waali jagah ki lite connect karney ko boltey hai….Hello…Well, my account number is 3316363. I had asked to shift my utility connection to 315 Elm # 4 from morrow. Can I have it connected today?....Thanks a lot….U too”
“ Ho gaya….chalo jaldi sey ….clean kar key uddher jaatey hai…ok?”
It was an uphill struggle, struggling with tons of trash, broken window sills, dirtied bath tub, bathroom floor scattered with the unmentionable filth, oily cooking range, slippery kitchen floor, dead pests around the room corners and etcetra….real etcetra …haa !!!
After a sweaty and smelly toil for hours from those four pairs, it was decided that nothing more that could be done could do the place any more good. It was nearing night fall. But lamps were already awaiting them at Elm.
Suddenly Farishta came up with a view that the new place should at least be good enough for some stuff from Walmart and some chairs from the old place. Chumch volunteered to go to Walmart. He called his newest friend with a car, Jameel. Jameel and Chumch were off to WM even before the clocked had traveled half a revolution.
By the time Chumch came back from WM, the other three were still languishing at the new place procrastinating about the chairs from the old place. Chumch, though a lot lackadaisical mostly, could put on amazing display of energy for work at times. Not waiting for the others to join in, he was already on his way to the old house and back with a couple of chairs they could call their own. The others followed him shortly with a make-shift centre piece and a couple more chairs. The new apartment was not completely unfurnished now. Actually, it was a smart place to live in by now. This revelation had dawned on all of them by now.
Dinner was a quite affair with some yellow daal with mild tadkaa and Chaawal. It was instant sleep after some rough unpacking for Chumch. Salauddin had taken some guests already. He was tutoring a few friends in C++. Farishta was off to his lab. Gibreel sat brooding for a while and he also took to sleep shortly after.
Unpacking of the some stuff still lay hanging on cards for the next day.
</mayuresh> <!--9:54 AM-->
<mayuresh> Some insights to Desi-American life
(The difference between the words "Desi-American" and "American-Desi" should be noted. These are definitely not the personal experiences of the author.This is all hearsay that can be corroborated with some rumors that have been flying around all campus towns in the US))
Height of laziness
#1
Condition: This can only happen in summer time and only if the complex has a pool and a lot of desis
A guy planning to have a bath after three days ....so he wanna go to the swimming pool.....But when he lands up in water ( I dunno if thats really possible.........I mean ....."land" and "water" are two completely independent ideas ).....He has company...a dozen of 'Annas' and 'gulatis' ( on the beats of "Anna-Pop" and "Gulati-rap") doing the same thing...only that he realizes that he is a 'no-match' when some one he knows from the public confides in him that its been exactly 13 days that he has had a bath and that there are folks in the pool who are way ahead in the count......and then he knows exactly why the pool is full of the typical "anna-gulati" stench
#2
Wearing an undie inside out ( after all the pairs have been used once and are now in the basket) for not having to make an effort to walk ( or bike) a few hundred yards for getting some quarters to do the laundry( another couple of hundred yards away)
#3( ....a fine example of interconvertibility)
Using a soap wrapper lying near the pot as toilet paper ....one fine morning.....on observing that the bundle on the holder is exhausted...and not having to move a couple of yards to load the holder with a fresh bundle
#4 (.........this one sure takes the cake)
Wearing your roomie's undie inside out ...on realizing that both of you have been procrastinating enough on your laundry....and u find that his basket is nearer to you than is yours from the place where u are lying wasted ( not the inebriated types)
</mayuresh> <!--6:56 PM-->
<mayuresh> Just some thing that I picked up from a friend's place
This is something that aptly applies to me ...............
(Infringement of copyrights not intended)
For those in their twenty-something's...
This puts it all into words perfectly. They call it the "Quarter-life Crisis" It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are a lot of things about yourself that you didn't know and may or may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now. You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe,those friends that you thought you were so close to aren't exactly the greatest people you have ever met and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones. What you do not realize is that they are realizing that too and are not really cold or catty or mean or insincere, but that they are as confused as you. You look at your job. It is not even close to what you thought you would be doing or maybe you are looking for one and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and are scared. You miss the comforts of college, of groups, of socializing with the same people on a constant basis. But then you realize that maybe they weren't so great after all. You are beginning to understand yourself and what you want and do not want. Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging a bit more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and add things to your list of what is acceptable and what is not. You are insecure and then secure. You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward. You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you or you lay in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough to get to know better.
You love someone but maybe love someone else too and cannot figure out why you are doing this because you are not a bad person. One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap and getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans and money and the future and making a life for yourself and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender! What you may not realize is that everyone reading this relates to it. We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out.
</mayuresh> <!--12:46 PM-->
<mayuresh> .......
Thou shalt not wilt under thine own lampoon
God is suffering. </mayuresh> <!--9:12 AM-->
<mayuresh> A Tower of Light
A walk in life could easily prove to be a walk of life. It’s the subtlety, the tone, the graphic impact, the exact feeling coming as pure as it comes from a glacier in to a river tempting it to go through the different twists of peregrination. Clouds suddenly get darker and yet those in the mind and those across the walk become clearer as the walk gets more into the walk. It’s the battle that ravages the mind due to the contradiction which comes out between the actions and the intentions.
Now I know a person who took a walk yesterday. It was amidst a clamor of clouds and the flashes of lightening admonishing him with their wrath coming along the downpour. I am sure he liked it. He remembered the days gone by and anticipated the gifts which the moments of future would unravel. He tried to hungrily tear off the wrappage but found his hands not as extensions of the body but only as instruments that he wanted to protect for fear of rust. He had put his hands in the side pockets. He wanted to protect the pack of cigarettes that he was carrying in one of his pockets. The drops of water were hitting him so hard, he thought them to be someone who’s trying to grab him and yet avoid him. For he was both pure and tainted, in intention and action. He felt a certain sense of competition around him, the drops fighting for him and yet to hurt him to save him from corruption.
Then he lit a cigarette and then there was competition for that tiny speck of light now. But it was not the water from heaven that was rushing its swords in the battle. It was light fighting for light this time.
His legs were drenched to the bone and the jacket that he had borrowed from his friend could not resist itself from the pleasures of avarice. It also wanted to get rid of its thirst. He took a deep puff from the cigarette trying hard not to let its light slip away from him. He was not ready to be extinguished.He felt hard hit and sublimely downtrodden.
Now he became the object of everyone’s desire. The wind caressing him, the raindrops coveting him and the lightening pampering him with strange yet characteristically inimitable vigor of its own. The flashes of light made him see the world in a strange light. He looked down at the earth below him. He was big and insignificant. He was strong and yet limping. He could not see his black leather sandals down there. Occasionally, he tried to make a gesture but he failed.
It was insane love being made to him. The eyes pried upon him from the heavens and he remembered the word “god”. He had lost count of his orgasms by now. He was relishing the tumult of his exultations. He was being rinsed of all erotic inhibitions. He stood silent for a few moments. He crossed the road at a signal.
He still had a few puffs left from the cigarette. He felt comfortable and undyingly warm, his body defiant with insolent exhibition of trepid shiver. He felt the hood of the jacket for the second time now. It was trying to expose him as it did even at the first time he felt its presence. He took another puff at the cigarette. He felt freedom from fear in fear. He felt freedom of joy in freedom.
Now he could see the neon sign of Domino’s pizza hardly a couple of hundred yards from where he stood now. Yes, he had stopped there for a moment of eternity again. He felt greedy. He wanted to run back to the moment he had started with this walk. He had started singing now.
He had nobody on his mind. He was already sated with love. He was thirsty for it again. Still he sang a song for someone. Some song of ridiculed love made to a girl. He liked women and yet was so blank in his mind for he knew not to whom he was singing the song for. He cared a damn. He saw the numbers 653. Words with a strange music were still pouring out from his mumbled soliloquy. He stopped there for a moment. He felt a sinful urge to look back for the first time now. He did not. He went on to pull the glass door to his apartment. The cigarette was long gone. The walk had evaporated in the light and smoke. He entered his apartment. He had a walk of his life.
</mayuresh> <!--4:04 PM-->
<mayuresh> There can never be a method to creativity.
There is this pursuit of methodical creativity that I see rampant amongst the folks that I have the pleasure of their current company.
It is experience in all its vivid form that nourishes all kinds of creativity.
Experiences are random though their impressions can be everlasting.
"Arm Chair" creativity is what I decry as it essentially is bereft of all contact with experience.
The most common way to sheer experience is being at different places, meeting different people with equally different traits and allowing one's own observation to absorb all that is possible within the purview of one's own faculties.
But my neighbourhood does not essentially give me all opportunity to do so.
I am always a person for a warm libertine chat. But it is times like these, at an engineering school, that I find almost all of them around talking and growing in a mould that befits an engineered humanoid ala clone taught to do a certain job only. And it is ridicule and wrath of his community that one calls upon himself for trying to move out of the box.
As engineers, all our creativity is drained by the Drone-Clone syndrome that inflicts us in most ways. And I can't resist but spare a hearty laugh as we go on to term it as "performance". In essence, enginers are trained to work on tangible fronts, furthering the scope of present technologies being the foremost of them all. This calls for logic, perseverance, method and innovation.
But I am a man not entirely given to his line of thought though I do agree that Innovation is one of the extensions of creativity.
Deep down somewhere within, I have still not acquiesced to the fact that I am being trained to be an engineer, a thing that was not entirely my choice but the choice of happenstance.
I would not again go back to the same ol' discussion........not now atleast.
The point is that all it boils down to is securing a job in the tech world again to put our necks on the drone-clone aseembly line.
Production has become the point of view behind all engineering and not innovation though some people might suggest otherwise.
This entire exercise that I am indulging myself in is to point out the visible and suttle differences between creativity and non-creativity in all its forms.
It is also to point out certain terms that get misinterpreted with context to mixing them and analogizing them with creativity.
'Method' and 'Discipline' are again the two sides of the same coin.
There is nothing such as "discipline of creativity". The only thing possible is "discipline of action" to harness all random energy of thought that leads to manifestation of creativity in all its visible forms. For example;there is discipline in engineering but none in creativity.
And yet this is no necessary condition.
The two inherently contradictory terms of "Creativity" and "production" is the cause of all confrontation. The first one stands for all that is unimitiable (though plagiarizable) in its effort to be unique. The other one stands for all that is really the same. Production is punishing madness set to order. Creativity is madness itself.
There is no science to creativity. All that there is to engineering is Science for science is a chronology of all logical ideas.
Now this leads to the realm of another conjured debate. Are all thoughts ideas?
The premises of "thought" encompasses everything from reflections, remorses,emotions,reflexes and all that is the progeny of the Mind.....and ideas too..........
So all ideas are thoughts but not all thoughts are ideas. It is thoughts that lead to creativity and not just ideas.
All the above thought process weaves a labyrinth of questions where I can go in but do not yet know the way out.
I even do not know the reason why I do such a thing.
It just might be a case where I want all the normal things to happen to me and yet desire to be different.May be I am just over anxious to know whats gonna happen of me....
Who said something about .....an empty mind being a devil's workshop.....Haa haa
</mayuresh> <!--11:08 AM-->
<mayuresh> Silence is intimidating.
I can never be heard if I remain silent.
So ......
Yeh Diwana apna Afsaana sunaata raheega....
Just returning from a couple of eventful, listless weeks in California. ( hmm....thats possible)
Back to "armpit of America" Oklahoma.
Its scary to absorb the good after seething in all that is not so good for so long a period.
Euphemism fails to underline the fact.
I saw the good part of life in the US and coming back to the "not so good" part of the life in the US is such a transition.
Immediately after returning back I had to pack my stuff and shift to another place. I had to vacate my place as the lease ended on the last day of May.
Back to West Bennett now. I had spent the first semester here at this very place.
The place seems so unfamiliarly familiar. As if I am reliving the past in a dream (or is it a nightmare !).
The place is such a mess now.
Wow ! ..I even dont realise what I should be doing from now on for the next two months.
I have no job. I have no assistantship.
I have no car. I have negligible credit history.
I have no offcampus free net access. I do not have a tennis raquet.
I do not have a Beverly Hills Mansion. I have no Greyhound lifetime travel pass.
I do not have a Nikon F 90. I do not own Microsoft.
I do not know the difference between Latitude and longitude. ( Is there any?)
I do not even have a mexican girlfriend.....shit
All in all I have nothing that I feel I should not have at this point of time
Except the job !!
But I have myself. I have my folks.
I have a few friends. I have my library and access to my labs.
I have the books in the library.
I have my project to work on.
I have my religion. I have Eskimo joes ( its the hottest ...or is it the stillest....... club in Stillwater)
I have my body and my mind. I have all the birds that sing to me.
I have my cricket ball. I have Macdonalds to eat.
I have the sun burning my skin all over.
I have this place. And..........................
I have hope................
I have Music......
Music Marathi Ensemble...............
Divas asey ki
Koni maajha naahi
ann mi konaacha naahi
aakaashachya chaatri khaali bhijto
aayushyaavar hasney thunkun deyto
yaa hasnyaachey kaaran umgat naahi
yaas hasney mhanvat naahi
prashnaanchey hey ek sandh sey tukdey
tyaavar naachey maniichey abluck ghodey
yaa ghodyaanna lagaam shodhat ahey
pari majlaa gavsat naahi
mam mhantaana aata hasto thodey
mitun gheyto vastushtitichey doley
yaa jagnyaala swapnaancha hi aata
megh paalvat naahi
Divas asey ki .............
</mayuresh> <!--1:19 PM-->
/archives