Bharata Bhagya Bidhata

Julius Cesear was offered the kingly crown of Rome thrice and each of the three times he refused. Julius Cesear was a valiant and a fortunate (ro)man. Two thousand years later one of his decendents, Sonius, winged her way across seven seas to repeat the history by refusing the crown of the largest democracy the world has ever seen. An act of courage dripping with a sugary syrup of selflessness that has the whole world floored particularly those in the western hemisphere and those in the immediate vicinity of Race Course Road in the ancient city of Delhi. This act has catapulted Sonius Cesearina closer to sainthood than what even Mother Teresa have been able to get to so far.

The irony couldn't have been more poignant. In 1947 a proud nation had gained independence from foreign rulers and were all starry eyed about their tryst with destiny. Crowds on the streets..much merry making.

Cut over to the present: Crowds are still there on the streets..shouting and jumping. Pleading with a person of european descent who is undoubtedly a capable leader (as were Robert Clive and Warren Hastings) to lead the country again.

Manmohan Singh may be the PM but there is no doubt on anybody's mind about who the real "bhyagya-bidhata" (the one who determines the destiny) of our country.

India and the Congress have truely turned a full circle.

They may even make a movie out of all this - Safedi se Safedi Tak. And in true Bollywood style they may even want to rename Congress - Gori aur Gaye (the cattle and the white woman).

Do I sound too bitter? No way, actually I have a sugary syrupy warmth in my heart and a song in my lips that goes as follows:

Aie mere watan ke logo
Jara Aankh mein bhar lo pani
Jo Sahid hue hain unke
Jara Yaad Karo Kurbani

Love and Light

(Absolutely not mine...but liked it...so it is here for a short time)

You have this friend since elementary and after college; then both of you lost contact with each other. But she is someone really special to you, and you are someone very special to her too.

Five years later you receive a phone call from her. "Hi, I'll visit you" she says.
"Hi, Leah, when?" you ask her. "Just wait for me" she replies.
It seems weird but you prepare for her coming anyway.

One rainy night you hear a knock on the door. And you're surprised to see that it's your friend Leah. Losing touch for five years is so long and you start talking about everything. The both of you even go to your room upstairs. Suddenly there is a power outage, but the two of you continue talking by candle-light.

Then the phone rings. "I'll just get the phone downstairs," you say.
"No, don't get it, we're in the middle of our talk," she says. "It might be important," you say. "Okay if you say so, but promise me you'll be back," she says. You promise her a million times that
you'll be back.

Then you run downstairs to answer the phone. "Hello," you say.

"Hello," says the person on the line. "Yeah?" you say,
wondering who it is. "I'm calling on behalf of Leah's family. They had an accident and her
parents are in the hospital right now," he says. "How are they?" you ask.
He continues, "They are injured but stable. But I'm sorry to say that Leah died. We found your name and phone number in Leah's purse..." his voice trails off as you look up at the long stairs.


WOULD YOU GO BACK AS YOU HAVE PROMISED?

Happy thinking :-)

Flight of Fancy

Wouldn't it be great
If, for a change
My mind freed itself
From its rein
I would gallop away
On the highway of my dreams
Away from worries
And life's sundry pains

I would dance at Cindrella's ball
Feast on boars with Asterix the Gaul
With's Robin's merry men would I sing
And help Calvin finally beat Rosalyn

For one moment, if I could set sail
And cast away from reality's shore
With Kirk and Spock I would boldly go
Where no man has gone before.

(Har Har)

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I felt that just because I write terrible poetry that shouldn't stop me from posting this one anyway. At least that hasn't stopped me from posting my terrible ramblings yet :)

Resurrection

(This is Part II of the Post titled Dark Thoughts)

I watched over my son as he slept. I knew that his sleep had been a restful one, for I could see that the lines of worries in his face were beginning to disappear and were getting slowly replaced by a peaceful smile that played on his lips. I felt happy just watching him.

Yesterday had been particularly tortureous day for him and I had wept secretly on seeing him in so much pain. He didn't see me though, which I thought, was good. Maybe my tears would have weakened him further.

I wondered whether he would notice me today.

Fatherhood is really lot more difficult then most people would have you believe. At the best of times it is a tightrope walk, a delicate balancing act between taking action, advising or just getting out the way. Don't even get me started on what it is like at its worst. One thing is for sure, there are always more questions then there are answers and your children don't make it any easier by putting you on an pedestral and branding you as the arch villain all at the same time.

But then there is nothing else that brings so much joy either, I thought, as I touched my son's head, ever so lightly, I didn't want to wake him up. Not until he had rested. And I waited and I hoped...

I hoped that when he woke up today, he would see that he could choose not to wear his crown of thorns, that he could choose to ignore the cross that he had been carrying around on his bruised shoulders all these days, that the key to unshakling the chains that bound him was in his own hands. I hoped that he would see that all that had pained him so lately were the creation of his own mind that was yet ignorant of its own wondrous depth. I hoped today he would see light and even if he choose not to see me today, I hoped today he would see himself...

He stirred slightly in his sleep and mumbled something. I thought he would get up now, but instead he snuggled back inside the covers with a contented sigh.

I wondered whether he remembered me carrying him back, last night, to his bed after he had convinced himself that I was not going to come and had resigned himself to his despair. That, coming from someone who repeatedly saw through me and ignored my pleas to let go of his cross, was rather ironic I thought. C'est la vie.

He slowly opened his eyes and slowly got up into a sitting position looking confused, as if he didn't know where he was or who his was. He always had a funny face and when confused it looked ever more comical. He looked at his hands, turning it around in front of his eyes, as if expecting a sixth finger to have grown during the night. "Look up," I intoned in my mind, "I have been waiting for quite a while now."

He looked up and cast his glance straight ahead, exactly I where had moved to, in order to catch his eyes. I stood between him and the cross that was propped up on the wall behind me.

"What is it going to be today, My Son," I asked, "are u going to see me today? Or are you going to pick up the cross again?"

I looked directly at his eyes as I waited for him to answer...

I hoped...

And I held out my hand ...

....

Ashoto ma sadgamaya
Tamaso ma jyotirgamaya
Mrityur ma amritangamaya

Testament of the Dark Knight

'Twas very dark over the scaresome City of Gotham and in the dark alleyways thither abounded a mighty lot of wrong-doings, like, really really scary stuff, like, totally criminal and everything. Verily, the Gotham City Police lived ever in awful fear of such like villains as the Joker, Penguin, Riddler and the Scarecrow and would go forth on ye land everyday with their tails betwixt their legs and their hearts in ye bottoms of their stomaches, which would indeed be quite queasy on that account. Know thou this, the townsfolk were ever worse off and thank thine stars that thou livest elsewhere. Truely 'twas like verily, very verily, like the land of Patna, of this day only not as bad.

And it came to pass, that out of such darkness emerged a Hero. Though, he be one deeply disturbed dude who wore one dark and uncomfortablly tight costume ,one cape and one mask with pointy ears; he hath his heart where it ought to be and Lo! on catching his sight the guts of sundry wrong doers turned into ye noodle soup and their pants were dry nevermore. For, he who hath such menacing looks, pointy ears and all, such fighting and detective skills gained through tortureous practice over many lands and he who had such cool gizmos as the Batmobile and Batarang - what terrible misfortunes he could unleash unto them. So thinking, many such wrong-doers forsook the land of Gotham and migrated to the unpromised land of Bihar and there they formed the RJD. The brave common folks of Bihar hath been fighting them since.

Meanwhile, in Gotham City, the townsfolk rejoiced when they heard that such hero hath cometh out and named him: Batman - the Dark Knight. Nor had they seen any like him before, neither. The womanfolk thought his costume be way cool and, like, really funky and all, and hath many a thoughts of which they spoke not (so I can't tell thee what they were! Pity. ;) The Police made much merry, for ye Bat-Dude be doing all their police work and with time all police dudes were blessed with rotund pot-bellies and knew not what their toes looked like anymore. And the children of ye land, who tieth bedsheets on their necks and jumpeth from rooftops were, like, so grounded, for in so doing they caused the tops of their parents to blow, consequently. And it is common knowledge that parents with blown tops can be uncommonly unreasonable, as common as common cold only much chillier. Brrr.

The wrong doers that stayed back in Gotham hath their tails struck by ye Batman's foot with all over Gotham and they were in much distress. Sometimes they would use guile or would gang up to gain an edge, but it is truely spoken that Dark Knight would prevail at the end everytime. (except of a little while in the Knightfall Saga when he was broken mentally and physically). He hath neither super-powers nor hath he been bitten by any radioactive bug nor indeed he be a mutant. Batman hath always been a fully human super-hero, whose intellegence and strength backed by his passion were, like, the strongest weapons in ye bat-arsenal. Appearing by the day as billonaire industrialist and playboy Bruce Wayne, ye Batman would wander into the dark insides of Gotham at night, fighting crime and seeking respite from ye memories of his parents' (Thomas and Martha Wayne) murder in ye very same firmament.

He be sometimes aided by side-kicks, Tom (Robin), Dick (NightWing) and Barbara (Batgirl/Oracle) (Harry hath gone to meet Sally and couldn't make it). But, save the support of the trustly butler (who thankfully didn't do it) Albert, he mostly operated alone.

Obsessed. Committed. Dangerous.

This chonicler holdeth Batman as an adored object of fascination (along side of Star Trek and Powerpuff Girls) for this be, like, one of few comic book characters that can be in no way called uni-dimentional. For Batman tis neither the school boyish goody-goodyness of Superman nor the calculated non-conformity of X-Men. Batman is ever unconcerned of what the world thinks of him, a true hermit and the classical loner. Batman stands an head over even the amazing Spider-man in terms mass-adulation. (Though let this also be chronicled that Spidey also be a hot favoriate of ye way too uplifted and curiously discerning chronicler - who also hath a secret identity - a mild and meek natured programmer by the day and a super-blogger by the night!).

Gotham hath always representeth a world where everything that be dark is little larger then life, every furrow on ye countance a little more deeply underscored, every single human weakness a step near insanity. In that world the Dark Knight reigns supreme, a lord of all that he surveyeth atop dark buildings, where he be mostly perched looking out for wrong-doers to make any move. Batman shows unto us what we have the danger of becoming if our dark thoughts were not reigned in and if our obsessions were to take over. Batman also shows how the darkness of past can be channeled against darkness itself and towards an utopian ideal of goodness. Batman appeals to us, for who among us hath ne'er been wronged and hath not harboured the idea of venegance. The icon on Batman shows a way out of those moments of darkness to ye light of true selflessness. Of Service. Of Sacrifice.

Verily, I say unto thee - Batman is Timeless.

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This writing style is not my natural one and it shows. I borrowed it from a colleague who has an incredibly creative writing style. But I fear I have not done it much justice, nor indeed to Batman. However this is just one blog entry and anyway I wanted to experiment abit.