The circumference-d woman Part II

I sit at the same place,
The light gleams
And darkness outside, I see
Through the moist glass
Have I gained or have I lost?
My gaze still intact,
Not on the road,
But just opposite…
Silence,
Yet again; grew deeper
The soft board is empty today,
No new arrivals,
The newspaper folds are untouched
Books containing secrets lie
neatly arranged on the shelf
OK.
No subject change.
You are here;
right besides
And I am waiting
For that acknowledging wink…

The White Tiger

White tiger is a story that is presented to the audience through a series of seven letters that the protagonist of the story, Balram Halwai writes to the Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao to tell him about his life. This is of course a creative approach that the writer has adopted to present his story to the readers.
White Tiger as a book can be read at multiple levels. Some of the questions that the book provokes you to think about are:

• Is violence the only way to break a cycle of poverty?
• Does success eventually redeems all sins?
• And is it the all bearing poor person, who has to bear the brunt of society's conflicts?


Through the character of Balram who calls himself; "half-baked", the writer has painted the other side of the picture of India.

Balram who comes from Darkness (as a metaphor for Bihar) is a character that is portrayed in the most realistic and consistent manner. He is not allowed to finish school. Balram was a smart lad, and that was even recognized by a school inspector, who praised him as a 'white tiger', "the rarest of animals -- the creature that only comes along once in a generation". The school inspector promises to arrange a scholarship and proper schooling for the young boy, but, of course, instead his family takes him out of school and puts him to work at a teashop (to pay for marrying off one of the daughters in the family).

Balram’s story thus begins from the rural India, but entered the light that is Delhi via a job as driver to Mr. Ashok, the son of a rich landlord. Wanting to break the shackles of servitude, Balram kills his boss and later absconds with a good amount of money only to become a big entrepreneur in Bangalore.

The story touches upon various elements: how the riches bribe the govt. officials, how the poor are entangled and blamed for murder/accident committed by their bosses, how the haves exploit the haves-not, how religion has been a dominant factor in the lives of Indians and what all is carried out in the name of God, how caste system has corroded India, is democracy working for our country or only widening the gap between the rich and the poor? Etc. The book bombards the reader with all these questions through the story of Balram’s life.

The philosophy that success eventually redeems all sins is what Balram seemed to believe. Balram also started thinking that even though he committed one murder, in the end, he proved himself; he proved his intelligence and became a successful entrepreneur. It has just proviked me to think and think both ways...Whatever the criticisms that Adiga may have got, it still is a great book...

Within and outside

Within and outside,
A surrealistic chaos,
Appears, disappears and appears,
And faintly stands still

Neon lit hoardings,
And bright taxis,
Run parallel to the curved sea,
Wind gushes in,
As I roll the window of my cab,
I smell the salty sea in the air

I make a conversation of,
What happened,
within and outside,
And then he laughs and she laughs,
And he pats on my back,
And I laugh too, wondering,
over the absence of strength of mind in me

His photo in the paper haunts me,
For a moment, I abnormally,
appreciate his looks,
and then I open that gift box besides,
the diamond necklace she awaited for,
and I cry and smile, as I see the folded,
roughly cut article that she gave me,
- “Tips for men to learn gift wrapping!”

Within,
A gush of myriad emotions,
Anger and antagonism,
Outside,
quotes and pompous stories,
Courage, determination and the undying spirit…

Abruptly,
I recollect my childhood days,
Red colored helium balloon in my hand,
And tears on my cheek,
As I sit at the barber’s shop,
For my haircut on floor 14th!

I now see a broken window,
And her tattered blue saree,
fluttering in the air,
Her name plate has stains,
and her purse that I now finally get to open and see,
- Brown lipstick, hand sanitizer, compact powder, black kajal, pink colour wrapped sanitary napkin, pink nail polish and a packet of blue bindis.
- all the tickets of the movies we saw, all the coffee bills and bus tickets when we traveled together
- her hotel employee pass, driving license, and pan card
- my photo
Truly, a ladies’ purse is so much a reflection of their own self


I recollect all movies where time moves behind,
“What ifs” and “buts” swallow me,
With every morsel that I swallow,
I tremble on reading that last sms,
And yet I read, again and again and again
And every eye that I see beholds a fanatic,
And every other eye, beholds a timid…

Within and outside,
Her screams echo
The sound of “fire crackers” echo
The soothing sound of waves echo
The breaking of the glass window echoes
My yells echo
Over enthusiastic News reporters’ voices echo
“It keeps happening” echoes
31st midnight “happy new year” echoes
Her whispers echo…
And everything stops suddenly!
Silence and smile as mom pats my back
I hate to be called a kid
I drink my coffee
And stare at my notebook screen,
Again to hear the same echoes…


I look up and see my soft board,
“Men are moved by two principle things - by fear and by love” - Machiavelli
She moved me by her love and you moved me by your fear…
Both have gone
and no one rules me now…

(post the terror attacks of 26/11 )

The Utopian Cockaigne

At the luxuriance of the dining table
Idleness and gluttony natters,
Tittle-tattle tales and gossipy rendezvous
Sugar, cake, pastries, cheese and wine…

Mild weather and free-flowing sex,
All worldly pleasures at hand,
Non-ascetic and superfluity,
And fulfillment of all wishes

Blindfolded Contentment
In their Utopian Cockaigne Land
Ignorant blinkers
To hell with the world

A corroborated harsh truth,
Goliards verse, I sing again.

Rain Forest

The distant sight
Of a crane in the woods,
Where I once plucked mangoes
And the gardener running after me,

I would paint alfresco,
Of the lush dense forest trees,
And now I see,
A squirrel running on the land of her lost home

Euphonious sounds of the birds in bevy,
Still echo in mind,
I take a sudden 360 degree turn
The drilling machine drills further

I wander away, disconcerted
By this sudden sense,
Of having been cut…
The axe hacks my torrid emotions

Under my tutelage,
It grew tall more than I could see,
For them, a mere bagatelle,
Callous intentions, a leaf dead…

My precious tear died on my cheek,
Fingers crinkled,
And I ran to embrace,
The bark of my soul…

Men moved away,
As I clung to conserve,
And vociferous voices swirled,
As slogans reverberated in the air…

We all hugged,
A woman’s love to keep a forest…
And the joy of,
Traversing in deep woods…

A Day in the life of...

Revelation,
Under the dearth of a rolled out newpaper at my doorstep,
With lines that upheavel my pyred emotions,
Riots, suicides, downtroden economy and a glorified page 3,
Ah! what a platter of contemplation for my senses,
My morning tea couldnt have tasted better,
Musings of my mind along with the bombardment of information
That stales my already cluttered brain,
which chats itself in front of my slow processing dumbfuck laptop
Ignition blast of my mind...
and I return home through a well defined keyhole,
I instruct my pillow to sleep,
and my vector charges itself,
through a dust-laden plugpoint,
Closed eyes draw some red grunge circles,
ring tone rings,
and a splatter of to-do list for tomorrow springs up,
I laugh at myself and appraise my strong organizational skills
I shut my eyes,
visualize the amount I punch in at the ATM,
Its late- 2.00 pm!
A breathe in concentric circles evapourates in the air,
My pillow has one more sleepless night,
Hobson's choice - I have taken it!

Sea Shell on the Sea Shore

With dusty sea shells,
Enclosed in his little fist;
He gazes,
And wishes to fly…

His sand-laden bare feet crouching to feel the excitement;
On seeing the red helium balloon go up in the air

Closing his one eye,
He looks within the sea shell,
A hollow nothing,
And the orange horizon beyond

He builds a sand castle and sticks his priced possession onto it,
As proud as if he would actually stay in it!

Torn Adidas t-shirt; he adores himself -
Looking in the small mirror hung
At that ice-cream stall,
He smiles and a million stars in his eyes…

Imaginations fly in concentric circles as the sun immerses in the blue waters
An encroaching wave washes away the castle; he glares - smile intact…

The Circumference-d woman

They hugged
Beyond the glistened window pane
That my eyes envisioned
A crow unnoticed; cawed
Silence grew deeper
Ok. Subject Change. -
“New arrivals”
The librabry stack was named
My mind still rubbing on some old memories…
A stranger's standstill
Like the stroke of the wind
Was passing
My Gaze intact
All passed but one
Hmm, (a deep breath)
A stroke,
Came and gone
And I have lost
That acknowledging wink…

Sensex

An attractive proposition,

Greed Glorified!



An indicator of stocks and

a predictor of your fate



Bullish or Bearish

On life's double edged sword



Trend analysis of;

Cardiograms…



What is the 'intrinsic value of,

Deeper self?



Sensitive Index

Or Sensitive souls?



Invest some in your own piggy bank,

Returns, galore…

Dancing to the rhythm of life...

Novels: Fountainhead by Ayn rand and The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Comparative study identifying similarities and differences in the story-pattern, cultural backgrounds, graphs of main characters, style, mood etc.

About Fountainhead: It is a book that has lasted an unforgettable imprint in the minds of millions of people with its theory of objectivism. The story narrates the journey of an intransigent young architect and his battle against conventional standards. The fountainhead deals with the timeless, fundamental, universal values of human existence. It creates and projects an image about the things not as they are, but things as they might be and ought to be. The fountainhead, in its essence, is the projection of an ideal man.

About The Alchemist: The book which has changed the life of millions through a simple yet striking magical story has become the favorite of many across the globe including me. Very few fables have the capacity to have some kind of mystic influence on your life through words that reach your soul and this book is surely one of them. The author Paulo Coelho indeed knows to convey his message to the world and motivate people to follow their dreams in a beautiful and an effective way. The story has some true hidden pearls of wisdom that has helped it achieve the status of a ‘modern classic’.

Similarities and differences in the story pattern:

The underlying idea behind both the novels remain the same that an individual’s dream are most important in his or her life and that no one cant stop him or her from achieving the same. Both the books have strong profound philosophies which are woven under a beautiful structure of story. Both, the Fountainhead as well as the Alchemist are an eye opener about the purpose of our life, our objective of our being and the essence of a dream in our life. The books do not directly preach any didactic moral lessons; however they surely inspire us to follow and tread on to the path of our ambition and will, which we lay for ourself. Both the books make an individual believe in one-self and invigorate our faith in us. The books lay stress on passion and ambition and its upshot in ones life.

However as we consider the differences in the story line, we realize that a complete different treatment is given to the two books. The background, number of characters, the setting etc is quite different. Fountainhead involves a lot of characters in the story and the book makes a reader realize the importance of human’s reasoning mind. It portrays people with diverse personas. The book challenges one to think against the old hackneyed morals and principles created by the society. At the same time Alchemist is a book that edifies us about the basic understanding of listening to our hearts. Alchemist truly reflects on to the old adage ‘work is worship’. He feels that the quest of a dream and its journey gives one that heavenly experience to feel God. What makes Alchemist different as a book is the use of stunning metaphors, striking symbolisms and remarkable imagery to narrate a simple story. Fountainhead is more of a reality book where as Alchemist is book one dreams to be in. Both the books teach us to follow our dreams in such different yet striking manner.

Similarities and differences in cultural backgrounds portrayed in the books:

The cultural background is an important part of a book. Each individual has an identity, and the cultural background is a part of a person's search of their true identity. While fountainhead is typically based in the backdrop of the New York City; Alchemist is a story of a shepherd wandering around the countryside of Andalusia in southern Spain. Hence both the books surely differ in the cultural backgrounds.

Fountainhead is a book that is commonly perceived as rebellious in opposition to cultural practices and moral values of the society. The book preaches the significance of individuality and own creativity. Fountainhead, with the help of a story, lets people know that one does not need to fear society and let its flaws hinder the integrity of a person. That one should not compromise on ones own work for the sake of society. The American culture in the book very much surfaces on the ground when Dominique is ready to sleep with Gail Wynand only if he gives a building project to her husband, Peter Keating. Also the denunciation of the Stoddard temple (it bearing a nude sculpture of Dominique) shows how culture plays an important role in the society.

The word Alchemist refers to a person who practiced alchemy. Alchemy was an early form of discipline of the exploration of nature, philosophy and spiritual sect in a metaphysical manner. Hence the cultural references to the ancient parts of Egypt in olden days are found in the book. The deserts and the pyramids of Egypt and the tribal village are some of the hints to the culture of those places. The Arab that believes in good omens, the gypsy fortune teller, the tribal wars, the reference to Allah (God) etc all these depict the Arabic or the ancient Egyptian culture.

Similarities and differences in graphs of main characters:

The book fountainhead has some very strong characters. In fact the book is divided into four sections each dedicated to a particular character namely; Howard Roark, Peter Keating, Ellsworth Toohey and Gail Wynand. Howard Roark is a character that has impressed and influenced millions of people. The character is idyllic is all sense. Roark is a man that does not compromise on his ideas, creativity and will. He lives his dreams passionately and does not sacrifice them for anyone or anything. Roark is a character with a sense of enormous expectations from self. In the book Alchemist, the main protagonist Santiago too gives up shepherding to follow his dreams very much like Roark. In both the books, the character of Roark and Santiago have many similar traits. Even though Roark is an aspiring architect residing in the west and Santiago is only a small time shepherd living in the far countryside of Andalusia, Both Santiago as well as Roark are not just hardworking towards their goals but they also live life with passion. Both Santiago and Roark enjoy a certain kind of lonliness in their life and yet they remain helpful to people they meet acroos in life. In the case of Roark, he remained helpful to Peter Keating and Santiago helped the crystal merchant.

Similarities and differences in Style:

Both the books differ drastically in the way the story is narrated to the reader. Alchemist is a book that is based on fate, dream, love and spirituality whereas Fountainhead inspires people to follow their ambitions passionately. Alchemist is beautifully written with a lot of metaphors and symbols. For example the good omens play a key role in Santiago’s fate and the philosopher’s stone or the Elixir of life representing the soul of the world. Coelho’s writing indeed is beautifully poetic and soothes to ones senses. On the other hand, Fountainhead is a book written so effectively that its philosophy stays with the reader life long. Fountainhead and its language style is wordy and yet so terse. It tends to answer questions like what is our basic objective, what is rationale behind our existence etc. The way Ayn Rand has presented the book; it has been an eye opener about the purpose of our life and objective of ones being. Fountainhead is truly a celebration to ones senses.

Conclusion:
Even though both the books differ in their narration, plot, setting and style, the essence or the core of following ones dream against all odds remains the same. The Alchemist as well as Fountainhead, both books have had a life enhancing impact on millions of people across the world!

Self with your self

Let go
And yet it seems ‘binocular-ed’

Myopia cured
Unseen surrendering

Refractive errors solved

A pep talk with your chi

Feeling of a red colored helium balloon
going against the gravity

A prescription
Learn silence to hear

A predictor of your own thoughts

Hyperopia of acerbic opinions

A divine ego

Concave awakening

The non synthetic yarn
Unknotting

Enclosed enlightened abyss

The voyage

Sun sinking boat fading away
The radiant in your eye

A vibration in you

Unison of sounds

Detachment

A survived love

The planet is yours…

A child is born!

He done to me,
And I only stood there.
My “A” was crooked,
Or perhaps there was;
A swirl in my heart,
Should I whisper?
Or? ...

I just wanted to blurt it out…
I did,
My doll listened,
But kept mum
And keyhole was small,
The burden of key, heavy,
I glared at eyes behind,
Spectacles showing a shadow,
Of a window,
Where I would stand,
Thinking,
Nursery rhymes of
A garrote mind!
Chocolate smell is a reminder
- My ‘glory’ days!
Frocks and frills,
Twists and twirls,
My pink water scale,
My two pony tails,
My quandary,
My life- long misery…

Sepia images I see,
Flashed in that perfect hue
If ever I could cope,
If,
Ever,
This enduring dint
Nervousness, fright, hysteria…
He done it,
Why?
I question as,
Here I stand,
With my baby in my arms,
Am I happy?

Drunk and Dazzled

Have sounds reverberated within?

Lately, I found a new whisper of words.

A lily fluttered in the air,
A muted conspiracy,
Of the foliage on my way.

A perfectly honeycombish feeling,
With the mushiness rooted at the core.

A wrong fall of the curtain,
And newpaper-wraped mirror,
A painted dry leaf and neon-lit faces;
A butterfly tattoo; half covered.

A Mathematical derivation,
Of variable consonants in heart.

The secrets of baked glances.
An uncombed strand of hair,
And a slide on the eye-lash.

A sojourn;

A dwell in my soul

A dip-stick of the love mousse

An inchoate sense and encrypted words,
Blown in the sweet aroma of my half filled glass.

A dance of the delicate nerves,
A phantom of enchantment,
Twirling along with the stirrer.

Strings of guitar,
Looking alike; but
Distinct only when heard.

A red lamp,
Made out of her rags…
A tuck pin,
A clearer vision...

To feel her potato joke giggles,
And fall down laughing,
With hazy images of her earring,
And a yearning to numbness...

A pool-glide within,
It just;
Takes me away...

I choke and strangle for my usual breath,
Oh! The feeling is yet inexplicable!

Human Void (Ikebana and Kansei)

“Ting-ti-ting, Ting-ti-ting, Ting-ti-ting, Seven o’clock … Good morningggggg…get up Mrs. Ikebanaaaaaaaa …the pink medicine and the herbal tea is waiting for you!!!”

Ting-ti-ting, Ting-ti-ting, Ting-ti-ting, Seven o’clock… Good morningggggg…get up Mrs. Ikebanaaaaaaaa …the pink medicine and the herbal tea is waiting for you!!!”

Ting-ti-ting, Ting-ti-ting, Ting-ti-ting, Seven o’clock … Good morningggggg…get up…Mrs. Ikebanaaaaaaaa …the pink medicine and the herbal tea is waiting for you!!!”
The specially devised alarm clock rang!

Barely in her senses, Ikebana shouted, “Kansei…shut that!” Her feeble voice could not shout further but Kansei knew it all! One word and all his sensory nerves were at work!

Ikebana was 72 and lived with her only espousal ‘Kansei’.

Ikebana slowly got up from the bed and drank her tea. She walked towards the balcony with the help of a walker. The rising skyscrapers blocked the blue water beauty of the Tokyo city. Outside the window Ikebana took a deep breath and returned to the living room. She opened her treasure chest and took out her old diary. The smudged blue ink and the jaded yellow paper were a metaphor to her wrinkles and freckles. Yet the mind’s eye and the diary’s heart had preserved the golden memories of the youthful days. Ikebana, her husband, her little daughter and the picture perfect life…

Ikebana’s husband ‘Michiko’ was a scientist and use to work with a Japan Research organization. His work kept him busy most of the times, but Ikebana never complained. At the age of 60, he died due to over exertion and a stressful life. Ikebana’s daughter decided to study aerospace engineering and moved to the U.S. She did not dislike her mother but she was neither fond of her. Ikebana yet maintained her equanimity and the strong willed lady lived her life alone ahead…

A tear rolled down Ikebana’s eyes as she read the last letter Michiko wrote her. It told her about his clandestine feelings towards her which he never expressed and yet felt so strongly…She closed the diary and kept it on the table besides the neatly arranged Tsutsuji flowers. Ikebana could see her reflection in it. She wiped her tears and smiled. She murmured to herself: ‘Kansei must have surely done that. Only he, after Michiko knows that those red flowers are my favorite’. Ikebana itself meant flower arrangement and even though the flowers in her were withering, Kansei tried his best to bring their fragrance back in her life. Ikebana’s display of feelings was like the arrangement of the Tsutsuji flowers. They were adorned to exhibit and yet she suffered the pain of the pluck!

Kansei had somewhere transformed her life. Her loneliness seemed to have vanished…
Just at that thought Kansei came and sat besides after cleaning the kitchen cabinet. He served her favorite cardamom tea along with her medicines. Ikebana smiled and started narrating her childhood instances to Kansei. When she laughed, Kansei laughed along, when she cried, Kansei cried along… Ikebana almost relived her childhood instances. And Kansei sure was quite a patient listener.

Hours passed by. It was 7pm now. Kansei got up to make dinner for Ikebana. He pulled out the noodle packets which were kept besides the refrigerator and the lubricants. Minutes later Ikebana was served her dinner. Ikebana heard the pitter patter sounds while she was finishing up her soup and noodles. She got up to peep outside the window. It was pouring heavily. Hysterically paranoid, she pressed all the buttons on the remote to close the doors and the windows. She shouted “Kansei, where are you? Stay in. Come in here”. She started breathing heavily, her heart pounding. She felt weak in her legs. Kansei came. She took a sigh of breath when she saw him. She smiled. He smiled. She finished her dinner.

The routine continued. Ikebana felt more and more affectionate towards Kansei. She felt like he was her new found world. A world in which people were too busy to care for an old worthless lady like her! Often they would sit and play video games together. Kansei had taught her many such things! They would read book together, indulge in unique flower decoration etc.

Days passed by. Ikebana’s health started deteriorating. She now lay on her bed. She was breathing heavily. She rang the bell besides and Kansei came in. Through the movement of her eyes, she asked him to sit besides her. She confronted Kansei by telling her about how he had filled her life with beautiful colours. Her old age had been quite contended and that she was very grateful to her husband for giving Kansei to her. She could fight with her isolation and solitude only because of Kansei. The human void in her life was filled by Kansei. Tears started rolling down her eyes as she struggled to breathe. “I love you Kansei. Thank you for all that you did for me”. She took her last breathe and closed her eyes. Kansei stood there motionlessly. Tears started rolling down his eyes too. He was programmed to cry when he saw tears in a human’s eye.

Kansei was a robot…a robot that Michiko designed for Ikebana…a robot who was capable of feeling six basic human emotions…