Pages off Life

Bangalore Vistas : A Comic Strip

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sun, 19 May 2013 02:16:51 PDT

My sincere thanks to my beloved friends who stared in my +Arun CS, +Revathy Ganesh, +Rohith Odunghat and +Rupertt Wind.

The Masquerade Party

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Wed, 15 May 2013 03:35:15 PDT

Everything about life is a lie, everyone has a costume and everyone dons a mask. At times I do realize that the only place where everyone is who they are is at a masquerade party when they all don there masks and when they are in the costume and caught in the frivolous act of being someone else.

People have a way of hurting you, a way of disappointing you. When you finally come to believe someone they invariable cheat and dishearten you. Some do not trust you to spill their heart and the ones whom you end up trusting are almost always the devil in disguise. They hurt people for the fun of it or do they even realize that they are hurting people.

I know my words are meddled that is only because my thoughts are too. I am confused and scared, I do not know who to trust and I do not know whether I have any friends at all. I realized that the one’s I thought was there were never really there. All I was seeing was a mirage a happy illusion, a blissful product of a deranged mind. At times I hope I knew not the truth. I hope I knew not the actors behind the characters, they were so nice to me the characters. I just wish that the illusion persists and I never wake up.

It would be blissful to revel in the midst of ignorance and what the ancients have come to call as the ‘Maya’.

Trust me truth hurts, why I do not know. I do not know why they have to do what have done. They may have their reasons and though I wish I could see the good in them…

I can’t, I just can’t.

I feel lost that’s the truth and I do not know what to do or what to think, All I want to do is cuddle into a ball and sit against the wall and cry like a little girl. I just wish I could cry and make it all go away.

I just had to tell someone this, Thanks guys for listening. It means a lot that there is someone who would listen to me whine away.

Womanhood

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 21:38:33 PDT

How can I write about womanhood? That is the first question that popped in my head when my mind wandered on to this topic for my next post. How can I ever write authoritatively about womanhood? I do not know what it takes to be a woman; I do not know what womanhood entails. Whatever I say I have to be blunt and distant, I can’t even pretend to know that I know everything about womanhood because I am not a doctor either. I have read the books, I have did my research and in the general being of womanhood I have a fairly good theoretical understanding of the way the machinery works but does that make me an authority on the subject and for that matter does it even make me qualified to talk about it?

The answer is that I can write about womanhood but not form a woman’s perspective but from that of a man, I can say and write about what womanhood means to a man. I can talk about the envy and wonder that a father feels at the birth of his child, I can talk about the despair and sadness a son feels at the death of his mother. I can talk about the magic of love and the hopes that a husband expects his wife expects from him. But greater than all this I can talk about what the many special woman in his life means to a man and what he would be reduced to when they evanesce from his existence.

When someone asks me what I see as the greatest of god’s gift to woman, I can think of only one answer, the ability to give birth. To be able to create something so magnificent and miraculous just from a tiny cell. I know that the journey is painful and at times almost bordering on anguish, I understand this though I could never venture far enough to feel the agony myself or to accept it in its true intensity. But I believe that it does all makes sense to her when she gets to touch her child, when the soft skin of her baby brushes against hers, when the first cry of the child beats down on her heart like a beautiful symphony. I believe that then all the pain and suffering seize to matter and the wonder of life overwhelms her and love like a miraculous medicine heals everything then and there. But what can a man do then but to witness this miracle unfold in front of him in awe and wonder like a distant observer. All he can do is try to understand what has just happened and try to fathom the intensity of the reality in front of him.

I have friends who weep every month for having being born a woman, alas if only they understood the true purpose in its all enormity. Sometimes I think they do, sometimes I think they are losing it. I for one do believe that this thing balances out all the suffering that a woman has to endure and transcend to reach that moment. Some of you may take to support me and some of you may not. I am happy for those who would say that I am right for that means I have got it right, at least some of it and for those who would take the other side of argument I should say that I have no way of knowing what it means for I am a boy, a man and to understand woman and womanhood is no simple task. I try but I know the chance of truly understanding such intense emotions is a herculean task.

Womanhood is not just about giving birth is it? At times I have wondered thanks to my upbringing, how woman are able to suffer so much? This time I am not talking about the physical pains of being a woman but the many emotional pains that they suffer through so effortlessly. I wonder how a mother can commit so whole heartedly to her child, how a wife can be there for a husband every single step of his life, how a daughter can help his father even when she has enough pains on her own to deal with. I have never had a sister so that is something I do not know about and what having a sister means to a brother. The one good thing about the Indian male hypocrisy is that women unlike men gets to spent a lot of time with their family and at times don’t have to bother about anything else and this instigates the formation of such intense relationships that are not often seen anymore.

I have met some very proud woman and I have met some not so proud ones too, but at this day when I celebrate the anniversary of the day my girlfriend became a real woman (if you know what I mean). I must tell you that deep inside I feel much envy and jealousy to the whole of womanhood and I salute the marvelous women in my life for what they are and what them being there means to me.

Have I told you about March?

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 09:54:32 PDT

What is March to me is a far better question than who is March? Do I know march and how do I know march are even better questions and quite frankly I can’t answer the later duo, simply because I do not know the answers to them. March is an enigma to me, a bewildering and mind blowing puzzle. The truth is that she never existed and if she did her existence was more ethereal that the mirage in the mid-day sun. She exists and she doesn't at the same time, She is and she is not at the same time, yet she persists like a ghost upon my memory, entangling me into the abysmal oblivion of not knowing who she is and why she came into my life and whether she came into my life at all or is it all nothing but the delusions of a deranged mind?

Any story or any sentence about March must be abstract and shall only be abstract not because I intent to protect the identity of an otherwise domineering public presence from stigma but because she is as elusive to me as she is to you by these abstract words. Her existence for me is just as abstract and doubtful. There are times I scrutinize my sanity for what had happened that fateful day when destiny played the tune of fate going rogue.

I saw her, her eyes pierced into mine like the splinters from a shattered shell. Hungry for vengeance they struck me deep and painfully in the depths of my tattered heart. I cried in unheard agony when the heavens itself must have turned deaf that day. Then she smiled at me her smile spreading inside my body like death upon a famished being and bestowing me with a warmness of the ultimate awareness. Alas disappointment again waits for me, the most peaceful of seconds ceased to exist soon enough as all good things. She came and she went in a fragment of time that was far too small that between dream and reality the lines began to blur.

The truth is that I do not know whether I had lived through March or not, I do not know whether March is an enigma or a truth like the lives under the sun. But what march was and what I know March to be, is that march is the beacon of light from a domain unknown that signaled to me that all is not lost and life is yet to exist. March showed me in the twilight between life and death, between despair and hope, between dream and reality that my destiny is yet to be written and my gardens of love are yet to see the spring.

More From this Series : My Long Love Story
January
February Part I
February Part II

Different and Flawless : Tantra by Adi

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 01:11:44 PDT

Tantra the action packed story of a stunningly ravishing and vampire hunting New York city girl named Anu Agarwal, who moves into the sprawling city of Delhi in search of some answers and a couple of blood suckers to kill is both unique and predictable. The narrative is flawless and as Adi takes every reader on a nail biting journey through the alley ways and rooftops of a historic city with some old and set habits. The city offers her an entirely different challenge from what she was used to back in New York. She finds her enemies to be her allies and innocent children to be the price their unholy alliance. She finds powerful enemies, greater weapons and more importantly some answers and more questions to find answers to.

The story is a good and unique one and the narration is insidious, one tends to lose track of time as the story unwinds slowly and painfully. Though the twists are not expertly executed they are not dull or predictable for that matter.The lack of a strong prologue haunts the story as readers are often at a loss when it comes to the why part of most things in the story, Adi was not clearly in a mood to explore the past of both Anu and the vampires in the city of New Delhi.The book has enough in it to keep you interested till the very end if you have a thing for adventure and don't mind some more than ugly vampires.

The fall side of the story is that its very predictable when you are done with less than half the chapters and it has not one such twist that could keep the readers guessing. Once the villain is revealed it is only a matter of some chapter before its the end.There are no surprises no drama or not even some real action in it after that point. The story-line is plain and straight forward and taken for granted. One other thing is that for some unknown reasons the author has rushed through the climax way too fast and the whole things ends in a unceremonious ruckus. Thirdly the book lets a lot of questions unanswered even the basic ones that seem to be the very core of the story, in fact the story is not that keen on answering questions as it is on asking them.

The final word is that if you are looking for a one time read that would take your mind of many a mundane stuff in life, then Tantra by Adi is a very good choice. Its hearty, light and full of adventure and lets you easily be lost in the underworld of Delhi among vampires, magic and some super cool 'Tantric' stuff. But if you are that person who would prefer substantial quality to the books they read and is not at all into a the less classic ones then do keep your distance and find another book to read. This is strictly for a reader who is at leisure and is not much obsessed with everything literary about it.

Some Specs as given in FLIPKART
Publisher	Apeejay Stya Publishing
Publication Year	2013
ISBN-13	9788190863629
ISBN-10	8190863622
Language	English
Binding	Paperback
Number of Pages	344 Pages

This review is a part of the biggest Book Reviews Program. for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

The Farewell

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 00:03:04 PDT

I don't know why there is a little moist tear drop dancing on my eyelashes, I don't know why there is a sudden feeling of heaviness upon my heart. Did I love them so much to inflict such stranger gloom on my being. I thought I was immune to all these, I have trained my mind to outlive it. I suppose I failed, I have only god to thank for it.

I know I will meet the best of my friends again, they will always be there in my circles for ever to the grave. But why do I miss the others the jokers who made every lecture a little a little less than a comedy circus and the silent ones who have been forever confined to the oysters they live that it was much difficult to acknowledge their existence. Why do I miss the buildings and the pathways, the secret gardens and the little parks. Why do I miss the four walls we call classroom and the the four years they consumed?

May be I know why, may be I am yet to find out the real reasons. The truth! I am not sure I want the truth, it may not be that easy to know the truth, that is my fear. I don't know how many years it will be since we the gang will meet again and I am not sure whether we will for that matter. Oh God! Let that be not true, let there be no daemons lurking in my worst fears.

The college has given me the best years of my life, something that will be eclipsed by only the first cry of my first born. I have come to believe in life I again and the beauty of it's existence, the tangles of destiny and the crossing of our many paths. Then there is an end for everything, all I wish is that let this be not it, let this be not the time of the drought. Let this be just an autumn preceding a very beautiful spring.

The Priest, The Rabbi and The Minister Joke

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 03:58:29 PDT

A rabbi, priest, and minister walk into the bar. They sit down at one end, and the rabbi says, "Want to hear what I did this weekend?" The other say, "Sure."

The rabbi, whose name is Abraham, continues. "I talked with my congregation about the importance of circumcision. Our God is a God of the Covenant, and we are the people of that covenant. When we circumcise, we are literally 'cutting a covenant' in the flesh. This physical mark reminds us of who we are and to Whom we belong. It's about personal and communal identity. I am part of the divine Covenant. We are part of the divine covenant together. We are not, and never will be, alone."

The priest and minister nod together and say, "very nice." Then the priest says, "Do you want to hear what I did this weekend?" The others say, "Sure."

The priest, whose name is Peter, continues. "I talked with my congregation about the importance of liturgy. Liturgy isn't just 'meaningless ritual.' When we participate in liturgy, we are participating in an eternal story. In the beginning God calls us into being as a people. It is in community that God transforms us. It is in community that God nourishes and empowers us. It is out of community that God sends us to become enfleshed grace for others as we live out the story of Jesus in the world."

The rabbi and the minister nod together and say, "very nice." Then the minister says, "Do you want to hear what I did this weekend?" The others say, "Sure."

The minister, whose name is Paul, continues. "I preached about the importance of Scripture. The Bible is the Word of God, inspired by God to grant unto us real guidance in this and every age. It is a timeless book that bears witness to an eternal truth. And the most important thing that it does as the Word of God in text is to point us to the Word of God en-fleshed Jesus Christ, the Son of God, Savior of the World. It is the Bible, filled with divine prophecy and wisdom, that leads us to take Jesus into our hearts so that we do not find ourselves ultimately lost.

The priest nods and says "very nice." The rabbi shrugs and says, "Meh, whatever."

The bartender walks up the the three religious leaders. He asks the rabbi, "Abraham, need anything?" The rabbi says, "Yeah, I'd like a brandy." The bartender pours some brandy into a glass and slides it to him.

Then the bartender looks at the priest and asks, "Peter, need anything?" The priest says, "Yeah, I'd like a glass of wine." The bartender pops the cork on a bottle and pours out a glass of wine and slides it to him.

Then the bartender looks at the minister and asks, "Paul, need anything?" The minister says, "Yeah, I'd like a beer." The bartender pulls the tap and fills a mug full of beer and slides it to him.

The bartender then takes all their plastic and places it by the register, for at the end of the day they will pay whatever tab they run up.

Then the bartender goes down to the other end of the bar where another man sits. The bartender slides him a shot of Jameson's alongside a rum and coke, and they begin to talk.

Did You get Joke? Huh?

Me Neither :(

All help accepted!

Disclaimer : Joke as Found on Evolving Christian Faith

The First Book I ever Read

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 03:41:32 PDT

‘The first book I ever read’… Hmm… That is a misleading topic as any that I could have for this little essay. It ought to be called the ‘First book I remember I ever read’ or to be more precise ‘The first book I ever read that I remember and that I consider a book’. But look at them they are ugly title for any essay, in fact they are so ugly that I myself would not read such an hideously titled essay if I ever got myself to write such an hideously titled essay. So let us stick with ‘The First Book I ever Read’ It may not be precise but it still is a better title.

So…

The first book I ever read was an Enid Blyton Classic and I must thank my class mate, bench mate and then best friend who prefers to be called by the name Sam Rave much to my wry (Look who is talking) for introducing me the wonderful world of fantasy that the world of letters could erect. I still remember the tattered and much dilapidated book that he had in his hand one day. I still remember the musky aroma of the antique pages, its wonderfully faded shade and little termite ridden edges. That for me still is the genuine experience of reading. The torn covers and the crinkles that crisscrossed the illegible front cover. I remember asking him the book, I remember taking it home, I remember opening the book and I remember the aged smell of wisdom drowning me. That day I was lost to reality.

I went on to read every one of the books in Enid Blyton’s Famous Five Series and then other series and ten more serious books, then came classics, then literature, philosophy, then contemporary, then art and then poems and then I was as much part of the world of letters as ink and inkpot was. The cozy world of carefree fantasy that he has unwittingly introduced me has changed me forever. So much so that my mother and my soon to be wife will have quite a few bones to pick with him, if ever he got too close to them. I was in love by the time I turned to the last page of that book, I had fallen in love, so much in love that within ten minutes I had my nose buried in another Enid Blyton fantasy. He was quite a match maker I guess.

The first book I read was ‘Five on a Treasure Island’ and I have never stopped smiling since, never stopped dreaming since the day I turned the cover and smelled in the musky air of letters.

The Things we take for Granted

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 00:38:22 PDT

A sun and the moon, the rain and the clouds that bring it, the flowers that bloom in the spring and the leaves that falls in autumn. The life as we know it, the people we love and even love itself, the buildings that surround us and the people that inhabit them. The food we eat and the water we drink, the air we breathe and even the planet we inhabit. It’s just mind boggling the amount of things we take for granted, the things we never doubt or the things that we for not one moment think that there may come a time when the will cease to exist. At times I wonder how men can be so oblivious at others I feel that it’s the whole point of living.

When I was seeing a little ad recently it dawned on me, the amount of things that we take for granted as in fact very big dreams for many people. There are people who miss an lack the basic pleasures and even necessities of lives. When we live our life in opulence we forget the plight of the less fortunate ones. There was a time when I was obtuse enough to believe that what I had was what I deserved and the ones who did not have it simply did not deserve it. How wrong I was! But life tends to catch up with you, in this case all I had to do was open my eyes and I could see how stupid I was to have lived all my years in a rather small oyster.

But when I came out, when I saw the world and what was happening there, when I met people who were not like me, when I talked to them, shared a laugh with them and cried with them in their sorrows. I realized that I was wrong, so very wrong to have thought that they deserved less. In fact the truth is that most of them deserve a whole lot that what I do. There are children who have never known what a birthday is when I have celebrated my each birthday twice and trice. There are people who have not had a decent meal in their lives even when I have wasted food and never bothered to give it another thought.

There are moments in life, moments of greater clarity and purpose. Moments of recognition and realization, moments when you realize your wrong and see the path forward, these are moments that happens in every man’s life whether he decides to act on it or let it pass is a call that he alone has to make and the consequences however big or small he alone has to accept. This was for one of such moments when I realized my place and act in the world and when I realized the little good things in life. I wanted to say I learned something but I guess it’s too early and going a bit too say to say that. I guess only time will tell what it has done to more or if it has done anything at all to me.

Bonds to Cherish

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 05:52:11 PDT

It is possible that in the tumultuous lives that we all live, so full of twist and turns and not so happy endings, we may lose sight of who we are and what we are. These are the times that we truly question ourselves aren’t they. I am not here to lecture on what we ought to do and or suggest ways to cope with things that I have no idea of. But I can safely say that in thee difficult times it is our friends and family that keeps us together. That keeps us from falling into pieces. These are the people who have feed you those memories whose hand we take when the going gets tough; they have given us days by which we can swear that the times were better.

There are many bonds in life that are far too valuable to be neglected. The bonds those are inexpensive yet invaluable. The bonds that make you want to strive to be a better person every second of every hour of every day. In life we seldom comes across people that stick for the long, some become your wife, others become your best buddies and sometimes we are blessed with blood relations that are the best in the world. Sometimes we get brothers who would die by you and parents who would swear by you, not always but yet sometimes they do happen. Even for the less fortunate ones among us we get to be with friends who are just as intimate as a relation, if not more.

I myself has been lucky, for I have not found just one, but a bunch of them. In fact I have found half a dozen of them in my college life. I consider myself far too lucky in this regard. One among them became the person with whom I have decided to share the rest of my farting and the not so better part of myself with. The others would hitherto be my best men and women for the rest of life, godfathers and god mothers for the my, sorry, our children. Uncles and aunts who they will adore , the kind I will have a hard time preventing from spoiling my children.

When I walked up the stairs of this building with hardly a small back pack and an half-filled pen, with dreams that were taller that the tallest skyscrapers. I for one did not see this coming. I did not believe that I would be making buddies that will last a life time. But I made a bunch. I did not believe in love, yet I found the perfect girl. I had reservations for my future, yet it has never ever looked so promising. For what it’s been worth , The time I spend with my friends , squalling and trashing, fighting and abusing, loving and caring, looking out for one another and not. Those endless hours I have spent in there company gossiping. The insidious love and the improper infidelity. These were the best days of my life.

Great moments are born from great opportunity. That's what you have here, tonight, boys. That's what you've earned here tonight

I remember this quote today, because four years back I was presented with a great opportunity , an opportunity to make friends with best and most amazing individuals in the world, and thank god you made me grab it and make great memories of them.

Memoirs of another Era

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 23:49:19 PDT

To the eyes of a two year me, life was rater different from what it is now. It was full of magic and everything was a kaleidoscopic in its own nature. I have no real memory but rather flashes of it, vestiges of a memorable time popping up like bubbles in a champagne glass. These are not memories that I can make any sense of but are rather distinctive and certainly not very descriptive in nature. I don’t remember all of them ( I was just a couple of years old, my brain was still finding places to keep stuff and had other serious problems like food and potty to bother about) but I do remember a few of them and of course one of them has a lot to do with braids.

When I started thinking about braids and what the to write about them, frankly I was turning blank, with the very little hair that I myself has that was no surprise. That’s when I realized that I should stop being a stupid narcissist and concentrate along another lines. I donned my thinking hat on and started thinking what thoughts braids inspire in me. One thought, rather one memory stood out of all. It was that of a two year old me, the hazy vision of the dangling braids all in sepia like in any good flashback from a beloved part of my life. I could see through the baby eyes of mine the life that was in and around me.

The first of the visions that I remember has my mother’s face in it, much younger and with much less wrinkles, so much younger and carefree than I ever remember her. I could faintly hear her smiles as she cajoled me. I could feel the delight in her giggles as I hung on to her braids and carried out various scientific experiments on like, biting, tasting, pulling and what not. I can remember the cries of utter delight that I let out and the immediate effect it has on my mother’s face. I remember watching the smile that reciprocate on her face, her eyes lighting up as if she was beholding something miraculous n her hands. Something that only a mother can feel for her son I guess.

Every one of my memories of my grandmother has something to do with braids. I have seen beautiful pictures of my ravishingly beautiful grandmother at my home. She had a very long braid, so beautiful were they, But that not the one that I remember. By the time I was born she had lost the blackness of her hair and her braids were no longer that strong but I can say that they would put most girls to shame. I remember I her braids, much before she lost it to old age and its ailments. It was like a silver thread, so beautiful; I can even remember seeing them shine brightly in the sunlight. The little me was so fascinated by the games her braids would play with the light, I would try chasing it, jumping on it and everything else I was capable of them.

I don’t know whether I could go on and say that braids has done a lot to my childhood, or that it played an important part in my younger years. But I can say this that though I have no braids, braids have featured in some the most cherished of my childhood memories. My memory of my mother when I was little was one the most beautiful memories that I have of my mother, a personal favorite, one among the very few where I remember her as carefree and elated. Huh! Memories sometimes that is all that we may have for ourselves. My only wish is that these memories be real and not just a product of my runaway imagination.

Story written for : Beautiful Ends to your Beautiful Braids!

The Words of the Prophet on Children - Khalil Gibran

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 08:20:49 PDT

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,

but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children

as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might

that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

The first time I heard these words, it was in the television while I was in my room. though I came running out to find, who what and why of it, it was gone. It was years before I would ever encounter these words again. It was not because I searched less or in sources that were somehow limited, but the first few words were what I was left with and with that I had to searched. They may be true but I searched and continued to do so. Then one day when I least expected, in a place I least expected I ran into the book that because of its sheer petiteness that I chose to read it. And Voila there they were the same words, in all its majesty there they lay. So true and so profound and here I share it with you the words that I so loved and searched for during much of my life.

The Short and Splendid February – Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 08:32:21 PDT

The First Part

Then as they say one thing led to another and before I knew it we were in love. We used to chat a lot, it was the time I understood the use of social media for the first time for teenagers, we shared secrets and partook on gossips we discussed and we talked and what not. Slowly we both got our mobile phones and we talked even more, calling each other for the slightest most insignificant matter and then talking about it for hours on end. Yes! This must be love, or so I thought.

But things started falling part slowly, destiny sometimes has its way of finding you and give you something you really need it takes away something that are yours and sometimes thing that you really want. With February days stated getting cloudier and nights humid, she started getting insecure and that manifested and possessiveness. I started feeling suffocated and slowly and steadily the relationships became a chore that neither of us liked to do. The hour long calls remained hour long but we were no longer talking, we were fighting about something or the other and then making up. The thing about love is that there are a definite number of times you can make up after that it all goes south.

I wonder whether what happened had a lot to do with our personal challenges, the school was getting to a close, the graduation exams were but a couple of months away, everyone wanted a good college, maybe we felt that this was distracting us from our future, may be felt unsure of what to do next with us. A high school romance is a good thing only if you have the means to carry it forward. I was more of an under achiever in my school, never worked hard and I sometimes feel that had I worked a bit harder I would have been somewhere else but I don’t want to be somewhere else now. Where I am right now I am the happiest person alive in the subcontinent.

As our conviction in each other and the relationship started becoming more jaded, it finally started falling apart and one day over the phone we agreed on something after a very long time. We agreed that each other is not what we want; we agreed that a relationship that goes not forward is not what any one would ever want. And thus over the phone we broke up. This time I did not feel sad I was not depressed and I was not sulking about it. But after a very long time I breathed in freedom, I embraced relief and I acknowledged happiness. That night I slept peacefully.

I wonder now why it happened; I wonder why I felt happy that day. Did I make a mistake falling in love with her? The answer was not for me to know then but later in life at one point I felt most thankful to February than any other person in the world. One night I knew that fate had intended it and that was a lesson I had to learn for what destiny had in store for me.

And thus faded away February, we saw each other a couple of times after that night but we never talked then in person. Later after years we mended our wounds, laughed at our mistakes and our childish stupidity and at our admirable effort at something that we both now know had no chance of survival ever. We were both so much different fundamentally. At we parted ways as friends and good comrades rather than two spiteful and angry people. Alas what a February it was. But I must it was one hell of an experience and a supreme lesson in love.

My love life is not over there is a lot more to come, keep reading...

Some things about January.

The Selfish I, A Poem

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sat, 09 Mar 2013 08:24:17 PST

Oh mighty lass, taker of all vows, Oh redeemer of the innocent bliss.
Your dormant might, the powerful roar and the humility of a deserving king.
The soothing tunes played in your court and the chills of a true being.
The presence of lightness in thy life and the jingle of a rather light heart.
The slow caress of your hands and the spectacles that you show.
The way the great moon embellishes you and the joy of such a beautiful sight.
The secrets that you cared to share and the ones that you hid in the depths.
The love and the life you nurture, the greatness of your bitter silence.
The softness of your gardens and its beauty sans the green.
The days, the hours and the seconds you took and the memories you gave.
The tears you let dry on my face and the very pains you soaked.
Yet today I come again to sit in your citadel and let you wash my sorrows again.
For all that has been done and said, I come again the selfish I.

The Short and Splendid February – Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 08:34:48 PDT

January was good, but it ended on a sore note. You must be expecting a detailed account of what happened between January and February, but I must disappoint you in this matter. It was not good and for most parts rather ugly and let’s just leave it at that and continue forward. The end of January started for me a rather solemn and modest period, I was lost most of the time in thoughts and all I could think of was the beautiful days I had in my memories. I cried and wept over the shattered dreams and with each passing day I was becoming more dilapidated. The seasons changed and I didn't know and the flowers bloomed and I didn't care and finally I had gathered too much dust that I had forgotten myself in a solemn corner of my life.

But, one day I did wake up and one day I had to tell myself that I had to choose. I reminded myself that I had the choice between a ‘life of gathering dust in a corner’ and one where I could just go out and live life as it comes. ‘Carpe Diem’, that’s the choice I made.

It was over an year later that I seriously started having a life, that is the amount of time it took me to forgo the once beautiful dreams that had now came back to haunt me. The nightmares ones broken dreams make are horrendous, almost sinister in intent. The number of sleepless nights had reduced greatly and I must have had my first good night’s sleep around that time. But some people never learn and I am one of them. Due to this particular weakness of mine I had let in my life another somebody.

PS: If you feel completely lost please refer my previous post. It will help you catch upon the misery.

It was by a rather off chance that I let February in my life. How it happened is still much fuzzy to me. She was always there, I must never have had seen her yet or I may just not have noticed or rather cared to notice. Then as the days unfolded and as I stared coming out of my self-inflicted hermitage and started cherishing the world around me, we met. We met, we talked, we became friends and then something clicked and due to my tenacious friends and their perseverance in seeing to it that I hook up with someone the idea got planted in our heads I guess. Over the next year and a half we bonded, it was not like the first time I was in love, this was different.

She was smart and she was pretty but the best thing is that she was shorter than me. The most trouble I have with girls is that they apparently happen to be taller than me or they appear to do so, which is not a very good thing when you are out looking for company. But February was the perfect size in that regard, being friends was easy, it just happened and not much work was necessary neither did I intended to do any at that point in time, but being in love was a whole lot different. The way it happened is that one day she asked what I was going to give her for Valentine’s Day and I asked her what she wanted. She resorted to a shy and sly smile as an answer and knowing her so well by then I knew what was in her mind and I was happy that it was the same thing as in mine. Strange ways that love works, huh!

To be continued, keep reading

My Long Love (His) Story : The Tale of January

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 08:31:41 PDT

‘The Beginning’ or as I like to call it ‘The Tale of January’

There are no preludes, no forwards and certainly no prologues. But maybe, just maybe I will add an epilogue. Sure I will add an epilogue. How hard can that be? Right? So here is my little long love story from the beginning, I mean from the very beginning.

The first time I ever fell in love with any person or got anywhere close to being in love was at the age of ten, eleven perhaps. But even before that I was associated with girls but that can only be classified as the ones I liked or the ones my friends liked to associate me with. The problem can be rather simply be stated as I had no idea what it was to be in love. What can you expect out of a boy whose age is less than ten and all the ideas about love that he has ever had has been fuelled by movies. But when at the age of eleven I met this girl (let’s call her January), I knew it was something different and altogether ‘out of this world’. But things with January where not that easy and not to mention that I was totally an amateur in the matter of relationships. I must confess that the years that were to follow where enough to realise the rather accomplished stalker in me. But it took me over four years of conscious effort to gather the courage to speak to January. Even after that I was scared to hell of losing her by my one off handed remark. Things looked good or at least from my perspective it did to me. At the end of the fourth year I was so much into January that I and January was like… Hmm… Republic Day and January perhaps.

Then came the judgement day, the day I was to propose to her, I am not going to give you much insight into the way and manner of my proposal for the fear of being prosecuted and thrown to the deep pits in hell by the other sex in general and may be some rather too romantic males. But I did propose and I did it as sweetly and charmingly as I could, given the immediate circumstances and the strange and unaccounted seismic activity that persisted through my body the whole day. But through broken words and longs sighs and a trembling hand I did propose and was in elated to a land beyond heavens when January accepted it with the sweetest smile I have seen on her beautiful face. But fate has other plans and trust me it makes twists that makes most fighter pilots throw up. The next when she met I knew that something was wrong and she came to me, stood next to me looked me in my eyes and said “My mother says I can’t and so I can’t”. It took me some time to gather what she meant and before I could say anything she was gone and thus In a matter of less than a day my love life had experienced both success and heartbreak and with that ended the month of January and the first love of my life.

I can’t tell it was a total mayhem, but there were lessons that I could take from that one experience, of course I was too heartbroken to see anything at first and I imploded into myself for a long time and trust me February was not such a short month as it would seem to some people. My life from then took a lot of using to for my friends, but these days are the sole reason I started writing. I would never have risen had I not fallen that badly. The lessons from that one day took me over a year to learn and as each time I relieved that which is still do but with significantly less frequency, I learned a lot and I will leave it that.

The epilogue as I promised commences. One must understand that if I took the initiative to call my first girlfriend as January then there must be others to follow, Hence you need not look furlong for this long love story has a marvelous ending , one that ends in its own merit. No matter what happens and what angel one meets in his days to come the first love of his life shall forever be remembered. The days I spent dreaming of our future, the hours I waited for her sight, the seconds I spend with her and the whole world that danced to the tune of my romance. I remember each with a gratitude that is unassertable. If this story does has a happy ending, it is she who made me see it and if I never had loved January I would never have realized the love of my life when she came in friend of my eyes, I would never have understood what her smile signified and what her manner conveyed. It is with the sincerest gratitude that I remember our days or rather my days and our half a day.

What came after January.

Unfinished Chapters

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 17:40:24 PST

There are some chapters that are never meant to be written, some words that are too heavy for the quill. There are things that one cannot write no matter how much you have to say and how much you intend to write it. But often these are things you will remember life by, often these are the things that make life bearable. When you feel the sand under your feet wash away may be these are things that would make you want to live and forbid losing hope, simple things, small insignificant things that would make more sense when the whole world starts fading away. May be that's what life is, may be that's how life is meant to be.

Friendship... is not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything.

Muhammad Ali

Mindless Bickering

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 20:59:42 PST

At Very few times do one find himself at the precipice, times when his tenacious adherence to all things decay invariably leaving one bare, naked and vulnerable. The truth about these times are simple, they are times of great conflict, times of great understandable commotion. That's the truth about though it may take shapes and forms that are not immediately perceivable not even noticeable by common observation. It would often take great pain and lethal amounts of persistence to find the simplicity of most of humanity's troubles. One has to stop and ponder without bias to realize the simple things.

But where so we have the time for a little self-enquiry in this supposedly busy world. In fact the numero uno item one must ponder is what is that they are so busy searching. Most of the pleasures of life that most people seek can be found where they already are. Again looking is the problem, we are so happy and satisfied by search and pursuit that we invariably forget to look.

Then again as I was saying before being carried away my irresponsible stream of thoughts or thoughtlessness, when facing humongous and humbling crisis we cease to search and we start to look and hitherto we find. It precisely because of this simple reason that we remember life as a sequence of great events and not as a continuous stream of divine motion which it is meant to be. Why do we feel not one bit impulse to document these great personal feats? why not write then down and stop bothering?

I believe that these moments are often deprived of meaning and devoid of sense but to the person of its origin, almost like my mindless bickering that you are by the pure merit of your tenacity is reading through. When confronted by truthful delirium one reacts not on accord of one's training but by merit of one's nature and by it alone.

If you are looking for a conclusion of any nature, I go out to remind you that as the title of this particular essay ( of sort ) goes this is just a mindless bickering, it can't have a solid conclusion nor any reasonable reason for its existence.had it had one it would have become a traitor to its on end. Wouldn't it? I would just leave it that and leave you to pick up the pieces.

The New Year Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sun, 30 Dec 2012 20:47:10 PST

These are bad times gentleman, the world seems to be to frail a place to live in. For a second it did seem that the Hollywood proclaimed Mayan prophecy was right after all, with impending social doom resonating from all cardinal directions. At times we feel bereft of all sanity, such is the hope and happiness of today, jaded and desolate.

But every year is a new year, every beginning a new beginning and though the horizon looks bleak now we can hope and we can believe that a time of bliss will unfold. We can hope for a day the world's women can walk freely without the fear of cannibals, we can believe in a day when the children of Haiti can eat a full meal and smile their innocent smiles. We can dream of an era sans guns and bombs where all men can sleep peacefully. We can believe in a tomorrow that is worthy of humanity and is bright and colorful as the world of fairy tales This friends is my wish and prayer for the year to come.

HAPPY NEW YEAR FRIENDS

Simple and Sensible : Once Upon the Tracks of Mumbai - Rishi Vohra

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Wed, 26 Dec 2012 21:10:01 PST

The candid caricature of a bereft man, a man in the cusp of manhood, his dreams, ambitions and his frustrations. When through purely accidental circumstances he turns out to be the super hero that the metro was craving, it means an opportunity for him to express himself for the first time in front of a society that has for so long ignored his existence. Rishi Vohra's Once upon the tracks of Mumbai is an inquiry into the mental dilemmas of such a man.

It is only true that occasionally we discover ourselves and rediscover ourselves in this master work of his. The truth being that Railman is just as identifiable to me as I am to me. Every teen who has had his heart long for justice in these troubled times has a Railman inside him who goes around kicking the ass of those villains. But when Babloo finds himself becoming Railman, he experiences an acceptance the society was unwilling to give his true self, making him believe that being Railman was the reason for his being. The fall of his ideal being causes much confusion that poor Babloo finds baffling.

The story of how Babloo deals with all the problems of his life, from love to social acceptance and the moment of clarity that he experiences teaches us more about us than about Babloo. In a way Once upon the tracks of Mumbai is more about self than anything else. A good book, simple and sensible is a book worth reading and has a small feel good factor about it. Hence Rishi Vohra's Once upon the tracks of Mumbai is an official Rupertt wind recommendation.

50 Books in 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sat, 22 Dec 2012 05:53:11 PST

I Read 50 books in 2012, Yes baby, FIFTY. And thanks to Goodreads.com, I have been able to keep track of it.

I took upon the challenge in July, so I was trailing by a big margin. actually huge is the word. But somehow I made it. I must be thanking good reads for rekindling my love for the dusty pages. :)

You must all try The good reads challenge. It would do you a ton of good.

So there goes the list of the fifty books I so voraciously consumed.

Rupertt's bookshelf: read

Rupertt Wind's favorite books »

Bang Bang, Gang Bang

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 18:56:38 PST

Okay, this is not a porn site. So all those who came here looking for a quick wack and something cheesy, just go back from where ever you have come. If you are still sticking around, then don't be disappointed at the end, if you are then I will have to go all "I told you so" on you. Though I don't hate doing it, I am sure you would. So that's brings us to the questions " what's with the cheesy title? Rupertt". I thought this would give me a few extra pageviews. Just kidding... The real reason is that's what I wanted to do when I heard of the gang rapes in Delhi, go all bang bang on the gang bangers.

I am pretty sure that most of you have heard something or the other about these gruesome incidents in the Indian capital. For those who, who hasn't, I will give a quick recap. A girl was traveling in a bus with her male friend, her boyfriend, colleague, just friend I don't know, not the point here though. So the bus also had some shady characters in it, starting with the bus driver and extending to a couple of passengers. So they starts taunting her, the male friend interjects. He gets beaten up ( awesome guts dude ) and then they go on to rape her and later dumps them some place. Sorry, I can't give a blow by blow account of what happened, principally because I don't know. But if you need to know just Google "Delhi gang rapes", it's huge news you can't miss it.

It is not actually breaking news that the Indian youth is sex starved, yes prejudiced mothers your son and daughter are too. I just exited teen age statistically, I know all the less than civil fantasies that rampage their tender minds, all because I harbor them too. I know how dangerous their intentions can be, because I know how dangerous mine is. I am not your occasional rapist, I wouldn't do that or so I believe. Even if I don't trust my intentions, I trust my upbringing and I have all faith in my rationale. But the point is this if I harbor such infidel thoughts, what would a less disciplined mind house, I can only guess with much terror.

What we must investigate is the root cause of all this evil, okay proprietors of child marriage, wait! You are not helping. We must try to understand the sexual need of today, I can tell you that it does not one bit good to look upon today's sexuality with the conservative eyes of yesterday. Today's youth knows more of sexuality than you would know in a lifetime. The progressive Indian teen who is exposed to the freedom of sexual expressionism prevalent in the western way of life cultivates in him a desire for such freedom. Freedom once tasted leaves a hangover spanning a lifetime and inculcates a strong desire to achieve it. This desire when suppressed by the Indian way of life and it's taboos does what a pressure cooker does to its contents. Some become submissive others rebel.

But even when that underlines the injudicious way the teenage India's mind works, it still does not justify its misdemeanors. It is not supposed. What I stated is not a justification but a problem and its anatomy. What we need to do to counter such onslaught of civil and cultural unrest is what we have to look into. One may argue for more stringent punishment for these vile creatures. It sure will serve as a better deterrent but doesn't really solve the problem does it? Even with the surety of death penalty men will continue to rape women, because they don't think when they rape they just do.

What we should do is not for me to offer with my limited intelligence on bureaucratic red-tap-ism in India. but what I tend to offer as a possibility is what I feel is necessary for the next generation of citizens to know what they hold in terms of civil and civilian responsibilities. I believe a strong and compulsory session must be there in the upper school years when the children are at the most vulnerable from their own sexuality. It is a matter of utmost importance that a teenager be made to understand his sexuality and realize that it is not a taboo. The banner of taboo-ism must at all cost be eliminated from the society so that they wont end up doing shady things in their pursuit of sexual liberty.

I know I don't have much to offer in curbing the criminality in today's men, but I think a safer world for women can be created by tendering to the children who would soon take over this world from us. We have to make them understand that the other gender is to be respected and acknowledged and not to be looked down upon. This must go either way to ensure that we have a new India when gender equality is predominant and is an underlining principle of its existence.

The art of letting go

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Sun, 16 Dec 2012 20:14:54 PST

I have heard people mention several a times that the whole point of life was to let go of it, piece by piece and person by person. To gain many a things through hard labour and then silently watch it being squandered away. The withering away is to life what ever birth and growth will ever be, in fact it is more to life than birth would be. It is what completes and fulfils life. It is the final act of redemption, the last nuance of liberation.

A wise man had once said that a man starts to die the moment he is born, that his life is but a eventful journey to his grave. But life is more than the slow withering away, isn't it? Life is not the indeterminate decaying of self, it is not a subtle dance to death.

During the short tenancy upon this earth it is true that we must at many times learn to let go. Every time something dear and near to us dematerializes, one has to cope survive the vast vacuum it leaves behind. But always the real challenge is to acknowledge it's transiency, even when one knows what that is lost is lost and no longer ones to cry over. The real challenge is to accept that something's no more and no longer worth saddening over.

Hence the art of letting go remains the final art to master. Why we find it so difficult to grasp, must come from the fact that we had all our lives tried to for go the truth and establish its permanence. We always believe that what we have will remain, we always believe that our grandfather who is 95 now and sick over a decade will never die. Thus with futile belief we make a facet and wear it so often that it becomes an integral part of us. It is with attachment that we wield our life and this is the cause of all our great fears.

To learn to let go one must understand that life is more than these bonds. I make no claim of afterlife and nor of some superior understanding of the spiritual realm, all I know is this one life and all my assumptions stems from a need to understand it. When all you have is just one life, it seems inexplicably expensive to waste it in any way. The truth about letting go is hence very selfish in natural. To let go is to take upon one's life a responsibility of one's life, to live it with a greed beyond compare.

The guru granth sahib asks us to celebrate the mystic reunion and not to be sad in the final absolution of a dear one's existence. But to let go is not always about death, more dreadful is it when we have to let go of someone on our own and is not forced upon us. They are by all means necessary and though not as imposing as death may be are still very much necessary. The act of some one leaving for good, not so much as bothering to say farewell is deafening to the soul. Yet you know very well that it is just as necessary.

I pretend not to preach but yet the alien perfection betrays my pretensions What ever it may be and however I say it, the truth about letting go is simple, you simply have to. The art of letting go is hence simple as well, at least in principle. The art of letting go is to refrain from clutching on, it is to let go with entirety and not to force upon one's self the separation. To Let the tide of time unite and dissociate at will. That is the art of letting go.

My Bucket List

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Thu, 13 Dec 2012 20:44:50 PST

Go on a World tour.

Go skydiving.

Go Bungee Jumping.

Go diving.

Publish a novel.

Marry my girlfriend.

Have One million page views on my blog.

Learn Swimming.

Learn to play Guitar.

Publish my poems.

Build a large telescope.

Get a star named after my wife.

Kiss the most beautiful girl in the world.

Go to a renaissance fair dressed as shakespeare.

Go to disneyland.

Build a house and Make it a home.

Win a first place in a indiblogger contest.

Sponsor a child.

Get an aquarium.

Buy a small electric car.

Revamp my philatelic collection.

Change a person's life for the better.

Go on a trip without watch, mobile phone and no map.

Read 500 novels.

New year in Sydney with my wife.

Go to Kailash, bath in Mansarovar

Go to Antarctica

Android Me

noreply@blogger.com (Rupertt Wind) — Thu, 06 Dec 2012 02:15:49 PST

Of course this ain't no tech blog, though I am a geek, I dint bring my work home with me. but the blog is about android...

Hmm... not exactly...

Its about my new phone, Yes you heard it right, I went android too. Smart Huh?

So it happened thus...

My mother who obviously has a lot of money in her hand now, I guess all these talks about global slow down , recessions and a lot of wild bears roaming in the market means very little to a government employee like her.

For those who are unaware of government jobs in India, its like a good damn insurance policy where all you have to do is sit in the office and you are bound to get your salary irrespective of whether you work or not. Its actually good to be a government employee in India. you wont get rich if you are neat and clean but you will never know what poverty is and neither will you know what hard work is.

So back to the story of my phone ....

My mother who obviously has a lot of money in her hand now decided that my phone is from another era and I am lagging behind in society.

Thank god for that, I wonder what took her so long to notice. anyway better late than never.

So in her bid to increase my social stature in a rather highly utilitarian society, she bought me a new android phone.

Before I tell you more about the phone just let me tell you this. Indian mothers don't buy their children anything unless they do something remarkable or if they give them a very hard time and are being impossible to shut up.

So my mother wanted an excuse so badly, that she decided to give the phone as a gift for procuring a new job in a Multi-National Company around half an year back.

Old news right, but not to her. she revived the news made it the talk of the town.

By town we mean a rather small group of her closest friends, whose idea of leisure time is to make tea and chat away the evening on phone discussing everything under the sun from the "impact of FDI relaxations in retail industry" to "Whether Aishwarya and Abhishek are doing it right with their daughter".

By the way my mother is a big fan of FDI, she just cant wait for the first Walmart store to open. Looks like shopping is hidden some where in the female gene. But Abhishek and Aishwarya are not so lucky, They usually get to face the wrath of the mother in her.

Geez... I haven't told you about the phone right...

Its alright i will write another post some other time ... Just kidding ...

So where we were?

Oh! yes.

My mother who obviously has a lot of money in her hand now decided that my phone is from another era and I am lagging behind in society. She contact her friend, who in turn contacted her friends and he in turn contacted a mobile phone dealer he knew and thus poor bastard who happened not to have the particular model procured the phone from a friend of his and handed back to the my mother friend's friend. he gave it to my mother's friend who gave to my mom.

So much ordeal to but phone? I guess she has her own wicked ways of doing things. Whom am I to complain I am the one who got the phone.

So in case you are still wondering what phone I bought and what it has to do with anything I am telling you.

If you really must know its a Samsung Galaxy S Duos. It still smells new ( may not be for long, but still...).

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the article or anything I wrote..

So what its my blog I do as I please... :P

So till I find a new and crazy topic to talk about.... So long

Oh by the way I have a new Signature.... what do you think guys ?