When I was introduced to Mr.Russell Edson ,I had a feeling we would click and the chemistry between us would flow .For once my intuition was beyond the right of all my wrongs.Russell Edson with his book the Tunnel has not only added more meaning  to my slot of random philosophies than all the philosophers combined  .There has never been any poetry which has made me laugh and say “that’s just too much truth “. He has a way of saying things , a gift of being inane ,absurd and trippy , but what makes him stand out against that stark background of all those people who have published books is that , he makes you think even with the beautiful facade of non sense. To me he is Lewis Carol and Salvador Dali in a single package with the benefits of being high on weed.

As a writer we often have the need to make sense , to set things right in the world , but what if you could not set things in place ? what if all the writing in this world was utter non sense after some “non sense ” made complete sense? I guess there comes a time ,when reading becomes too tedious because you are trying to look at the world through the lenses of our own facades.Maybe if we strip them down to bare minimum, without being a cynic or a realist or an idealist or any other categorization, maybe we would understand the simplicity of minds ,words and their meaning.

I shall leave you with an except from the Tunnel ,to which I connect to on so many levels I cannot even begin where .

The Fall Russel Edson
There was a man who found two leaves and came indoors holding
them out saying to his parents that he was a tree.
To which they said then go into the yard and do not grow in the livingroom
as your roots may ruin the carpet.
He said I was fooling I am not a tree and he dropped his leaves.
But his parents said look it is fall.



I never understood or underestimated them until yesterday when I had a conversation with the known stranger.When you think words are overrated in silence, they act as the tiny window to a giant fortress .You don’t have to rely on them for filling in gaps of silence but let them be a reason for a conversation in silence .To me they are sometimes a superfluous cover to a shallow depths ,and sometimes the undercurrents itself .But in the end  words are perhaps  almost a poetic responsibility ,that I can never imagine kicking away .True or not , the words cage me , but I guess I’m a weird happy prisoner.

For a Friendship that doesn’t exist.


When I woke up today , I woke up with a smile.This wasn’t because of the fresh coffee brewing for a change.I smiled ,just because you were there in my head ,waiting at the station ,and that’s that.I wouldn’t know a loss even if it was staring at me right in my face.But today I remember you as that friend who would have hypothetically made me smile somewhere in the distant future.I also remember you just because I do.

Its been too long since we have made up our minds to see each other in the same light .Our time and space co-ordinates might never coincide with that of place and occasion.Perhaps it doesn’t even matter .Our  friendship is a one  that doesn’t exist in reality .It is much more than that.It is that one fragment of thought that would make me say , I miss you , with that first cup of coffee of the day.

I am a thief .


I am a Thief and there is nothing more to say to it.

I steal trust never to return it back.

I covet that young love that you have ,

but what I need the most is something that you will never give ,

And thus I steal.


I need that sound sleep of pure innocence ,

That I bartered for baubles long ago.

In my world  I was born for this reason  ,

And thus left alone.


There is no guilt inside me ,

No shame either .

I would lie to you without any hither .

I wouldn’t hesitate twice if I had to steal your soul ,

Because in your world ,

You would trade it all for a shiny diamond or a fake coal.


When I would steal ,

I steal with honesty and conviction.

In my world there is a need for a clean heart,

For I promised someone long ago ,

That I would collect at least one before heading to the gates of gore.


Alas, all your souls are as tattered as mine.

For you have also traded your clean heart for a reason.

Sadly when in a different positions ,

When your crisp bills are exchanged at my gates ,

They couldn’t even afford half the measure of self-respect such as mine  ,

For they are tainted with much more than just treason .

Sighing with the Sweeper.


This is here ,because there IS,

With the swish of a broom,

Resonating the thoughts of the doom,

About the bills to pay ,

About the dance to sway to.


The lunch that is packed ,

Feels insipid and crass,

To rest while his hands are in motion,

To bray while the horns make a commotion.


He plasters a smile along with the swish of his broom,

He sits because his footsteps are tied to the loom.

He makes a pretty picture ,

Sitting astray.

Thinking about the love ,who is perpetually  in disarray.


He moons in the daylight,

With the songs of serenade brushing past his mind,

He loathes and yet he prays,

For that one day he wont be swishing his broom away.Image

The truth of Darkness



I just finished watching Night and Fog ,and even though my laptop screen is blank , I am unable to move. The coffee I made earlier is still untouched .In the last 30 minutes of this movie watching I have questioned everything that is REAL for me.So far that it’s the only movie which ever provoked me in the thought process that I haven’t even considered before.The realization that the “pain,anger and frustration ” that I have defined for myself seems intrepid and almost too shallow.

I know that the time of the war is always in juxtaposition with a different dynamics. But to want to see one’s threshold of this facet was something I never knew about me.Our experiments with life are too limited given the way of our lifestyle.The idea of life and death for us is too loosely portrayed. I have never witnessed something so profound or life altering.

It’s strange that we should have the easy way out and not understand the basics of our existence, unless we undergo a series of tests that are more than just about our endurance of pain.The movie has this peculiar feature, it has this matter of fact way at which death is treated.It relays a set of facts without any empathy but these statements don’t sound cold either . But if that kind of coldness and indifference present during the war times  is ingrained in our DNA then I think we are all in this world for a  very long haul.Honestly the movies has too many scenarios that make you cringe or even cry ,but  shying away from the images that the movie prints in your head is easy .I tried facing these images with a steel mind , saying to myself that I’m not the one going through this pain, it’s just the images .Although if truth were to be told (steel mind or not),sometimes facing them head on becomes so overwhelming , that you  have to write to tell it to someone ! I do not know if you even have the idea of the movie ,but it’s so terrible and beautiful at the same time.It actually makes you look into things and not just  see.

I wonder  how would we  see the “self” objectively when we destroy everything about ourselves just so that we can live?

The In-Between of the Glass



“What does it mean to reflect upon a position, a relation, a place related
to other places but with no place of its own: the position of the in-between? The in-between is a strange space, not unlike the
choric space that Plato, in the Timaeus, posed as the condition of
all material existence.”Elizabeth Groz,Architecture from outside

The position of the in-between lacks a fundamental identity, lacks a form, a given-ness, a nature. Yet it is that which facilitates, allows into being, all identities, all matter, all substance.In the big bad and grand  circus of life ,this in between-ness is what keeps us dreary and yet uncharacteristically happy too.This transitions of life and changing of constant lenses from the outside to the inside .

The introspective ,retrospective  and the perceptive thought processes that happen in ones head(at-least in mine )  are the wanderings in between the shadows of incomprehensible ideas.Ideas that remain stagnated in your head because of of fear.Such is the parody of life where we look into the narrow vanishing abyss,enriching ourselves with a warm fuzzy feelings of hope.

Usually when you are in this no zone area ,LIFE seems unreadable .The denial or the acceptance becomes too tedious to think about .Its a trance that most wouldn’t want to ever get out of .I for once, know that being in a constant INSIDE or OUTSIDE of a clique ,a society,relationship , or even oneself  is an overwhelming experience that one might not be able to ever comprehend .Being vague is easy (profoundly interesting too!) but its the essential clarity that is needed for us which  is often too vague.Hence the futility of life runs itself in loops that are too simple to understand and too knotted up to execute.

The C of choices


The disclaimer: The following essay has no relation to anything living or dead. It’s meant to be understood the way its NOT written .This essay is also a by product of a very crazy read of the Dice Man by Luke Rhinehart and Black Swan by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

There is a choice for everything you do in life . Frost wasn’t even being remotely poetic in his attempt to portray  the anguish of the human choices .Since this journey of life that has been charted for us is a long and lengthy one , our memories conveniently morph these difficult ,painful and uncertain instances as happenstances .
It’s easier to translate these choices into oblivion, such that they remain inconvenient truths hidden deep in the necropolis of our lives .Often when I read history I wonder about the moment of decision where these choices have been taken without any sense of certainty of the outcomes in the future .If Vangogh wouldn’t have made a deliberate choices he would never have died early with syphilis to achieve the glorious fame.Even the biblical references of eve’s choices must have had a subtle influence on the rest of humanity .
The question then arises that , do I carry this package of restlessness of a posing a certain finality to a indistinct future as a part if my gene code , or is it just a mere universally accepted way of life ?

A life that  is dependent on these choices for marking the momentary moments of regret and joy .Wouldn’t it just be simpler to de-fragment life into its utter core , strip away all the false emotions that the society forces us to adapt and learn.Then perhaps take a very conscious step towards the unknown , just so that down the lane of history never should it be masked by the word chance , happenstance or serendipity.
Ever question a life without the possibility of making choices ?? How would the human mind work then ?Would acceptance of everything would be taken just as taken for granted in the same way choices are taken ??Or would we all be under the dictatorship of each others acceptance and sort of becoming Chinese products ?? Or would we all drown ourselves into a whirlpool of nonsense , just to make sense out of it  , such that we never understand anything anyways ?? Or are we doing it already ??

Another passing thought :If love is a conscious emotion , then why is it termed to be a stroke if chance or fate ?? Don’t we deserve the credit for the same , instead of the unseen forces ??

Mondegars ,my love !


Its a pitch black night today. The stars are covered by a dark blanket ,her shoes crunch the gravel ,making her hurry her footsteps faster. There is no skip in her step ,her stride almost mechanical.She hunches her shoulders beneath the large worn out overcoat and just races to an unmarked finish line.Her heavy satchel hanging to her side makes no sound either  ,probably its full of wrapped up objects like our dearest memories. The light at the street corner flickers to illuminate a sleepy road.The wind whips her hat away opening the inky curls as dark as the night , somewhere a trash can rattles too. She races past everything ,not bothering to collect her hat or her thoughts for that matter.

The sound of an auto rickshaw fills the air , she hails the rickshaw,hurriedly whispers the direction and gets into it , satchel first.The auto is just as dark as everything else this night. The auto gains an unnatural fast speed as if sensing her urgency.It coils around the winding roads of the hills. It doesn’t occur to her that the auto was moving at the edge of these winding road. All she could think was reaching the destination delivering the satchel.

The auto slips at an edge of the cliff  like a forewarning, but she ignores it. Her mind too busy directing the rickshaw driver and looking at the churning sea,which was brewing its own sea concoction.She couldn’t help but admire such dark violence.

With an uncanny mind of its own , the auto this time slips and topples , suspending everything in mid air for a fraction of seconds that seemed like a lifetime.In those few milliseconds , she uttered prayers and chants , anything to save her from the violent turbulence below. The prayers become obsolete as the darkness dawns on her along with the gravity.

Time passes unknown to her.The sea still remains not satisfied with the sacrifice.She wakes up with a sudden jolt , unmindful of the atheist prayers a few minutes ago .The night still enveloping her .She looks around for the satchel even before she looks at herself. A cry escapes her as the realization strikes her.Her precious belonging is lost, she doesn’t care about the driver or the rickshaw.

Her sobs echoing along with the whirlpool of sea below. Her loss incomprehensible. She had just lost what she most treasured, something that she could never get back .She had so carefully wrapped her memories of love in that satchel as her gift , and now she could never have them back.

The blackness once again engulfs her and so does silence.

I wake up with a jolt, grasping for air ,amidst a cafe full of people, the afternoon chatter .The jukebox playing “fix you ” in the corner. The doodle on the tissue paper blotting away with the condensation of the beer bottles. I look around for that familiar face , that I once sat with .Mistaking the afternoon for another one.I realize with a smile for the first time , that maybe that satchel full of  my memories was for once  gone for good .Image

Coffee breaks with Murakami


I rush to finish the last few editorial changes of a long pending assignment. The coffee pot is brewing the concoction , and I cant wait to get back to the unfinished pages of 1Q84 . Ever since the book arrived as a little surprise , I have been carrying it around like a talisman(and a heavy talisman at that ). I restlessly wait for lectures to get over like a child waiting for the last ring of the school bell so that I could get into the word of Tengo and Amomame .Over the past few days  I religiously  sip my coffee only after I have made sure that the words of Murakami flow in my head again.

I will not divulge into the details of the book ,but I shall tell you this ,Where Orwell sold us the idea of a totalitarian world , Murakami creates a world of make believe , without the orientation of a definite directional space. The characters are real but the world around you isn’t . Sometimes when I sit in my college  lectures , I often feel the disorientation one feels when you suddenly see light.I long to go back to a world where what you see, may or may not be real . The constant thought at the back of your mind while reading this book would be that maybe what you are looking at is a farce and you are the real thing, just like you would look around you twice for the big brother and correct your words of casual doublespeak usage while you were reading 1984.

Its a interesting way to pass your time , to question the whole situation of reality ,lets say repeatedly. Its a beautiful mind game played . There are certain Philosophical lines that makes you want to shout , of course you are real and the surroundings are what they maybe.

Its a draw back of the book that you will look into the night sky and wish to see another smaller moon along with your usual moon.Well right now ,I sound like a lunatic (another set back  post reading the book), but as an architect I now question the spaces around me .Weird ? well its the effect of the two moons.

I shall leave you with this one line from the book, before I finish my coffee , before I return to Tokyo of 1984 ,and before I return to Fuka Eri .Image

“Perhaps at some point ,when my mind was sleeping , somewhere in another space ,the world changed” .