Saturday, December 22, 2007


I am on travel. While travelling I meet many people. I get close to many, I get away from many.

You see someone. Just by seeing the person, you feel you might not like him/her? At the same time, you feel attracted towards some; it might not be just because of the looks.

Have you ever thought why it happens?

You might never have met this person before ever in your life.

Within a blink of eye, our neural network is susceptible to arrive at some judgements which cannot be logically analysed. (Long before, I read something similar to this in Blink by Malcolm Gladwell)

I couldn’t find a logical answer to this phenomenon, since it is not always about the looks. Or is it just the looks which biases people’s thinking?

If you really ask yourself a question – ‘Did I ever feel a vast change in my first impression on someone?’ What would be your answer?

Monday, December 10, 2007

Expression of words

Words are mortals. Its death involves loss of divine grace. Natural death is very unnatural for them.

A word will once be a seed. The day light, the water, the air, and the so called right conditions nurture it to grow.

Once it starts growing, it gets set in motion. No word can hesitate from accepting its nomadic trait.

To live its life, it becomes materialistic or spiritual or ethnic.

As time creeps, the seed transforms its shape to a plant. It owns a character in the plant state. The fruit delivered will then prove the esteem and honour of the plant.

Depending on the climate, the fruit takes a new shape and form. It completes its duty in bringing the seeds to cosmos.

Eventually, as fruit passes the genetic attributes, it as well finishes the circle of a word’s life.

In the struggle for survival, the fittest win out at the expense of their rivals because they succeed in adapting themselves best to their environment." - Darwinism

Wednesday, December 05, 2007


I like to work; it inspires me to dream. I sit and look at work for hours and it consumes me. I visualise the unborn work. All I want to do is to own it.

Everyday, I spend time in colouring my work. It even talks to me. The voice comes to me in black and white. I give it a circle, when it asks for a shape. Every night before I sleep, I say good night and it sleeps.

Sleeping work! I love it inside me for ever and ever. Nothing stops me from living with it.

I woke up from my dream into what we call ‘reality’; into the solar day, the roof of my familiar room – in fact into the well-known, often-discussed, but, to my mind, as yet unexplained mystery Universe.

I talked, I shouted, I cursed and yet I ate on time.

Do you smoke? I must admit I smoke. I am glad I smoke cigar. Tobacco has been a blessing to us idlers. A man should have a job of some sort. Those who smoke are far better than who are idle. Men who had no work to do, who could not even smoke started fighting with each other as if that is their work.

What if, work and idleness were right angles to each other? What if they were just parallel lines which never even meet in dreams?

I welcome my soul to loaf. I put a cigar and spread myself over the easy- chair, and cock my legs on to the table and lit the weed. I smoke grabbing all the seriousness of an idler. My soul floats. I rest in the cloud and keep watching all those who work.

Isn’t it difficult to persuade an idler to be busy? Needless to say, it is likewise uneasy to convince the busy to be idle.

Anyone who works might be a fool. We sell our ease and buy the luxury.

I am very considerate about the work I do, it is my possession for years and years, and I haven’t dared to leave my finger print on to it.

A philosophic contradiction: Those who are wise won’t be busy, and those who are busy can’t be wise. The wisest man is therefore who loafs most gracefully.

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