Sunday: A L'il Contemplation And The Perfect Cup Of Filter Kappi

Today, like most sundays in my life so far , was spent absolutely unproductively. But what makes it different from your average , equally unproductive weekday , is that i don't feel so guilty. Sunday is meant for rest. Or so i'd like to believe. Rest from what? The guilt that accumalates as a result of an unproductive week.

Well, anyway, I went to church today after two weeks (my failing faith and all that..) and as usual i sort of switched off as soon as the sermon began , slipped into my own tiny , self-involved world. But for once the priest happened to read out something that happened to reach out and pull me out of my reverie. I've just been looking for that poem , it is particularly religious and i have just found that the entire sermon is available online. God! priests don't even come up with their own sermons these days. But i suppose they hardly expect for us to happen upon the sermon they deliver as their own on the internet. And here i was thinking , "Not bad, the guy has actually thought about what he's saying."

Well , i suppose plaguarism is alright , if you are plaguarising something sensible.A lot of people don't even do that. Well,anyway the first part of what he read out particularly appealed to me. It's not profound. But It is so very true.

A poem by Joseph Nolan :

We wait all day long,
For planes and buses,
For a dates and appointments,
For 5 o’clock and for Friday.

Some of us wait for a second coming,
For God in a whirlwind.
Paratrooper Christ.
All around us people are waiting

A child, for attention.
A spouse, for a conversation.
A parent, for a letter or a call.
The prisoner waits for freedom,
And the exile to come home.
The hungry for food,
And the lonely for a friend,
The whole earth’s a waiting room!

The savior will see you now.
Is what we expect to hear at the end.
Maybe we should raise our expectations.
The savior might see us now if we know how to find him.
Could it be that Jesus too is waiting
For us to know that He is around?

Towards the end , it shifts from being philosophical to religious. but i think that's just the way the poet chose to look at it . I chose to ignore that part , although i guess once , not too far back , it might have appealed to me as well.

I was never ashamed of my faith in god. I learnt rather early , to compartmentalize that aspect of my life and keep it separate from what i try normally to be : Logical , Rational and if I can manage it , Scientific. And since i cannot support my faith with logic , i just leave it at that and put it down as something that works for me, of which i have no real understanding. But for perhaps a year or more now , my faith has dwindled. It bothered me a lot , because over and above everything else , i recognized that my faith in god provided me with solace and hope.

(I should say that although i had a deep faith in god , i was never religious. I guess that's a result of being the product of an inter-religious marriage. Both my parents are deeply religious and yet have managed , and i think this makes them pretty cool people, to maintain their own identity , while respecting each other's and conveying to their children a sense of faith in god rather than indicating a particular religion to follow or not. )

So, everytime i go to church or the temple , do i feel hypocritical ? Absolutely! But i've resigned myself to that now, i'm hoping that someday it'll sort of just miraculously come back . One part of me questions whether my life is very different now as compared to then, but since obviously i do miss it , it must have done something for me.

Well anyway , getting back to the poem , as i sat there listening to this being read out , i sort of felt that it was meant for me...some sort of divine message , (if u still believe in that, my mind whispered.) telling me to get up and get going not keep waiting for something to materialise out of thin air. Ok so this is common sense, why the religious context. well the priest meant for it to be religious. But it applies to my life in such a practical way.

And it occurred to me , that there was such a universality in the act of waiting. like the poem tries to convey, we spend so much thought and time and energy in ANTICIPATION of something or the other. It's pitiful how much passes us by while we wait. Especially for things , we know , deep inside , might probably never happen. Or things like waiting for the weekend, when we know pretty well we have to back to the week very soon.

Ok well, apart from this rather contemplative reflection, my sunday went as usual. The absolute highlight of the day was that i think had an almost PERFECT cup of traditional south indian filter coffee (or as they say here filter kappi). It was awesome. Just the right amount of bitter. Like a friend of mine says " T'was Groovy!" Surprisingly, it was at a nice restaurant , usually the best coffee is to be got at smaller kadais (shops) or atleast so is my experience. Anyway , Baristas and the Coffee Days of the world are all very fine , but nowhere near the league of what i had today. (Although i think i paid as much for it as i do there).

Ok it's about 2:30 and i've to get up early tomorrow for college...So if i have rambled , attribute it to the late hour.Especially 'cos i'm not a nocturnal person.

One More Poem...And Some More Rambling

I sort of decided that i would'nt post anymore poetry for a while , but for the last one and a half weeks or so i have been reading so much poetry and i have found so much of it so beautiful and romantic and awesome , that i can't help myself. That is , however , what i expected. what i did'nt ,though , was to be entertained and amused.(like the following poem actually made me ,and several people i read it out to, laugh..)

I guess i'm going through a phase where i devour poetry with a sort of frenzy that reminds me of when i read Irving stone's Lust for life. (which btw..is about vincent van gogh and impressionism). I think , back then i spent 3 whole weeks in a trance. I read Depths of glory almost immidiately (also about impressionism) and several other non-fiction books on impressionism and art in france.I must have spent hours searching to see the paintings online.

Well anyway, here's the poem i liked.. and no i don't just read poems that are slightly dirty(for lack of a better word) . I just put up those that i think are different from what i usually come across.

E.E Cummings

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she


(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she


(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)


may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she


may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she


but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she


(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she


(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

....i really like all of it except the last line...it makes women seem clingy and possesive!! which i resent.. ok maybe some of us are... but not all... ok maybe all...but not all the time..lol.. ok maybe i should just let it go!

The Imperfect Enjoyment

I found the following poem in the compilation i'm reading...and i loved it..so i thought i'd put it up 'cos i'm pretty sure most of my friends have'nt come across this kind of stuff considering most of the poetry they read was in school!!! ...and yet..it is definitely worth reading...

If however, you have'nt read too much poetry and don't enjoy it much...then nows the time to navigate away.
This poem is long but definitely not difficult to read..and it is really , to say the least , priceless!!! Tt actually manages to be BAWDY and LEWD and at the same time quite EROTIC , but somehow the poem left me feeling quite amused at the end of it and a little pity for the guy. well read it...you'll see what i mean.. .

well anyway here goes:

The Imperfect Enjoyment

Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms;
Both equally inspired with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.
With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace,
She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.
Her nimble tongue, Love's lesser lightening, played
Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed
Swift orders that I should prepare to throw
The all-dissolving thunderbolt below.
My fluttering soul, sprung with the painted kiss,
Hangs hovering o'er her balmy brinks of bliss.
But whilst her busy hand would guide that part
Which should convey my soul up to her heart,
In liquid raptures I dissolve all o'er,
Melt into sperm and, and spend at every pore.
A touch from any part of her had done't:
Her hand, her foot, her very look's a cunt.

Smiling, she chides in a kind murmuring noise,
And from her body wipes the clammy joys,
When, with a thousand kisses wandering o'er
My panting bosom, "Is there then no more?"
She cries. "All this to love and rapture's due;
Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?"

But I, the most forlorn, lost man alive,
To show my wished obedience vainly strive:
I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive.
Eager desires confound my first intent,
Succeeding shame does more success prevent,
And rage at last confirms me impotent.
Ev'n her fair hand, which might bid heat return
To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn,
Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more
Than fire to ashes could past flames restore.
Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie.
This dart of love, whose piercing point, oft tried,
With virgin blood ten thousand maids have dyed;
Which nature still directed with such art
That it through every cunt reached every heart -
Stiffly resolved, 'twould carelessly invade
Woman or man, nor aught its fury stayed:
Where'er it pierced, a cunt it found or made -
Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower.

Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my fame,
Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove
So true to lewdness, so untrue to love?
What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore
Didst thou e'er fail in all thy life before?
When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way,
With what officious haste dost thou obey!
Like a rude, roaring hector in the streets
Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets,
But if his king or country claim his aid,
The rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head;
Ev'n so thy brutal valour is displayed,
Breaks every stew, does each small whore invade,
But when great Love the onset does command,
Base recreant to thy prince, thou dar'st not stand.
Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,
Through all the town a common fucking-post,
On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt
As hogs do rub themselves on gates and grunt,
May'st thou to ravenous chancres be a prey,
Or in consuming weepings waste away;
May strangury and stone thy days attend;
May'st thou ne'er piss, who did refuse to spend
When all my joys did on false thee depend.

And may ten thousand abler pricks agree
To do the wronged Corinna right for thee.

Lord John Wilmot , Earl Of Rochester.

p.s: this poem was written in the 1600's . did'nt realise the words Cunt, Fuck etc. existed then!! lol...trivia for the interested! also if you like this.. u should try reading some of his other poetry...quite as bawdy,just as amusing and not as long! although sometimes perhaps a little too much !!

here's a description of the poet that i found somewhere on the net:

John Wilmot,

the second Earl of Rochester,(1647-1680)

"Cupid and Bacchus my saints are,
May drink and love still reign,
With wine I wash away my cares,
And then to cunt again."

-- a lyric poet, satirist, and a leading member of the group of "court wits" surrounding Charles II. A libertine, he lived out a promiscuous lifestyle reflected in his writing style and subject matter. He wrote scurrilous lampoons, translations of classical authors, and several autobiographical poems. A predecessor to the Marquis De Sade, he wrote more frankly about sex than anyone in English before the 20th Century.

Interesting! to say the least!

Poetry : womanisers and love

Offlate i have been reading a volume of poetry on Love. and no it's not just about ode's to wives and mistresses. The book contains around 500 poems classified , in my opinion, pretty darn well into the following categories: Intimation,Declarations,Persuasion,Celebration,Aberrations,
Separations,Desolation and Reverberations. so yeah, it covers the whole ground. And pretty much most of the famous poets from chaucer to milton to hardy to shakespeare , pushkin, neruda, byron , dylan thomas... the whole nine yards. It's delightful really, i really do believe that almost every emotion to do with the nature of love and falling love is present in this book.

Well, here are two poems that i really liked , that i found sort of different , or maybe i just have'nt read too much.. well here goes :

Womanisers -By John Press

Adulterers and customers of whores
And cunning takers of virginities
Caper from bed to bed, but not because
The flesh is pricked to infidelities.

The body is content with homely fare;
It is the avid, curious mind that craves
New pungent sauce and strips the larder bare,
The palate and not hunger that enslaves.

Don Juan never was a sensualist:
Scheming fresh triumphs, artful, wary, tense,
He took no pleasure in the breasts he kissed
But gorged his ravenous mind and starved each sense.

An itching, tainted intellectual pride
Goads the salt lecher till he has to know
Whether all women's eyes grow bright and wide,
All wives and whores and virgins shudders so.

Hunters of women burn to show their skill,
Yet when the panting quarry has been caught
Mere force of habit drives them to the kill:
The soft flesh is less savoury then their sport.

and second one is :

LOVE - By George Gransville, Baron Landsdowne

Love is begot by fancy, bred
by ignorance, by expectation fed,
destroyed by knowledge,and,at best,
lost in the moment 'tis possessed.

I Offer no critique on either , i am hardly qualified , so i will just conclude by saying that i really enjoyed reading both of them although they are very cynical.

A Warning Sign...

A warning sign

I missed the good part, then I realised
I started looking and the bubble burst
I started looking for excuses

Come on in

I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign
When the truth is, I miss you
Yeah the truth is, that I miss you so

A warning sign

It came back to haunt me, and I realised
That you were an island and I passed you by
And you were an island to discover

Come on in

I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones
That I started looking for a warning sign

When the truth is, I miss you
Yeah the truth is, that I miss you so
And I'm tired, I should not have let you go

So I crawl back into your open arms
Yes I crawl back into your open arms
And I crawl back into your open arms
Yes I crawl back into your open arms.

-----Coldplay

It could have been written for me...for the most part.... and a dozen other songs too... fuck it.. who cares if everyone figures how fucking foolish i can be!!!

I Read The News Today..Oh Boy!...

What the hell is wrong with our society???? Anything to do with religion and we become incredibly illogical, and downright narrow minded. why does everyone get defensive about their religion just because every now and then we find that there are religious heads that can't stick to the right side of the law???

Ok so the shankaracharya has been arrested. Did he commit a crime? Maybe he did , Maybe he did'nt. But why is it so hard to believe that he might be involved in anything shady? He's a religious head sure, but not God. so he's not above crime whatever we might like to believe.

So , if he was indicated or accused or whatever , why should he be above the legal system.Your road-side murderer would have to go to jail if he was accused in the same manner and no one would raise their voice , no one would stage dharnas , no one would object , no one would declare a bandh. so why does a shankaracharya get that? In a position of social and religious authority , should'nt we be more worried that some one we trust to tell us right and wrong ,advice governments , resolve religious tensions and help define morality in our ever-changing society, be above all blemishes of scandal in any form , let alone accusations of murder and conspiracy???

But no, we take it as an affront to our religion.Why can we not separate a religious head from the religion itself??

If he was a conspirator in murder ,he should go to prison or whatever the law states.and that's that.

But no, it does'nt get left at that...Every one screams "frame-up"!!! and the case has'nt even been tried yet. Great!!! how do we jump to conclusions without knowing a damn thing?? Sweeping opinions are the order of the day.. one of which i read today was..."what rubbish...how can he be involved in anything like that... he's the shankaracharya ...it must be some elaborate conspiracy..they must be trying to frame-him (they being??) ...how can 'they' do this...they are insulting all of us by putting him in prison.."

Any suggestions for a "they" ??? Willing Scapegoats may apply . Nominations are also welcome!!!!

For god's sake...people!! don't be so god damn ridiculous...it's an affront to ourselves that we are prejudiced thus... ah well...do little voices get heard.... perhaps, sometimes it's best if they don't!!!

Mr. Nowhere Man...

It has been ages since I last wrote. A week feels like that.. and it's not for lack of will . For the life of me, however, i could'nt seem to find anything worth saying.Then i decided that if i kept waiting around for something really worthwhile to say...the world would pass me by and so would time...so with a cheerful..'who gives a shit...??' ..i embark on today's post.

I believe there are only three reasons to write, really. First, one has something new in the form of an idea or a different perspective to share with the world. Second, one simply enjoys the process of writing , is good at it or otherwise , and therefore whose writing either entertains or tortures, respectively ,those that read it. And Last, one writes simply because one has nothing else to do.

Ofcourse , this assumes that one feels the need to write in the first place , but like millions of others , u just might not ,in which case the above classifications do not apply to you. (how fabulously english one can make oneself sound just by using a third person thingummy..lol..)

As u can see i have no idea about the nuances of english grammar..so if u are thinking...ofcourse not , she must mean passive voice.. i will defer to your better judgement...for i have no more knowledge about english grammar than i do about how to build a rocket (btw, the comparison is intended to illustrate how little i know of it...lol) However since ,i have been brought up speaking it(for the most part , correctly. thanks to my parents.) i can use it without effecting too much abuse on one's senses.

Now, coming back to my three classifications. I'm quite positive , atleast at this time , that i do not fall into the first category. So little of what we think, is really original. But i'll elucidate on my theory of originality of thought some other time..

SO, that leaves the second and the third. Now , i do enjoy writing so i satisfy one of the criterion ,but about writing to entertain...well certainly ,that is one of my intentions.. but with how much efficacy i pull it off , lord knows! so basically, i'm sort of ambigous on the entertainment/torture thing...well i'll leave that as a variable for now.

And about the last criterion. i satisfy that everytime i sit down to write. Well , not exactly , in the sense i probably have better things to do , but i'd rather not do them . You know how it is, one invariably detests what is constructive and purposeful. Or atleast i do. Sort of like the second law of thermodynamics ,we tend to maximum entropy,maximum chaos and as little order as we possibly can get away with. Not out of intention but that's sort of what happens anyway.

Take for example , my room , or that of many of my fellow believers in the theory of i-can-only-find-stuff-if-my-room-looks-like-its-been-hit-by-a-tornado!!(phew!!!)
About every six months, at the behest of my mother,(a nice way of saying my mom refuses to cook food for me if i don't clean up) i set about to turn my room turvy-topsy (as against the usual topsy turvy..) , throw out unwanted stuff etc.

I do that because that way i get to control what i want to keep , for, otherwise my mom would simply throw out all my stuff... (and hey some stuff has it's value in nostalgia.. like my 2nd std.cursive writing book..lol..i had it until a while ago..can't seem to find it now that i've just cleaned up..damn!)and i can't have that.. although i guess eventually i'm gonna have to succumb to the pressure and get rid of all of it.

Well , i can't say i actually do what she expects. i've developed this excellent knack of making an appearance of having cleaned up without actually doing too much work. (how much more can anyone expect???)and within a week, without any help ,(and sometimes if i've actually cleaned , then two weeks)..it seems to resemble almost exactly what it did before i bothered to clean up..(i keep asking my mom to just give up...but she does'nt accept defeat and battles valiantly on..) With a trump card like not cooking , i can hardly rebel. aaah...the eternal struggle..lol

Anyway getting back to what i was saying...one does tend to meander..like this post. it did begin with some sort of order... now i search for it in vain...alas!it has disappeared..lol..
I tell you , the mysteries of the physical world apply to our insignificant human psyche too.. and i have loads of other examples but i'm sure u get the picture...

well ,anyway since the purpose was only to just enjoy writing and occupy a little of my time i shall say i have succeeded.we'll leave the variable thing alone...so if u have any positive inputs on that let me know...otherwise , i don't want to hear it..lol

oh and adit..if u're reading this. here's an example of a post that started one place and ended up quite another. sort of like the conversations we end up having...lol.. but it's not all bad..atleast, they are fun...

Anyway until i find something proper to write about.. mon amies...Au Revoir

p.s: the title is to do with a beatles song that i really like.. it does'nt really relate to the post..but i've been humming it all day and i could'nt think of another title..so..lol.. anyway ,the lyrics go like this..


.... he's as blind as he can be
just sees what he wants to see
is'nt he a bit like u and me...

... Does'nt have a point of view
knows not where he's going to
is'nt he a bit like you and me...

ok...do u vehemently disagree?? well,if u think about it dispassionately..u'll find we're all like that to some degree... especially about the second part.. so many of us just meander!!!