the leap day

"You probably don't want to follow me, I am not a very good example ...", he looked at me, a furtive look, but catching my eye nevertheless.

  Some comments like this I can never rule out, never forget. To be honest, it is not that I remember, until at some obscure moment they flash up in my conscious part of my brain, flooding me with guilt and longing.

 But today is special. It is not the new year, not a birthday, not an anniversary, and indeed there is nothing special I can remember about this day. You could stop me and point out that this day special because it comes once every four years, it's the leap day for three-years, and the non-leap day on the fourth leap year. Even google has a nice doodle about this.


  Rabbits do leap don't they? But does an iRabbit as well?


   Enough vague statements. The reason that this day is special to me is because provides a wormhole into my past life. What? Are you dead, and re-incarnated?, I hear you ask. No, I reassure you, it is just that my life has changed irreversibly, whether for good or worse I do not know, but I know that things cannot ever go back to how they were on the last leap day.

 Having said that I will stop. There is no point in describing the non-consequential bliss during the times before, and the deep absymmal despair that followed. No language, mine the least of all, can describe it. I am just using this day to make a connection with the past life, like when you stand in front of a glass window looking at the neverland behind it, something that you know every bit, and yet, it is quite beyond your reach.

 Hello Dad!




 

Models

The other day I had a funny thought, which is perhaps true, but perhaps not. But since it is just a thought, I'll expound it. It has to do with models. If you are quite the purist mathematician, there is, perhaps not any place for models: mostly comes from some basic assumptions, and then you build on these assumptions using other assumptions to make a theory, and even prove a couple of lemmas. Physicists would ideally like to proceed that way, but lack both the rigor and the patience, so in many cases they take the short-cut way and build models. These models are supposed be peek into the many complicated things that are quite unworkable with "first-principles" theory, something the physicists like to do call assumptions that do not stem from first principles. Anyway, models are more often used by biologists and chemists, because they want to model things like complicated molecules and chemical substances, organs, nerves, genes or perhaps even the brain. Even the economists and financial analyzers at banks keep making models of the economy in order to maximize profits.

 If you have read on till now, you'll realize that model is essentially meant to be a simplified version of some grand thing we are always trying to emulate. In that respect, it suddenly occurred to me that films, books, poems and songs, and art of course, falls in the same category. They are just models. Models that seek, in some way or the other to mimic the eternal complicated fabric, or the string-net condensed phase of what you call Life. Life, as we know it, is tremendously complicated: human beings are emotional, they kill, they love, they become rulers, the forbid others to eat beef, or to have sex with the same genders, they find tribes, which they call Religion, the make trains, they try to understand the Nature, they are complicated. Animals are simpler, but still they have own traits, own habits. So, when something is captured on film, like the break-up story of a couple, or the hunting habits of lions, whether be it a romantic drama or a documentary, these are all models trying to emulate something complicated -- more often with creativity and inspiration rather than not.

  A simple thought, but this unifies a lot of different things. I felt happy.

The TeaTails

"So there you go, welcome to the real world.."

For a moment I do not know what to say. I had been fearing that this was coming, but the way my Friend had replied to my messages had kept my suspicions at bay. Really, why else would you just travel to Budapest to work when you had an office in Berlin? You must have been having fun, in addition to being idiosyncratic, I had reasoned.

Not that I care. Or maybe I did, and still do, just a little, a hard lump which refuses to dissolve...

My Friend has just quit his job. Well, not just. I am just getting informed about it.

My Friend has just finished explaining to me why.

"So, what now?", I ask.

"..I work full time for my dream project. To find my own company."

"Oh,.." I breathe in sharply, "that is cool? " I can't really stop being optimistic irrespective of the situation.

"Not via the same channel though ..., that isn't going to work..."

"okay...", I hopefully paused.

Truth be told, I don't understand a bit about how companies work. Or how to start them. It is just that I never thought about it.

".. but it can equally well fail, you know, and then I am left with nothing.. "

 Of course I see that, I am not so naive. But I don't say that. 

".. I am sure that you are going to succeed..", I say.

"... I am not so sure about that, eh..", my Friend cuts me in.

 It puzzles and annoys me. Why be pessimistic if you are starting a venture? You need lots of hope and inspiration to see it through. 

" Well, at least I am sitting with the CEO of a company, drinking beer. Something I have always wanted to. Something so exotic.."

 "You've had beer with me before..."

 "Not while you were the CEO..", I smile.

 My Friend makes a face showing that this is nothing exotic.

Oh my, I wonder silently, rather annoyed, this isn't how I had imagined the meeting to be going. Meeting with this friend is always mysterious. I even prepare my replies in my mind beforehand, but every time I meet this friend, everything becomes topsy-turvy. And it never helps that we meet once every couple of months even though we live in the same city.

"So, what do you want to drink next?", he asked.

 We had just finished a beer in a cute-looking bar, a cute-hipster look, which is a default in Berlin.

"I dunno, maybe another beer?...No wait, it is a disgrace to get only beer here. I will get the long island coffee".

 My bad habit comes out always I see chocolate or coffee. Thank God, it is at least alcoholic.

"okay good, I will buy you one. I will get a gin and tonic", he states.

 There is a guy at the bar already, asking the Bartender a lot of questions about teas infused with syrups and liquors. We listen in to the conversation. He wants to have an idea what the white silver needle tea actually is, in the concoction "Silver Linings".

 "Does Cointreau go well with this, I wonder...", we hear him asking the Bartender in German.

 The Bartender is not German, her accent makes it obvious. I can easily detect these things now. She is even from an English speaking country.

 The speciality of this bar is that it makes alcohol-infused-tea, a place in the Bergmannkiez. And the one alcohol infused coffee, the one I am going to drink.

 "You're a fussy customer", my Friend suddenly chimes in, the moment the Bartender turns around to make the drink. I can see Guy smiling mildly, and own up.

 "What are you getting?", I see the Man replying.

"A gin and tonic, infused with tea of course..."

 The conversation continues for a brief while. The spark in the Man's eyes tells me that he is interested, even though Someone is waiting for him.

 The Man has just asked for a glass of orange juice as the Bartender brought his drink.

 "well, another simple juice, and then I am gone..", and he talks more, without throwing any glances at me, ignoring me completely.

  I stare on, I cannot say anything meaningful, I always fail to come up with something clever to say in situations like this.

 The Guy finally leaves, and my Friend gets the drinks.

 "So, how was Budapest?", I ask lamely

 "Oh, it was wonderful. There was so much to see, it was so wonderful.."

 "Did you go into the Buda castle?", I ask, drawing on my visit last year to make some intelligent conversation.

"No, not really. I didn't manage to do the sightseeing, I was working there as well..."

 Seven days in a completely new city and no sightseeing, I wonder to myself. Did you even fuck, I want to ask.

"oh? did you have good internet connection?"

"well, I bought a phone 4G SIM, and used the connection there, it was all right".

We go on, lamely making conversation, not enjoying any of the tea-tails the place offered, but each of us lost in our own world of tea-tales. I can see from the eyes that my Friend is thinking of so many things at the same time. Me too. But we are speaking of things so far removed.

 "you know, this is difficult, the real-world.."

 "I know..", I say lamely.

 And where were you living all this time, I wonder. But I know that my Friend knows. From what I know, my Friend did not have a very smooth life. Even after coming to Berlin.

 But I know what a real- life can be. Really, I know. Trust me. While my Friend had been trying to burn job prospects, I have successfully burnt out my personal life and happiness in the past year. But my Friend is relentless: "you have to meet more people. you are just not doing enough...", I was told the last time, ".. people are not unreasonable, you know."

 "But they are..", I insisted.

 "..you just have to meet more people. you are not doing enough..."

 "but I did, I do,..", I defended my comment.

 "Just how many people did you meet?.."

  And so the conversation had run, several months before. Before I had left for a month long trip to the Far East. The convinced shaking of another person's head had done nothing to improve my street smartness. None of these conversations had helped. At the end of every conversation, my Friend got to know more and more about me, but, in return, I only got to increase my knowledge incrementally, about things that did not count.

  My Friend has no idea how hard I am trying to get into the real world. For a long time, I lived in a fairy land, full of the mystery of quantum mechanics, and protected by strong boundaries (which some call geekiness -- we liked to call it intellectualism, and passion for research). Strong feelings, strong dedication to forwarding the frontiers of human knowledge, probing into the Mind of God. Until last year. When all Hell had broken loose. But that is another story.

 The tea-tails finish.

 "Hey, want to try something different?", I ask suddenly, pointing at the empty glasses, cutting my Friend in the middle of a comment on how my Friend's ex-boyfriend used to like fruit teas and my Friend used to hate them.

 My Friend looks up: "what?"

 "Shots? But this one is on me.."

  I have an idea, suddenly, very much like my physics realizations, which come at single instants of time. I recall a short film on YouTube which I had seen long, long ago. I don't even remember it fully, but the idea, the seed of the idea -- it is there in my brain.

 "okay"

 "Sit here. I will get them. Any preference?"

 "hmm... Tequila"

 I get them.

 "Six shots?" My Friend eyes me questioningly, when I come back, stopping to play with the mobile. 

 "Yes. Three for each of us... maybe a bit more for the loser," I say.

"Why loser?", my Friend asks, puzzled.

"Because we play a little game for the shots with three statements..."

 I can see my Friend's eyes open fractionally wide.

 "What game?"

 "You tell me three things about you, one of which has to be a lie, and the other two complete truths. I have to guess the lie. And one of the statements has to involve the both of us, whether the truth or the false one, it doesn't matter. If I guess correctly, you have to drink a shot. If I cannot, then I will take a shot. Same for you. We alternate."

 My friend flounders for a while, thinking. Finally, I see the shoulders shrugging assent.

"You go first..", I hear.

From nothing, the tea-tales suddenly become the centre of attention. The background noise in the cute-hipster cafe has gone up, cocooning us both in a comfortable cushion of i-am-not-listening-nor-do-i-care.

 "okay", I hear myself saying, "First: I got an extension on my job, now I can live in Germany permanently. Second: I missed my breakfast today.."

 "what, what kind of statement is that?", my Friend interrupts.

 "well, either a true or a false one..", I smile

 "okay, go on,.."

 "finally, remember the first night we spent bar hopping, getting completely drunk? That has been the night I enjoyed the most in this city."

 I stop, and look at my Friend. My Friend looks away.

 "You had your breakfast today. You picked up your broetchen from that shop like you do every day."

 I push a shot glass in the direction of my Friend. I see the shoulders droop a little, but the shot is gone in a single gulp.

 "What is the lie then?", the eyes shoot a persistent glance at me.

 "Your turn. If we survive the end of this game, we will disclose the truth. Not until then. " I say.

 I sense the dissatisfaction, the supressed snarl that tries to come up on the face. But my Friend looks at me and says nothing for five seconds.

 "Okay, my turn then. First, North Sea was really fun. I just told you it was boring so that  you will not feel bad", the eyes are not looking at me anymore, but are drooping down.

 "Second, my sister is quitting her job to help me with the effort for the project and the new company. Third, the company offered to pay me handsomely, if I decided to skip with the startup, but give the idea to them."

 The eyes are defiant again, looking at me.

 "Well, your sister loves you, but she cannot risk losing her job". I finish. "At least that's what I think".

  Another glass is suddenly empty, and the eyes are not flickering any more. I had my Friend's full attention. Nothing else is going to interfere with our tea-tales until the end.

 "The ball is back in my court, then", I start. "First of all, remember that guy who broke up with me on WhatsApp, after sleeping with me? He wrote me the other day. He wants to meet up, and would like to be together again. He wants to give it another shot. I refused him. Second: My father is not doing well, again. He is back to the hospital. Third: Remember the last weekend when I visited Amsterdam? I didn't want to, I only did that because you went without me to Budapest and to the North Sea. I did not enjoy Amsterdam in the least".

 The genuine confusion in my friend's eyes was apparent. We were silent for a long time.

 "How did you refuse him? What did you say?", broke the background buzz.
A candle was glowing on our table, and both of us were staring intently into it.

 "I told him that I am hopelessly in love with someone else".

 Again silence, only broken by the cheerful but indifferent mutter around.

 " I don't like this game...", I finally hear my Friend say.

 "Well, we are playing it, nevertheless. Let's not be cowards and leave it unfinished, okay? As you said, welcome to real world", suddenly my voice is much more firm than I intend it to be.

 "The fact about your Amsterdam trip", comes the meek retort.

 I push another shot glass in the other direction. No resistance this time, another gulp and it is gone.

 "Okay, then two more to go. Let's see if you miss this time.  The first one: Remember the time when we took a walk through Schoeneberg? We passed right in front of my ex-boyfriend's house. I wouldn't have been able to do that had you not been with me. The second one:  You are really the best friend that I have in this city who is not just interested in sleeping with me. Third: I was out on a date yesterday, where I enjoyed a lot".

 My turn to stop and think. Two out of three facts about us. I am clearly not prepared for this. I think for quite a while. Most likely one of them is not the truth.

 "Well, I am guessing the second one. You have a better friend than me?", I say but I am very unsure now.

"Yeah, right, very right..", my Friend smirks, and I am offered a shot glass with a firm hand.

 I drink it up. My first shot. I am happy and dismayed at the same time. The second one is not a lie. So I do matter, in some small unimportant way, I still do. Maybe the Schoneberg business is a lie.. Or, there was no date yesterday. But I don't have more time to dwell on it. I have to think. This is the last round. Stakes are higher.

 "First: I am seeing someone, and I like him, and he cares for me. In some way".

 I again see the dawn of uncertainty in the eyes looking into me. What was the lie last time?

"Second: That night we went to the Sudblock, remember? The next day you asked me if I was alright, and I said yes. Remember?"

 My Friend nods.

 "I was not alright. I was upset, very upset. I went running just to forget everything. It sounds very dramatic now, I know, but it wasn't back then, I promise you. I was very jealous, and annoyed. I was jealous that the guy with the bag slung on his shoulders started dancing with you. He put his hands around your shoulders and started dancing. I was jealous because every time we have met, and have gone out, I have tried to touch you, hug you close, but I never gathered the courage. I never dared, after you told me you told me that you viewed me only as a friend. I did not want to lose our friendship. But I was hopelessly in love with you. And all you told me was to meet other people. And I got annoyed because I couldn't do that, I can't go to a stranger and start flirting. I could never do that. But I could have loved you. Truly."

 I stop. I am reeling under the pressure of what I have just said, I cannot believe that I said all this. I don't know what to say next. My Friend is looking at me.

 "You have another one to go."

 "Yeah, I ... well, I still feel butterflies in my stomach when I meet you."

 "Listen", my Friend starts, "I don't want to guess which one is a lie. As I said, I don't like this game anymore; especially it is not a game anymore. We will go on hurting each other like this. And I don't care about the lie anymore. But, since we started, let's just see it through. I will give you my three statements."

 "First: You know the first night we met. It was the most enjoyable night I have had. But you know, this is the real world. Good things happen only now and then. Second: Look, you have been special as a friend. Most of the good friends I have had, had to be made through their bedrooms. You have been a rare exception. Third: I could never care any less for you, but at the same time I cannot fall in love with you. Such is my curse. I hope you will understand it some day. And I have known that you have been in love with me for a long time. It hasn't been easy to keep meeting with you knowing that every time we met you would probably fall in deeper while I cannot give anything back. But in not meeting you, I would have hurt you even more. And I couldn't bear to be like the dickhead you described to me once who hurt you badly in Switzerland."

 "Now the game is over. I have told you, you are welcome to guess, but I don't want to find out the lie. So, I will just get going..."

 He gathers up his coat and looks into my eyes, deep and unblinking. He does not ask him to join him, and I sit in my chair mesmerized in thought. He bends down for his goodbye hug against my body which is largely lifeless now. However, he pauses before leaving me, and brushes his lips momentarily against my cheeks holding them steady for a single breath and pressing in lightly. Technical terms call it a kiss.

 "Let's be in touch ...", he whispers in my ear, drinks up another shot and leaves...

 There is a single unfinished shot lying on the table. The muttering around goes on, unabated. This is Berlin, you do not get noticed for heartbreaks or hopes, for everyone is carrying their own.

Birthdays and Toothless

It is two years since I wrote the entry, "Birthdays and Bridges", which is why I choose to write this blog entry rather than confiding my thoughts to my diary. Ah yes, yesterday was my Birthday, which did not go well. No, it didn't. The best thing that happened on the day were the Toothless videos, so I decided to name the entry after him.

It didn't start out being bad, though. The biggest mood-killer was the fact that, after a period of several months, my Dad had to re-admitted to the hospital, because of this very low platelet counts. Naturally, you can't be happy when you possess the knowledge that your Father is only being kept alive on medicines and he has had to be admitted to the hospital. I can't tell you how helpless it feels, because there is nothing you can do, but just hope and hope and hope that the worst doesn't come to pass. But then what is the point of postponing the worse things farther and farther in time? I don't know, but try: try to be an optimist and feel like an pessimist. It ain't easy! And I like some other experiences, you have to feel this one yourself.

And then? I was unhappy because for a long while no-one wished me. Of course my Birthday wasn't advertised by Facebook, because I didn't want it to be. Does social life exist Facebook? It does, from the most unexpected quarters. Ayona wished me at midnight, Sabine wished me, Arnab remembered during the phone call, Christian wished me later in the day, and then Titir, and finally Xavi. And my Parents, of course.

For a while, I was thinking selfishly, and wondering how come not any other people remembered my Birthday? People who would usually make it a point to wish me? I thought of several answers, but since the question is just an idle one anyway, I will not make it too much of a point to write down my thoughts.

The workday was was like it always is, but the fact that my dad is in the hospital did not make it any exciting. Then there was the German class, which I wish wasn't there. But then again, it was nice that it was there, so that I could get through the day fast. I cooked after I came back, and watched Toothless videos.
I wanted to work afterwards, but the tension took it's toll and lulled me into the dreamworld.

Maybe it would be nice if I spend the day with somebody. Maybe with the Special Someone. But, as of now, my definition of the Special Someone is rather confused. Do you think I am transitioning? From the south to the north? Maybe? I don't know, --- I would probably know if I probed enough, but I don't want to do it now. Things are happy enough, in other aspects, so it doesn't matter. I just don't want to hurt anyone, and don't want to get hurt anymore.

I don't have pictures to add this time, because I didn't take any. Not for my blog anyway.

But, just in case, such that I don't forget or lose track I wanted to refer to two blog/magazine writeups which I found rather interesting, and thus would want to keep a record. This first one is a potrait of  how crazy Berlin can be, especially when you try to be normal, and how there is a tendency to become a part of that craziness.

 The second one is much more special, and only for a certain section of the society. But it does point a fact, almost point blank, like a slap in the fact: something that I wouldn't really bring up, even though I realize it all the time. There you go: another craziness!

Random and more Organized thoughts

Some people are more productive than others, don't you think? Well, you don't have to think to agree, you just have to see.

As usual, I was applying the argument on myself. And precisely about this blog. It's been a long time since I wrote here, and constantly keep blaming myself for not feeling myself up for it. It's not that I don't get material to write, I think lots, come up with arguments while I walk, or stare out blankly from the S-Bahn as it rushes to take my home. It is just that most of the time, these thoughts seem too stupid to write them down.

 I think it was yesterday, and then immediately had a counter-argument: I would say: So What? Most of the very fancy things ever, or the esoteric things ever, have been written by people in a frenzy... you just need to write it convincingly to get people ga-ga over it.

 So shall I try to write randomly? I won't make sense, though, so if you keep reading the text, you'll just have wander along with me.

 Today, I was rather full with a heavy lunch, so I just sat chewing a bread-rolls, and moistening the bread with yoghurt. And I thought what if I would put this on the FB (obviously not me in the first person..) and see what (some of) my friends write on the post. Imagine a post saying: "... Looking forward to a pleasant time, Sarah took some bread, and some Joghurt from the fridge, and sat chewing on the bread and wondering what her perfect life could have been.." But the idea I had was more interesting, rather then people potentially liking it. or judging me to be mental. It was in my vague hopes that people would read it, and then get back me asking questions about Sarah. And then through all these answers. I would create a new character for her.

Immediately, I decided against it, since I wasn't sure if drawing attention to my current state is such a good idea.

If however, you are reading this, and want to leave a comment about Sara, please do so. She did complain to me about her lack of 'Character'. It is so much more fun when you see comments from Unknown Person.

Finding Neverland

  It proves not to be easy to write about my school life at The Future Foundation School. I mulled over how to start about it, for several days, and nothing came to my mind. Not that I was thinking about it all the time, (unfortunately I have to worry about other pressing things at the moment!), but still it proves to be very difficult to start. Thus, I decided to make it very spontaneous. This isn't the first time, though, I lay recourse to spontaneity in my writing. I used to do it for a long time when I used to keep a diary, and also now when I write my blog. But then those are different, they are not meant to be read by people by people who knew me long time ago.


   Now that I have written a paragraph, I already feel good about the momentum. Things pop up in my mind. Maybe a biography would be good? That's what a part of my brain suggests. That's simple, another part of my brain says: you were admitted to this school quite a while ago, when you were in class 2. And here I get a loud ping from the prefrontal cortex of my brain (oops, I do seem to have forgotten my biology lessons, but then I am not a professional biologist, so I needn't be ashamed! I just had to look up this term from Wikipedia, in case you are wondering). One of the earliest memories tell me that the first time I was sitting in the class, for some reason I decided to sit the other way round, so that I was facing the back of the class, rather than the front. Why? I haven't the faintest idea, that must have seemed right to my brain, but I am pretty sure that I must have been made fun of because of that! That's what kids do!



  I have many more memories of that time, but then this space, or any space for that matter, is not enough. Some memories are too entwined with others, some memories are quite choked, and prejudice tells me not reveal others. Anyway, I have a very clear idea of what the school was: it was green, it was small, it was close. Not that any of these are necessarily good or bad, it is just that everything has its own advantages and disadvantages. So, there we were, all huddled up in the Assembly Hall at 7:50 am, and sang our Morning Prayers. We belonged to different school houses, and my house was 'Divine Mother'. I still remember the lovely rivalry we used to have with the house 'Sri Aurobindo': I guess school houses were created to achieve excellence via healthy competition. Most of the times, the house 'Sri Aurobindo' would win, whether be it in the Annual Sports, or in the Quiz Competitions. Well, it was Sri Aurobindo Ashram after all! I believe these houses are all called differently, after colors. There used to be House Captains in charge of managing the different houses, and if I grew up enough to be one of these people. I hope I did make my House proud!



 I remember the first time and the last time I acted in a school play (they aren't identical; the last time was in a more philosophical play about the Ascent to Truth, a mighty complicated job, but not without peals of laughter, if you get my meaning!). The first time was in Class 2, when I had to play a ball-dance scene in either Cinderella or ... no, it indeed was Cinderella. Of course, I wasn't the main prince. That would have involved too much attention, and I was terribly shy back then. I think I was shy for a long, long time. Many of my teachers noticed that: it was pointed out in multiple occasions. I was shy of performing well, getting the attention. Of writing well. Not literature anyway, just writing with my hand. My language is sloppy, and my style too free-spirited. Except perhaps writing research articles. But thanks to all these feedback, slowly as I grew up, I was able to overcome this to some extent.



 This brings me to the subject of my Teachers. I consider myself really lucky in that respect: I don't know how good a student I was, but most of the teachers were absolutely excellent. I can't really compare them with others, because I've never had other private teachers, or for that matter, I never managed to change schools. But then, even now that I look back as a grown-up, I feel that I couldn't really have done better. Now, must say something about my Teachers.



 I remember that I was way too much taken with books and studies, and too little sports. That wasn't the best thing: I am still envious of my friends who, for example, learnt how to swim in their schools. But then, we never had a swimming pool in our school, so I shouldn't be complaining.   What else? Well, there is so much: some things I did in my school have clung to me so much that sometimes I forget from where I got them. I still begin the paragraph by leaving a bit of a blank space in the first line (and if my prefrontal cortex serves me right, I was taught that in my third class in the English course), I still know how to use a Transferred Epithet. While I forget how to distinguish a canyon from a gorge, I know how 'Sisters Must Help Each Other'. In case you are left wondering what it actually, try Googling it. Try it, before reading on. I did try, and it did not give me anything meaningful. But I still remember this being taught in a Geography class as a clever way of remembering the Great Lakes in the proper order from west to east: Lake Superior, Michigan, Huron, Eyre and Ontario.



 So there you go: while many memories may become vague, some memories will always cling to you. That's a part of growing up, a symbol of how much the environment that you grew up affected you, influenced you, made you what you are. I am certainly proud of that. Not that I always speak about it, but it is there, deep within me, something that has shaped me irreversibly in the way that I am.



Perhaps this is why I was having so much trouble to remember what to write: so many things to write about that it is hard to put them in words. And it didn't help that after I left school, I wasn't really in touch with the school. I know many of my friends who were in touch: but then I wasn't much in touch with many of my school friends either.



 It is useless to wonder why it was that way. At the time I left my school, it was changing a lot. And I guess, because I wasn't a part of the change, I still remember the school before the change. At that point, I still remember agreeing with many of my friends that it was difficult to visit the school, because of the changes it was undergoing, and we were not a part of it. I never felt at home in the new school. But, at least, whatever be the reason, there is the part of me which still retains the memory of the school as it was: all preserved in my prefontal cortex, and to a lesser extent in the diaries.



 Having said all that, lets remember that nothing about the change was meant in a bad way: any change is inevitable, whether desirable or not. If you are familiar with the Second Law of Thermodynamics, you must know that Entropy must increase. I realized it long back, now that it is almost 13 years since I left my school (and more well-versed in Physics than I was back then): I have nothing other than loving memories about it. Memories about a land, far far away, hidden in time, visited by fairies and apparitions, which does not exist any more, but only in memories of certain people... so the story starts!

Staring at Love's face

It's not very often that this happens, and not always that you get to observe this as a third person, aware of how much of a significance this carries. In real life. Yesterday, I was lucky enough to observe this.

I have two very good Spanish friends, who've been together for almost a decade now. Almost a lifetime. Yesterday was P's birthday. I knew this only because A told me about it. And A wasn't here, but attending a workshop several hours away: so P was to spend the birthday alone. As it happened, I had bought along something for P from India (and also for A), and hadn't given either of them the presents. So, I thought it would be a really good idea to give P the gift. We were sitting in a Cafe drinking beer, talking about various things, when P had a phone call from A. I thought it was to wish P for P's birthday. And then, we continued talking. And then it happened.

All of a sudden I saw A appear from nowhere. And P was kinda shocked. Evidently this was unexpected. The look on P's face as P hugged and kissed A is something I wouldn't really forget. And I stared at them just simply, just happy -- so purely happy, so much joy that I had never experienced for a long time. This was happy for happiness' sake. This is rare. Last year I have hardly been this happy. I have been sad most of the time, and when I was happy, I was happy because I wasn't sad. And this was being happy for happiness' sake. You know what I mean?

I remember the pain when my ex- and I were away for a long time the first time. My ex-, another A, was also going to work far away, to another continent. And I also remember the A's expression when I came to meet A in the airport when A came back to Mumbai after three months for A's first vacation. I think I came to the airport from KK's house, and I still remember me waiting at the Arrivals in a blue T-shirt, waiting for A to arrive. And I still remember the joy at the first re-union. I was also staring at Love's face, but was not looking at Love. I was looking beyond Love at A.

And yesterday, I was looking at both of them, and stared directly at Love. 

At Crossroads: when the present is important like no-other time

 What do you exactly do when you  think half of your life is already over and you find that the things you wanted to do haven't really happened? I mean whatever subject it might have to do with --- your relationship, your career ambitions, your social ambitions. One fine way is to give up, and cry hysterically like I have done for the past three months. Well, I shouldn't be so harsh on myself: after all, all the possible misfortunes didn't happen to me. Just a real-crisis in my personal life and relationship. And it could have been far worse.

 Many bad things have happened to me. For sure, of all the things that have happened to me, this is probably the ugliest till now. It is ugly, but not bad. All it did was to show that how powerful can love be --- don't think you know it so well. And of all the things I've fought back against, this has undoubtedly taken the longest.

 Another way, would be to fight back, like I am doing now. Always do that. It isn't easy. It isn't difficult. It's horribly difficult -- it can tear you apart. But do it. Remember you are fighting with the most powerful force in the world; the power of love. It's easy to hate (and therefore please don't do it --- it isn't worth it!), and it is not so easy to fall in love when you aren't in love. But it is really really difficult trying to be normal and indifferent to a person whom you've fallen in heads over heels in love with. And as much as I would have like to me believe that this is all over, and I am in full control over myself, it is not true. It is a fight, and it is not clear when it will get over.

 Remember life is a journey. A funny journey, where unexpected things happen all the time. There are things you can't control, you can't predict. One day in the tram, several weeks back, I was my usual depressed self, almost at the verge of crying, pondering on the uselessness of life, I noticed two things. One was a little girl, who was sitting in one the seats in front of me, and trying to hide her face behind the seat, and then quickly getting up to take a peep at my face. For a moment, I suddenly found the reason to fight back my tears; trying not to show a sad face to a child who was all curiosity. And then I saw this person in an electronic wheelchair, going about daily life as if nothing had happened. Certainly according to me this person's life was so difficult, but whether the person found it difficult isn't the point either. The point is, I think, that I thought this person could do it like everything was normal --- and that's where I found the inspiration. It might just be a gross misinterpretation, but at this point, I am prepared to live with it.

 And then what exactly do you fight back against? It is an invisible enemy trying to engulf you from all sides. This misfortune, that is. And then you don't even know when your golden chance comes -- it might just come and go away and you'd not notice. Many strange things happen. And happen when you least expect them to happen. My life has been an example of that.

 Anyway, why, you ask, am I writing all this preachy stuff? To help you? Nah, I am sure that you readers are wise enough to figure out how to deal with your misfortunes. Someone told me that I am a very emotional personal person. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps wrong. It doesn't matter. What is true is that for the last few months I've been rather emotional, and due to various reasons. And when I am like that, it helps to read positive words somewhere or the other. And when I cannot find it elsewhere, I must construct it on my own. Hoping to encourage myself.

 This brings me back to the present. The past is beautiful in a sublime way: it can give you pleasure and pain, in a sublime way. The pain and pleasure are diluted; you've already experienced them once, you know how to mold them. The future is certainly not sublime, but rather expectant. You are expecting something, and again you are molding your thoughts and expressions and hopes in one way or the other. This leaves the present. I think that only the present has the power to knock you off completely, blow you off your feet, leave you feeling completely hopeless and alone; ---- surprise you to the extent you've never been surprised before!

And thus present, I beseech you: you have played enough of havoc in my life. Surprise me like I have never been surprised before, in as positive as way, as in the negative trick you played a couple of months back!

"What I do with pen and paper, he does with computers"

 And you looked absolutely adorable today.

 Oh, how difficult is it to be in love with someone, be rejected by that someone and still be in love with that someone, always on the sidelines, always hoping that you will be loved back. What misery, what hope and what misery.

 And seriously, I am not drunk!

Misery

Every day I promise myself that I will not cry when I come back home. And every day I break that promise. Nearly almost every day I end up crying, or at the very least being miserable. Loneliness? No, Love. A bit of loneliness, too; but that is a minuscule fraction.

 In spirits, I have never been this low for this long in three decades. All my self-confidence shattered, I wonder every day how to go on. Every day I have to try to let the time pass. Never ever in my life have I known it to be so difficult.

 I do not doubt me as a person. No, about that I am confident enough --- I am a good person at heart. I also happen to have been bitten by the love bug; so much so, that, even after about four months, at times I find it hard to control my feelings. And I cannot even go and express how much I love to my lover. While this person knows about the existence of my feeling, this person is probably not aware of the full extent of it.  And this person I love doesn't respond; we never had a chance together, and I do not know why I was refused. In spite of my tries I cannot, simply cannot get rid of this feeling in my heart. It makes me so miserable. And I cry. It's been almost four months now, and yet no respite. And I cry again. Should I be ashamed? No, I haven't done anything wrong. I shouldn't. My life story is turning out to be as tragic as that of this person whose letter I discovered.

I don't really have an enemy, but even upon an enemy I cannot wish such misery. That love could eat you up so much, I hadn't the least idea. 

Sadness

What is sadness? -- Sadness is thinking about someone who is not even thinking about you.

 Borrowed this from somewhere because it seemed to be very appealing in a particular way. And what is happiness? When that particular someone comes and spends time with you? Now that is indeed a cliché!

A love letter

For quite a while now, I have been learning German. It is fun, and productive. That other day, I found a collection of used German books, among which was included a comic-book. Feeling the joy that this might be something I can read and enjoy, I bought it. Later, in my home, while browsing through it, some sheets of paper flew out. It was a letter. A love-letter. In German. Of someone I did not know. To someone I didn't really know. Feeling safe, I decided to read it. It was written in proficient German, enough for me not to have understood about 40% of the content. But the part that I understood, was so moving, so sad, so universal, that I decided to reproduce it, hiding some of the explicit names and places which might the give the actual people away. Whatever be the case, I did not doubt for a moment that this actually happened. Somewhere in Switzerland. Using some of my personal experience to fill in the gaps that I didn't actually understand, here is a reasonable reproduction. The writing style has been somewhat modified partially due to translation, and partially due to my own style; but I think I have been completely true to the feelings in the letter. Because, to a large extent, I felt a resonance of attitude with the author. I do not know what actually happened to the couple, but I do sincerely hope that where ever they are, they are together, and they are happy.


Dear Beloved,

 I have purposely chosen not to name you, since I don't think naming you will help either of us in any way. Your name, your gender, my gender, doesn't really matter, since I love you, and as they say love knows no boundaries. And if you get this letter, you will know the author.

 The first question I am asking myself is that why am I writing this letter? Not to make you in fall in love with me, not just expressing my love -- which I have already done before, but more as an expression of my feelings. The truth is that there is such an overwhelming of emotions about you within me that I cannot fully expresses it. Not being able to express my feelings frustrate me, pressurize me to the point of bursting like a balloon. In the past, I have felt that I am better at sitting down and expressing my feelings on paper; so I am going to try that one more time.

 Is it only because of this? No, there is a even bigger reason. You do not love me back. Perhaps you never will. And then sometime Time will make sure that the Love dies. Because we didn't nurture it. Not all kinds of Love can be sustained by a single parent. And then there will be no memories of this, because we never experienced this feeling together. Therefore, I am going to be terribly selfish, and talk about only my pains.

 Perhaps you care about me. Perhaps something prevents you from expressing you love. Perhaps you do not really care. Perhaps you still love your ex so very much. Or perhaps you get repelled from me for some reason. But I would always assume that you behave the way you find necessary so as to not to hurt me. And this assumption is somehow based on the fact that I don't understand you. Maybe I don't even try to understand you from your point of view because that would make my crazy.

 I remember every single detail of the day I met you for the first time. Nothing special happened then. In fact nothing happened again the first time I talked with you for some time. Nothing much happened on the first dinner we went out together with friends, in a predictably Italian restaurant. And then it happened: like a blitz, the next time we were out, I was head over heels in love with you. And that was so unexpected. I was not expecting me to fall in love with you; or with anyone else for that matter. And that is why it hit hard. Hit very very hard.

 Perhaps you noticed. Perhaps you did not. But you were friendly as ever. You didn't move your legs away when I touched them with my legs. All unconsciously, all lost in the haze of interesting conversation. Those were the days of immense bliss. Always trying to sit next to you, always trying to talk to you, always trying to make you feel special, always trying to see that you didn't have any problems. Days of exchanging non-consequential information over messages. Me being under the illusion that you also might like me in some vague way. Stupid of me, silly of me, and done without letting anyone know, in the cover of discretion. And yet we talked. And we went out with friends together.

 And then that day it happened. You were late for lunch, and so was I. And although we had our lunches separately, I asked you if you wanted to go for a coffee with me. You said yes. And we went. And we talked again. But no one was with us. And things got personal. We exchanged a couple of personal information. Somehow you gave me the precise information I wanted to hear --- something I was expecting every moment, but lacking the courage to ask. And then I asked you if you were with someone. And you said no. And then I told you. 

 I told you that how much I loved you. Well, I didn't exactly tell you that --- but I told you that I felt a bond with you, I felt myself very much attracted to you. And I felt you hesitantly draw back. From inside. In your feelings. I could feel your surprise. Surely you had me figured out all right? How could you be surprised? And then you told me that you didn't feel anything special for me. And something in me stopped. You told me that you didn't see me any differently from other colleagues. And I flinched back --- I hated myself. I regretted the whole episode. I felt miserable. I tried to think what was wrong in what I had said or did. Something must have been wrong. I must have said something wrong. What? But I didn't have the courage to ask you that. 

Everyone else in the Cafe were busy talking. They must have been talking about very nice things, or I must have been putting up a brave face -- they did not notice at least a single heart break into two. Cocooned in a blanket of welcoming sunlight in the chilly winter afternoon, no one noticed that my period of depression had started. But why blame others --- I myself had no idea of what I was getting into.

 That weekend was hell. I tried to justify to myself that I had done the right thing in telling you. Over and over again. And nothing else would come to mind. Nothing, nothing and again nothing. Thankfully, people around were contemplating whether to shut the EU citizens out for good; and no one noticed my misery. And secretly I hoped that it would become all right with time. You would perhaps get to like me. And I would try. We exchanged some messages that weekend, but I was cautious and you were friendly.

 Over the week, I met you again, and again you were very friendly. You were talking like always. And I did not dare to hope much, but just a subdued feeling from last week. But you were there, like the cheerful and colorful ray of spring killing the desolation of the winter. And again I realized how helplessly in love I was with you. 

 And again the Spring let me hope. I tried to message you, and got nice and friendly replies back. And you smiled in the messages. Did anyone ever tell you how sweet you look when you smile? And also when you don't? I could lose my whole existence just by staring into your eyes. Has anyone told you these nuanced things? Except that all I say is completely true --- all which I have personally felt. How could your former lover let you go? I would love you so, so much. Make you feel so much special that you would never want to leave. Ever. I never told you all this, but if I did, you would stop and think that what a huge maniac I am. 

 No, my dear, all this is what I think. What I feel. For you. None of this will be transformed to craziness. Since a Love can be pure, it can be good, can be constructive, and when treated with reason it does not seek to harm anybody, --- it just looks for some shelter, some acceptance. And then it dies, when it doesn't find any shelter. Sometimes quickly, but whenever slowly, it brings unbearable pain to its host. Such despair. And sometimes it leaves some memories. Painful ones, perhaps. 

 In my despair, I asked you out again. For a moment, I sensed the hesitation in your reply whether to accept. And finally you refused. Saying that you didn't know me enough. Yes, I agreed, but how else would we get to know each other. And you said I would get too involved. I sensed your hesitation, your reluctance, but yet was powerless to do anything about it. How could I? When every detail about you would bind themselves in my heart, my brain, in my very existence, refusing to let go? And yet, I never understood why you weren't interested. I had no clue. I have lots of guesses. And every guess had something negative about me. And with every guess my confidence in myself went down. 

One day we went out. To buy some clothes. It was the happiest moment for me since I got to spend some time alone with you. We went in and out into the shops of the old town, talking and chatting about everyday things. And stupid me, the chatterbox that I am, I kept on asking questions about you, all in the innocence of getting to know you better. And every answer I got only brought me closer to you. Only me. I would think how enjoyable it would be, if we ever together. But all this was so stupid, so much in vain. And when we met some friends in one of the shops, I felt the guilty pleasure of a boy being discovered while doing some mischief. And yet, so much romantic. Later, I would think about this moment and wonder how it would feel to give you a hug and hold you in my arms. Perhaps overwhelming. Perhaps I would never know. It was one of the happiest days in my life.

And slowly as I thought got to know you better, you grew more and more distant. Your messages to my queries grew more and more monosyllabic; and that day you told me again explicitly that you were not interested in me. Getting more and more frustrated, I realized what a huge misunderstanding this was. Not that I had hoped too much to happen. But the root cause is that I am very optimistic, far more optimistic than the normal person --- and in many cases I end up thinking about much more happy scenario that can result in conclusion. I tried to become more aloof, and let you be. And here I have to be selfish, and tell you that this was at a tremendous cost to myself. 

I forced myself to be busy in ways I would not have dreamed possible. Too much sports. Too less food. Too much work. Too less sleep. And yet it would not help. Dear Love, you would not know, but there is a stretch of a few minutes walk from the train station to my apartment. This one day I got out of the train thinking about something else, and then midway your thoughts hit me so hard. And I cried, I cried on the way home; feeling the cold, the helplessness; and feeling blessed that the darkness hid my face to the few people that might have been passing by. And I don't want you or anyone else to feel pity for me. No, surely not: these feelings of sadness and love I have for you are pure, are beautiful, and serene: they surely do not deserve pity. 

 Finally, when I thought that the worst had passed, I asked you if we could just be friends. And you snapped at me saying that you didn't even want to be friends with me, I was just an acquaintance for you. And you told me that I was trying to invade your private life, and make you uncomfortable. And stalking you. And you blocked me from all your social circles. Really, you must have thought that I was a manic; a pervert, a deranged personality, with perhaps an obsessive compulsive disorder. A crazy guy. 

 I did not know what to say to all that. I still don't. I don't blame you. I won't ever. Perhaps earlier I did show some of this despair. But surely you did notice that in the last few weeks I became more and more restrained. But, truth be told my dear, I did not know what to do, and how to do things. I have been in love before, and it was an intense, extreme love; but it began very gradually, which meant that I could assess and control my reactions.

 With you, it was an explosion. There was such a flurry of emotions within me, that it became hard to keep all of it inside. But, all positive. Until of course you refused. And then there was such despair. Every day it grew worse. Nearly everyday I would think of you, and cry uncontrollably. Should people be ashamed of crying? No.. why should they be? Crying is not about weakness. Crying about something is showing your pure emotions about it, and I have done no wrong. So these cries of despair went on, unheard, and untouched and unprocessed. Frankly, I began to be overwhelmed by the feelings I possessed for you. I would think about you every night before I went to sleep, every morning when I got up. And as I tried more and more not to think about you during the day, the more you appeared in my dreams. I have been in deeply in love before, but perhaps with not such intensity. I would put on songs which reminded me about you and listen to them in full concentration with my eyes closed and trying to picture you.

 I have not the courage to tell you all this -- perhaps you'll stop speaking to me all together. That perhaps is a bigger blow than I can take at the moment. Therefore, I will just content to be your colleague, and try, try, try my very best in not showing the slightest hint my feelings for you. Do nothing that makes you uncomfortable. What this leaves in store for me, I do not know. I do not think I can forget my feelings for you in such a hurry. You have changed me --- irreversibly. In a way I could not have imagined. You never perhaps realized it, but I go so much inspired from you in certain respects. You made me feel LOVE as I have never felt before, the love in all its beauty, its grandeur, its power, and its despair. Whatever happens I will never forget this. 

 And with this line you know that I have not stopped hoping. I do not know if you will get this letter or not, if you will read it or not; and if the latter, you will perhaps never know of the intensity of my feelings. And I do not have the courage to tell this to you in person, since I know you will only think worse about me. 

You once told me that why would I want to share my private life. But a life is only private if there is someone to share it with. I could not share all my sorrows and problems with my friends, and the friend I could share things with is now gone. I wonder how it is with you. I wonder if you have loved somebody with this intensity. Oh, lucky -- that lucky person. 

 And that day you remarked that you were adorable. I fully agreed. Silently. 

 Endless love from someone who has spend two and half months of loving you non-stop!
 xxxxxxx

Making my day

It is a strange way in which the human emotions act. I have always considered myself to be an optimist, and hopeful in the most despairing of the situations. The last few weeks, however, have been a disaster for me: I kept on feeling that my personal life is a huge fucking mess. Of course, I don't easily show it, but really, sometimes I feel that I am bursting at the seams. Mostly because I can't get to talk about the issues that bother me. You know, the relief that comes from just talking is just so palpable. There are lots of problems, and by just talking, they don't get solved. But that doesn't matter. Talking is the first step of expressing some problem, formulating it in a way so that a solution can be reached.

But strange are the ways feeling act. The moment he came up and talked to me, I could feel the palpable relief, the transformation inside me, from being politely interested to one of exuberant joy! 

Goodbyes

Goodbyes are not really my cup of tea; which isn't saying anything much because so many people have the same feeling. This week a very good colleague, a very valuable friend, and his family, who moved out of Switzerland into Holland -- (and thankfully), for a permanent job. All the universality associated with saying goodbyes to people who are close to me, swept over me again.

Goodbyes to my school, to my college, to the Calcutta I knew, to TIFR, and smaller, more personal, sometimes more deeper ones scattered on the way in time. Of course, there was during August a much more deeper goodbye said, to a feeling -- an invisible one, a one that is really complex. But, I digress: what is the use of trying to describe a goodbye to something which I will never be able to describe.

Goodbyes, perhaps, shouldn't be said, at least to good things. But then there you are, powerless against forces greater than you are, which orchestrate things that you don't want, that force you to say goodbyes to things that you didn't want to.

Goodbyes can sometimes be so sour, either because the new Hello is sour or simply you were too attached to the past to say the new Hello properly. In anticipation, some people just hide the goodbye with an occupation. Like I did a couple of times. In August. In 2011 when I left Mumbai.

Goodbye, I wonder how it will be when I have to leave Bern ...

Goodbye for now!

Not Proud

You know, there have been things I've done about which I am not proud. Two such things suddenly hit back on me suddenly. Two promises. Nothing life-changing, but small ones.

The first one was during the trip to Jaisalmer. We went out to see the sand dunes early in the morning. It was freezing cold in the desert; and it was long before I had become accustomed to cold that I can bear now. In any case, there were some local people waiting for us with camels. There were a couple of small boys as well with them. Small, that is, around 10 years of age. While we went on camels, they walked on the sand. And there we were on the dunes, before the sun, watching the sun come up, while these people stuck up a fire, warming their hands in it. I still have their pictures. I promised them, that when I went back, I would take the pictures on paper, and send them a copy. I do not remember now if I wrote down the address. While the pictures remain on my social networking sites, showing off to the cool desert places I've been to, no trace of the address or the pictures on paper remain. A promise that I had ignored, or simply waited long enough to forget. The only comfort that I have from the trip is that before saying bye to those small boys, I gave one of them my pair of gloves. I was going back to warm Mumbai, I didn't need them anyway.

The second one was much more dear. It was the trek to Roopkund. And it was scary, for me. There was snow all over, and I was scared stiff, and slipping all the way. I did make my way as much as the group, as high as possible. And then came back. Safe and sound. Only thinner. And promised the guides that would never forget them. Promised as usual to send photographs. And as usual did not send them. I wonder if they remember us at all. Every week there are adventurous tourists, trying to hike up. Do they remember all of us? But this thought, is just an excuse not to fill my promise. If I did take the printout and send them pictures, then they would definitely have remembered. And this time there wasn't anything I could give them, and later feel happy about it. Only their pictures remain in Google+, reminding me of the promise which I never fulfilled.

It must be well over several months since I wrote anything. As usual, lots of things change; many things happen: you get to know more people, see more movies, read more books, visit more places, get a little more experience than you had before, manage to lose a little more of innocence you had. Basically you get a little bit older.

As I sit today in my office, pouring over some some equations and trying to make sense out of them, with the snow having covered well nigh everything outside, I suddenly realize the things I am missing. Around this time, by Indian reckoning, about two years before, I would typically make a visit to the BEST canteen near the TIFR in Mumbai. And then I know now, two years from now, I will be somewhere else thinking about my time here, missing the routine things I do here, my friends and colleagues here.

And such is life.

It was wonderful weather today. It usually is. It usually has been for the past two weeks. An perfectly heavenly spring, when you want to forget everything about work and sit in the sun, and talk, -- and have fun. I walked back from work today, -- got out a bit early than usual, since was not feeling like working, and then instead of taking the tram or the train, decided to walk back. The University is in the center of the town, very close to the old town of Bern, and the place where I live is in the westernmost part of the city. I've never walked back before, but today I did.
And I felt the sorrow. Not the persistent one that knocks, and bothers you; but the one so deep, so meaningless, and so mild, that you would not be able to express it. Evening is really powerful. I could explain all the three adjectives that I used to describe it, but I choose not to --- characterizing the feeling in any set of words would not only miss the point, but would be wholly inadequate. 

There is too much misery in this world --- let's spare the one over trivial misunderstandings. 

Identification

Today I felt sad. Why? A very common reason --- some series which I used to watch with quite a bit of interest had one of the characters killed! Oh, that's preposterous -- I hear you say -- it's just some cooked up fiction, for God's sake.

Really? Maybe it is. But it is so much more -- much so much more. I don't need to emphasize how much. Do you know, years back -- it's more than a decade by now (ah, how the time flies!), when I used to write a diary, I wrote something about these stories, movies, serials, ..., whatever all there is. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was something like this: Real life ups and downs, happiness and sadness, ..., are all either over-dramatized, or under-dramatized (really, the director has a flavor for dramatization, hasn't he?) or just adequate (wow, I hear somebody say, just the one who should win a prize..) versions of what we see made up in the cultural arts. (This was written in a simple but elegant language, though, in a fit of emotion, when what you really feel has a very high probability of coming out pure and elegant...I am proud of the language, even though I can't seem to recollect exactly). Of course, the rational friend says, where else would stories have come from? or Art? or Music? or Theater? All are, one facet, or another, of the real life.

Yes, I tell my pragmatic friend -- how right you are! And yet sometimes, I see movies, I read books, ... just to escape from this real world, to be something I never can be in real life, ... . Oh come on, says my pragmatic friend, grow up! You are no longer a kid who lives by dreams? But, I contradict him, when you grow up, can't you have dreams? He is really pragmatic, since he always has a ready pragmatic answer: Sure, just have a realistic one. Do good, become famous, get money, --- there are so many things to dream of. Yes, you are right indeed, I say, what is the use of these dreams of fiction?

But then why does my heart weep? I tell him nothing no more. He will never understand it, -- and yet I weep, wait for the waves of time to wash out the structure that the particular book/movie/serial created in my sandy conscience. The trouble is that, the conscience is not fully made of sand --- it is rocky at places. And then the water has a hard time doing the job.

Does, --- should the writer have the supreme power to decide who will live and who die? Can he act like a God? Writing about a decade back I had argued in the affirmative. He created the character, and he has the right to decide what to do with it. But, now I realize, it may not always be the right thing to do. When the character out the author's pen grows life like, and affects so many people's lives, dreams, feelings, emotions, ..., should the author still do whatever he likes with the character? Does he get to wield the power, do whatever he wants with so many people? I don't whats the right thing to do --- and neither I am going to argue for anything with my sandy-rocky conscience.

Meanwhile, I will just let it weep. Farewell, Ed! That's one more dream not come true...

a perfectly wonderful chirstmas followed by a shitty new year