A funny snippet:
"Holidays in the BlackBerry era can be divided into two categories: "soft" (where the vacationer stays in radar contact and continues to exercise his thumbs) and "hard" (when he staves off divorce by switching everything off)
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Albert Camus' "The Stranger"
Read this book again recently, and felt it worth typing out the ending:
========
Then, I don't know why, but something inside me snapped. I started yelling at the top of my lungs, and I insulted him and told him not to waste his prayers on me. I grabbed him by the collar of his cassock. I was pouring out on him everything that was in my heart, cries of anger and cries of joy. He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he ? And yet none of his certainities were worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man. Whereas it looked as if I was the one who'd come up emptyhanded. But I was sure about me, about everything, surer than he could ever be, sure of my life and sure of the death I had waiting for me. Yes, that was all I had. But at least I had as much of a hold on it as it had on me. I had been right, I was still right, I was always right. I had lived my life one way and I could just as well have lived it another. I had done this and I hadn't done that. I hadn't done this thing but I had done another. And so? It was as if I had waited all this time for this moment and for the first light of this dawn to be vindicated. Nothing, nothing mattered and I knew that. So did he. Throughout the whole absurd life I'd lived, a dark wind had been rising towards me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind levelled whatever was offered to me at that time in years no more real than the ones I was living. What did other people's deaths or a mother's love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me when we're all elected by the same fate, me and billions of privileged people like him who also call themselves my brothers? Couldn't he see, couldn't he see that? Everybody was privileged. There were only privileged people. The others would all be condemned one day. He would be condemned, too. What would it matter if he were accused of murder and then executed because he didn't cry at his mother's funeral. Salamano's dog was worth just as much as his wife. The little robot woman was just as guilty as the Parisian woman Masson married, or as Marie, who had wanted me to marry her. What did it matter that Raymond was as much my friend as Celeste, who was worth a lot more than him? What did it matter that Marie now offered her lips to a new Meursault? Couldn't he, couldn't this condemned man see..And that from somewhere deep in my future...All the shouting had me gasping for air. But they were already tearing the chaplain from my grip and the guards were threatening me. He calmed them, though, and then looked at me for a moment without saying anything. His eyes were full of tears. Then he turned and disappeared.
With him gone, I was able to calm down again. I was exhausted and threw myself on my bunk. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up with the stars on my face. Sounds of the countryside were drifting in. Smells of night, earth and salt air were cooling my temples. The wondrous peace of that sleeping summer flowed through me like a tide. Then, in the dark hour before dawn, the sirens blasted. They were announcing departures for a world that now and forever meant nothing to me. For the first time in a long time I thought about Maman. I felt as if I understood why at the end of her life she had taken a "fiance", why she had played at beginning again. Even there, in that home where lives were fading out, evening was a kind of wistful respite. So close to death, Maman must have felt free then, and ready to live it all again. Nobody, nobody had the right to cry over her. And I felt ready to live it all again too. As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself -- like a brother, really -- I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.
=======
Perhaps it doesn't make much sense to people who didn't read the book. A lot of it did not make sense to me, but I feel the power of it.
PS: I dropped by my old website, interesting to see some of the old stuff (occasionally cringe-inducing).
http://www.geocities.com/ahminotep/Writings/index.htm -- Some of my own writing
http://www.geocities.com/ahminotep/FriendsWork/index.htm -- Poems, paintings, more, mostly from the usual suspects
PPS: Palls, can you take a photograph of the painting I gave you sometime back (do you still have it ?!) and scan it. It was called "Staying Home Tonight". Suddenly remembered it.
========
Then, I don't know why, but something inside me snapped. I started yelling at the top of my lungs, and I insulted him and told him not to waste his prayers on me. I grabbed him by the collar of his cassock. I was pouring out on him everything that was in my heart, cries of anger and cries of joy. He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he ? And yet none of his certainities were worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man. Whereas it looked as if I was the one who'd come up emptyhanded. But I was sure about me, about everything, surer than he could ever be, sure of my life and sure of the death I had waiting for me. Yes, that was all I had. But at least I had as much of a hold on it as it had on me. I had been right, I was still right, I was always right. I had lived my life one way and I could just as well have lived it another. I had done this and I hadn't done that. I hadn't done this thing but I had done another. And so? It was as if I had waited all this time for this moment and for the first light of this dawn to be vindicated. Nothing, nothing mattered and I knew that. So did he. Throughout the whole absurd life I'd lived, a dark wind had been rising towards me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind levelled whatever was offered to me at that time in years no more real than the ones I was living. What did other people's deaths or a mother's love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me when we're all elected by the same fate, me and billions of privileged people like him who also call themselves my brothers? Couldn't he see, couldn't he see that? Everybody was privileged. There were only privileged people. The others would all be condemned one day. He would be condemned, too. What would it matter if he were accused of murder and then executed because he didn't cry at his mother's funeral. Salamano's dog was worth just as much as his wife. The little robot woman was just as guilty as the Parisian woman Masson married, or as Marie, who had wanted me to marry her. What did it matter that Raymond was as much my friend as Celeste, who was worth a lot more than him? What did it matter that Marie now offered her lips to a new Meursault? Couldn't he, couldn't this condemned man see..And that from somewhere deep in my future...All the shouting had me gasping for air. But they were already tearing the chaplain from my grip and the guards were threatening me. He calmed them, though, and then looked at me for a moment without saying anything. His eyes were full of tears. Then he turned and disappeared.
With him gone, I was able to calm down again. I was exhausted and threw myself on my bunk. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up with the stars on my face. Sounds of the countryside were drifting in. Smells of night, earth and salt air were cooling my temples. The wondrous peace of that sleeping summer flowed through me like a tide. Then, in the dark hour before dawn, the sirens blasted. They were announcing departures for a world that now and forever meant nothing to me. For the first time in a long time I thought about Maman. I felt as if I understood why at the end of her life she had taken a "fiance", why she had played at beginning again. Even there, in that home where lives were fading out, evening was a kind of wistful respite. So close to death, Maman must have felt free then, and ready to live it all again. Nobody, nobody had the right to cry over her. And I felt ready to live it all again too. As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself -- like a brother, really -- I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.
=======
Perhaps it doesn't make much sense to people who didn't read the book. A lot of it did not make sense to me, but I feel the power of it.
PS: I dropped by my old website, interesting to see some of the old stuff (occasionally cringe-inducing).
http://www.geocities.com/ahminotep/Writings/index.htm -- Some of my own writing
http://www.geocities.com/ahminotep/FriendsWork/index.htm -- Poems, paintings, more, mostly from the usual suspects
PPS: Palls, can you take a photograph of the painting I gave you sometime back (do you still have it ?!) and scan it. It was called "Staying Home Tonight". Suddenly remembered it.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Monday, September 08, 2008
"Voices from the Waters"
The Second International Film Festival on Water.
Website: http://www.voicesfromthewaters.com
A tonne of films with a water theme -- probably the most extensive collection in the world of this sort. if anything the problem is finding what films you want to see in the bewildering range of films on offer. My suggestion: just pick a day and go.
There hasn't been enough publicity on this so please forward to more people.
Details at www.voicesfromthewaters.com
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Yosemite Falls
Violating intellectual copyright, but here's something from our alumni group at IIT Madras:
==
Just returned from Yosemite . Couple of nights camping there and it was
good as always.
Some updates for those who have been there. In light of visitor demographics, Nevada Falls has been renamed Bezwada Falls . Vernal Falls is now Warangal Falls . El Capitan is simply known as 'Guru'. They have hung a wire across the Vernal Falls bridge on which I think I saw a striped pyjama drying. It was like being back in Jamuna Hostel.
===
It was followed by discussion how Tuolomne Meadows (Telangana Meadows) feels discriminated against and wants its own national park ..
==
Just returned from Yosemite . Couple of nights camping there and it was
good as always.
Some updates for those who have been there. In light of visitor demographics, Nevada Falls has been renamed Bezwada Falls . Vernal Falls is now Warangal Falls . El Capitan is simply known as 'Guru'. They have hung a wire across the Vernal Falls bridge on which I think I saw a striped pyjama drying. It was like being back in Jamuna Hostel.
===
It was followed by discussion how Tuolomne Meadows (Telangana Meadows) feels discriminated against and wants its own national park ..
Monday, September 01, 2008
Irresistable spam
What kind of spam would you open even knowing its spam ?
Recently I got a message with subject "Matrimonial response" . Couldn't resist opening it :-). But was disappointed (of course) - it was a link to the site itself not a specific response to a matrimonial.
Recently I got a message with subject "Matrimonial response" . Couldn't resist opening it :-). But was disappointed (of course) - it was a link to the site itself not a specific response to a matrimonial.
The Frito Lay project
I got a couple of good photos for my Frito-Lay project during the Orissa trip:
At the Peace Pagoda near Bhubaneswar
A dustbin too far : at the Udaygiri/Khandagiri Caves, Bhubaneswar.
More : http://www.flickr.com/photos/despoki/sets/72157604189816349/
I think this project has scope, please take such photos and forward them to me for upload (with due credit), or start your own set which I can link to.
At the Peace Pagoda near Bhubaneswar
A dustbin too far : at the Udaygiri/Khandagiri Caves, Bhubaneswar.
More : http://www.flickr.com/photos/despoki/sets/72157604189816349/
I think this project has scope, please take such photos and forward them to me for upload (with due credit), or start your own set which I can link to.
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