It is shot so beautifully - trying to successfully reflect the beauty of reality, you know. And the direction too is wonderful, so wonderful that the director is successful in capturing the essence of almost all scenes pitch perfectly; good direction paves way for the viewer to be come a character in the film, which was great to be.
Also, what I most liked are the subtle revelations, that are there in quite abundance. You know, the very subtle, but significant moments where the reality, the power omnipresent over you - when that power helps you; it’s very beautiful to witness it - I have been very fortunate to experience them first hand; that is - in my own life. So, this film had them too - in various forms, at various stages - some explicit, some implicit, implied, or very subtle.
In characters, all did a fantastic job, [om puri](Om Puri
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Om_Puri) ji has his immense prowess very visible; and not even one character performance is distasteful to witness. Hasan, one of the main leads, portrays as the ‘buddha’ of the cooking world!, or the ‘picasso of visual art; we see him struggling in torture, while studying his art, in glory as ‘the master’ himself. And it is extremely pleasurable to see it. Maybe I am that.
One big thing that I originally would have missed to state, but got reminded by somebody, and I am very glad to state: See, the film is based on an indian family. They are one of the biggest leads in the film. And thus - how beautifully the nuances of us indians have been captured, is also very beautiful and gratifying to see. They are such a great part to make the film believable go me; how else could I believe it is a real indian family? And if I couldn’t have believed, how could I have liked the film? It is difficult to believe lies.
And though ofcourse it’s evident from all I have written, but still - just to state - it is a mature film. It will not be understood by adults, thus. A little kidding, not all adults are fools. But it will require a great sense of imagination, and perceiving or attentive eye - thus will you be able to cherish the wonderful silences, or nuances of the narrative, to it’s full extent.
Please don’t back away, or shy, from watching it; let the experience soak you.
Hi you all!
Almost all the links which made me cry, laugh, orgasm, and thus be grateful for, and made me dance - in the most glorious form ever possible. And made me more happy.
I do no charity by offering these.
And enjoy, love. x 😘 I mean it.
Linguistically, I will keep in mind the video is good for english getting ones. But, many videos don’t require language to understand. Random fact it is.
- Trailer of a wonderful film, I am going to watch it today evening. It seems a fantastic story - and has one of my favourite actors in it: Om puri. He’s a great indian actor.
~ Hundred foot journey
Film was reccomended by my dear female actor, miss Kalki.
- An old animated short film: Theory of Piss0, that I remembered today. I saw it an year back, that’s how old it is. Is directed by a genius, named Alex murur.
~ I present to you, Art! ~ 9min
- This one, was posted by someone on twitter, near [Mr Robbin William’s](Robin Williams
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Williams) death, he was a great actor and stand up comic I have heard. It’s a clip of one of his performances. Made me cry. Shout. In ecstacy. Actually crying is ecstacy turned inside out. And dance, that glorious one, remmeber?
I will bring in so much light, you will not be able to open your eyes.
~ What will your verse be? ~ 6min
- 2 great short films I saw yesterday night. Both directed by the same man - Callum Macdiarmid. The former one was reccomended by Miss erika and the other one, I myself delved into.
This one is very personal. It’s actually me. Stamen ~ 2min
The one I delved into. Made me liberated. Sensualated. Powerful. Induced longing. Imagination. Such great direction, editing, performances. Horror sex. Liquid spirit ~ 6min
- This is an act by John Oliver, one of the finest comedians today. Generally, I don’t read political news, anywhere; I find it boring, disgusting, and what not. But, this link of his act appeared on my timeline, regarding the ferguson incident - and this man, so brilliantly using his medium of comedy, conveyed such a distressing topic for people in so much bearable form, that even I watched it gladly. I am infinitely proud of this man, to share space with him.
~ Last Week Tonight, Ferguson ~ 16min
- Trailer of a film made by woman named: Megha Ramaswamy about whose work I am very interested to see. The film is somewhat related to the power of victims of acid attacks. Yes, Their Power.
Trailer is lovely.
- Ohhh! This one, recommended by PAPA CJ - Yes, that’s his power of persona and his art: The great Actor: Irrfan Khan. Here he is - (with beautiful costar - Nimrit Kaur, look at her dress?! - OH my!1 for DVD launch of their films: The Lunchbox
So, this man reccoed.
I started playing. It is an interesting direction, which finally turns to great, extremely great one. Some comedy too.
Totally loved it. Let’s see when I shall get a chance to watch it.
- This last one probably, is something I am so proud of, for various reasons, myriad of reasons. It is a short film, named: Doorbell!
It was reposted by a great noted filmmaker from india, Sudhir Mishra.
The film so brilliantly achieves to induce tension, horror, fear, and macabre. The guy, who wrote, directed seems like a small town Grand Hitchcock. Do you know of what brilliance was [Mr Hitchcock](Alfred Hitchcock
And when I realized that the film induced that macabre quality, I was shit scared, and glad at the same time.
So here it is ~ Doorbell! ~ 10min
All these for now. Bye. And love till next time.
"When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence."
I saw her asking our maid to listen to this track she had in her phone, the maid refused. I had come to take my portable table from the room she sat in; I took the table, and went back - someone asked, “listen to what she has..”
When will I write my posts then?
"You won’t have less time. You know that. Go to her."
i walk to her room.
"What do you want to make me listen?"
~ there is a quite nice track I had..looking innocently inquiringly
I slacked at a distance beside her on the bed, and closed my eyes. It started with musical notes. She particularly said something like ~ it’s an actual story they narrate in here; to try to convince me that it might be interesting to hear; she adjusted volume, the position of speakers..
and it started playing. The singer in there told the details of how this musical story came to be. I had heard it before; under the same set of convincing but I was very prepared to sit through, it was soothing.
It was story of a woman, very obsessively devoted to visiting a sacred place of worship in india - this obsession, the lyricist stressed on by stating again and again, that she was very regular in her visits even after family responsibilities took over. And, only at the feeble age, the cursed old age, he said - when she wasn’t able to visit the place, she went one last time and brought an idol of the God with herself, the one she paid visits to: krishna.
And while it was playing, I was among him - well, I had been with him since morning actually, and only reunited with him, at a different place but again near the river edge, and on majestic chairs we sat looking at each other from across the 2 edges of river body. His gracious smile at me also made me smile. I felt I was radha, his muse.
But radha was beside him, so i was not at the other edge, I was right beside him on the same majestic chair, perhaps.
There, he told me the background story of why my mother was the way she was - the singer chanted, “..in the control of the devotee, lays the majesty [Krishna]..” - and I came upon the realization that mum was intrinsically living by this - she believed I was within her control and actually she held my life; Oh! I forgot to tell you - I became Krishna the moment I was beside..I was also the music that played.
the basis of this control, was in the devotion of the old woman - devotion makes God in your control. And twice a day, everyday, my mum does lighted offering to him. But the singer, also sang of the praises the woman showered on me, in the same breath..
At those praises, I smiled, we smiled, i don’t know.. and caressed her forehead; she needed me to. And I told her - “O dear! - You don’t have to keep me with you, like a naughty captive; I will always remain with you - rather I am you; but I can only be with you if you don’t search me; don’t look for me me, if you don’t want to posess me - only then will I be yours..” She couldn’t nod.
While along those praises, we went swimming in the river with water in tune with the music that played to us. naked in the warm waters of receding summer, it was almost twilight.
Further, time passes, such the singer sings. Janamashtmi arrived, and as fate would have it, the woman got very ill, and yelled with concern to her daughter-in-law, to bathe her kanhaiya (another name for krishna), and to dress him beautifully, and to lead the innocent one in his play toy vehicle. She was referring to do all this to the idol she had brought with her, from her last visit to the place - yes, and this is very common indeed in a big part of India. The daughter-in-law, was working on some project on a computer (sic) and said she would do all this, but after she has finished her project ~ 2-3 hours later (sic). At this, old one in the commanding tone ordered: “..since eternity, the first priority in this house has been to take care of krishna; so you must leave your work and attend him; after that do whatever. In anger, the younger one took the idol and threw it on the ground - it shattered! - it was a blow to the woman lying on the bed across; and she hysterically started crying caressing me with her heart’s pain, crying and spraying contempt - “Oh! You worthless woman - how great a crime has been committed by you, have you any idea??..Oh Oh My love - have you got any hurt, any hurt, where??”
By this, i understood my mum’s recognition with this old woman, and thus her obsession also with being overbearing in the actions/errands she wants others to do for her, especially the young ones, as the daughter-in-law here. Also, this leads to the cause of her extreme disdain attitude towards computers, and towards any work that doesn’t fit in her definition of work; as you saw..
Long since, I had stopped judging my mum; since my birth, I had briefly done anyways. And even now, while getting to know why she was in her present state; I wasn’t judging, but stumbling on her traits. I had loved her all the way.
All the while of the song, ‘yuvraj’ had his eyes closed - he was with me, we were there..
Old woman called out, shouted to his son to bring in a doctor to treat my wounds, and injuries. Son, on hearing his mum’s demands, remarked with as much helpless irritation towards her, trying to explain! - “mum, it’s just an idol made up of metal!! It doesn’t bear pain!”. But she won’t pay heed, at all.
Mum’s resentment towards men, comes from here, including my dad. I smiled..
Neighbours on hearing her cries, gathered around and son remarked to them, in extreme sigh - “With age you know, she’s gone way too lunatic; we had noticed in the past - the way she bathed and dressed her idol krishna; but today is her extreme form - she wants the shattered idol to be treated by a doctor!..”
This instant, brought to mind lot of incidents of helplessness my mum faced to get what she would have wanted.
One old man among the crowd, called the son towards him, and remarked to him - “..there are hell number of doctors in our hood, bring any one of them; how will it matter; the woman atleast will go quiet after he assertains the welfare of her kid, Krishna. The son guessed that might be the trick; he approached various doctors - all of them refused, some making pretenses of being busy, others politely refusing; and left ones almost refusing by abusing the son. Only the last doctor to check in the hood was left; son begged him to agree - “Sir, I would pay you 3 times your fees; for once, for once - come and check the broken pieces of the idol; and assert to that ha..mother..that her kid is alright..please”. He thought for few moments, prospect of fees really caught him.
He reached the place; literally took one of the broken arm of my idol form for moments in his hand - to check blood pressure; suspectedly looking at the old woman from more than corner of his eye; she was fixatedly looking at my wrist held by him. After some more moments, he asserted, only looking at the woman - “Mother! (in form of respect), your dear kid is perfectly fine..!” She immediately retorted, “You apparent intelligent one, didn’t you see the need to take out your actual stethoscope to check his welfare, almost yelling you incomplete worker!..”.
He startled; for many moments absolutely as [london-statued](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Statues_(game). Then slowly, without any resistance his hands went to his briefcase kept in front, to the stethoscope, and innocently towards my broken torso. Put one bud in his ear, the other end gently near my heart - I looked right at him; he started shaking, took the stethoscope away from my chest, and again touched it - started perspiring; again toook the device away from me, again touched it now shaking full body. The people almost standing sticked to him got more curious than they were previously, the absolute near ones backing a bit. But his vibrations only grew by the set of instants - stethoscope soon slipped from my heart, sliding away to the ground and he turned fiercely as if to run - the people behnd him nervously spacing out, when old woman candidly and with sudden strength in her dilapidated voice called out to him - ” Hey! Intellectual one…what happened! - your science failed? all those years and nights spent studying the dynamics of human body failed here?! huh? Tell me! you lad! dare not leave this place.” He turned like a shaking ghost-ridden yellow in his eyes and white on face - “…………………………………O….”
The sleeping ‘yuvraj’ beside the iphone, was also beating rythmically, very synchronizing!
Doctor was ghost ridden because I had entered into the idol. Yes! - the idol had been addled with life; and he thus had heard the rhythmic beats, of such great precision in being normal, and every single time he placed the device on my chest, that he fainted on my exposure. Ofcourse, I couldn’t have let my dear woman suffer the shame, or ridicule, or more precisely, the result of trying to be near my essence. I wouldn’t have let even myself do that.
Precisely after she spoke that to the doctor, the singer sang - “I told you, I told you - the idol’s alive; the devotee has the power to reside. Reside, reside, and control the god’s life - Devotee indeed, controls the god’s life, I told you, I told you..!!!”
Yes, the woman had certain mis-believings and mis-conceptions regarding me, and my ways, and my world, my love, and my essence. But how could I ignore her nature of underlying love for me, her rare but effective innocence to live, to live with my love? her latent demands to me? I loved her. Irrespective of idol or non idol form; wheather so called miraculously being present, or more subtly being in her presence; i wouldn’t leave her.
The doctor lad was hesitating like a man acknowledging the guilt of WHAT-NOT! - “……..the…lady…the old Woman! ….is not Wrong……no, no…not at all….the idol is beating from inside..>!>!!! - the woman really has the.. strings to .. miracle..!! - Oh My!! - It’s..It’s…It’s not she who is lunatic, ..we, we..perhaps are..”
People standing beside, rapt in first looking at the doctor, then at the woman. And then, immediately some of them, simanetaneously, fell on their knees bowing to her, she looked disgusted and slowly looked away, tears slowly rolling from her eyes..very softly muttering - “..I knew! .. I knew..he would..he won’t deny me…i was honest, I tried to be the best, the honest mother-like to him; he wouldn’t have abandoned me!..tear flow intensifying" - I instantly reached to her, and wiped all her tears, and placed her in my arms.
Oh Love! — I am there.
Watching other men bowing to her, doctor himself bent head down to her, folding his hands together tightly, and then I entered in her and spoke through -
I, the maker, and the raker, am krishna.
Stunned men, like what happens when extremely pitch rings in the ear - that happened with the people who had before been bowed down, now suddenly turning up to the face of woman, while rubbing the inside of their ears with their retorting fingers.
Even I didn’t expect such an affect.
I am the one in the soil, and it’s pore, in the ant crawling on it, in the chlorophyll, in it’s function, feature, and form. I declare war, I am the sky that witnesses it. I am this old woman; and some addled remnants in all you too.
By now, they had recovered from their audible shock, but spellbinding is also a shock, right?
I tell you, and this dear woman, the form, function and means to reach me. My magic, my essence, which this woman seeked; which you all pretend to seek - is not something that you get by paying amounts. It will never be granted, or transferred, by paying visits to my places of worship set-upped, for where you go and clasp your palms together like you do now - this moment, stop it. the palms go down by the side of bodies faster than the speed of light - never can you reach me, where you gift some souveneirs to my name, or to the priests. I am available free, that is true; in the sense - that all men are given the ability to reach me. But i am not available by fraud. available free, not fraud. Free comes with great price than fraud. Because being free means, you got to have moral integrity towards all beings, foremostly yourself - the integrity that most of you sold to the whims of this world, which you all claimed was a ‘bad place’, and was unchangeable. You knew you were greatly faulted. Since, there were men, certain men, as you know of - the ones with integrity, the ones you more or less fear - you fear, because they are better than you; because they didn’t give up their integrity, their scintillating self to anyone but to the ‘right’ - and decided to take up ‘the pain’, ‘the difficulty’ that you all sometimes restlessly shoved towards them; but they had my reach; they had the contentment - they had ecstacies, they had life, they had dreams, they had ‘sex’ - not the union one, but ‘sex’ as anything that gives happiness - the sunsets, the art in museums, the vigorous dancing they do in clubs, the lethargic, lazy routines they are blessed to have - this is their Reward. And I ask you all to, try to be the moral one! - to attempt to not give in to 'forces of this world' - you may get wounded when you start, but it is worthy rough tough journey, as you all know. Second, to reach me, you all must not let yourself be bound by prejudices, and rules, and limits, and timetables, and routines, and to-do errands; and family obligations, and societal obligations. I am your society. the society that forces you to compel yourself and your family to obey to a certain kind of way to live, is not a society; it’s rotten..I will never be reached from that place. Your society should be those honest, dreamers, those dissidents, whom you ridicule, stare at violently - those are your society; they are the ones who can help you to reach near me. But for that to happen, you have got to not judge them - by ‘not judge’ - I mean, don’t question them, or have contempt for them, because they do things that you don’t; because they don’t have time tables to follow; because they are rarely rude with you; or any such things - just accept who they are, don’t question, don’t grumble, genuinely. Do you know, what’s one basic key to the immense contentment they have at their fingertips? - that they don’t judge you all. They hardly ever get angry even though they may internally realize that you are doing bad acts, that you are maybe cheating them; that you are plotting against them. they don’t get angry at you; hardly live in contempt of you - which means, they don’t judge you. they embrace you. You will be shocked the day, you get to know how much love, each of those stupid, divergents contain in themselves - even one of them could submerge the whole of the earth, in endless love and compassion! That’s how they are. But I guess, many of you already know all this - you know those divergents are actually smart people, are caring ones, are mark makers! - you know it. But still are jealous of them, because they don’t shower all this on you. Truth is: actually they do shower. Why else would they have invented so many great things in this world, since the inception of mankind? and provide to you all, for almost free. Who do you think made your smartphones work, the screen behind them work? the knitting of yarns of the fabric you wear so gladly? who do you think came upon these? They did. They love you, but can’t show you - because you treat them badly. Stop judging them. And see how their magic will tickle your feet! :)
The men standing in front of woman, now shuffle a bit, oscillating their feet back and forth out of the spellbinder that had taken over. Many of them, contemplate on their lives, and seem really grateful to take all in. All that I had spoken.
The third is dedication, free-minded dedication towards your art. You can call art as your job, or profession, or bread-winner, or such. But, first - ‘art’ or ‘job’ - doesn’t have to be singular; any of you can, and must do, many different art or jobs in their lifespan. Yes. Secondly, ‘art’ is everything - from, making salad, to cleaning your wet floored washroom with broom; to studying mathematics; to gardening; to taking pictures; to making any music; to singing any thing - not for payment too (payment must never be a thing on your mind. I will help you all i can, but you must be honestly dedicated. i have helped all those characters, you know.); art is even loitering, that a 6 yr old does in parks, or museums, - because loitering is action, an action which initiates something - when the kid is loitering, he is seeing things around him, And ‘Seeing things’ - seeing all things is the greatest ‘art’ - from looking at the tiny ant walking near your feet, to the droplet on a leaf, to the fluttering leaves of the tree in the wind, to the garbage dump, to a busker playing music at the station, to watching your wife cooking food, to watch the sunrise for hours. So, the kid is doing an art; the greatest art in this world - the art of ‘seeing’. That is also precisely the reason, why kids are geniuses - yes! don’t be in the illusion, that you are smarter than your young ones - out of your ‘age’ or ‘experience’ or ‘job profile’ or ‘elder-ship’ - they are almost infinitely more intelligent than you - because they are seeing things, they are seeing beauty, they are seeing craft, they are seeing the good in people, they are not judging people around them, not judging even those who hit them, or scold them! And they are dedicated to seeing them further. that is why a kid likes museums, and films, and concerts, and mornings, and evenings; right? - seen a kid at all these places? he is extremely enjoying his time! That’s a genius at play. Third, never ‘scold’ anyone’ - none. You must never do that, irrespective of the crime, of any form, that person in front has done. You must look at the situation, when you are not angry - yes! remember that - and then when you look at the situation, keep the anger at bay always - and calmly get on with the task of explaning to the accused of their mistake, and how to correct it, and many times you will realize - he/she wasn’t the accused anyway! - that’s the truth. Most of you scold the innocent, the truthful ones, the genuine people.
there is a real change visible now in the crowd standing. the people standing almost vow to fight the ‘corrupt’, the ‘liars’ and ‘fraudsters’ of this world - and try to make a ‘change’ from their own positions. They are also ready to fail, but are daring to venture on their ‘new’ path - and are committed to survive on it.
The greatest thing about ‘not scolding’ - is to embrace your mistake, your hidden, latent, subtle mistake - as soon as you realize it. Accept it. There is no greater advantage to you than that. Short term, you will crib about fear of losing your respect, or fame, or job, or your relationships; but daring to embrace your mistake in that crucial and tough moment, is the greatest thing you could do. Subsequently, you will start winning happiness in your life, you will start to reach me - I will embrace you, with open arms. Also, you will start becoming an inspiration to the young especially, of accepting your mistake when you were wrong, and thus presenting a great moral integrity. Finally, you must after embracing, make all steps, no matter how hard or imppossible may seem - to rectify your mistake. Do all towards it. Be prepared, sometimes to even lose your life in that process. But make a change. Make a bloody change, something you can be genuinely proud of, in that dark night when you are alone on the street.
few young ones standing among the crowd have tears rolling down their eyes. as if they have tasted the recipe to salvation, or rather, as one of them puts it - by daring to speak in front of me, “..O Dear! - I couldn’t imagine ever to be get away from the bad path, the worst path, that i had got my feets on. But today, I believe, I think i can change keys. i can change my path. I can be good. I can be truthful. i can be a dreamer. I can attempt, to reach near you. If ever, if ever, you find my dedication truthful, please bless me into your arena.”
Instantly, the woman stands up, startling most people, but not that young boy; she walks towards him - and kisses him very hard, on the side of his cheek. Furiously, like a waterfall unleashed, the boy starts crying..people around him start having wet eyes too; I am heartedly smilling with a drop that rolls down, holding up all the men around me, in one big hug; it’s called - bear hug.
She walks back after a minute of bear hugging.
Lastly, please don’t search me. There is no need whatsover. All the men who could reach near me, even kilometres away from me - they never tried to reach me. Didn’t try to posess me; to keep me with them always. They never even thought about me. What they only did is to dare to be truthful, to never give on their integrity. To start dreaming, to start appreciating all, irrespective of all factors, the stupid ones of ‘class’, ‘gender, ‘creed’, ‘choice of sexuality’ - that you made the mistake of creating. Also, to not judge anyone. To be truly dedicated to their art - they went with what they felt like doing; not what was ‘in fashion’ or ‘profitable’ or ‘feasible’ or ‘advantageous to their future goals’ (infact they didn’t have future goals; they were enjoying their present. They didn’t crib about their past, never had minds in the future.). And when, all of these men did such things - they started, automatically, going on the path of reaching me! on the path of the brave! and the honoured!
I will love you. Let me love you. Be brave. And dream. And pay heed to fulfilling those dreams. No factor whatsoever in this world, will govern wheather your dreams are fulfillable or not, but you. Never, ever, stop dreaming! One men i knew dreamt at 70, another at 55, another at 63, one at 11, one at 32, one woman at 44. they bloody fulfilled all they dreamt. What a bunch of men! Ok.
the woman slowly puts her eyes down to her lap, and asks her son to give her some water. He most patiently hands over the glass to her very-slow-in-responding mother. And she asks him slowly, “Put these pieces in the bin please. my kanhaiya will be mine someway else..!
The son could swear he had seen glint in her eyes. He almost jumped out of ecstacy, at the prospect of what lay ahead.
Yuvraj opened his eyes. Got up from the bed, and left. His mum did something similar to what that woman did.
Ok. the hindi getting ones may listen to the music track my mother had in her phone. It doesn’t have a english or other translation that i know of. No problem though, you have a good transcript.
P.S. trivia: Since morning, I was desiring to go on youtube to listen to praise, and chants, to krishna. I couldn’t achieve that!
God, how I love you!
Right down to your mitochondria,
into the very strands of your dna,
down down to where your
chromosomes waltz in pairs,
there in the engine room,
at the omega point of your ignition,
I love you.
Awash in the bright electromagnetic
solar system of your atomic merry go round,
I am incandescent within the
force field of your love.
Your breath lifts the latch off
my fears, your touch leaves me
wildly oscillating and
fine tuned to your
The heady rich incense of you
drugs me stupid.
In this hot house climate
I am happily doomed to
blossom and die
over and over
like some exotic
As I take the pith and thew of you,
suck the sweet sap of your marrow,
absorb the texture of your mettle,
the fibre of your soul,
the gristle and bone of your history,
in this cannibalism
we become one.
Travelling your topography,
I become a pilgrim visiting sacred sites,
the honey pot of well known tourist traps
gets me every time,
and I’m happy
to pay the price.
My hungry hands translate you,
warm braille story telling in tissue and sinew,
a treasure map marked with life’s X’s,
this beloved globe my marvelous microcosm.
I look for signs of myself in your landscape,
to find I have left a trembling dew drop
in the centre of
a perfect lotus.
— Dew drop/Roseray
When he arrives, and he has, then - you will have nothing but tears of sheer..
He enjoys sitting at the river edge listening to the ladies, some distance away, sing praises and dance to Krishna. Actually he was the one dancing
Imprints of his sweated back after they made love, or as he says - love made them lay.
Appetite rose, and I decided to have chilli potato they serve at the canteen in the basement. Kept my bag in the classroom - who would dare to lift down that shit to the basement?
And I strided downstairs. Gave the billing slip to the chef, and he went on to prepare thereafter - and while in wait, I saw there were lovely greens outside, my city has been going through showers lately, I like to see it naked. The trees, and the bushes, all glistened and obligated me to have my eye on them, until he called me and gave me a nicely cooked, honey and chilli coated potato fries.
I straight away walked towards the outside, towards that side. As I stepped out, I noticed, how much noise and bustling I had left behind, happening in the canteen.
There was hardly any sound here, it was ethereal to have such a place amidst men, yet it was, waiting to fold me in. I walked a little flight, and turned walking on the rain soaked mud, towards a secluded corner hedge. Sat down and pierced my fork into a thin piece of fry - it’s touching on my tongue brought a slight sweet taste, with softness of potato coated with chilli, it was exactly how I wanted! I started munching on the soft, and sometimes little crispy fries, amidst coolness of rainy delhi. Just then I heard strings of guitar being ruffled softly, somewhere near me - I didn’t move to look where it came from, and then moments after - a voice started humming paani da rung. vekhe ke..(here)
I still didn’t turn - but the subtle ecstacy had already started reining right from the strings dinging and I was smilling from inside, while moving tongue over honey; thinking to myself -fuck! this is how I wanted; it must be heaven that’s rented this place.
Now I slightly turned, but only to note that the sound of him came from the low heighted slabs which were beside the flight I had climbed to come up. I looked at the flight, obviously the few college fellas passing through this man, sitting with few of his buddies, would stop and listen, and feel, and experience and dance to what came from the spot, but to my surprise - none, stopped, whatsoever - a girl with 2 guys, gave a glance at him, then passed ahead, few more groups came and repeated.
By now, I had climbed the hedge edge and over the bushes looking at this man sitting in yellow shirt, having guitar in between his arms and humming softly while his buddies looked at him, one doing something on his phone. I started humming, very softly, with him, but turning towards the heavenic green shade of orchards - and a long girl, draped in pink gown came running towards me, like a gem suddenly being alive and moving on the dark golden soaked mud under the shade. I smiled at her, and she climbed and stood next to me. We both turned back to look at him, now telling something to his near buddies, and after moments of our anticipation - he started, with gulabi aankhen‼️ - jo terrii dekhi..sharaabi yeh dil..ho gaya..(here)
This was to bring that inner smile, explicit, and me humming more pronouncingly, she looking at me. She knew who I was imagining.
The song, lasted almost till the end of my dish. We both were still looking at him, after it ended. He slowly asked his nearby to give him over the guitar case. She wished me love and left. And I strode off that flight, just in time when all his buddies had left, and yellow was just leaving - I asked, “..you were the one playing guitar, right?”
”..That was some brilliant stuff..Absolutely fucking amazing.”
Oh! Thank you Bro.
"I was having breakfast on that hedge [pointing towards it, his eyes following my arm] and so much enjoyed listening to it! smilling”
He slightly smiled, Thank you! Bro, Thank you.
After this I broke down very subtly. Maybe he noticed, or not.
I nodded. And strode off, ahead of him and went up.
I don’t have bad breakfasts, right? Or I don’t have bad ears.
P.S. There has to be something very wrong with the people of this world, who couldn’t dare stop to witness, and thus experience or appreciate beauty that was UBIQUITIOUS around. How do you dare to live guys? Or maybe you don’t. You merely survive.
Looked at her today, she was sitting with her apparent husband..
At the precise moment when I was looking at her from my moving rickshaw, she turned her head and looked at me - we contacted, her glance longer ..than what is given to a passing by men..
there I knew. that she knew..
as if before that she didn’t.
All those whiles, those moments before that day, at the time of sunset among slight breeze when I touched her neck, her waist..
when she held me in both her arms
didn’t we contact?
I say we touched each other, the moment she first looked at me; or No. - the moment I first looked at her
and then eyes going on her feet, which I sucked that very moment, their softness stunning me, in that posture I ask for..
All the time; when her hug recovered me from depression in less than a instant..
so obviously in that moment she looked at me for a little longer, I was in her, by my mouth. By a smile.
She, with her husband sells those name block beads; and mehndi tattoo of various patterns, and objects.
She was sitting at one edge of the seating row. Doors opened, and I entered, she didn’t pay any attention, but I glanced at her once and took my eyes away strikingly - I feared I would never move my eyes away.
But secretly, they went again, and again; the urge of seeing her face, her eyes, her clothe; increasing by the second.
We both started moving.
At one point, she pulled her head down, in tiredness - and I, having innate affection for anyone with head down, went up to and caressed her, for an instant - I felt her head roll in, as if she embraced it, knowing it was the boy’s hand who stood some distance away. And in that instant, I slid my hand to the sides of her head and kissed the pole - soft, and stiff. I was comforted myself just, maybe just, deep deep down as I wanted to.
I kept standing there, even after she lifted it slowly and looked at me, lips joined and only with deep affection.
We were chained together now, fully; and gladly.
Music was humming in my ears, while it was her face that I touched; her clothes that I lay on; and those hands I now looked at - those fair, veined, very soft textured palms, and their tops. She didn’t resist.
My stop came. I looked one final touch at her, but she stood up - gently strove me aside and went towards the door.
With head straight up, and long active strides, she went down the stairs - I following her, smilling, looking at her rear design.
At the station porch, she walked to her own public transport to hire; I to mine. And asked the driver, I later realized, to ignite the engine after mine passed her’s - she followed behind, very closely.
I took out my camera, as usual to capture all around; but she interrupted - often intruding with her arm in place of the light in my photos - resulting in her dark, tender skin against the cold metallic back of my iPad - and she was enjoying it.
The way ahead, I struggled to remain in comforting tenderness of her arms and palms and yet be able to click the sensuality around.
Ahead, came a cross-section and I un-noticed it except the smilling girl held by her lover crossing one road; my rickshaw passed it and out of an innate urge, I turned and her’s rickshaw was turning down the other road..
But in those moments of turning - we had eye contact. I kept looking back, long after she was down the blind; watching her teasing smile, for the first time and I yelled, silently, “Bitch”.
Song: Sulk Station / Bindya / Till you Appear
I saw her vanish. I went to the place where my eyes last followed her, her steps - slippers she wore with red mehndi-smoothened feet, and silver trinklets on ankles.
I saw her little distance away on little stairs away fro me, I was coming slowly, after relishing a good meal - she was slightly smilling, in a way nobody does but when I looked at her eyes she was looking behind me - I couldn’t move my eyes, at her face, her mouth, to her red saree the art design on it..and then she came towards me and went past. I turned and eyes followed her feet - that was when I saw her red feet glinting in low afternoon light.
She kept looking back very fluidly and teasingly, not having an eye contact with me, prancing across the porch, but repeating her sighting every few seconds; I was by then smilling a little more explicitly…and then she reached the road where the porch ended and suddenly she was nowhere to be seen. I immediately followed her path, and strode to the place where my eyes had last followed her. But she was not there, not to the sides and no ahead..it was a little busy road, but how could one disappear that instantly I don’t understand.
I kept looking for her, finally returning saddened. Only a vision of her smilling slightly fixed on my mind. And that was comforting and paining.
And why is mr. hitchcock connected with something as vanishing lady? Or maybe he’s not, but then my mind remembered his name then..I guess it conjured scenes from his work [Vertigo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vertigo_(film), and why did I have his thought minutes after I came back saddened?
I went upto the stairs to the station; looking at other women. Finding some beauty there, openly asking to no one - “Where is the factory for them? I want the factory, I want to visit it, Where is the bloody factory?”
While in train, I played a song1 on a loop and every image thus conjured, and everywhere my imagination could run - of an angel, a devi, a lady swimming in the river, a date I was having under the slipper shed of a woman in front of me, the shining green grasses I passed by, every pain in my body, every longing in heart, every design I saw in sky - she was all over there..
I cribbed and requested her to come back, when I reached home. I had voice as a baby. Obviously it’s an obsession.
But when I was pleading her, no. asking her to come to me, in my voice she spoke -I will, when you’re ready for it.
And I offered her nariyal paani I was drinking, and she took it by my straw.
..In, I am god..I am happy.
it’s finished, it’s a start. I am at the forefront..walking, just walking, straight, and with little pride..little.
I don’t know when it started..or maybe I don’t want to remember..maybe it’s just the moment, I want to stay here - in the present.
I am swinging. I am shivering. I am breathing heavily. I am on the verge of ecstacy..or maybe I never recovered out of it.
It’s not easy to remain in prolonged periods of ecstacy you know, it isn’t easy..no, no. It’s like continous orgasm. It’s pleasurable but you have to find multi-dimensions to it - else it kills you, a glorious death.
Now is one of those moments - I have recovered from depression, a short one and now I am out there, again.
I have so much beauty, so much beauty, so many tinkles, so many … unfathomable, unreachable, inconquerable..inside me. You get it? no, you don’t. I have light within me - a constant glow..you know it partially - you know I am a bastard.
But you hardly know just the tip of the iceberg, iceberg is me.
Our behavioural science teacher told us that, Sigmund Freud - who was a neurologist and many other things, said that - the conscious self, or the (visible) personality of a man is just the tip of iceberg of his total constituents..
If you see the photographs I do..Know that - I have million more photographs in my store to be shared, to be edited..
if you read my writtings, you may know that I have more than a million latent, or explicit ideas stored somewhere..
If you watch my vines, I feel I have not even started making vines..I know what number have been made - but I am going unrestricted, I will cross everything..
it might sound pretentious, but it is not; I have went into depression thinking it was all false..that I didn’t have even a speck to kiss me - but I rather landed hard on the cold floor suddenly turning warm then glowing - and I was kicked by angels - asking me to see what I had done, to see what was to be done..
there I learned the infinity existing inside
embrace my beauty..it is infinite, it can do anything. Anything.
take it please, I don’t want to throw it into the river as unused by none.
In ecstacy, you open your eyes wide, you fall into a Great smile - sometimes inside, you feel a lot, a lot, a lot of happiness - a power surging slowly, hurting you; and it’s hard to take all this especially when it’s continous - but it’s worth it.
I can’t even begin to tell you how much I have seen, how much! - often, I have wanted to capture all that was around me, ALLLL - from the countless buildings, to the young and old people, to the trees passing me, to the wind flowing, to the soil under my feet, to the dust on my face, to my dishevelled hair, to my penis - so that for once, for once, you may see and experience what i was did..for once.
But I can’t, I can’t ever capture all around me - sometimes camera doesn’t permit it; or I don’t; or you won’t - not that you intentionally detest it or such, but you just don’t - you see a tree as a structure of leaves, and few twigs, and when asked what it’s color is - you hesitantly and irritatingly reply, ‘green’ - but I see it the trunk of it as a man wearing the most beautiful head gear - a head gear having a glow in form of green - a glinting one, slighlty ruffling green - standing in pride! and this brings joy.
It seems to me, it seems that the ones close to me - kind of, my inner circle - those people experience some kind of pleasure in me, in my work, some kind of..
because they embrace it. They don’t imitate me or my work; they don’t want to know how I came to the place I am presently at; they don’t even care I exist - they just know it, they just feel it.
Feel my work..
One way of ensuring it will be to start doing your own work. I encourage you. Don’t think just because I don’t know you, thus I don’t care about you. You don’t know my reach - I am in many ways ESP.
Start doing some true art. Anything. Photograaph - don’t give a damn to cam - it never matters as much as ‘your’ truthfulness at capturing beauty. Open your eyes, even the dust looks beautiful then, and most beautiful, most beautiful thing ever.
You have happy moments. Any moments. Sad moments. Tragedies. Secret desires. Write them - never care about wheather someone may like it or not; you writting with truthful passion will make the text magical. Write, tell the world. Shout and post on the internet. Post it on your blog, make one!
You forget things, if you have no one to tell them to.1 So tell the world.
Take photos. Make or start painting, sketching, dancing, going to movies, roaming in streets, anything.
Good or bad quality of any of those doesn’t matter. Really. It just doesn’t. Your commitment to it does; truthfulness does - rest all is noise. All.
I need your art. In art, you see, Oversupply is never enough. The world need good art, you need it. If you haven’t realized it as yet, there is time - go, do that thing which you wanted to start but couldn’t, due to whatever. That thing, which you thought you would like doing - but feared to fail in it; but feared to tell it someone, even to yourself.
Do it. Arrange. Start in a small way.
It is one big, BIG way to embrace me, to embrace my beauty..and nothing is more neccessary now. Nothing. Hunger gets satisfied somehow; contentment doesn’t, that easily. And source of which is art.
dance with me, no?
Song: All of Nue
This manuscript page from 1665 shows a 23-year old Isaac Newton calculating the area under a hyperbola ( the curve drawn on the top left of the page).
He calculates no less than 55 decimal places, meticulously adding values from each term of an infinite series. The series emerges naturally when the space under this curve is cut up into an infinite number of thin rectangular strips, and their areas are added up. Because Newton does not have a mechanical computer, his entire thought process (known by the archaic term quadrature) is completely visible on paper.
One can imagine sitting on the shoulders of Sir Isaac Newton as he invented the symbolic machinery needed to describe his system of the universe. In the next 3 months we will try to experience exactly that, by studying Newton’s original masterworks, including the Method of Fluxions and his magnum opus the Principia.
What is there in thee, Man - that can be known? —
Dark fluxion, all unfixable by thought,
A phantom dim of past and future wrought
Newton’s own name for the full-blown architecture of calculus was the fluxions, a word that would feature almost a hundred years later in the poem above by Samuel T. Coleridge.
Calculus is a language of movement and change, and underneath its facade lies the vast scaffold of infinite sums such as the one created by Newton. However, the historical origin of these ideas lies thousands of years ago in ancient Greece.
The first infinite series were discovered in ancient Greece with Zeno’s paradox and Archimedes’ calculation of the area under a parabola. This proto-science lay largely dormant for centuries, with some important breakthroughs made by Nicole Oresme in 14th century France and his contemporary Madhava in India, for purposes of astronomy.
From Clockwork To Chaos
When Kepler began constructing his theory of orbital motion, and his Platonic vision of a universe in harmony - areas of shapes were indeed thought of as a sum of infinite lines. Volumes were similarly imagined as a collection of infinite discs. Naturally then, the summation of infinite series was always one of the most important and time-consuming tasks of any Renaissance mathematicus.
Here is a page from Bonaventura Cavalieri's Geometria indivisibilibus continuorum nova quadam ratione promota (Geometry, developed by a new method through the indivisibles of the continua, 1635):
After Isaac Newton described the laws of gravity ( not before having infinite series and fluxions firmly in his grasp ) the prevailing view of the universe was described famously by Pierre Simone, Marquis de Laplace in these famous words:
We may regard the present state of the universe as the effect of its past and the cause of its future. An intellect which at a certain moment would know all forces that set nature in motion, and all positions of all items of which nature is composed, if this intellect were also vast enough to submit these data to analysis, it would embrace in a single formula the movements of the greatest bodies of the universe and those of the tiniest atom; for such an intellect nothing would be uncertain and the future just like the past would be present before its eyes.
However, Laplace was to be proved wrong…..the problems of celestial mechanics did not yield so easily to the laws of Newton. Neither were the orbits of the moon, the planets and their gravitational effects on each other so predictable as to be some kind of clockwork.
The solution to the motion of a two-body system, by Newton and his eighteenth century mathematical successors, is one of the triumphs of Newtonian mechanics.
In our own solar system, which has many more than two bodies, things are much more complicated. The planets follow orbits that are almost, but not exactly, ellipses, the discrepancy being due to the fact that each planet has its own gravitational field, which influences – or perturbs – the motion of all the others. Consequently, the planets’ orbits are not exactly periodic: they return to a slightly different position, and their time of revolution about the sun varies slightly, from year to year.
They needed a better mathematics to describe the perturbed mess that was our solar system. Passing through the deft hands of mathematicians like Barrow, Wallis, Gregory, Newton, Leibniz, Gauss, Euler, Laplace, d’Alembert, Clairaut & Lagrange….infinite series became one of the formidable weapons of mathematical physics.
After burying the all-knowing demon god of Laplace, these new methods yielded a completely new vision of the cosmos - the radical theme of which was a beautiful chaos. The damning shock of this new vision came from Henri Poincaré, who explained it thus:
….imagine a small asteroid, moving back and forth between two larger bodies - call them planets A and B. Given the right conditions, it is possible for the asteroid to alternate between the two planets, spending some of its time revolving around A, and some revolving around B, like a bee flitting back and forth between two flowers. If we track which planet the asteroid goes around at each revolution, we will get a sequence of A’s and B’s which can look statistically like a sequence of random coin tosses.
The workshop will take the participants through this short journey from clockwork to chaos in the most interesting way possible. Throughout this period, we will be looking at original sources and manuscripts from history wherever accessible.
Who can Join? Absolutely anyone. This course is for self-taught hobbyists, not for experts; and it is designed to require absolutely no prior knowledge of history, science or mathematics. Here is some feedback (on Twitter) from attendees of the most recent workshops. Apart from the existing members ( 66 from 13 countries ) we hope to enroll at least 75-80 new participants worldwide in this round.
How does it work? The workshop will be conducted via the online ZetaTrek mailing list, which has been active for almost 3 years now. Participants will be guided through interactive modules according to a syllabus (always being updated). The duration of the workshop is roughly 3 months, extending from 19 July-19 October, 2014. The expected commitment is roughly 2-5 hours per week, depending on your enthusiasm.
This workshop is also the final 3 months (or, second semester) of The Age of Re:discovery online workshop. Our first semester was wide-ranging and diverse in ideas, cultures and images. In this second semester, we would like us to keep a sharp focus on Newton’s corpus of ideas and keep miscellany on the sidelines.
For existing members of the Zetatrek expedition, this phase intends to bring a familiarity with the historical development of calculus, geometry and more importantly infinite series. We could then study Euler’s work on the zeta function ( because that too is an infinite series ) and thus by the end of October 2014, we can finally segue back into the original goal of Zetatrek - the Riemann Hypothesis.
Registrations: This is an independent platform without any institutional funding. Participants are expected to contribute a fee of $250 (approx. Rs. 15000) for the entire duration. All new participants will get access to our 3 year archives and a lifetime membership of the Zetatrek expedition. All future workshops will thus be free.
You can pay using our online ticketing facility DoAttend, or Paypal ( the linked Gmail ID is “fadebox” ). Please contact me at the address above for any further queries or assistance.
Scholarships & Gifts: Since the fee may be too much for some people, we always create some free scholarships. This time, for every 10 people who register with the fee, we will offer one free scholarship. So if 200 people register, 20 others will be awarded a free seat. The details of applying will be announced later. You are also welcome to sponsor a scholarship for a friend, or send one as a gift.
Convenor: Rohit Gupta (38, M) is an autodidact interested in the history of science and mathematics. In particular, interdisciplinary interactions such as between astronomy and geometry; or colonial science and its Oriental reception. Some of the previous workshops are listed here, along with a recent interview. His older projects have been featured at Wired and the BBC. Gupta also writes the blog Compasswallah, and tweets as @fadesingh. A complete CV is available on request.
- The Zetatrekker’s Guide To The Galaxy, online documentation of the project is constantly updated, by Rohit Gupta & Ajinkya Kulkarni
- The secret writings of Isaac Newton, by Sarah Dry…author of The Newton Papers.
- A video lecture on the historical development of infinite series by N.J. Wildberger. The whole series is worth watching.
"Prime Vérité" is a short film about the ZetaTrek expedition (est. 2011) where science and math hobbyists all over the world are trying to solve the Riemann Hypothesis. This video discusses some of the current research around this problem.
The film features the project founder Rohit Gupta ( @fadesingh on twitter) and was directed by Aiman Ali of Asylum Films. The production crew consisted of Vidya Muralidharan, Surbhit Saxena, Divya Sharma, Nikita Mhatre, Ram (sound) and Amit Kumar Manikpuri.
A lot of the stuff I spoke about did not make the cut, and what did might require further explanation. So here it is.
The film essentially explores connections between prime numbers and physical reality. Because the primes are indivisible, they are like building blocks or atoms. But this metaphor is taken much further…
After starting off with the famous meeting between Dyson & Montgomery at Princeton, I mention the occurrence of prime numbers in the biological world. And this has been known for some time in the context of periodical cicadas.
So how do the cicadas know how to calculate prime numbers? They don’t. They’re cicadas. The pattern probably emerged as a result of Darwinian natural selection: cicadas that naturally matured in easily divisible years were gobbled up by predators, and simply didn’t live long enough to produce as many offspring. Those who, by chance, had long, prime-numbered life spans fared best, survived longest, and left the most offspring, becoming the dominant variation of the species. (There are now at least fifteen distinct populations of periodical cicadas.) As things stand now, cicada emergences are so tightly timed, with the bulk of the insects emerging within a span of a few weeks, that any cicada that tries to break the pattern is simply taking her offspring’s life into her own hands.
And then I go on to mention the departure patterns of Mexican bus drivers. This is a more recent idea and the whole article is worth reading.
The men handed over their used papers. When the researchers plotted thousands of bus departure times on a computer, their suspicions were confirmed: The interaction between drivers caused the spacing between departures to exhibit a distinctive pattern previously observed in quantum physics experiments.
Towards the end I talk about an atom bouncing around for infinity inside a circle, which is essentially an allusion to the circular billiards model. I also briefly talk about the prime numbers as a gas, or the “primon gas" system. So now, you have to think of a box of gas as a 3-dimensional billiards table with a very large number of particles. From prime numbers as atoms, we have arrived at the idea that an infinity of such numbers could behave like a gas.
This stuff is a little hard to grasp unless you’re familiar with statistical mechanics, but here is the source of this idea.
I sit at 3. Staring at this white screen - writting on this new app. Watched Manhattan, ‘79 flick a few tens minute back.
It’s about people taking life in a way; in a particular way, yet each different from other; each with their own struggles - some have self induced ones. Others just try to go with the flow - make mistakes, learn, and run againn - like the wind’s gotta blow, it gotta - however way; that it must ruffle past the hair, with the clothes flowing back - hands by our sides, looking straight ahead - and ready to do, do anything - pull in a jump, dig in a cave, rest in chaos, dance in rain, cry in market, wash in dark -only in the sound of rubbing of our fingers on our buttocks, and then there is light, a slight glow from a little far away..and we stand, naked..sound of our pants getting snaked on the dry ground, and as I look, he too is naked in the glow. Behind him, just besidely behind, was also this girl in naked, smilling at me her eyes going down, staying, and then moving back to my face and I stood spellbound and she walked up to me, and whispered, ‘kiss me’.