Monday, April 21, 2008

The Speed Force

I thought of thought, waited and observed
Wisps of emotion speeding by,
Heralding the oncoming of blizzard,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

I smiled, amused, and watched me delve,
Deeper into caverns, uncharted but traversed,
Rushing the onslaught, I saw me revel,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

Under the placid without, lurked unrest,
Seething to release a fury within,
Incited in spite, I saw it burst,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

The mildest flicker on brow undisclosed,
While in raged a turbulence animal,
Clawing at memories layered or disposed,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

The ocean lashed under crepuscular sky,
I patiently watched the light, the laughter dim,
As sorrow flooded, I watched me respite deny,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

As ripped scabs of memory mine own ramparts breached,
I withstood and incited, a commander stoic,
I waged a war, civil, brutal, honor unpreached,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

I saw me suffer, I noticed, I smiled.
Felt pity and pain rankle my being,
As I wrecked myself, my ego defiled,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

I found my dreams broken, my splintered ideal,
As I witnessed the devastation, I lost sense of me,
To test myself, to know what I might reveal,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

I scoffed at myself, as pity did pity create,
Till I saw me smile and noticed myself see me,
To indulge my whim! I did myself berate,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

As I watched me laugh at myself amazed,
My condescending stare to sublime realization grew,
I saw me observe my observation amused,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

Enraged, angered, I thought of thought,
And saw me see wisps of emotion speed by,
Heralding in me an oncoming blizzard,
And then I saw my face flash in the setting sun.

- Thriddas Anorak

Tuesday, April 15, 2008


Empty streets and darkening paths,
To endless ken their stretch define,
Cloudy firmament, unseen moon,
Forlorn hope, no inspiration divine.

As wishful hope dismal grows,
Due to reason unseen, unknown,
As questions grow to question why,
The moribund seeds are sown.

The mind meanders unchecked, unbound
Into streams, ideas, hitherto undefined,
They glaze by unheeded, unconcerned,
Memories of memories they do remind.

No sooner that chords of thought strike,
That the mind does split them in twain,
I stare amazed, confused, bemused,
I seek distraction in crowds in vain

Lost, in solitude, I guage myself,
alone, I sit, pensive, doubting,
wondering on changes, shifts,
On emotion, self-pity spouting.

Soon, placidity overcomes morbid thought,
As time and I echo ego and sense,
As I ignore, thoughts mine I forget,
Emotion exits, leaving but nothingness.

Then change beckons, chaos reigns,
A miasma of moods continue,
As normality resumes, I sigh and think,
It was fun being blue...

- Thriddas Anorak

Ah what the hell

Greetings, denizens of the blogosphere.
I, Thriddas Anorak, pompously greet you.
Having indulged in a bit of unnecessary inanity and redundance, this is to announce that no longer will I only indulge in writing posts that actually mean something.

Earlier, (for those who might consider substituting insofar - I agree!) I was of the opinion that writting nonsense on a blog is pointless. Well, I still agree, however it seems like way more fun.

Current changes in the author's life :

A sudden surge of dedication and focus has somehow resulted in a more organised lifestyle. This is the result of the author long harboring a desire to actually get down to doing task that he vaguely held in his head. I actually have begun attending classes. Being a college student, that too one in BITS-Pilani, Goa Campus, that is indeed very surprising.

The classes suck. The heat is unbearable. To rip off a Wodehousian quote, I quite sympathise with those Abnech, Sheschach and Nebuchadnezzar blokes, heat's hard to manage.

Well then, in other news, I have started running. For all those who know me and have been privy to the mirthy ( If the word does not exist, screw you ) act, I am serious. I have also created a schedule which might actually actualise to me following it. The early waking hours are testament to that.

An exercise regime has also been inculcated. I have also begun reading the news. This is by far the only interesting habits that I have developed.

I have also realised that my stupid writing is irritating me. This is possibly the one post I will not reread. It sucks. I now realise that the blog, Contemplations has not been living upto its name. Henceforth, it shall be canvass for all my florid, fanciful thoughts...


Sunday, March 16, 2008


The dream of making the world a better place is one that has oft been cherished in the minds of fools and nurtured in the hearts of those poisoned with chronic idealism. A Better World. Ostensibly, this seems to be a mere velleity, one that lurks around in the corners of our thoughts. It is however one implanted in our minds, an attempt by farmers of thought to inspire and mould the consequences of our actions towards this fallacious goal. These aren’t just the words of a sceptic or cynic, though I admit, I profess to be both. This is definitely not an attempt to dampen the buoyant naiveté of those who strive to mould the world to their definition of an ideal future and what follows is not mere verbiage intended for sake of argument alone.

The notion, of “better” unaccompanied by a concept of a “best” is what prevents this fallacy from dawning on humanity’s expectant shoulders. Since the birth of civilisation, since man overcame his awe of fire, since the tiller deployed oxen to plough his tracts, since humanity mastered first machine and then the elements, to now where he commands the very constituent of existence to his whims and seeks to both question and answer all, man has come far. Through the ages, history - with its tapestry of narratives and obloquies etched in blood - has proven the restlessness that lurks within the spirit of all humanity. Man has always tried to better himself, and more so, aimed at bettering the state of the world as a whole and in the process, the masses have managed to aid and abet those who seek but their own ends. The single flaw with the above process is that every idealist who aims to make the world a better place usually has his own indulgent opinion of it, which conjugated with severely megalomaniacal tendencies, give rise to leaders, be they jingoistic, fanatical or merely those of a spiritual or philosophical kind.

The concept of a “path to a better world” would indeed be acceptable if there was at all a notion of an ideal world. If we knew exactly what levels we aspire to attain, maybe then the entire enterprise might not seem as asinine to me as it currently does. Again, however, it seems extremely unlikely that a concept of an ideal world, a utopia does or could ever exist.

An ideal world is a child’s fairytale and an adult’s wishful thinking, one that probably helps him look forward to the day next in hope of a better lifestyle. What constitutes a better world? A utopia? No crime, no poverty, happiness in every man’s heart, equality, morality, a world devoid of fear? As tantalising as the above may sound, they are trite, repeated statements parroted without understanding the consequences of their implementation, if at all. Poverty for one, is a relative term. Any notion of eradicating poverty completely comes hand in hand with Communism, Socialism and the breakdown of individualistic thinking. The only thing we can hope to achieve is the establishment of a minimum quality of life and provision of bare basic amenities essential to subsist to all. If everyone gets richer, money has merely lost its value. Even in the most advanced societies, concepts of rich and poor will still rankle the mind of dissatisfied individuals.

The human spirit is one that quests for perfection, one that creates obstacles for itself in hope that it has the ability to overcome them. For such a being, the pursuit of happiness provides far greater satisfaction than happiness itself. The theory of the prospect of a journey being far more inviting than the realisation of a goal applies in this aspect of man’s personality. Any joy that the fulfilment of a task may bring is temporal, being soon shadowed by a far greater challenge that the individual would try to overcome. Dissatisfaction lurks within the skin of humanity. This primal instinct for betterment abhors stagnancy and will, nay, can never allow man to maintain a sustained level of comfort with himself for too long a period of time. It is this that man should attribute all his successes to. The will to survive, the will to prove that he is better than himself, the will to assert his superiority over obstacles of his own creation, the will to Power.

Man’s lack of an infinite ego is the cause of this Will to Power. The term, first widely used by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, a German Existentialist, is the part of a theory that insists that man needs to assert his dominion over others. As this goes, this extends not only to his fellow inmates, but also to inanimate creations, and absurdly, to himself. The notion of willpower, of overcoming your own innate shortcomings is also a sign, of man wanting to win over something, in this case, himself. This Will to Power sees happiness as a potent sedative, one that restricts, inhibits and binds man to a state of torpid indolence. The representation of the world - by the Warchowski Brothers - as part of a matrix programmed to artificially imbue happiness is our minds was, to many, a detestable notion. Why? Because it took away the sense of achievement, the passion, the fight, the prospect of a challenge, and the sheer surge of satisfaction on success. Happiness eradicates this beautiful sense of victory, and that man will never accept. A utopia leaves no scope for betterment, and as aggravatingly circular the logic might sound, it is this very lack of future betterment that prevents man from reaching the destination.

If the world existed to satiate the whims and needs of all individuals, it would be an isolationist world, one comprising of individuals in the ideal sense of the word. Society binds men in fragile, bonds of gossamer, never seen or felt, merely apprehended on every occasion. It was on the might of a collective that man managed to survive the ages. However, the happiness of an individual can never actuate to the happiness of a collective. The spark within man that urges him to relatively better himself is prevalent in all. However, this unity is that which leads to disparity. To quote a friend, society is merely a compromise reached between individuals in order that their basic rights will be guaranteed and will stay inviolate by mutual consent. When the very nature of society exists on a compromise on ideals, there can be no notion of individual and collective happiness. Each has ideals of their own, and the more persuasive, the more powerful, the more influential supersede the rights of others. The world is the result of the choices of a few who sought to mould the future to they’re concept of an ideal. This creates society, and it is on this that society thrives. The inequality of power. And as long as this exists, a collective happiness can only be achieved by denying Freedom of Thought. And a greater blasphemy is hard to conceive.

As I reach the conclusion of my arguments, I would like to clarify a few points. I assume they stem from a basic need to not be misunderstood. I would like to apologise for the lack of a cogent, consistent argument through the entirety of the above. My views need refinement in their presentation. It was possibly an amateurish attempt to philosophise but I strongly stick by the ideas presented above. The passage, ill-titled though it may be, attempts to establish the non-conceivability of a utopia and tries to give reasons to support the claim. Many of the reasons can be supported (with my current persuasion skills) only by day-to-day examples. The reasons that I allude to are, by themselves, long-winding theories and notions established in my messed up head. Putting them into readable words is difficult. Ignore the presentation of views, correct the lacunae (if any) in reasoning, but do try to understand the essence of the views presented.
I do admit, the reason I even tried to bottle my thoughts into a passage with a vain attempt at both brevity and explanation (and (initially) a mere show of my love for words and long-winding sentences) was a little influenced by the theme of my college annual magazine, “How to make the world a better place”. It was not, however the reason for the train of thought. It is a notion I had maintained for quite some time.

Consumattum Est

- Thriddas Anorak

Friday, December 21, 2007


And my long spree of non-blogging ends with another pathetic attempt to merely fill up space on the internet and quench my egoistic tantrums. So i will blog. not the type of morbid, moribund, melancholic rants i am prone to at my creative best. this shall be, more inspired by boredom than inspiration itself. the author of this blog, who with some wishful thinking and another passable attempt of megalomania has discovered that referring to himself in the third person will fill up sentences in a blog that has content which is but an incoherent, splattered representation of his flagrant, grandiose trains of thought looping themselves in four-dimensional helixes (helices?) lacking cogent grammar and sentence structure. There. haha. In my more un-sleepy (non-sleepy) (awake simply does not pander to my necessity to use unconventional adjectives to describe extremely simple nouns) moments where gravity seems to be my predominant attribute (it's not a weight remark, all you science geeks stop sniggering) and i tend to concentrate or rather brood - to choose a more apt term - about the whole "wastage of time" "the aims and goals of philosophy" and some other nonsense, i would often dream of a time where i could unleash my stupidity on this fearful little concept induced in the minds of mortals which they title "existence". 1:23 am, 21st December, 2007 has finally arrived. hallelujah. the author of this piece - as we journalists are prone to title our works of art (or wodehouse character wannabes) - is currently a resident of a delightful city called banaglore. For those of you who envy me, i envy you the fact that you envy me for the selfsame reason that i don't envy myself though i wish i could for then that would imply that i am having fun and was merely envying myself to get stuck in concentric multi-dimensional paradoxical mobius strips that confuse even the circular references in MSExcel and other delightful spreadsheet programs. I could possibly rant about the mismanagement of bangalore's infrastructure, its sucky roads (yes, i do use words like sucky sometimes) (damn, just realised i shifted back to first person, the author shan't (haha, still funny) persist in this plebeian routine any longer) if one would wish to negotiate traffic signals and actually reach one's destination prior or at the specified time that one had had a preconceived notion about, one would be sorely disappointed and would have to be content with staring at the rear end of vehicles for time measured in geological eons. Then its cold. The sun seems to have disappeared behind the thick cloud of clouds hindering our view of the one star that we can count on to look like the sun so that we may continue with out mundane lives without being worried about filling space in a blog which no longer caters to the original reason it was created (contemplations indeed) but merely panders to the creator’s assumption that as the owner of a blog, they must contribute to the blogosphere on occasion. If any poor pitiable soul has actually managed to read till here, you’re really really really stupid stupid stupid. If you must read, I could offer you a plethora of literature, non-fiction and better senseless crap to choose from rather than waste your time on this piece. This was written merely to while away the time, not as a canvas for my expression, not so that people could view, analyse and splice my notions, views and ogle at my method of thinking like apes are wont to stare from their cages when a giant panda which had erstwhile been quite placid suddenly starts developing superpowers and quoting kannada films, and not so that I could reread this with pleasure.

Now that I am out of content, and my inanity is beginning to fade away, I must post this before I come to my senses and delete this senseless collection of words. Check out the Chomsky bot.
to think i actually edited my grammar after all this...
the pity of sleep,
the pity sleep distills.
not in context, i know
screw you.
i had actually stopped at bye initially.
but providence has stopped my from discontinuing my inanity.
actually, it has
no, it has not...
Have at thee, base villain.

Why are mumbai and cochin mutually contradictory?
Coz' they're a paradox.
Deja vu'
Vuja de'
Whaze Dumb?

Wednesday, September 05, 2007


The shores of oblivion lure me closer,
As I gaze on to the unending void,
Obscurity beckons, deadening the sounds,
The calls of reality I avoid.

I stare amazed into infinity,
Its caresses tearing down life’s bonds,
Listless horizon, ethereal sky,
I sit alone, and Melancholy responds.

In oblivion I seek to shun myself,
Hopelessly, I still notice shapes in clouds,
Inconsequential speck of sand, so proud,
I drift along lonely in friendly crowds.

In verse I strive to bottle expanses,
And as words fail me, I question my goal,
Creation’s wonder, is it life’s reality?
Can a part ever represent the whole?

I stare again, still, amazed, confused, bemused,
In passionate wonder, chaotic sea,
I question yet again, in vain, I smile,
Melancholic, Poetic, Ineffable it be.

- Thriddas Anorak

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Bits on BITS

BITS Pilani, Goa Campus. Birla Institute of Technology and Science, Pilani, Goa Campus.

That is the current location of your moody, recovered-from-a-headache author. Due to an innate necessity to blab and having few interested listeners, decided to pen down thoughts. I love reading what I write!!! Here I am, after a grueling 12 hour train ride from Mumbai, in the hostel, all organized, complaining how the coffee here sucks and how this place, idyll rustic paradise-like place inspires writing and I feel myself lacking in words…

Descriptions first, it’s quite nice actually… Hmm…something more explanatory seems to be required… On the Main Goa Highway (Mumbai-Mangalore apparently) there’s a left which people often take, atleast those who wish to reach the airport, and there on that left-turn road off the highway is Zuarinagar, once mighty Fertiliser plant setup by the Birla conglomerate, now moderately famous as the location of the location of the author, that is I (aarghh!! How silly does that sound!! Still, will let it pass, no egoistic, narcissistic, editing)

Scenic place, tucked near the banks of River Zuari (a bit of which is visible from the view of my window), it proves to be a great location to fall asleep, a tendency I have been prey to owing to the great weather. The innate windiness of this place is quite amazing. Ah, the campus, is beautiful, extremely well planned, especially the drainage etc. The hostels are quite near the campus (300 m or so) and the shopping complex, your all in one need – for books, photocopies, stationery, paraphernalia like dusters, toothpaste etc – quencher is around 1 km from the hostels. A long walk, the effects of which would hopefully be noticeable in a year or so, especially to the inch tape measuring the girth of my waist, stomach etcetera etcetera.

Rooms are decent. Nothing like a five-star resort, an 80 square foot room with a bed, a wardrobe, mirror, electricity, long table, a not-so-uncomfortable chair thrown in for good measure. Needed a bit of clearing up, organizing my stuff, buying buckets, dustbin, a broom? (mothers!) bottles (empty ones, just to clear up matters with my not-so-bright, prone to inebriation readers) and other things, just got settled to the rooms around 24 hrs after arriving.

My first sight of the students (a girl I saw on the train debarring, since the experienced, observant, wise-to-my-grandstanding readers would notice the careful application of the plural (Semantics!!)) was that of a horde of student getting down from a bus!! A huge group, an odd sight in comparison to lone autos or taxis or vehicles trudging in. All with parents (usually two, note that the usage of plural does not clarify preceding point) Quite reminded of the time at Calicut airport where an entire village or so had seemingly come to see off one person (departing to the Gulf, in all probability) To those not familiar with the argot of people who know about the huge exodus of Malayalis (predominantly) to the Middle East looking for a better job, earning in dinars, and not paying much tax, accompanied by a huge rural entourage at airports, the Gulf is a term ascribed to the countries in the Middle East (to the Westerners, of course, to us Indians, its very much in the West)

So as to not regress from the observations being made, the students were all from one place, Andhra Pradesh. I was aware of the largely linguistic regional majority that populated the BITS campuses (campii to some) but was still mildly taken aback. Those who know the author personally would know that he is prone to understatements so as to appear cool (a term he highly detests but assumes fits in context)

Telugu was always a mystery to me, and it was surprising to see so many using it as the primary mode of communication. Quite startling when someone starts presumptuously talking to you in what he considers to be lingua prima without making any enquiries in respect to your linguistic capabilities. (Had some pathetic guesses at translation, which owing to my mother being present, thankfully did not lead to any far-reaching consequences aka disastrous results)

The seniors seem to be quite helpful. Nice place. Already mentioned I suppose. Since its my first taste of hostel life, expected worse. Common bathrooms. On application of arithmetic, 3:1 is the ratio of students to bathrooms. By bathrooms, I mean bath-rooms and not basic sanitary facilities as the word is often flippantly employed to refer to.

I expected a large amount of intelligentsia, and was quite surprised to see that the student population was not quite well off in that sector. Their knowledge and application of the English language leaves much to be desired. That notwithstanding, they seem to have made a very poor first impression. Though prone to extremely prejudiced judgments on the rare occasion, I seem to have got it right atleast a modicum. My father, bright ray of sunshine that he is immediately informed me that he was extremely skeptical of the success of my dreams of establishing a scrabble club in BPGC (Bits pilani, goa campus to non-students.. haha losers!) “Of course, these very students whose linguistic ability you mock will be the ones who get top GPAs, get into American Universities, mint money and run their younglings through the same procedure, will also be the ones to get the best marks and jobs (repetitive but true)” said my other self (who is rarely introduced to common public due to him being extremely pessimistic, morbid, blunt and obnoxiously rude at times) with a touch of bitterness in his voice.

That shrugged off, those that consider Goa to be a haven for beaches, barbecues and babes (This is basically for the benefit of the male population of my readers, if any at all) would be taken aback (or not) to know that BPGC proves to be an exception to this widely accepted statement (axiom if you must)

The following description is not for those unacquainted with Indian cinema of a lower rung (that which rarely makes it to Cannes or even popular cinemas in cities) where tall, dark, swarthy, brutish beasts (male) make off with extremely short, fair, pretty females (hot babes, basically to those not used to euphemisms etc.) there seems to be a large portion of the student fraternity which would be at the top of Type A list (me included, some smartasses would point out) and a shortage of not too little acuity of the second. Of course, the type A mentioned may not be necessarily dark, swarthy, tall and the term brutish might be a seemingly fanciful flight of the author’s fancies but the acute shortage part is quite honest… ah pity (not that I had great any expectations or any ambitions etc., I just thought it was a rather interesting way of describing the student body inhabiting the campus)

Now, I suppose banal trivialities like attending to the purchase of a new SIM card etc have to be attended to and since I have run out of things to rant about, will stop. Considering the ass of an author conveniently forgot a LAN wire (in non-tech jargon) (also, an extra pair of spectacles, something of rather great importance to one whose eyesight is as weak as mine, a few books, and other minor things), this is posted later (or will be posted)

Thriddas Anorak
1st Year, (BITSian)
B.E. (Hons), Electronics and Instrumention
BITS Pilani, Goa Campus,

Dated : 27th July 2007

More later, I suppose
We live in eternal hope,
So don’t catch what misery throws,
Just laugh, and don’t dope!

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


Why Maktub? "It is written" not that I read it myself but then again, it's the word. Words are beautiful and the irony is that the word beautiful does not match up to the thought. In the last few years, there have been words I have come up against, that imprint themselves on to my memory, those I cherish. "Huzun", "Maktub", "Incommensurable", "Ineffable", "Melancholy", "Umpolung" and others I can naught but recall at this moment.

However, that was not the intention of this rant. I started blogging to pen down my thoughts, and most importantly my poetry, for it was the best vent I could give to my feelings, a doorway to my own soul to be melodramatic. Initially, I had hoped to type down all my old poems to preserve them, but then, now in retrospect, they seem to childish, so naive...But then again, its their naïveté which is so endearing and its why I have typed them out. On occasion, I am victim to unsolicited inspiration. Those rare times, which are most when I am sleepy and thereby not in my "rational" senses, I spout poetry and its not necessarily in verse. Lines poignant, which I read later to my own amazement, their profundity I marvel at and then again laugh, thinking that it is but due to ego mine that I think splendid. But then again, it is my nature to try and disprove my thoughts, silly though it may sound. In truth, I like what I write to the point of egoistically vainly rereading even the inanest of my rants....

I come up with lines that strike me as philosophical and though they are probably derived or inspired from others....still

"There is Beauty in Sadness and Sadness in Beauty"
"Most men do not want happiness, they would rather spend their entire life seeking it"

This from today morning :

I must admit it is not as good as what was running through my head the instant I thought it and the timegap of two hours or more would have probably diluted it to quite a large extent.

The line drawn inspiration from "Even all the water in the ocean may not fill a bucket with a hole" and "The discord is a tribute to them" from a graphic novel on Lucifer

The hallmark of humankind is its imperfection, and its most endearing trait the quest to negate its own existence by seeking perfection. All the water in the oceans of the world may but fill a bucket with a hole if there was a steady flow, but then, happiness is turbulence personified...We seek solace and create contradictions and paradoxes so beautiful and yet we even ignore the beauty in our imperfect thought. We seek solace in life from life using escapist religions, seek happiness and yet shudder in horror; for the fact that we be selfish and would dare want our own good is anathema to us. Such is life, or atleast as most lead it, touching, endearing, pitiful by its own accord. And such is humanity, mired in contradictions, baffled by its own creations and annihilated by its own thoughts. We shape life by thoughts our own and yet regret existence. The beauty of melancholy is in the fact that beauty by itself is melancholic to a degree and what greater tribute to beauty than life...

Consummatum Est

This blog article as such is not well written, for the desire to write did not move me, its just that I had to put up the above somewhere and hence, listening to sound advice thought that the blog was probably a better home for it than an Orkut profile.