Is Life Worth Living?

Posted on 21 Oct 2016 under Journal/Life Updates

As human beings, I believe we are programmed to exist, to survive against whatever life throws at us.

I was speaking to a friend of mine yesterday about the magic of music, and how I try not to judge others’ taste in music because I’ve seen others take as much enjoyment out of music I dislike as I do out of music I love. So who am I to judge, eh?

At some point, I think I made the hyperbolic statement, “I can’t live without music.”

Obviously, this is not literally true. Like I said, I believe human beings are programmed to survive. Heck, forget music. People have learnt to live without without far more important things in life — limbs, food, water … common sense, even. So, yes, you can (or rather, I can) live without music and without a lot of things.

But I suppose the question I’d ask is … would you want to?

What is it in life, losing which would make you wonder whether it’s worth being alive? I argue that for some musicians, whose life is their music, being unable to hear music or make music might give them cause to give up on life. I argue that for some sportspeople, retirement from the sport that was their life causes them to lose their sanity (I remember reading about footballers who, after retirement, took up a life of booze and drugs and died early and alone). And so, I suppose, to each his own.

As for me, I’m listening to old Offspring albums after a very long time, and I’m in love again.

The Wind of Change.

Posted on 06 Oct 2016 under Random

Dim the lights, let the soft glow of the corner lamp cast its addictive spell on me. Let the last song play, tired and sleepy from the speakers that look at us with no judgments.

Here I am, like I’ve been all this while, drifting, following the wind, listening to the words someone whispered a long time back that echo every now and then. They lose all meaning, until all that remains is the barest timbre of a voice.

Time drips like water from a leaky faucet. I can hear it every now and then, turning the pages of the calendar, turning the hands of the clock, making noise once in a while as if to clear its throat and announce its omnipresence.

The lamp begins to flicker, the music turns slowly into white noise, and darkness comes with its loving embrace.

There I was, where I’ve been all this while; goodbye, old friend, and thank you for your love. Until we meet again, I will ride the crest of the wind of change.

The Anchor

Posted on 18 Jul 2016 under Journal/Life Updates

I find myself caught between hating the anchor for keeping me from flying, and loving it for keeping me grounded and secure.


The Gamer

Posted on 23 May 2016 under Random

I’ve lived many lives,
Many times I’ve lived, loved, and died
And been reborn
Many places I’ve called home –
Masyaf, Persia, Rapture … Los Santos
I’ve killed and been killed
I’ve made mistakes, and learnt
I’ve grown
I’ve been a legend and a legend killer
A killer of gods, a god myself
I’ve raised entire civilizations,
And razed many others…

The life of a gamer is never linear; we don’t go from Point A to Point B. We journey, criss-crossing across time periods and generations, wielding weapons and woe with equal ease. We have many lovers, all of whom are the loves of our lives. We’ve crawled to the depths of despair, and climbed the peaks of redemption.

And for ever, may it be so.


A View From The Window

Posted on 21 May 2016 under Random

In the dead of the night, when the major contributor to the ambient noise is silence, life goes on. Flights land on the not too distant runway. The street dogs are the kings of the road, inheriting this domain from the two- and four-wheeled metal monsters that claim dominance during the day. The clocks tick-tock as per freaking usual, reminding one that time waits for no one.

At midnight, as the hands of the clock pass the “12”, the date changes. A day has ended, and another has begun. The date changes … but everything else remains the same.


Book Review: by Vishal Bhatia

Posted on 22 Apr 2016 under Essays

Disclaimer: I was contacted by the author through email to write a review of this book. I agreed. The book was delivered to me free of cost. No other conditions or constraints were placed on me. by Vishal Bhatia is the second book I’ve read recently written by a new/aspiring Indian author (the previous one being the atrociously bad The Recession Groom by Vani). This one is significantly better, but considering the low benchmark set by Vani, that’s not saying a lot. Ultimately, taken on its own, this is a book that starts off with a lot of promise, but becomes a bit of a mess by the end, mostly because of the terrible editing. It feels as if the editor received payment mid-way through the assignment and then just couldn’t be arsed to do a good job thereafter.

Credit must go to the author, though. There are a lot of aspiring authors in India, but very few actually successfully publish a book. The rest maintain boring blogs, write vignettes and review others’ books (hmm … that sounds familiar). Anyway, on with it.

Here’s the plot in a nutshell: Jangsher Singh, aged 15, tries to seduce a girl in a village in Punjab and gets caught by her brothers. In typical Punjab style, they hack and slash him and leave him for dead. But since all of this happens in only the first chapter, he survives and goes on to become India’s best tennis player ever, reaching the finale of the Australian Championship. There’s a parallel plot about two cousins, Aman and Yug, who drive a really expensive car that doesn’t belong to them. They cause an accident, get blackmailed by the accident survivor, and then a lot of other things happen (not getting into the details in order to avoid spoilers), as a result of which they have to figure out a way of making money fast. And the way they make that money is by creating an unofficial website for Jangsher (I think the name of the book comes from that website … which we’re only introduced to after getting through almost two-thirds of the book), and then selling it at a premium.

The plot is functional, in that it serves to get you from Point A to Point B, but it’s generally not very engrossing. All along, you know where you’re going, particularly with Jangsher’s story, which almost never goes off the beaten track. There are a few more twists in the side-story about the two cousins, and that adds some drama and spice to the plot. Characters generally react in a realistic manner to the events that unfold, and thus nothing feels jarringly out of place. Some parts are too long and boring (one tennis match is described in detail over almost 30 pages), there are a couple of passages that add absolutely no value whatsoever (like a couple of pages dedicated to Jangsher flirting with a random girl at a random party, before his drunk girlfriend appears to escort him away). One can make an argument that the novel could have used a bit of trimming to make it crisper.

Characterization is not bad.  I’m thankful for the consistency, even if the characters are somewhat uni-dimensional. Jangsher’s character is the only one that changes, going from being a strong, calm, unfazed fighter in the first few rounds of the championship to a damaged, pain-filled, hurting, emotionally-exhausted shell of a man who still manages to put up a good fight in the end. Yug and Aman enjoy a good dynamic with each other, complementing each other’s personalities. Other than the cousins, the other characters are forgettable. In fact, it almost feels as if Mr Bhatia almost forgot them too. Jang’s mother makes her first appearance on page 225 (out of 337 pages), a brief appearance necessitated by a plot element. She’s introduced thus: “Tina, his mother, blessed him as he knelt and touched her feet.

And then there are all the nicknames. Omaigod, WHY does everyone (and everything!) have to have a nickname? The tennis players that Jangsher plays against have nicknames that EVERYONE uses more than their real name, even in the dialogues. These are nicknames like “The Assassin” and “The Bull”. Heck, even the bloody sportscar that Aman and Yug almost lose is called “Flame”. Obviously, this is an attempt to raise some level of excitement or awe towards these characters. But personally, I found it fairly grating and cheesy.

And now, to the technicalities of writing: Vishal NARRATES way too much instead of letting us find out the story through the eyes of the protagonists. This doesn’t happen very frequently, but when it does, it feels lazy and unimaginative. However, this is made up by ambitious attempts at incorporating interesting metaphors and vivid descriptions. Sometimes, Vishal gets over-ambitious. The descriptions get into details of how engines work, how the brain works, etc. It feels a little clumsy and boring, which is a cardinal sin. The intention is positive, but it doesn’t always pay off.

Where the book fails massively is in the editing department, something that cannot be blamed on the author. The most basic mistakes appear here. Homophones (“your” vs. “you’re”), typos (“unthinkinkable”) and errors I don’t even know how to describe (“curtsied” instead of “court-side” … yes, I’m serious) appear multiple times, way too many times for any self-respecting editor to allow. It’s difficult to take seriously a book with such a low level of quality in the end-product. Bah.

In summary, is a decent first book by a new author, and provides signs of encouragement. There are flaws, but the flaws are born of ambitious attempts at writing quality literature. If you can get past the unforgivable editing, the core of the book is not bad.

Rating: 3/5

The meek…

Posted on 18 Apr 2016 under Asides

…shall inherit the world one day, apparently.

And with it, my deepest sympathies.

The Late Night

Posted on 22 Mar 2016 under Random

It’s late enough at night to be considered early the next morning. The world is largely asleep, the city glowing softly in the moonlight. I stand at the window, tiredness pouring out of me, staring into the distance.

It’s a lie, though, isn’t it, what I said earlier? Because clichéd as it may sound, the city truly never sleeps. Buildings in the background have lights turned on, and headlights quiver on the roads below as the cars snake their way through the urban maze. In the distance, there’s a man standing at a window, looking out into the world, just like me.

I wonder briefly if there’s anything we share, other than this moment of consciousness.

Probably nothing. I turn away, slink into bed and pull the blanket over me.

All The Right Reasons

Posted on 18 Mar 2016 under Life

I may be no more than a third of my life through, but there are certain things I am fairly confident about.

I may not be likely to do anything that will change the world or invent something that makes everyone’s lives happier and more peaceful. I may not be able to do something that will change the way people treat each other, and promote tolerance and acceptance. I don’t have the answers to life’s big questions and maybe I never will. I might live my entire life wondering and being frustrated at trying to understand whether things are meant to be this way, and why.

I am imperfect, I make mistakes. I’m occasionally selfish and insecure. I want to love and be loved, but I also want to be left alone. I like to think I am nothing like you, but I also know that in many, many ways, you and I are exactly the same person. I am a mass of contradictions and inconsistencies, but that’s what makes me human.

I may not leave a legacy, I may not leave a mark. I am a statistically insignificant speck of existence on the infinite plain of space and time, and nothing I do may make a change to the overall picture.

Much like most of you, actually.

But if I could leave a legacy, then let it be this: When I’m gone, when those who knew me think of me, may they remember me for all the right reasons.



Posted on 14 Mar 2016 under Journal/Life Updates

I use various shades of grey and black to paint my picture, only now and then using some other colours because I’m not sure I’m using them right.

So you see, I’m eternally grateful for all you others, who take it upon themselves to add a splash of colour every now and then, sometimes without realizing you might have done so.

When the portrait is done, I believe I’m very likely to see a canvas full of shades of a rainy morning sky, peppered with streaks of colour that stand out because they’ve rebelled against the general theme.

And yet, I know that what will matter the most is not the background, not what I’ve filled in myself, but rather, all these errant streaks that all you others have contributed. So, thank you.