Wednesday, March 29, 2006

J o i e - d e - l a - f r a n ç a i s

Do you know that in French,
the word for library is "bibliotheque" (letter count = 12)
the word for wine is "vin" (letter count = 3)
the word for nude is "nu" (letter count = 2)

In computer science terminology, this is called Huffmann Coding. The words used most often will get the shortest-length code !

A propos, j'apprendre francais.

We had some 7 classes of instruction and sadly that's got finished. Now I am on my own to pick up some more decent communication skills before leaving to France in May. I wish I'm rather going to Spain or Italy, where people are known to be very effusive. Better chances of me picking up a girlfriend there :) But not so easy in the suave and the jingoistically-culturally-refined France. But this is the land of Guy de Maupassant (my favorite writer). And that of Pascal and Fourier. There's some sense behind that pride of those French people, after all.

With its sharp and precise sounds, English is the language of logic. With all its zest, Spanish is the language of emotions. And what about French ? It is the language of sweet love making. Every sound in this language is impossibly coquettish. (not surprisingly, the word coquette - il est un mot francais)

I am watching (in a loop) this movie - Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amelie Poulain (Amelie, for short). This film is so addictive - I have already begun to see the world in bright colours - bathed in yellows and greens, like how they show it in the film.

I have pretty much no hopes of finding a girl like Amelie in my life. Somebody who likes me not for my bank balance or for my market-standing. But who likes me, like Nino, for my maverickness ! Ahhh, life is a bitch and hope is its pimp :))

Saturday, March 18, 2006

L e J a r d i n

The world is a garden
Loved by some
Loathed by some
Ignored by the rest of them

Thursday, March 09, 2006

B o b H a n s e n ' s F a n

The following are snapshots of a plot that I had in mind for a long time. Written now lest I forget later. The title of the story would be Permission to Die (if I ever get to write it completely). I wrote the first chapter on this blog sometime ago. I never got to write the remaining chapters.

It is a crumpled piece of paper. Marks of blue ink are littered over the piece - showing words scribbled in a sense of urgency. But now, some of the words are smudged into blue swatches, owing to droplets of sweat trickling down the paper.

His mother clutches the paper tightly with her nails, and her hand goes limp. He looks into her empty and colorless face, and then looks up at the ceiling.

He looks at the nylon rope hanging down into a noose, and at the paralyzed body suspended in lifelessness. The body of his father.

At the age of twelve, Shiva begins life as an orphan. People say that his father commited suicide over financial burden. And that his mother died a few months later.

8 years later

This day, the small town clerical office is not its usual self. A tiny stereo player is plugged at the corner - playing music in full volume.

"What is this music ? ", Shiva asks.

"This should be a disc of my nephew. He came down for holidays. I do not know how it got mixed up with my stuff."

"Do you know who the artist is ?"


But the name is etched onto the disc. Bob Hansen - Crosswords.

"I am going to meet this man.", Shiva declares.

The colleague guffaws in reply. "But where would you raise the money to journey to the USA !"

3 years later

"This doesn't work any longer, Bob. These strange noises don't make sense any more. You owe this to us Bob. So buckle up your chords and do what you should do."

It has been three years since he had that conversation with the recording company. It still haunts him.

Rupert Hansen tries to steady himself. The stadium is roaring with the din of the crowd. They are in hysteria.

"We want more. Yeah, we want more."

Rupert flings the guitar around his neck and walks down the podium.

"Yes bitches. I am your whore. I am your whore forever."

7 years later

The bottle contains a colorless liquid. It emits no smell. A needle quickly sucks it up into a syringe.

Again the void appears.

Why doesn't he take that instead - which would put an end to everything. Poison.

He lost track of time now. He doesn't remember the time he had any food or any sleep. But he needs money. For this, he has to do that odd piece of work - for paying his rent. For bribing the cops. For getting what he needs.

He picks up his satchel and starts walking.

"Hey you ! You come here. You tramp ! What's your name ?"

He moves towards the cop who is beckoning towards him.


"Rupert what"


Because Rupert Hansen no longer exists.

The next day

"You are mistaken, Indian fellow. I don't play music."

"No. I know who you are. You are Bob Hansen."

"How do you know ? " Rupert jumps up in alert. "I'd rather die than play for you, shit. "

"Please. I just want you to play one single tune. "

Rupert picks up his guitar and strums on it violently.

"What do you want eh ? Bamboozled ? Midnight fever ? eh ? "

"No Bob. I want you to play one from Crosswords."

Rupert twitches. Then he picks up the guitar and starts playing. He starts playing with rank contempt. But he soon gets immersed. Then he plays with a vengeance. The air reverberates with rising crescendos. He plays for thirty minutes without break.

"Are you satisfied ? Now get the fuck out of here !"

Shiva doesn't stir. He then produces an ancient Shehnai from inside his bag.

"No. I want you to listen."

He draws air into his lungs and starts playing on the wind instrument. He reproduces the music exactly, copying note to note with matching tempo. Then he starts to improvize. He starts playing unexpected combinations. The music starts sounding totally new with very novel permutations. But magically, they all fall in place with the tune.

Bob stands there in a state of shock. He has never listened to anyone playing like this before. He has never imagined this music before, though he invented that tune years ago. Shiva completes the final crescendo.

"Now Bob you piece of shit ! You can fucking die !"

Then he leaves.

1 year later

"Mr. Bob Hansen, you are asking us to do the impossible. How can we trace a man in a country of one billion people, without a name and without a picture? But sure Sir, we will do everything that is possible."

"Thank you officer. "

Bob Hansen doesn't carry any hopes that he would rediscover the man that walked into his apartment last winter. But he knows that he can reach him.

Because wherever he is, that man would be listening - to what Bob Hansen plays.

There exists no lover, there exists no beloved. There exists no fan, there exists no favorite. All that a man needs to motivate him in life is a challenger. Without a challenge, life is worthless.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

A N e w H o p e

A long time ago, in a neuron ensemble far far away.

It is a period of civil war. Rebel neurons, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Hypothalamic Empire.

During the battle, rebel neurons managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Death Thought, an armored psychological trauma with enough power to destroy an entire brain.

Pursued by the Empire's sinister agents, Princess Idea races home aboard her electromagnetic pulse, the custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the entire Central Nervous System.

(Yeah I should go to sleep now :)) Lack of sleep is kinda like dope !)