Butterfly Effect !!!

Heard about Butterfly effect? That hypothesis which roughly says that the flutter of the wings of a butterfly may cause a hurricane in the other side of the world. Its a funny but very interesting theory, interesting atleast for me. So you might have just missed that lorry while coming in the bike just because you decided to wear the blue underwear today. Or maybe it was because you wore the blue one that that near miss happened, if you were wearing that black one, maybe the lorry even might not be there.

I always used to wonder the extent with which one can change one's and also other's fate. There used to be a small part of my life where I even used to believe in destiny. But then if the destiny is already written, then what the fuck are we as people who can supposedly think and decide doing here? If what we  are going to do is already decided its easy to flow and drift and go where life takes us right? It is a stupid theory.

PS: At times I blog just because I have no one to talk to. :) So please bear with me.

I have read this somewhere, that you should never hate anything about yourself. If you do, then either change that particular thing in yourself that you hate or change your attitude such that you start loving that particular thing. Thats one reason why people think I am the biggest snob they ever find. But I'm loving it. Hmmm I am already learning the game. :)

Act !!!

Are you the kind off person who gives money to people who beg on the streets? I never used to since every where the money we give goes to some big mafia coccus group. What me and my cousin used to do sometime is to buy them food, especially if they are kids. 

There is this guy who used to sit to the sidewalk next to my office. He used to sit in the way between the office gate and the tea shop. So once in a while I used to give him a coin. The guy has some kind of ailment like elephantiasis on his leg. Once while giving him the coin I touched his hand. His eyes did flicker with some surprise, which he suddenly tried to hide. 

I was thinking about him, this is not a disease which cant be cured. Maybe I can get my company Corporate Responsibilty people to do something for him. Also there is this guy from my old company  who heads the Charity Trust there whom I could phone. Maybe even I can ask him what kind of help I can do for him.

Well I did think a lot, but the next day when I was walking down the street, he was gone. I did think like maybe many others. But I was not of any help to him right. Makes me feel bad,  though. And thats also not gonna help him either.

Neruda.

I'm Explaining a Few Things

You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs? and the poppy-petalled metaphysics? and the rain repeatedly spattering its words and drilling them full of apertures and birds? I'll tell you all the news. I lived in a suburb, a suburb of Madrid, with bells, and clocks, and trees. From there you could look out over Castille's dry face: a leather ocean. My house was called the house of flowers, because in every cranny geraniums burst: it was a good-looking house with its dogs and children. Remember, Raul? Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember from under the ground my balconies on which the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth? Brother, my brother! Everything loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises, pile-ups of palpitating bread, the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake: oil flowed into spoons, a deep baying of feet and hands swelled in the streets, metres, litres, the sharp measure of life, stacked-up fish, the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which the weather vane falters, the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes, wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea. And one morning all that was burning, one morning the bonfires leapt out of the earth devouring human beings -- and from then on fire, gunpowder from then on, and from then on blood. Bandits with planes and Moors, bandits with finger-rings and duchesses, bandits with black friars spattering blessings came through the sky to kill children and the blood of children ran through the streets without fuss, like children's blood. Jackals that the jackals would despise, stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out, vipers that the vipers would abominate! Face to face with you I have seen the blood of Spain tower like a tide to drown you in one wave of pride and knives! Treacherous generals: see my dead house, look at broken Spain : from every house burning metal flows instead of flowers, from every socket of Spain Spain emerges and from every dead child a rifle with eyes, and from every crime bullets are born which will one day find the bull's eye of your hearts. And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry speak of dreams and leaves and the great volcanoes of his native land? Come and see the blood in the streets. Come and see The blood in the streets. Come and see the blood In the streets!  Pablo Neruda

To Serve and To Protect

The Karnataka Police have never failed to amaze and to a certain extent amuse me. From taking 10 Rupees to even a Pepsi bottle for a bribe, to threatening to throw a large stone at me for jumping a signal - they are too innovative and advanced for me.

This last day I found the great police force extorting vegetables and coriander leaves from a roadside vendor. They were throwing the stuff from a vendor ladies push-cart to the tow away van. And yes all they all had that noble air and attitude written all over them.

"Bastards"; that's the first word that came to my mind and that's the feeling and after taste that still lingers in my mind. Add to that the feeling of sheer helplessness. I have seen Mercs and Bimmers parked in the wrong places. I have seen them coming full throttle in the wrong side of the road. I have seen those sons of bitches who call themselves 'Jansevaks'  jumping signals with heavy traffic. And I have seen Police there too, but not even once doing their job. These cars don't carry vegetables in them right? Or having double standards is the basic bare necessity of being part of the police force I reckon.

Jai Hind !!!

Bollocks !!!

Ever felt lost and unusual about a feeling and then suddenly realise that you are getting nostalgic, and that too after a very long time? It feels good and makes you realise that more you loose things the chances of finding more is there. I am not a positive person neither am I negative about anything. I take it all as they come, good or bad. And for someone who believes that any experience is a good one once you are through it, I am very sceptic. I don't express myself clearly to people, unless I believe it is very much necessary. Maybe that's why I blog bollocks like this. (Well that's what my friend said. She said people blog because they don't have the balls to express it openly. Well I could say I blog because I am sure only people who are interested in knowing my thoughts will be reading it.) And yes I don't say much about myself to everyone, I keep most of my things secret. I can blame that to me being an Aquarian, though I don't believe in that shit too. Maybe that's why lots of people find me a good secret keeper, and I really believe its not because they have found me trustworthy but maybe they have found me as this well where they can shout their crap and rest assured that I won't blabber.

I am not a believer, my mind is too conceited to believe in something as pure as the God. And I try to keep this to myself most of the cases.