Scribe-works

ONE AIM

2006-10-05T13:01:00.000-07:00

MANKIND TODAY IS DROWNED IN DATA AND INFORMATION- YET WE ARE THIRSTY FOR KNOWLEDGE.

Now that I have got your attention with my catchy phrase, let me introduce you to the problem .So here’s the problem we are facing- an onslaught of information- With the advent of technology and the internet, information has been bombarded upon us… let me rephrase that …DATA has been bombarded upon us… we sift through the data and we collate INFORMATION.

This vital information can lead to ideas, which will solve problems, advance your career, boost company profits, move your firm into the lead. So on and so forth.

But here’s the catch- a considerable amount of time has to be expended to sift and sieve this data to gather precious information and here My friends – lies the problem… #1 Our reading speeds are low and #2 we genuinely don’t have adequate time to read and jot down the notes from each book.

I faced these similar problems early on in my life and made it a point to speed read books. I also made a point to maintain notes of books I was reading- I realized that I retain more of the content when I read a well-writ summary.

So folks, in this blog- I have made a feeble attempt to summarize my learning’s of the books I have read in the past. I have heavily borrowed on from my notes and scribes scattered here and there on my laptop. Since I never limited my self to a particular genre of reading- you will find the contents of this blog wavering- the genre might span from Leadership and management to that of concepts and trends

With this blog- I wish to create a unique synergy where our backgrounds wont matter anymore- the only thing that will bind us will be our vision of the future.

Till then I remain
Never ceasing, never there
As ever
Anil.

Yeah…that’s what I do… Just write

2006-08-25T12:01:00.000-07:00

“Stop thinking anil ! – its too depressive, I mean those words you wrote- they were so depressive”- her pensive voice crackled down on the phone.

I shrugged my shoulder …”Hey – I never set out with a mind that I would write something depressive and make people mull over it…no…I write what comes to my mind, collate it and then proof read to censor out the foul. That’s it !!”

The conversation ended there- but it left me with that queer feeling.

I write….I recite.

May be just write- never recite though- very rarely do I ever recite my scribes…I just write. Yes… that’s what I just do…. Write.

I want my fingers to speak in cipher and symbol, in character and punctuation – I want them to speed across this empty slate of white, filling it with curves of black representing the underlying idea and passion.

I don’t know why I want others to read it but I know that I want them to – I want them to, for a brief fleeting moment – see what I see, to feel what I feel in the void of my skull…Understand the world through my eyes, and be brightened, saddened, twisted, bent, gyred, spun, and transformed. No…nay it is not ego that drives me so to write – there is nothing inside me so great that I must stop at nothing to get it out, No …there isn’t any explosion of math and science and passion that threatens to tear me at my seams.

No…It is not sadness, madness, or gladness that makes me write these things – it isn’t some overwhelming fire of humanity. My life is not a particularly interesting one, my struggles not particularly unique. And yet – there is something here. Something alive inside the skull, chewing away at every thought – fattening like a larva on a mulberry bush – driving some arcane wheels in my head.

Yes it is that something that is turning some dust-covered gears and animating my fingers to write, and simply fill the page with alphabets.

They say that words can create a hell or paint a slice of heaven in your mind…so apt…so true…So be it that it is through this writing that you and I can grasp up to the heavens of our own design, and sit for a while, enjoying the gentle ebb of time, like two idle lovers caught on an indolent summer in a hammock. I know that when I write, I can turn to you, and as my fingers speak to you in confidential tones, you can see things the way I do.

Simple things sometimes, the gentle swell of sea on a shore, the delicate sway of a single strand of grass caught in the wind, eyes shining with starlight. Complex things too: an ant-hill overflowing with activity, a million times a million engines of desire performing those tasks which define them.

I will say: Can you see this all? Isn’t it beautiful? And then you might understand why I write. Then you might see what it really is that drives me forward, as surely as an electron spins itself into eternity. The ants, the beach, the grass, the people, the laughter, the light, the stars, everything- Things which are neither bad, nor good – nor do I wish to ever think in such black and white, love and hate, destroy and create terms.

Things, which just are - which in our tremendous winding up of life, we seem to miss. We don’t treasure those tiny moments of time where the only thing that should matter is that single blade of grass, or that lovers shy glance, or that wave breaking gently on the shore.

Torpid currents of life swirl us into balls of hate and envy, and darkness, and those moments are past. But they give birth to more light and laughter, and we ignore those too , for long we have been told to ignore things that don’t matter…I concur in parts but then my pea brain asks the question that If ignorance is bliss, why aren't there more happy people?

I guess, we Hunger too much, we Pain too much. And one might think that my avoidance of the truth – repelling from my words like corresponding magnetic fields – is because I don’t have the truth.

Yes I don’t have the truth; this of course is partially true, just like everything is partially true – just as this phrase itself is partially true. And even before my words swallow themselves in a twisted-eight swirl of infinity –Yet I write, for I have to.

I write to prove to a part of me that I am still here, and to know the fact that my ideas still can flow, and a purpose still exists.

I don’t write because I mean anything, I, write because you mean something to me.

I write because everything is beautiful and nothing is, simultaneously– a strange paradox as if by a magic that everyone practices but no one understands.

I write because when I write, I trap those lost moments of time like insects in amber, and I hold them up to the brightness and I make available that spark of mankind that is so transient in our busy lives.

I write because I am the godless sufi whirling around in the ecstasy of his beloved in this desert of darkness.

I write to bare my soul naked to you and stand alone before your mind – defenseless- so that you analyze me and tell me where I am faltering.

I write to renew a part of me that is tired and sad, frightened and terrible,hungry and thirsty.

I write because somewhere in you- are all those things, all of us are tired and hungry , sad and frightened in our own little ways, and because this is one of the few ways in which I may drive it off for a while.

Writing is one of the few ways I can say Hello to the ghoul of death that hangs over every dew-drop that hasn’t yet been born, that wreathes me in a crown of my own thorns, and whispers to the sun in words of violet and orange.

I write because it allows me to cheat death at least for one more day, to proclaim in my own little, tiny, fleeting voice that everyone can be a beacon, in the planes of the lightless dark, and can Shepard their brothers through the valley of darkness.

Most of all, I just write. Yeah…that’s what I do… Just write

The day Bombay mourned

2006-07-14T08:44:00.000-07:00

Mumbai Bounces back !! Read the headlines of the papers after the Serial bomb blasts rocked Bombay. Another superficially placating line, targeted to show the indomitable spirit of Mumbaikars…as you and me read these lines- I want you to ask your own true self. Do we, Indians have that spirit- of fighting back to wrong doings. Do we, Indians really standup to such incidents? No- resonates in my skull… no is the only word that resonates in my being- we Indians lack that fighting spirit.

Stoic- yes we are. Resilient- yes we are. Humane- yes we are, and I guess these are the only reasons why one could find people going in trains and things went back to normal a few hours later. We were stoic enough to bear the losses patiently. We have and had the resilience and the humanity to help the fellow stranger through these times. But again one single thought echoes- we mumbaikars don’t have the fighting spirit.

“What do you mean by a fighting spirit anil”? Well dear- read the other world headlines… “Two Israeli soldiers captured by Hezbollah.” And the following day headline was “Israel has intensified its attacks on Lebanon as jets launched fresh strikes on Beirut airport, the road to the Syrian capital and a power plant”

Now that’s what I call a fighters spirit. You take our two soldiers and yes- mofo’s, we shall scorch your cities- this was the single emotion and the foremost thought etched in the pilots commanding the fighter jets which flew over Beirut.

The world went its own little way of condemning the act- The UN Security Council held an emergency meeting. French President Jacques Chirac said the Israeli air strikes were "completely disproportionate" and the Vatican described them as an attack on a sovereign and free nation.

So was it-the countries around the world went around condemning the act- while Israel showed them “the finger” and did what they were good at doing. Defending the Promised Land at any costs!!

And now comes the best part- Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert said he would agree to a ceasefire if Hezbollah returned the two captured soldiers and stopped firing rockets at northern Israel, and Lebanon implemented UN Security Council resolution 1559, calling for the disarmament of the militant group.

Now stop and think- a country creates such a pandemonium over two foot soldiers? Interesting right.

And what do we do- we light up candles and protest- condemn the terrorists and cursed them brushed off the dust and woke up again to catch the train to work.

The media calls it “ The spirit of Mumbai” – I call it hypocritical bull shit.

It’s different this time. Sad but true. A day after the first serial blasts of March 12, 1993, Bombay had been back on its feet—its never-say-die reply to those brutal dons earning awe and long remembered praise. But after 13 years of repeated bludgeoning, that spirit has dissipated. Terror Tuesday which claimed 200 lives and injured more than 700 has broken the city’s once-resilient spine.

This time – people are scared and their memories scarred. No offense meant to the departed souls- I mourn equally for them. But what about the common man….the psyche has been battered, the routine of battling through sardine-packed compartments has suddenly become an ominous game of Russian roulette. “Will I reach home safely tonight?’’.

Amidst all this I ask my self…Why cant we fight like the Israelis? After all we were the ones who trained the Mossad.

I cant find any answer to this- except for mourning for the dead ones- and feeling bitter about the whole situation- I cant seem to find any logically conclusive answers to these…Yes I have failed to find the reasons and find answers to all the questions my conscience asks.

The Truth Begins

2006-07-04T11:27:00.000-07:00

At the age of eight- I was bestowed with the sacred thread, by the pontiff who spear heads the community I hail from.It was the ceremony which marked me as a Brahmin . He was my guru- not the only one, there were many later on to follow the suit. I relentlessly searched a teacher who could teach me to rein my restless soul. But of all of the teachers who walked along in my sojourn. The first one who initiated me into the vendantic way of life also bestowed upon me two things:

An old Bhagavat Gita and an umbrella.

" Anil, the umbrella will shield you from rain," and "The Gita will save you from everything else."said the pontiff smiling as I held the two things in my tiny hands.

As time passed by, my umbrella's purpose held true. The umbrella did guard me when the sky was at its worst. And as time passed by, my Gita's promise held true!! My book savior guided me when my life was at its worst.

Then came a day when my umbrella wouldn't spring open anymore and I had to walk home in the humbling deluge.

There came another day when my old Gita couldn't help me out anymore, and I had to suffer in resounding distress, while not a single passage seemed to make sense to me.

I never did throw that umbrella away, nor did I banish the Gita to hell in the dark pit of a trash bag. One sits in a box, back home in India, with odds, ends, and oddly enough, some junk from the yesteryears. The other rests on my shelf with Eliyahu Goldratt and Thomas Freidman.

It was easy enough to buy a new umbrella, but when, I see people asking me to hang in there and hold on to my faith , I like to think twice about the only opinion I hold in the matter now

"I guess my faith is a faulty umbrella."

July 4th 2006
Vienna,VA

Another random rambling.....

2006-06-30T11:13:00.000-07:00

Another random rambling.
Another assortment of mixed metaphors and contradictions…that's what the mind churns out these days.

It was about to rain that evening. The air was laden with moisture. You could feel the heaviness of the rain laden cloud hovering above you. Armed with a note pad and my camera, I walked over to the Dunn Loring metro bridge, it is my favorite hangout these days. I spent most of my lonely evenings watching aimlessly the moving traffic on the interstate number 66.

I like to believe that life is like the traffic that flows on the interstate. People moving from one point to another.

A source-a journey- a destination.

My life too is like this traffic. Governed by ethics, cultural norms, guided by signs from the occult, a wrong exit and it takes hell of a time to come back to where you once were ...damn another random epiphany- I thought as a faint smile passed over

Bound in the rat race, I move aimlessly

From life to death,
From proud to humble,
From poor to rich, I am, like all in the same crowd.

With each passing day, I thought- we destroy ourselves,

Just to feed the fathomless void in our torso,
Just to satisfy our urge to grow.

I think it would be better if we all just left, and hope in time we learn to do our best.
For if we don’t, it may not be that we can control what happens to we.

I say this now, watching the days ebb by, hoping along the way that I learn some patience, and persistence- yes a generous helping of it would be nice, but most of all I want my life to come out as I dreamt and as I dream in my sojourn through this strife.

I am not the person I could be, normally this definitely bothers me.
But lately I was thinking that, if I am not the best that can be, am I really me?

Huh!!!!- damn the blare of the passing truck - just broke the flow-

I can imagine how the Gods dance about my situation. What seems to be bad karma turns against itself and becomes a blessing incognito, enwrapped by false promises and submission. Submission to the authority of which I have never had a say in and never will.

“You’re worthless. You can’t do anything right. An engineer, A photographer, a poet, a writer? Who has heard of all these come into one being? You can barely keep your thoughts coherent and constant, your words slur! Your compositions are crass and you can’t find yourself a decent job”- shouts the voices in my head.

But then I believe this rat race is to prove the voices wrong. Proving once more why I have been placed here on this spinning dark-blue orb: to prove you wrong. To prove that no matter the obstacle, there are words to get around it.

Its surreal how often the notion that I was not placed here by natural circumstances, but instead by some other life form as an experiment…Absurd how often this thought strikes the mind and seems feasible. Feasible! Well, I know nothing of that kind of thing. All I know of feasibility is that my foible mind cannot grasp such a lofty concept.

Revolution seems impossible when all I can think of is why I should try if no one else has. It’s all I can think about. All I can ever envision when I try and grasp the one piece of my mind that isn't washed away

Think. They say...But, then I ask them.... how does one think when all one knows is to be thoughtless?

30th June
5.45 am
Vienna Va

To the one who knows?

2006-06-26T13:27:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the balcony in silence…I wondered and waited.
Waiting… for the time… when time is no more.
Waiting …where wait ceases to be and it is no more.
Sitting in the dusk gazing out at the vacant sky…

Wishing for a better time
Waiting for a better tomorrow…
A long sigh escapes my being as I find my self typing the remnants of a vision.

The darkness soon came that evening and the blackness of her eyes reflected the outpouring of her soul; now as she lay in my arms crying softly, like so many tears before it- this tear found its way on my chest from her eyes.

Surrounded by the darkness that was her love, for in this darkness I shall find solace …I know this. The light had left us long ago, alone in a place, we had never been together – this was a first time for me and for her too. At first she was scared, but then she willed it to come back, sit with me once more, in quiet harmony. Never shall I forget- the gentle warmth and the caress of her skin lightly against mine, the warmth of security, the light of hope.

I knew I would never feel her hands touch mine once more. Never see the moonlight again in her eyes for a long time to come. Those eyes of deep topaz yellow would never look upon me again for a long time to come. Those deep eyes- I can never forget…the eyes that showed me what love is. The eyes showed me the magic of light and shadow shimmering in unison. The eyes told me the secrets of this world, and of the beauty of others.

Not a word was ever spoken between us, yet we somehow seem to have shared all the understanding in the universe. She told me of the true color of love. She told me of the purity light contains. She showed me the place the soul calls home. She showed me how to fly.

When I closed my eyes I could still feel her warmth. The warmth of a purity never meant for this earth.. I saw this scene play out in my head again and again. Holding her in my arms, I looked up at her. The pain in her eyes was now taken over by love and understanding. Her eyes reassured me that everything would be ok. My eyes shut. My body took a final breath and released it, and with it all the pains of a mortal body too were exhaled.

She floated in my imagination as a feather would float in air. She glided in my spaces for what seemed to be a lifetime. We walked up the path, cradling me in her arms as she walked. This was a place where she once found magic, where the dreams of dreamers were born. As we sat on the earth, in the light of dusk, she wrapped her long fingers around mine and her shimmering indigo cloth over our intertwined hands. She clenched to my hand as if this was the only earthly possession she had and her aim was just to give love, and she gave it with all her being.

Holding me in her arms once more she stepped into deeper into my being. Looking to the heavens, I felt her, as she moved deeper, until only her essence was felt. As the faint light of the first star appeared in the sky, I knew it was time to stop this cerebration. I saw the look in her eyes when I said my silent goodbye. A goodbye filled with love and wisdom too great for this space. She had no more tears to shed for me, she was empty. An emptiness so complete it seemed she would feel nothing forever more

Retracing my steps back , I found my self sitting there in the balcony with the laptop perched on my laps and the cup of once hot coffee… Silently I gazed into the sky until light and dark were one.

Sitting with silence.
Floating with dreams.
Smiling at my self...at what I imagined and what I had typed.
Smiling at the words that stared back at me from the laptop screen.

I knew it was vague but I had my blog entry.

June 26th Vienna Virginia

Loo Blues

2006-06-20T20:39:00.000-07:00

Philosophy is like sitting on a rocking chair…you think you are going somewhere, but in the end you are right where you began. To put it across more succinctly I guess it’s the art of wasting your life inside a self-built prison of answers.

You feel that you are climbing up and seeking answers, but once you are at the very top you'll notice that the seek itself is the answer!!!! Queer isn’t it?

Sitting in the balcony with a piping cup of coffee by my side , I gazed out at the dreary sky. It was the evening hour and seemed like it would rain. As the birds scurried back to their nest, a gentle zephyr over my hair brought back the train of thoughts, I was earlier cerebrating on. Rather than earlier , I would put it across that these thoughts were the current theme of my thought process. What’s the meaning of this life?

That way you could tell anyone on this planet what the meaning of life is. Maybe the person will accept the answer and maybe not. But no matter if they do, they still have to go through the same procedure like " I, me, and you" did before realizing what I, me and you meant by that.

An image from the axes of time brings back the flux of thoughts. When there is no content or essence to fill empty words, the thoughts simply rest empty and collect dust in the corner of my mind.

Me thinking to (or discussing with) myself in my toilet (it's the so very best place to think,):

An endless loop of answers to a simple question and then plop… the sound of a water drop leaking from the faucet broke the flux- Hey; the meaning of life is the endless search itself.

The search for answers- for a meaning -for a sense to fill your life.

You will always keep the hope of finding an enlightening answer,

The answer which will fill you with bliss and carry you up into the infinite skies,

The answer to threw you into a non-stop sea of endorphins and dopamine’s until your last day has come,

The answer to kill melancholy, sadness, depression.

The answer to make (infinite) awareness just as unimportant as all the small things.

And this hope keeps you up. This hope is why you don't quit thinking and searching.

Hope is such an important thing, may there be a reason for it or not, hope is fulfillment.
- Oh ok! I will go out there now and keep searching! Woo hoo! (whatever Anil...Curb it...)

- Right... this answer is not giving you anything, nor does it make your life brighter. I guess you must have reached the very last stage of your life to realize what the sentence

"The meaning of life is the endless search itself" really is all about.

As long as you are young those are only empty words.
But in the same moment we realize that we still should not quit thinking, since you could always just smile and hope that one day you will be 82 and finally fully aware of the previously mentioned sentence.

This whole thing took me a minute to realize and about 40 to write down. (After 2 months of storing the whole thing in my head)

Another proof that I sometimes think faster than I can actually realize and phrase out in words.

I walked back to the balcony with a huge smile on my face, even with knowing how useless all those thoughts are in my current situation.

Cameras on Cell Phones

2006-05-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

“Like my new phone”? It’s got a 1.3-mega-pixel camera and can capture a video up to an hour, she chirped in glee as she was admiring her new cell phone. The first glance at this new toy/ cell phone made me wonder about the tempest of technology that India had been subjected to. A few years ago-Cellular technology had just dawned in India and owning one was a status symbol.

I remember as a student, hanging on for my life in the second-class compartment in the ever- over crowded trains in Bombay – I used to wonder why would anyone need a mobile phone. (Naïve!! right)… I still remember the day, I first got to hold one of those heavy Motorola hand sets and make a call- the generous person was my co- traveler in the second class compartment.

A cell phone in the second-class compartment was a sure sign of cell phone penetration in the basal echelons of the “ Bambaiyya Society”. I wonder now, would it be right to interpret the presence of that cell phone in the second class as a sure sign of dependency on cellular technology- that Indian masses weren’t still aware of, or was it a sign of economic prosperity or were Indians being ushered into a new era of telecommunications. It’s an open-ended question, which creates a downward spiral of closed discussions.

Traveling together in the second class for year now- I had made good friends with others who were going to the same station as I was. There exactly isn’t a word suitable for it in the dictionary, but for the sake of communication let me coin the term “train- camaraderie”. I will definitely write about this later on, but now back to what I intend to pen.

So that’s it- “train- camaraderie” gave me that much needed first cell phone experience- and this was way back in 97’. Phones then were huge and black and yes heavy too- a single call costs Rs.8 and both incoming and out going calls was charged then.

Remember the naivety I was referring to earlier- well that single call from that phone crushed it. And from then on- free time of those diploma perusing adolescent days were spending in reading and knowing much about cell phones- the new models arriving in the market, their capabilities bill plans etc. Owning one was the only thing on my mind. After all – most of my friends had cell phones except for us plebs.

Standing in the balcony, I was making mental notes of this article and “SLAP” a pat on the back broke the flow. I turned back to see Ragu smiling back at me with a cup of hot piping tea. I was down that weekend at Ragu’s, to break free from the rut.

“Perception is reality maccha- period! That’s it!” exclaimed an ecstatic Ragu.

Hmm- it was one of those powerful statements that open up poly-looped discussions, we (ragu, sachin, me, anurag, kunal and sabir”) had labeled” random talk”. Random talk is a talk where we talk and constructively discuss issues without reaching a logically sound conclusion.

Perception is indeed reality- in this case of cell phones – it indeed was in case of cell phones. Throw in a decent slice of an differing technology and what you’ve got is a amalgam – in case of cell phones it was camera’s.

Inculcating imaging technology with cellular spawned a new genre of what we refer as Disruptive technology. Cameras inside cell phones are a disruptive technology. It’s a perfect example of simulacra and simulation. Cell phones with cameras are prime example of this hyper-reality where the distinctions between real and unreal are blurred.

These cell/ camera phones blurred the lines between facts (communication) and information (imaging), between information (imaging) and entertainment (movies), between entertainment (movies) and social politics (relationships). The masses got bombarded by these images (simulations) and signs (simulacra), which encourage them to buy out these cell phones, but eventually they become dependant.

I am sure, everyone reading this, have heard about or seen the innumerable pornographic clips of innocent girls shot on cell phones, the voyeur pictures of teenage breasts or of some one changing clothes or taking bath or having sex. Well, I have and I can’t escape from the fact that they were shot with these covert devices.

But then, Do we, the consumer’s really care about those wounded souls- who now are faced to live in shame and obscurity for the rest of their lives. “No we don’t”- rather “why should we care?” says the consumer hidden in you. It was a consensual act- they had the choice- it was their mistake, why we should care? .

Quite logical- I must add- referring to the consumer’s risk what you are alluding to. But then cant we just step out of this and analyze this. A view from a different quadrant. How about it? Care to join.

I am alluring to the blurring of boundaries caused by this amalgamation of cell phones and camera’s has caused the reality I mentioned above, to implode .The multi-perspective negating potential of having a cell phone with a camera/ video shooting capability becomes collapsed into one-dimensional thinking (image / status symbol) promoted by dominant commercialism and marketing.

And - now for the hard questions. Ready?

Do we really need a cell phone with a camera/ video shooting capabilities?

The camera in the cell phone does not produce stunning images vis-à-vis a canon or an Olympus digital camera. It cannot shoot videos in high resolutions like the JVC triple CCD. Neither it has the storage capacity- (mind you most of these need additional memory cards. Are the user’s aware?)

So even with these limitations, we still buy the products. Why? Blue tooth- well considering the infrastructure needed to support blue tooth- I am sure no one who owns such phones use blue tooth except to exchange the porn files I mentioned or some clip arts or pictures. Apart from that do we really use the blue tooth synchronization feature it actually should be used for?

So now knowing the facts of this disruptive technology, would you still vouch to get one of the cell / camera phone for your self?. I will leave the question here and conclude.

I vote for “Let cell phones be cell phones and camera’s be camera’s”. Let’s not intertwine their functionality for sake of commercialism.

To wind this up, I wrote this article to translate my version of our condition today. Just my take and my personal fight on the pessimistic notion that the real has no chance unless we spread awareness.

In this existential hyperrealism- it is reality that is crumbling away from disuse. It’s the humanity within us that’s crumbling away.

Just as Morpheus proclaims that escape from the Matrix is possible. So could we just make an attempt to escape from the post-modernist condition of simulation, just this once…because we owe it our present and the future lot.

Well thanks for being with me and cerebrating on this.

It’s nice to know that you are not alone.

Till then, I remain

As Ever

Too Many Yesterdays

2006-05-19T13:44:00.000-07:00

"I had never thought to write before, but when I thought, I thought to do, and then couldn't seem to stop!

Maybe it was that I had nothing better to do, or maybe it was just that I felt I needed release. Release is always a good idea, never brings hope nor tries to give advice just lets you get rid of things 'Unburden the soul and your wings won't feel so heavy'!

Hello I am just an ordinary human being, and no this isn't some volume of text you would expect to find labeled under 'The Observer’s Chronicles' by Anil Shenoy- however it always seemed odd to me that when you mention that name you either gave the impression you were named after a monarch or some libertine, who's charm and wit would befall any man, and tempt any lady! , Although I wouldn't mind being associated with those traits!! But it isn’t so- and that’s to it.

But no, I believe I am someone who observes and records his point of view or opinions. Come to think of opinions I don’t have much say except quote my good friend Ragu who puts it across so tersely - “People are not just getting dumber, but more and more opinionated...But not in the right direction”

It’s the last part of the sentence that caught my attention then and has been with me ever since- I am entitled to an opinion but is it in the right direction?

Well who’s to know except me and my beating heart?

Who’s to know except me and my hungry soul?

So here am I again as an observer entitled to an opinion and who records his point of view, or at least I will be and I am trying so very hard to come to the conclusion that I am, if I ever get anything published or even finished, I shall let you know.

At a new phase of life
With you there...