- "It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really matter, full of darkness & danger they were. Sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was, when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer. Those are the stories that stayed with you. They meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I now know, folks in those stories had lots of chances to turn back, but they didn't. They kept going because they were holding onto something."
- "What are we holding onto, Sam?"
- "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for."
-- The Lord of the Rings
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Bhutey
Mihir was asleep, finally. Usually, it took him less than five minutes to be snoring from the time his head had hit the pillow. But these days it was different... ever since Mihir's mother had died, it was almost impossible to put nine-month-old Mihir to sleep. He would cry, scream and flail his little limbs about, while everyone looked around helplessly. Poor old Baidehi: she struggled and wept a lot in her last days. "Please take care of him", she had muttered from her deathbed to everyone who stood around it. No-one in particular had nodded to accept the responsibility from the withered frame, though. After all, who wanted to take custody of the cursed child. People referred to him as "Bhutey" or the ghostly one.
Mihir's father had died the day he was born. The village lore held that his father had run all the way from his paddy field to the Sadar Hospital 10 km away upon hearing the news of his birth. Actually, he had limped: the snake that bit him in the field that day had made him limp. But at the end of his 10 km trek, he had one last look at his son and collapsed in the hospital itself. Mihir's father was the only one who looked after their crops -- they failed that year. And then, ever since their old dog passed away, people were convinced that there was an evil omen about Mihir.
In the village, rumour went that the first one look at Mihir in the morning would have a terrible day. Normally, it was Baidehi herself who slept by his side, and she would be the first one to look at his face in the morning. Nowadays, no-one wanted to have that misfortune. So they let him sleep alone in his cradle, and placed a mirror beside him. When she was alive, every morning Baidehi would dutifully pick the white juin flowers, form a small garland out of them, and put them on Lord Krishna's photo. At night, she would take it and give it to little Mihir to play with, and he would fall asleep with the garland beside him. Baidehi took very good care of her son. This kid was permanently hungry, but wouldn't eat much at any time. One could frequently see her trotting from Mihir's room to and fro the kitchen with a morsel of food in hand. She would rock his cradle or use the bamboo leaf fan to wave off mosquitoes and flies, or go to the window hidden beside the almirah in her room with the kid clutched to her bosom and show him the crows and cows and trees. And every time Mihir dug his hand into his nose or mouth, she would shoo it off and forbid him, "Tuk, tuk"! People had grown accustomed to Baidehi raising this child. Jhilik, the unmarried cousin who everyone was searching a groom for, would often play with him at dusk in their courtyard. She would often joke that it was her baby. When Baidehi died, however, Jhilik's parents had shunned her from even being anywhere near the child. And even as she wept silently in her room, people were convinced that the rumour was true: this was the cursed child indeed.
The trouble started when people began hearing scraping noises from the kitchen at dusk. Nobody was sure who did this, but often in the evenings or at dusk, people would hear someone scraping the metal pans in which the food was kept in the kitchen. And in mornings, it would seem as if someone had run four fingers through the food overnight randomly, and picked just a morsel or two. It was a joint family, and the usual suspects (i.e. the children) were rounded up, caned, threatened... but nothing turned up. And even though the room was properly searched and sealed at night to take care of cats, the noises would come randomly nonetheless. One morning someone discovered a grain or two of rice beside Mihir's lips in his bed: and they finally knew who was behind these noises. An explanation had been found: Mihir was stealing the rice. The uncomfortable question about how the child was managing to lay his hands on the food amidst all that security was something everyone chose to ignore -- must be one of those brats helping him... some more caning and one of them will crack for sure.
One day they did catch a brat. The afternoon siesta was very important for the family. And on some of these hot afternoons, they would find some bamboo-leaf fans missing. Or someone going about lightly in Mihir's room, as if spitting "Thuk" repeatedly. It annoyed them for a while, until they observed that most of the times, these fans turned up in Mihir's room, and it seemed someone would run out of the window as soon as anyone entered the room. They suspected that the brats were up to something in that room because there weren't any elders present, and catch one of them brats they did. The ten-year-old child had cried and cried under the spanking he received that he had just stolen two mangoes from the orchard and had gone in there to eat them in peace. But no-one believed him:
"You must be the one always giving us a slip through that window each afternoon... and whats with the fans, eh? Want to get some air while you enjoy the stolen mangoes every afternoon? We'll teach you a lesson so that you don't create that ruckus again in that room... let that baby sleep in peace, will you?"
All the elders reminded this boy that the next time he disturbed their sleep in the afternoon, he'd have had it. Still, the noises persisted after a while: albeit more softly. Nobody bothered now... must be some other kid in the house: at least this one was more discreet about it. And thankfully, because Mihir was fed only twice a day like the other kids in the house, he too had given up wailing day in and day out. He seemed to be full these days. "Nothing that a little discipline cannot do to a child", Jhilik's mother would say.
The biggest ruckus happened the day when Jhilik had gone to check on the baby in the morning and found him missing from the cradle. She had shouted out loud upon not finding him there. Everyone hunted around for the child, and they finally discovered him when he started wailing. He had been in his own room all this time, but somehow managed to go near the window in the corner of the room beside the almirah. Afterwards, when the elders interrogated her, Jhilik was in tears. Her mother was furious, "How many times have I asked you not to go near that child now? Do all you can after you're married... but don't even dare do this again before that, you understand?!"
Jhilik had nodded her head as she wept and confessed to having gone into the baby's room in the mornings to wake him up quite a few times.
- "Oh whats possibly wrong with this? He looks so heavenly in the morning! His pillow smells of fresh juin flowers, and he always smiles when he sees me in the morning!".
Her mother had rolled her eyes and said,
- "What will I do with her?!! Haven't I asked you not to look at Mihir's face in the mornings? Oh dear Lord... what will I do with this headstrong girl... don't, don't... for heaven's sake do not do this to us! Please, O Krishna... don't let that rich educated groom from Babughat slip away: I promise I'll give a special Puja in your name during the next Sankranti! Oh please please please... and you girl! I'll break your legs if you dare go into that room again!"
Jhilik nodded her head in silent agreement and slipped away into her room that day. They continued to put up with the little noises and scraping for a few more weeks.
It was the anniversary of Mihir's father's death. The men in the family had grudingly prepared for their journey to the river next morning for some rituals. Only Jhilik had remembered that it was Mihir's birthday too, but she didn't dare tell this to anyone else after her mother had threw a tantrum and cried and wept when she had reminded her of this. And the fact that someone was heard scraping the metal pans that evening again, this time particularly loudly, didn't really help matters. That night, it seemed one of these brats were up to something again in Mihir's room. It was almost dawn when the "Tuk tuk" noise from that room became particularly loud, and someone seemed to be pacing in that room not so lightly. The men who had to get up at dawn anyway decided enough was enough, and the elders of the family marched into Mihir's room fuming at 5:00 am in the morning. After they barged into that room, they were surprised to see that it was empty. The bed was warm, and a few juin flowers were strewn beside the pillow. But the baby was nowhere to be found. They discovered that the window beside the almirah in the corner of the room was open. And they never saw Mihir again.
Mihir's father had died the day he was born. The village lore held that his father had run all the way from his paddy field to the Sadar Hospital 10 km away upon hearing the news of his birth. Actually, he had limped: the snake that bit him in the field that day had made him limp. But at the end of his 10 km trek, he had one last look at his son and collapsed in the hospital itself. Mihir's father was the only one who looked after their crops -- they failed that year. And then, ever since their old dog passed away, people were convinced that there was an evil omen about Mihir.
In the village, rumour went that the first one look at Mihir in the morning would have a terrible day. Normally, it was Baidehi herself who slept by his side, and she would be the first one to look at his face in the morning. Nowadays, no-one wanted to have that misfortune. So they let him sleep alone in his cradle, and placed a mirror beside him. When she was alive, every morning Baidehi would dutifully pick the white juin flowers, form a small garland out of them, and put them on Lord Krishna's photo. At night, she would take it and give it to little Mihir to play with, and he would fall asleep with the garland beside him. Baidehi took very good care of her son. This kid was permanently hungry, but wouldn't eat much at any time. One could frequently see her trotting from Mihir's room to and fro the kitchen with a morsel of food in hand. She would rock his cradle or use the bamboo leaf fan to wave off mosquitoes and flies, or go to the window hidden beside the almirah in her room with the kid clutched to her bosom and show him the crows and cows and trees. And every time Mihir dug his hand into his nose or mouth, she would shoo it off and forbid him, "Tuk, tuk"! People had grown accustomed to Baidehi raising this child. Jhilik, the unmarried cousin who everyone was searching a groom for, would often play with him at dusk in their courtyard. She would often joke that it was her baby. When Baidehi died, however, Jhilik's parents had shunned her from even being anywhere near the child. And even as she wept silently in her room, people were convinced that the rumour was true: this was the cursed child indeed.
The trouble started when people began hearing scraping noises from the kitchen at dusk. Nobody was sure who did this, but often in the evenings or at dusk, people would hear someone scraping the metal pans in which the food was kept in the kitchen. And in mornings, it would seem as if someone had run four fingers through the food overnight randomly, and picked just a morsel or two. It was a joint family, and the usual suspects (i.e. the children) were rounded up, caned, threatened... but nothing turned up. And even though the room was properly searched and sealed at night to take care of cats, the noises would come randomly nonetheless. One morning someone discovered a grain or two of rice beside Mihir's lips in his bed: and they finally knew who was behind these noises. An explanation had been found: Mihir was stealing the rice. The uncomfortable question about how the child was managing to lay his hands on the food amidst all that security was something everyone chose to ignore -- must be one of those brats helping him... some more caning and one of them will crack for sure.
One day they did catch a brat. The afternoon siesta was very important for the family. And on some of these hot afternoons, they would find some bamboo-leaf fans missing. Or someone going about lightly in Mihir's room, as if spitting "Thuk" repeatedly. It annoyed them for a while, until they observed that most of the times, these fans turned up in Mihir's room, and it seemed someone would run out of the window as soon as anyone entered the room. They suspected that the brats were up to something in that room because there weren't any elders present, and catch one of them brats they did. The ten-year-old child had cried and cried under the spanking he received that he had just stolen two mangoes from the orchard and had gone in there to eat them in peace. But no-one believed him:
"You must be the one always giving us a slip through that window each afternoon... and whats with the fans, eh? Want to get some air while you enjoy the stolen mangoes every afternoon? We'll teach you a lesson so that you don't create that ruckus again in that room... let that baby sleep in peace, will you?"
All the elders reminded this boy that the next time he disturbed their sleep in the afternoon, he'd have had it. Still, the noises persisted after a while: albeit more softly. Nobody bothered now... must be some other kid in the house: at least this one was more discreet about it. And thankfully, because Mihir was fed only twice a day like the other kids in the house, he too had given up wailing day in and day out. He seemed to be full these days. "Nothing that a little discipline cannot do to a child", Jhilik's mother would say.
The biggest ruckus happened the day when Jhilik had gone to check on the baby in the morning and found him missing from the cradle. She had shouted out loud upon not finding him there. Everyone hunted around for the child, and they finally discovered him when he started wailing. He had been in his own room all this time, but somehow managed to go near the window in the corner of the room beside the almirah. Afterwards, when the elders interrogated her, Jhilik was in tears. Her mother was furious, "How many times have I asked you not to go near that child now? Do all you can after you're married... but don't even dare do this again before that, you understand?!"
Jhilik had nodded her head as she wept and confessed to having gone into the baby's room in the mornings to wake him up quite a few times.
- "Oh whats possibly wrong with this? He looks so heavenly in the morning! His pillow smells of fresh juin flowers, and he always smiles when he sees me in the morning!".
Her mother had rolled her eyes and said,
- "What will I do with her?!! Haven't I asked you not to look at Mihir's face in the mornings? Oh dear Lord... what will I do with this headstrong girl... don't, don't... for heaven's sake do not do this to us! Please, O Krishna... don't let that rich educated groom from Babughat slip away: I promise I'll give a special Puja in your name during the next Sankranti! Oh please please please... and you girl! I'll break your legs if you dare go into that room again!"
Jhilik nodded her head in silent agreement and slipped away into her room that day. They continued to put up with the little noises and scraping for a few more weeks.
It was the anniversary of Mihir's father's death. The men in the family had grudingly prepared for their journey to the river next morning for some rituals. Only Jhilik had remembered that it was Mihir's birthday too, but she didn't dare tell this to anyone else after her mother had threw a tantrum and cried and wept when she had reminded her of this. And the fact that someone was heard scraping the metal pans that evening again, this time particularly loudly, didn't really help matters. That night, it seemed one of these brats were up to something again in Mihir's room. It was almost dawn when the "Tuk tuk" noise from that room became particularly loud, and someone seemed to be pacing in that room not so lightly. The men who had to get up at dawn anyway decided enough was enough, and the elders of the family marched into Mihir's room fuming at 5:00 am in the morning. After they barged into that room, they were surprised to see that it was empty. The bed was warm, and a few juin flowers were strewn beside the pillow. But the baby was nowhere to be found. They discovered that the window beside the almirah in the corner of the room was open. And they never saw Mihir again.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Top 10 ways of spiking your blog traffic
Okay, so you've been on the blogging track for quite a while. You began by looking at a few blogs with high readership (at least going by the comment count). Then you thought... what the eff, I can definitely do better! So you began by publishing a blog of your own. Some of your friends were forced to read the first few posts, but then nobody really cared if your cat had cereals or fish bones for dinner last night. Which, admit it, was all you could think about after a month. After some time, even tempting emails such as "Hey dude I just moved my blog from blogspot to wordpress, take a look!" didn't seem to work. And the fact that everybody knew the one digg on that post of yours was your own doesn't really help matters. So worry not -- here are the top 10 surefire ways of increasing blog traffic (or at least these are guaranteed to spike your traffic for a day):
- 10. Pataofy blog aggregators
- You see, we are all human. So find the blog aggregator websites like blogbharti or desipundit and locate the contributors. Visit their blogs, swear your undying loyalty to the flair and flamboyance in writing on their own blogs, and one fine morning you'll find your blog has featured on one of these hallowed websites! Heh.. nothing like a little butter on the bread. We also accept dollars, BTW ;)
*ahem* - I'm on blogbharti... * wink - wink * - 9. Review stuff, or rather snob at everything
- Pretend to read lots of books and watch a lot of movies. Google for reviews, and whichever word salad seems to be the best, post it as your own on your blog. This in itself will not help so much, but if you start commenting on others' blogs or review websites with a link to your blog saying "This movie was trash: here's why", someone will definitely go over to see what exactly you thought was trash about "Swades" or "To Kill a Mocking Bird".
- 8. Meta blogging
- Write about blogging: how it is a health hazard, why it is such a great mass media, what might be the future of blogs, what kind of bloggers you hate, who you like, or even, how to retain your blog readers -- there, I gave you at least 5 different post topics! Go rush and write about them before someone else does! Oh, BTW, writing a post titled "Top 10 ways of spiking your blog traffic" will also help ;)
- 7. Do tags, memes, quizzes, awards
- The works, basically. Religiously hunt for tags on all blogs, and whenever lazy bloggers leave the tag passing game as "take up the tag if you're interested" or "and I tag you, the reader", jump at it! Haha... the suckers, they don't know what they're missing out on. Modify the tag so that it requires you to link to 20 other bloggers. And then on each of these blogs you pass the meme to, leave a comment asking them to take up the tag. No you don't really have to know the victim to leave such a request. I guarantee... a full week of at least one tag/award/quiz a day and you'll find an unprecedented number of comments on your blog.
- 6. Make your blog's link the mantra of your life
- Advertisement flooding, or rather mass hysteria -- thats the key. Put your blog's link everywhere you can think about: IM status messages, email signatures, Orkut, facebook accounts. In fact, if you can something like something like "Hi, I'm crazy4u from crazy4ulover.blogspot.com" as your pick-up line at a pub, the girl is sure to check what exactly got you so crazy.
- 5. Humour -- especially if you were at the receiving end
- No seriously, it works! You messed up in the kitchen and your can of Coke exploded inside the microwave? Cool!! Some enunch grasped your crotch because you refused to pay up the five rupees? Awesome, write about it and pretty soon yours will be among the most emailed posts around.
- 4. Spam blogs with comments
- ... and look for suckers like you. Basically, you scratch my back I scratch yours. Come up with a pithy one-size-fits-all like "Hmm very interesting post! Have been following your blog for a while and will be linking to it. Please link to my blog as well at crazy4ulover.blogspot.com". Trust me, you only need to strike gold with just one of these blogs --- very soon your back will be scratched raw.
- 3. Pick a fight
- Become an MKC that is (Malicious Known Commenter). Go to popular blogs and start attacking people personally: "you suck, your opinions make no sense, in fact even your posts' titles are crap". One of them will surely take the bait. And the blogosphere always loves a little entertainment in public -- for a change, people definitely want to learn innovative ways of slandering rather than whether your cat pooped in the morning or not. Go to hardcore feminist blogs and leave messages like "all women are morons", go to blogs with multiple contributors and start methodically cauterizing each contributor. Sooner or later, the group will take action and you will "get some action" ;)
- 2. Love
- ... especially proposals and breakups. Awww... who doesn't love them. Talk about how your man proposed at the right time in such a romantic place. You had never imagined him that way or never thought you might get proposed to that evening. Ahh, but don't mention that you wore a very special dress to that dinner... everyone is supposed to believe that you were taken unawares, remember? Or if this doesn't work, fake a break-up. And paint him black and blue. Talk about all the male chauvinistic traits and how the bastard fit each of them to the tee. If nothing else, some knights in shining armour and some would be Princess Xena-s will definitely come to the rescue.
- 1. Sex
- Ahh... sex, drugs and you. The hormones, the little skin that showed. How you found the girl hot, or even how you got laid with that fictional chick. But I gotta tell ya, if you can start a blog pretending to be a girl and write about little giggly escapades, heh heh heh... boy you're gonna be famous! The little tease, the girl who wishes the guys in her classroom would take the hint, the steamed up office executive who dumps boyfriends every month and swaps tongues with the rest of the romeos... believe me after some time you might actually begin to wish you were born a girl! :D
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Evil
JK Rowling got this one thing right. You need to feel it, really mean it. When you curse, it can't be revenge. It cannot be something to give the person a taste of the same medicine. You cannot be trying to appeal to his conscience, you cannot have the glimmer of hope that the enemy will realize that this is futile... that there is no point in the battle. You have to mean it, and really really want to hurt. They cry, they weep, they scream in agony... you must go on. Wound, maim, kill and destroy. Thats how you can be evil.
You see, good things happen only to those who can fight for it. When the time comes, you must be prepared to fight. Bury those weird feelings of guilt, mute that voice of conscience screaming within that this isn't right. Because it is right: that is how the fittest survive. The conscience is just what people programmed you to believe in when you were a kid; but hey, they aren't foolish enough to believe that bullshit anyway. If it takes drawing blood, cut off the arm. If it calls for to prick them with a needle, plunge the dagger in. Do it without remorse, do it without guilt. Don't be afraid: it is much better to feign asking for forgiveness from others than to beg for permission from yourself. Guess what, then the deed is already done.
If you don't stand up and fight, they will. They will do it anyway. When there is a helpless wimp who believes God will protect him from it all, when he believes that 'peaceful' negotiation and conversation will provide the solution, you are going to be a fool to not grab the opportunity. Treat this as the white man's burden. Even in conversation, put that barb wire around all you say. In the guise of the dialogue, let this still be a way of calling a spade a shovel: hurt, stab, and name and say what they don't want to hear. The best defence is a ravaging offense, one that isn't afraid to knife through the heart and destroy forever... there can be feelings and remorse afterwards. But hey, nothing you need to worry about! Speak your mind, speak the gross detail, hurt the feelings. You suffer a little, but the losses will always make up for the satisfaction of having killed them. That is sacrifice, that will be the price you need to pay. No ulterior good motives, no 'right thing' to do. Being evil means being the devil: being the best in business. Be that, and you'll live and survive. No martyr lives to get the bouquet, their graves do. And the ones who live are the ones who write what the story was. Dead men tell no tales.
You see, good things happen only to those who can fight for it. When the time comes, you must be prepared to fight. Bury those weird feelings of guilt, mute that voice of conscience screaming within that this isn't right. Because it is right: that is how the fittest survive. The conscience is just what people programmed you to believe in when you were a kid; but hey, they aren't foolish enough to believe that bullshit anyway. If it takes drawing blood, cut off the arm. If it calls for to prick them with a needle, plunge the dagger in. Do it without remorse, do it without guilt. Don't be afraid: it is much better to feign asking for forgiveness from others than to beg for permission from yourself. Guess what, then the deed is already done.
If you don't stand up and fight, they will. They will do it anyway. When there is a helpless wimp who believes God will protect him from it all, when he believes that 'peaceful' negotiation and conversation will provide the solution, you are going to be a fool to not grab the opportunity. Treat this as the white man's burden. Even in conversation, put that barb wire around all you say. In the guise of the dialogue, let this still be a way of calling a spade a shovel: hurt, stab, and name and say what they don't want to hear. The best defence is a ravaging offense, one that isn't afraid to knife through the heart and destroy forever... there can be feelings and remorse afterwards. But hey, nothing you need to worry about! Speak your mind, speak the gross detail, hurt the feelings. You suffer a little, but the losses will always make up for the satisfaction of having killed them. That is sacrifice, that will be the price you need to pay. No ulterior good motives, no 'right thing' to do. Being evil means being the devil: being the best in business. Be that, and you'll live and survive. No martyr lives to get the bouquet, their graves do. And the ones who live are the ones who write what the story was. Dead men tell no tales.
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