NM-2: Back to the roots- Burning Man 2010

The seed of an idea planted a few years ago finally sprouted last weekend in the open wastelands of the Black Rock desert. Now it grows, reaching for the sky, nourished by fluids of creativity, winds of possibilities, protected from predatory biases and hatred by tolerance and acceptance.

When Sau told me about it in the summer of 2008, I had a vague understanding of it, but nonetheless I was bubbling with excitement to be at the Burning Man one day. The concept stimulated my ceaseless yearning to experience boundless energy that lies latent within any and all of us. And perhaps participate in the creation of something remarkable and joyous.

Earlier this year when Bubula and I decided to make it happen, I embarked on learning more about it. So I read more about it, talked to Burn alumni, saw pictures archiving the past years. The excitement grew. And still the nebulousness of my understanding of it persisted. One old Burner summed it up on the eve of my journey to the playa, "Go with no expectations and an open mind". Best advice ever.

It was everything I had imagined, everything I wanted it to be but hadn't realized. It was one big celebration- Of Freedom. Of Art. Of Engineering. Of Nature. Of Creativity. Of Perspectives. Of Diversity. Of Sexuality. Of Individuality. Of Society. Of Life.

The theme was Metropolis. There were the usual elements of urban life- buildings, transportation, sanitation, clothing, streets, homes, recreation centers and of course crowds of people. But the nature of all of this was so unusual. It interpolated and then fused with human behavior. Outside of this microcosm, the things we saw, did, or just plain observed would be weird, in simplistic of all terms. It seemed entropic at first. But a quick second look revealed a most coordinated, nearly symphonic system of a quasi-government and law-abiding citizens that kept this temporal city in order. It was feral and primal. At the same time it was pure and refined. It was like a New World Order. Derived from the collective history of human civilization, it was functional, disciplined and liberating. There was equilibrium and peace.

Never before had I experienced something so startlingly raw and intense. It was all around me, absorbing me into itself. But it felt like it came from within.

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http://justflipa.co.in/the-desert-commons. This piece by my gifted little psycho-bubble vividly articulates my whole experience. I read it every time I want to relive Burning Man 2010.

Gloat and Sigh

In the past week or so, during all the brouhaha over the leaking of the classified military documents on the war in Afghanistan on the aptly named whistle-blower website WikiLeaks, we Indians were simultaneously gloating and stoically sighing. We have cried ourselves hoarse about Pak's chaddi-buddy relationship with the terror pods and pouted at the aid showered on Pak by the States, instead of a rightly deserved tight rap on the knuckles. So when the documents pointed out how one of the sources of Taliban's funds was the redirected aid, we couldn't help but do the "I-told-you-so! I-told-you-so!" routine.

Warning: The dance must only been performed under under the professional guidance of Goupa. Please don't try this at home. Or in public. It can be very embarrassing for those with you and annoying for the onlookers. Though, you might have fun.

PD vs. Aging

A tribute to my gal pals who have serious issues with aging, especially dedicated to one lovely lady, PD

5 Stages of Grief caused by aging:

Denial- “I look really young for my age.” “People still think I look like I am in college!” Big whoopieee!

Anger- “WTF?! Die wrinkle die!” “ Yeah right 'insert name of pretty friend here' looks young, have you seen all those products on her dressing table?” “I am sure she went under the knife”

Bargaining- “Maybe if I alter my diet to only 'insert name of gross healthy food here'. I believe it works wonders for your skin” “Maybe I should try neti (Ugghhhh!) It purifies your system and keeps you healthier and younger”

Depression- “Since when were celebrities and pop sensations younger than us?” sniff :’(

Acceptance- “Apoorva, you can call me auntie R@$#~! now”

A Murder On Any Given Balmy Summer Night

A wave of heat rises, undulating the street

On which rises the mansion of deception, lies and greed

Why may that be worthy of our attention now

An ode to pulp fiction this is, that’s how

As the moon waxes, a mouse with a fidgety snout

Explores for treasure, treading with doubt

In the kitchen, a pot of soup boils to the brim

A family gathers around for supper, stiff and prim

They say grace and exchange pleasantries

Over stew, turnips, turkey and other savories

The night sky likens to the dried ink on little Sue’s essay

The men puff cigars, to the parlor the ladies sashay

Derby bets and stocks and bonds make the din of the chatter

A sole nimbus cries, rain drops fall pitter patter

Shrieking with joy, little Sue and cousin Boo rush into the house

Drowning the last sighs of two souls, one them a mouse

In the attic, by the shattered window pane

In the dark, dusty shadows there lay slain

The very mouse that had run amok

But that’s not the murder of which we talk

An act of sinister unfolds on another floor

Many flights above, a maid steps through the attic door

As the clock strikes another hour of a game of cards

She cries at the vision among the glassy shards

For that was Winky, her pet so sweet

Now there it was lifeless and limp, like a piece of meat

But while, for her dear departed companion she wept

The attic floor awash with dirt must be cleaned and swept

So she bawled and scrubbed the floor of hard wood

“No more s’mores dear Sue, it is no good”,

Said Jen, her mother, elegant in a dress of teal and white

As the poor maid came down and saw another terrible sight

The mistress, an old maid, not the kind who clean and labor

Was found by the other, who was now in a stupor

A shriek that never left her quivering mouth

Brought the rest of the family out and about

“It is too sudden”, said Joey, the eldest nephew, twice removed

Even though her face had been, for so long, lined and grooved

“She had just settled on the porch in her favored nook”

And now her frail neck was twisted, eyes off her book

Uncle Bill bellowed, “Yes Joe boy, I agree with you

For I smell foul play in this affair too”

A semi-retired detective, he was man of wit and skill

Also the keeper of old and now dead Tammy’s will

Wealthy, powerful and pretty she had been all her life

But no nice fellow took Tammy to be his wife

For it was her bitter, conniving manner towards all

That kept her circle of allies awfully small

And those who stood by her were leeches and crooks

People of social standing but dangling morals by the hooks

All of them now on and around the porch, beside the deceased

Each trying to look sad and shaken, though they felt pleased

“Murder! Murder!” screamed the tabloids and headlines

The wealthy witch’s death covered and parodied many times

The tale of intrigue and mal-intent entertained the bourgeoisie

While Tammy’s heirs silently thanked their unknown angel of mercy

For a year or so the investigators interrogated them all

“They all are suspects, the stinking parasites” said officer Kroll,

Rather contemptuously, “They all stand to amass a fortune”

But none seemed bothered by his ceaseless importune

Perfect alibis they had, no incriminating weapon ever found

Everybody got a share of the wealth, split down to the last pound

The legends of family deceit and the elusive malefactor continue

The beneficiaries know not who made their wishes come true

Happily ever after for all but the pale, frightened, no more little Sue

Never the same for she could never tell the truth, her only rue

Had it not been the baseball that she and Boo hit that balmy night

That is not how their dear Tammy would have died

Hallowed Be Thy Name

At 2 Minutes to Midnight, a Man on the Edge of the Darkness

watches the Children of the Damned do the Dance of the Death.

The Number of the Beast has the land in Total Eclipse,

Invaders and Prowlers are Running Free in this Strange World.

He has been the Prisoner of the Lord of the Flies,

a Powerslave to the Evil That Men Do.

The Clairvoyant makes the Revelations of the Futureal,

"'O Moonchild, To Tame a Land you must Die with Your Boots On"

After Wasted Years in the Fear of the Dark,

he Runs to the Hills, to face the Gangland.

A Purgatory or a Sanctuary Where Eagles Dare,

he knows not how to Remember Tomorrow.

Now a Stranger in a Strange Land,

he awaits the Judgement day,

a Wickerman to go up in Holy Smoke.

Infidelity and us

My favorite show, South Park, is back on prime time. It is crude, satirical, biting and bizarre to say the least, besides being freakin' hilarious. Now in its fourteenth season, it opened with "Sexual Healing", lampooning the media-led brouhaha over Tiger Woods' domestic troubles that were attributed to his infidelity. It openly mocks people's holier-than-thou disbelief that this happens and their high-minded condemnation of those who get caught. Well I agree with the show's stand- yes it does happen, and given a chance most people would indulge in it. Too bad no marketing research firm or anthropological institution collects, collates and broadly publishes this information, but I bet it's more prevalent than we would expect or would like to know. I am also inclined to think that men are more prone to it than women. No, I am not a misandrist, utlra-feminist, PMSing weirdo undergoing hormone therapy to counter the imbalances. It's just how it is.

Arguably, monogamy is the meme of the modern, civil society- not to say absolutely, because we seem to have made peace with serial multiplicity of partnerships but definitely balk at parallel arrangements. I wonder how and when it was decided that humans should mate for life. As for why, I have a whimsical theory =). (Please bear with me, especially if you have a better hang of the theory of evolution and/or the chronological landmarks of the establishment of civilization as we know it today, i.e. talk to the finger)

Let's go back to the glorious era of the Caveman. The civilization is in nascence and social norms are still bubbling in test tubes in the laboratory of human interactions. The pure survivalist animal instinct suggests the Wham, Bam, Thank you Ma'm routine (though I doubt the third bit, because our manners are still wild), spread your seed as far and wide as you can. The female of the species is somewhat restricted by the inconvenience of pregnancy and child raising, the male is at an advantage. But when faced with a favorable option to procreate, neither of the sexes would think twice. With time, along with our numbers and resilience, our species' cognitive abilities and emotional needs evolved. We figured out it was easier to raise the offspring in packs or groups or a couple at least. It also seemed more conducive for of the sake of collective sanity to have one, rather than many, to dump the emotional baggage on. And finally it was a lot less draining to find and remain with one, because the chase could be exhausting and less fruit-bearing than not. In the name of practicality, we chose to sacrifice our basic instincts. To oppose it, of course, would seem like a degradation of human intelligence.

United we hate

One of my buddy's and I have a super secret, ultra-exclusive, co-owned blog that we started to chronicle the stupidity of one our dear pals. Clearly, our indubitable fondness for this person is the source of all the blog's content and many a shared snickers. During a rare moment of uneasy conscience, we realized that this 'common interest' was in no insignificant way responsible for bringing my accomplice and me into a closer friendship. In a continuing moment of guilt and admission, we also remembered that we had had a comparable sink for our dislike and meanness even at the time when we first befriended each other. Not wanting to have to confront that hatred was one of the foundation stones of our friendship, in hasty and decided manner we moved on to other distractions (the idiot box, of course). But that realization has stayed on my head and I am certain that it has on hers (Why I think so, isn't relevant at the moment).

Hate is such a powerful emotion. It seems highly effective in getting people together to get things done- riots, terrorism, vandalism or general mob activities, all these seem to achieve their goal of destructions and chaos with high efficiency. It seems even more so when you notice that amount of effort that can go into trying to rally support for a good cause- climate control, wildlife protection, poverty eradication, education, etc., all to no avail. One recent piece of news on NY Times, http://bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/03/16/online-hate-sites-grow-with-social-networks/?hpw, mentioned online hate sites had grown by 20% over the last year. Hatred just evolves to keep up or keep ahead of the times. It's definitely an industry leader in terms of market capitalization (impact on people's lives and property through the expression of an emotion times the number of people that simultaneously feel and express that emotion).

Maybe I mustn't feel sorry for my species or be dismayed by the reflection of our true faces, beneath the facade of civility. Maybe chaos is the natural order of things, and Hobbes is right, "People are just crazy."

NM-1: Blues

On a quiet evening of a grey Monday, as rain poured down as if to wash off the blues of darker blue Sunday, and silence loomed heavy on the swoosh of the wind and rumble of the sky, I listlessly sank into my couch with a DVD in my laptop and some comfort food. After days and nights of hanging out with Mr. Dumb Ness and his not so lovely Mrs. Numb Ness, I hope to take leave of their company. I must keep my manners and politely excuse myself. I know they do not get along with anything even remotely stimulating. Maybe the idiot box would provide the guise. It worked.

I watched ‘Habana Blues’, a Spanish-Cuban pelicula that weaves through a period in the lives of two Cuban rock musicians looking for a breakthrough into music industry and breakaway from the harshness of their everyday lives. The movie touches upon several themes such as the tug of war between the essence of art and commercialization, patriotism and personal aspirations, and, as expected, capitalism and communism. But music, of course, is at the core of the movie. The exposure to traditional Cuban music flavouring the mainstream genres of rock and rap was like a bountiful feast to my creativity-starved mind. The Cuban culture is not only the fountainhead of the musician’s creations but also their distinguishing trait of their trade.

It got me thinking about how powerful a hold someone’s roots or sense of belongingness has on their actions and reactions and channelizing their expressions and creations. And how a lack of that sense or a feeling of general detachment can sterilize the very same.

Chime of the chubby moroner

June 23, 2008

It's a chubby moroner,

and he thinketh sugar and spice.

With the glowing eyes and innocent smile

dreameth of donuts and liquorice

He stoppeth his lady, tall and fair,

Woeful mind and a look of doubt,

"What hath come into your head,

for you feast on cabbage and sprout?"

She smiles at the cherubic face,

Crown tilteth, glittering eyes,

Spake no word,

proceeds to swat the flies

A half-eaten donut

the moroner lefteth behind,

for he hath a fresh Belgian waffle,

seared onto his mind

Springing feet and merry heart

he flippeth at the sight

of scrumptious food and of his lady love

with whom he findeth delight

Music in his soul,

Gaiety he spreads

Charming every maiden,

'Tid many a man dreads

Restless, brimmeth thoughts,

his brilliant mind ashine

In his hands lie

the will to make all fine

'My chubby moroner,

Why art thou woebegone?'

Smiling spake he,

'My troubles are not gone'

'For many a times in the days by gone

We hath had many a fight,

I am yet to find peace

But I try with all might'

Smiling back, she sighs

Glinting, sure and calm,

"Honey it will be fine"

He resteth his chin hopefully in her soft palm

In the Middle of Nowhere

Writing my last blog entry, and reminiscing about the Catcher in the Rye reminded me of my attempt to capture my own teenage angst and restlessness, quite amusing in hindsight. Here's from times of care-free free music download, anti-fit jeans, countless vada pavs, endless hours of Basketball and 'just-chilling' by the sea-side...

IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE…

Encircled by obsession

Of “I, me, myself”…

Don’t know where I am heading

Why want to know myself?

Have it all…?

Yet discontent I feel…

Nothing, anymore,

Seems to appeal…

On a lone trail

To vanquish the “evil”

Within me,

But “why the “solitude”?”,

I fail to see…

Lone crusaders

Is that what we are?

Just like pawns

On the chessboard,

Near yet far…

Queries, confusion,

Answers but no solutions …

Amid a mist of

Riddles and illusions …

Wishes, dreams, desires,

Hatred, rage, fire,

Sting, contort, burn me,

No apparent reason there be…

Vendetta I wish to wreak,

My insanity is what speaks.

No reasons to be scorned,

Elusive bliss pierces like thorns…

A shrieking silence

Ripping me apart,

My mind deludes

But hear it in my heart…

Existential puzzle

Tortures my soul,

Not “WHO” but “WHY” am I?

Leaves me all sore…

In me, in you,

Within us all,

Fear to admit

The vicious reality,

Plunging, headfirst,

Towards my downfall…

Chained to shackles

Of hallucinations,

Under pretense of control,

Burying the hard truth

Trampling it under the sole…

“Truth”- or a convenience?

What is it? Why matters?

Hidden by lies

And muddy splatters…

Twisted and harsh,

No strings attached,

Conquest for it,

Supposedly unmatched.

Virtuous or vile?

A compulsive yardstick,

Ram raiding the world,

Just a bagful of tricks,

In the middle of nowhere,

Bewildered and mute,

I try to find me,

In an attempt to suit

The enigma that envelops me

Is it really me or

All I can see?

Want to pour out

This heart to someone,

But that’s what I shun

When coming and

Going alone

Why need that “someone”

To burden up with

My solitary moan?

Going round in circles,

In search of what?

I have no clue…

A feeling of doom

In shades of blue,

Age and era

May bear the blame,

An unreal realm of

Ineptness is the name…

Impermanence, passing phase

Perhaps just neuroticism

A seeming ceaseless darkness

No flicker of light

No spectrum from a prism

Like grains of dry sand

My-so-called life,

Slips away from my grasp

Leaving behind an empty hand…

An ambiguity captures

My mind…

Just want my freedom

From this uncertainty

Leaving all these doldrums behind…

Away from the darkness

Away from the muted screams

With eternal unbounded wings

Fly away to an eternity of WHITE DREAMS……

Good-bye Mr. Salinger

In Holden Caulfield, J. D. Salinger created one of the most identifiable-with literary characters - the protagonist's passion and contempt, his fierce need to be his own person, the nonchalance towards people yet an inexplicable yearning to talk to them anyways, his hunger for knowledge and disdain for pretension, his borderline Messiah complex- we all have had such emotions and internal conflicts. Especially in our youth - the rawness, the passion, the romanticism, and the nascent cynicism. But as we grow up and mature, these still exist, but we filter our thoughts and moderate our behaviour to fulfil the societal definition of well-adjusted human beings. At this stage, Holden's absolute emotions and reactions elicit a fear of the very ability to relate to him. To be that way, in my opinion, might be liberating but is socially sacrilegious- acceptable during the Terrible Teens but not after. I guess people who would continue to act like him would be outcasts or committed to institutions or kept suppressed and restrained by the “saner” ones in their families.

The angst and struggle between society and individual is chronic. The extraneous expectations and your personal judgment are in a constant conflict. Acceptable for one is phoney for the other.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Another thing that stood out to me is Holden's thinking that yelling “Good luck” to people is plain terrible. I do see some credibility in the statement. In fact, “good luck” & “anybody would be lucky to be with you” are the two things people think will others feel better, give them hope. But it is such a norm, said so mechanically and superficially that it worsens things if you think about it. As if one could not get about without someone wishing them luck, their ability and intent would lack the necessary bearings without it.

Buzzitripudoconia Moroni

or Morons' Venture for Fun on Buzz by AC, Bubby and H

The Shuteye Demon briefly dated the Good Idea Fairy,

The Nocturnal Musings offspring is running amok

The Second Thought Witch, with an evil laughter, plots against the offspring

The Good Idea Fairy holds Nocturnal Musings close to her bosom

In the shadows lurks the This Won't Work Ogre,

Who tempts the Easily Corrupted Elf playmate of the reckless offspring

Together, they arrange for a game at dusk to draw out Nocturnal Musings,

For as the darkness grows so does his restlessness

Restless Nocturnal Musings playfully joins the Easily Corrupted Elf,

Not paying heed to his mother's restraining

This Won't Work Ogre rubs his hands with glee even as the Overly Optimist Prince rides into the scene

Swiftly, the Overly Optimist Prince slays the This Won't Work Ogre

As the Easily Corrupted Elf and restless Nocturnal Musings begin their game, I'm So High Hobgoblin joins them

The Second Thought Witch, now cleverly disguised as the I'm So High Hobgoblin, sneakily leads Nocturnal Musings away

She takes out a green vial of Strangle The Idea Potion and lets out another high-pitched laughter

As the Second Thought Witch's shriek of delight threatens to rent Nocturnal Musings' innocent mischievousness,

The Shuteye Demon seeks his progeny,

A primal instinct to protect his seed violently clashes with his pragmatic aloofness

Alas! The Shuteye Demon's pragmatic aloofness wins and he decides to take a nap

Knowing she has little option, the Good Idea Fairy takes on the Second Thought Witch on her own,

They agree on a mud wrestling battle to settle the matter

It's the crack of dawn, and the Good Morning Gnome rides in on the first rays of sunshine

His merry rhyme rudely awakens the Shuteye Demon,

Just when the Good Idea Fairy and the Second Thought Witch were about to settle matters in the muddy arena

Oh no! For it was not but a dream!

The Shuteye Demon awakens to a surprising scene

The Good Idea Fairy has reconciled with the Second Thought Witch,

After she told her where to get the best bargains on brooms

Nocturnal Musings looks at the Shuteye Demon and asks the Good Idea Fairy, innocently, 'Are men necessary?'