The Cuckoo's Dilemma

Once upon a time, in a jungle was a huge banyan tree, on which lived a squirrel and a cuckoo bird, both being new acquaintances. The squirrel and cuckoo would start their day finding food. The squirrel would munch on the nuts from a nearby tree, which were often tough to crack. The cuckoo, on the other hand would peck on any fruit whichever came it's way, and was contended with it. The squirrel would, then check the security of its nest, and looking after its children, while cuckoo would sit on its favourite branch and keep on humming in its mellifluous call.

The time passed by, their friendship grew stronger and they started sharing their thoughts too.
And with passing time, due to some unknown reason, cuckoo's songs were no longer enthusiastic, so one day, squirrel asked the bird- "friend, i couldn't help noticing it, but you look sad, and restless for past few weeks, is there anything bothering you?"

"Nothing i can think of. But it's true that something tells me that i'm not feeling well, mostly, i try to sing, but i don't find it interesting either. I realised that most part of this jungle where we live is full of non- living beings; trees, grass, stone and others. What difference would it make to them even if i cease to exist? They won't remember me; for if i was a thief, or if i was a good doer. I feel less and less interested in this world and its misery. Somehow, i feel i'm trapped in this black feathered body for no reason, and that my life is without any."

The furry tailed listened to the logic of his friend, "friend, i don't have any idea what you are telling, as i have a family and had no time to wonder about it. What you exclaim could or could not be true. Why don't we go to the wise donkey?"

"The one who lives on the leeward side of the hummock? Do you think he can abate my perplexity?", asked the feathered animal. The squirrel nodded and they started to the cave where the hermit donkey lived. The squirrel was hopping and running, while the bird flew just above the trees.

The old donkey saw two creatures coming to his cave. He saw them tired, so he asked them to sit and have some water in the bowl. "What are you seeking?", asked the donkey.

The twitter and the squeaks told him of the problem they were facing. The donkey listened to them, and went into deep thoughts, his head buried deep into his chest.

Finally, with a hum, he said- "I think i can explain this,", turning to the cuckoo, he continued, "How is your schedule?".

The cuckoo- "Eating any fruit which i can see near to the tree, doesn't matter which one, as i don't have any choice in eatin-"

"So you don't go out to find fresh fruits, it is what i assume"

"what is the need as long as i'm getting something near my abode?"

"Make it a point to do so. and in rest of your times, you can, for a starting, teach the squirrel's children how to sing. And get a family for yourself. This is the medicine which you need."

Said cuckoo- "come on friend, let's go."
"you continue, and i'd catch you up soon. I have my own doubts to get cleared."

"okay, see you later", said cuckoo and flew away.

"I want to know the root of his problem", asked the squirrel when cuckoo was not in sight.

The donkey replied- "His problem is his laziness. The reason of his disinterest is not that he's enlightened, but his degenerated self worth. Whenever we work and consummate it, we send ourselves a signal of achievement. This contributes to our self worth. Since you are always doing your work, so this is why you had never fallen prey to ennui and disillusion. He is true that world is largely made up of non- living things which won't bother who we are, even we are alive, and there is actually no eternal meaning to life; but think of the quality of life, as we all are sensitive to emotions. I believe i've resolved your query."
The squirrel, now a bit wiser, nodded.

The cuckoo and the squirrel lived happily ever after on the same banyan tree.

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Post- Script: When the monkey living on the next tree heard of this point from squirrel he remarked- "oh! and I was thinking it wasn't his mating season; was almost about to suggest him to go to hibernation so that i would rest in peace."

Disgruntled

Achtung: Long Post

Dear Yash Dada ji, Hirani Uncle, and Karan Bhaiya,

First of all, Happy new year to you, your near and dear ones, and wish to the almighty that he gives you enough brains to craft originals.

It is almost always asked to me if i watched Munnabhai 3 [er- 3 idiots, i mean] and when i say no, people are shocked that a movie buff like me, who doesn't even leave C grade potboilers, missed 3 idiots. I almost passively explain them the reason, which i feel, i should discuss with you too.

To Yash Dada ji/ Karan Bhaiya:
It is always nice to see your style of film making. It is flamboyant, classy looks, and high on glam quotient, with expenses of the order of 8th power of 10 Rupees. It is fun to go into a wonderland, all right, but apart from your favourite character Raj/ Rahul [whose "naam to suna hi hoga", have heard it million times] i also find your stories to be similar. Frightfully, my IQ is not so high that i can make out the difference amongst the stories. I am also unable to understand your fixation with Punjabi Culture.

The silver lining of the cloud is that your stories and Raj/ Rahul are so generic that even if they were Software Engineers of Infosys, or peons of Bihar Government, or an irrigation engineer, they would not hamper the core concepts by even a hair. The story remains as irritating as it was.

For Hirani Uncle:
Pranam Uncle,
Hope you and Bhagat Sir are doing fine together. Your video of wishing Bhagat sir new year on you tube was heartwarming, to say the least. Both of you are saying the same thing- Watch the movie and read the book, ultimately boosting the sales of movie, though you have denied it vehemently every time, and the hard cover edition of 5 point someone. I being a 6 point somebody know IIT life better than to watch or read epics on this, the epics being far less diluted than the beauty and simplicity of that life.
However, I'm glad that you successfully served the "misfit- in- the- system- wins- with- humility- and- not- aggressiveness" formula 3 times now, and i would request you to progress further, leaving this issue [i'm sure you know there are many, if you watch English movies].

I, due to the above few reasons, have stopped going to the theatre, as i feel cheated everytime i watch the movies. Picture this- I'm being offered a gift wrapped box, for some amount. The money I'm paying is being counted and assured is not counterfeit. But i don't know what is inside the box. It is always projected as a cheese cake [as i find it too rich to eat, you may read any other cake you find rich] to me, and when i open it, mostly i find a stale bread tens of years old. Another example, In olden days, people used to often cheat by selling a cat in a bag by claiming it to be filled with a swine, and took away the money. When gullible people, on reaching home used to open the bag, they used to find a cat jumping out, rather than a piglet. It thus became an adage "The cat is out of the bag". I've been conned like this many a time, and since i don't want to be conned again, so i advocate piracy of music and movies.

Please get my message clear- I would spend my hard earned cash only if you make genuine movies, with genuine music. If I find it to be a repetition, or a rip off, I'd prefer to watch it on pirated movie. Since it is not your imagination, so you need not be paid for it.

Then what about the money you spend in producing it? Well dear sirs, I'm not responsible for your quirks. You may spend all your fortune on a second hand idea, and i'm not buying it.

I watched Kaminey twice in theatre, and went on to buy its original, because I liked the originality of the script.

Wish you a productive new year,
Regards,
Nimesh

PS: Kindly let know of this issue to Santoshi Uncle [with a good- keeps- mum- till- interval- and- finally- wins- over- evil- with- a- bang idea too state to have fermented] and Madhur Uncle [who has always tried to make good documentaries all right, but he should release them on Doordarshan's national network]

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Further Notes: Movie making for Dummies:
Raj Kumar Santoshi Pattern of Radical Rebellion Thoughts: The main protagonist lives happily, until he/ she sees things happening to a poor person. He/ she sees and is with truth. But not very strong. The dark side forces pressurize him to buckle, and they buckle. Half the movie, some event happens, some other protagonist and then the main protagonist stands tall. they rise from ashes, and beat the pulp out of the baddies, and climax- satya mev jayate.

Examples: Damini, ghayal, ghatak and Halla Bol.

Madhur Bhandarkar Pattern of Improving Work Ethics: The people in certain profession are shown to be sad and suffering. Entry our main protagonist. Some incidence happens to put him in picture, and then story moves. The hero/ heroine gets deeply involved into the ethical issues of the problem, at the work place, and is shown to be a misfit, finally receiving the thrashing by the system. He leaves, and finally returns [optional] back to the system, to be declared as a winner.

Examples: corporate, page 3, fashion, jail, etc

Raj Kumar Hirani Pattern of Cute Ethics: The central character is always a mint fresh cute guy with a heart of gold, with the system being strict, ruthless, and following stringent rules, rather than ethics. The hero changes the system by his jadoo ki jhappi/ gandhigiri/ whatever heart warming, sentimental, and non violent techniques. The ethics lacking guy is Boman Irani, that's a constant.

Examples: Munnabhai MBBS, Lage raho Munnabhai, Munna- i mean- 3 idiots.

Suraj Barjatya Pattern of Gharelu Love/ marriage: Put in animals, even digitized animals [reference: Hum Saath Saath Hain, the Parakeet] will do. Put in a big joint family. Add an antakshari. Add Alok Nath as a weeping baap. Include good dose of Prem, the hero. Add situations pushing hero and heroine together in a corner, so that romance develops. Take test of that love. Resolve test by external help of either the servants or the the beasts. Marriage.

Examples: Maine Pyar Kiya, Hum aapke hain koun, Vivah, ek Vivah aisa bhi, main prem ki diwani hoon.

Johar Chopra Pattern of Annoyance: Suck as much as you can, because the same source of blood and emotion, that is the human won't come back. Johar portrays Rahul as a feminine man, and Chopra portrays the situation with a romantic filter put in his camera. Both suck our blood. Examples: Find them yourself, please.

Dissecting Sholay

I was born after Sholay, and a movie buff that I am, I was the last to see this magnum opus in my generation. It wasn't because I hated it, but because I was busy watching all those movies which went unnoticed (on a humanitarian ground, so that their viewership should be a non- zero positive integer). Because of my staple diet consisting mainly of B- grade movies (it's not that i like them, just that they are quite too much in abundance, just like members of class Arthropoda), this movie seemed grand in all respects, and it continued to intrigue me hitherto, when it dawned upon me why it was, the way it was.

Originally, the makers of Sholay wanted Danny to play the arch- villain Gabbar Singh, and they were thinking about putting Hema Malini opposite to Sanjeev Kumar. Although Danny has a grave and heavy timbre, would that be sufficient to make Gabbar a legend?
In order to understand why Sholay was a hit, it is necessary to fully analyse the mechanism of Masala, a sub- genre of Drama. Drama movies rely mostly on the intensities of emotional deliveries of characters involved. Mostly, the emotions go to extreme, regarding some incidence, and the narration of that incidence would often highlight the effects more than the cause. The subtle is the ignorance of the cause, the better the effect on audience. Masala, also in particular depends heavily on co- incidences. In purely mathematical terms, the smaller is the probability of an event, the better it makes Masala. The unbelievability of content is the gist of a class such as this.
The story line of Sholay is a mix and match of all kinds of probabilities- The very same thugs being employed by Thakur to eradicate a cruel and cunning dacoit, who saved him earlier, and both of them falling in love with the ladies of that village. Having a single bullet left and the bomb on the wooden bridge, and respecting the nuances of Indian cinema that a person dies only after delivering a complete dialogue, the movie is abundant of such incidences as well as columns of this infrastructure.
Real success of a film is not in the moolah it rakes at the box office, but how larger than life its characters become. Be it Mogambo, or Clint Eastwood's portrayal of a cowboy on a Texan soil, or the Gabbar Singh. It is quite difficult to imagine Gabbar without Amjad Khan's voice, but when I do it with Danny's voice, I find it to be equal to numerous other menacing dacoits portrayed in the course of Indian Cinema. The reason what makes Gabbar dreadfully menacing is the way he delivered. It was the silence before his dialogue began, and ample resting time between words to stress their pressure on our ears, and expectation of the crescendo, which his voice would reach, created a tension in the air. It can be paralleled to a piece of symphony, in which, all the orchestra stops at a point, takes a split second "rest" and then the mildest of the instruments start the tune, and very soon, the instruments keep on joining, increasing the tempo like a boulder rolling off a hill, gaining momentum, and finally crashing with a loud bang. Followed by a silence. May be perhaps you can hear your own breath when orchestra concludes, or, in our case, the blowing wind., with a minimal haunting music. If you take this out of Gabbar, the legend falls to Dr. Dang of Karma- and Sholay collapses into a regular masala flick.

The second significant point I find is about the characters. A masala movie requires that all the characters should be of different emotional domains, so we have a lot of characters, big, and small, like strokes in a big landscape, with the incomplete statements analogous to the half shaded image often describes its own boundaries. Imam Saheb, played to the perfection by A.K Hangal, was one such stroke, so was Sachin Pilgaonkar as his silent son, or the flamboyant Basanti with her dialogues, or the mystifying Radha, the ever silent daughter in law of Thakur, whose behaviourial dialogues were like the sciography of expressions hidden in various shades of melancholy. Any of these characters can be removed, and the basic story remains the same, but less than grand.

A good story teller never spends too much of time narrating the same sequence. A good director, similarly, keeps the audience's moods varying from light to deep and vice versa, always hitting them with his best shot in every reel, but never letting them delve deep into it. As a result, the person is always left with a want to come back to the previous scene. This emotional overload works, and Salim and Javed duo made sure they never kept people busy in one setup for more than five minutes.

The music, in concordance with the Indian values of movies, were a necessity, and good music at a right point always strikes pay dirt. And the lack of it intensifies a scene- again an orchestra- rest- crescendo effect.

Sholay was highlighted as the first 70 mm grand screen cinema, which was a specialty, simply on technical grounds. So whenever I remember the poster of Sholay, 70 mm comes to my mind next. It was as if a tag line. It was also a fact that Sholay was the first film in Indian Films' history to have completed 5 years in a theatre, from 1975 to 1980, which made it a legend that I was the last to see in my generation.
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Post script:
Gabbar (in a languid U.P. tone, with a menacing look towards the three "stooges"): "Are o Sambha, kitna inaam rakhe hain sarkar humpar?", with a single haunting tune.

The Love Marriage

The top floor of B- Block, known as B- Top, was where Samy, the ever excited guy lived. Though the wingies didn't participate much in co- curriculars, but their extra curricular activities included chatting on some chat messenger, robotics, distributing their knowledge about the world, or, fooling each other by posing as "damsels in distress" in chat rooms, especially the last one. "The Enlightened one" of the wing was Siddharth or Sid, who would often emerge from his room, fixing his ever slipping spects, and then would call everyone out. Usually, things would start from movies, and then he would pick one issue on his sweet will. Often, this Gyan session would last a couple of hours, and then everyone would conclude it in the dining hall having some evening snacks.
That day, it was raining cats and dogs, and Sid, like always was broadcasting seeds of his fertile brain, with people listening to him. Suddenly, someone asked, "Where's Khujli?"
Khujli was the incessantly itching guy of the wing. The legend said that his favourite pastime was that he was seen itching at any given time T. If not itchy himself, he'd itch his neighbor. Once the guest speaker in architecture department showed in a slide how the dampness spoiled the plaster of the column, and someone shouted, "Looks like a misdeed of Khujli!" and everyone in the row next and before burst out laughing. This day, Taklu was missing Khujli's presence.
It was impossible for Sid to not know where Khujli was. He pushed the bridge of his slipping spects and said in a know- it- all tone, "Do you guys wanna know where he is?"
Samy, the short, ever jumping guy said, "Ab batayega!" (meaning: cut it dude, lay it on me). Sid, clearing his throat announced, "When i was coming from institute, I saw him in Harry's, feeding rasgullas to his sister Padmini".
Padmini was a girl who studied in Samy's batch. Khujli and Padmini met in IIT, and soon a brotherly- sisterly bond developed between them, was what Khujli's wingies knew it from him. So now that Sid had seen him feeding Rasgullas to Padmini, the whole of the wing roared into laughter, with Samy taking a full fledged lead in it. It was snacks time, and these guys, started towards dining hall, saving themselves from the splashes of rainwater coming in the corridor.

That night, Samy's sleep was rudely disturbed by a loud bang on his door. Someone had apparently kicked on his door. It was Khujli, who was back and he was furious.
Samy opened the door. Khujli thundered, "Rascal! You joked about me and Padmini!!"
Samy replied, almost awake by now, "It wasn't me! It was Sid..."
"It was you, Taklu told me!"
"I'm telling you now, it was Sid, go and talk to him" and Samy went back to sleep.
"Sid, come out! How dare you speak such nonsense about me and Padmini?" roared Khujli, a bit annoyed at his first miss of his thunder bolt.
Sid wasn't in the mood of opening the door, he said from inside, "It was Samy!"
Samy heard it. "Scoundrel!", he thought.
Bang! Khujli was kicking Samy's door, and Samy shouted in reply, "Ask if Sid wasn't the guy who told us about the masala story of you feeding rasgullas to Padmini!!".
Khujli kept on banging the doors of Sid and Samy, and they kept on passing the buck to each other. Soon, annoyance gave way to frustration (which was the default behaviour of dwellers of Institute of Indian Technology). Khujli could not avenge for the story which some scoundrel leaked. It was true that he was feeding rasgulla to Padmini, but didn't he ever told these crass creatures that she had tied him a rakhi, and fed him rasgulla then? In anger and frustration, he declared that his wingies were being cheap, and that Padmini was his sister.

Venting your anger often leads to sadness. That's what happened to Khujli. He was saddened by the sorry thinking of these jerks who never gave a thought to their banters, and he retired in his room.
For the next fortnight, he didn't talk to his wingies.
Time heals. Soon, they all filled up the gap, and he started to mix with them, and everything else was back on routine.

Five years later, Samy called me up. His ever excited voice told me "Do you know, Khujli is getting married?". "With whom?", I asked, with an anticipation mounting. "Guess?", he said.
A brief silence, and after that, we both burst out laughing.

Samy continued, "Taklu commented on the group, with just one line- Kya zamana aa gaya hai!" (English: Times have changed!). We both laughed.
I said, "History repeats!"
He said, "Means?"
"Don't you remember people with similar names- Padmini of Chittor, and Khilji, the sultan of Delhi?" I replied, and we both burst into fits of laughter.

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Glossary:
Harry's: A small eatery which was near to Tata Sports Complex, our favourite pastime joint.
Taklu: A happy go lucky bald guy.
Samy: A genius in disguise, to whom this author is thankful for the inputs.
Sid: the know it all of the wing "B- Top".
rasgulla: an Indian sweet made of cottage cheese, the sweetness of which got added to this memoir.

Vengeance: Concluding Chapter

2 months ago, Sri remembered, it was Chitrangada's turn to publish the weekly journal, but the key of the main notice board lied with Vir.
Vir had told Sri that he was leaving for the town to buy some important things, and the things were not very important, so she need not come along with him. Somehow, the day had been quite hectic, keeping Sri busy all the way. Thankfully, Enya too had some work in lab, some register she had to make for the lab tomorrow. She wanted to relax today, and the whole room was for her, she was all in luck!
She remembered quite late that it was Chitra's turn, and she had to deliver her the key. She called Chitra from her room, and she sounded worried about tomorrow's issue. Chitra was cool as usual, she said- "Dun worry kid! I got the key from Vir 5 minutes ago! He came and gave it to me."
It was surprising that Vir didn't go to town. Well, he too might have been busy.

Sri would often help Vir to do his assignments, and she would take care for him, thinking twice so as not to do anything which might hurt him. She was a bit more sensitive than him, so she would often try to understand him. Vir would seem to be a bit worried about something, that's why he would often remain reserved, and for few months, he wasn't able to focus on his studies, so Sri made it a point to be of his help.

Yesterday, Vir had come to her, and asked her if she could draw the final of his plans, elevations and sections? It was very necessary for him to visit the town, as his aunt lived there who was serious and it was urgent for him to go. The assignment was also necessary to be submitted, as it was final assignment, and he feared it would be impossible for him to submit it tomorrow.
Sri smiled and said "She'd be all right, don't worry. I'd do the needful".
Next day morning, Chitra came running to Sri, she was pretty excited. "Hey Sri, Did you know, Vir got expelled!" Sri was struck by a bolt! "What? how?"
"come to the HOD's chamber. He's waiting for you. He asked me to locate you and send you there".
With weak knees, she went in the chamber, laden with grim air around her. The whole batch, class of '09 was present there. Vir was standing in the corner, red faced. Perhaps, he had cried. She could see him sweat in the air conditioned chamber.
The Head of the Department asked her in a calm, but serious tone, "Are you aware that Vir had copied your Design assignment? apart from the previous few assignments of detailings and Building Construction Techniques?"
"huh? No Sir! Was he?", she replied, wide eyed.
"Yes, I had already got the reports that he had been copying details from Chitrangada's sheets. Since he has failed in more than 2 subjects in a semester, he is not eligible to carry his studies in this premier institute. It is imperative for you all now to keep your sheets in locks from now onwards. You all may go."
She was the last to leave, and as she closed the door, she could hear Vir pleading the HOD to give him another chance, but she knew it was impossible, HOD was too strict to budge.
She calmed her sudden excitement, and came back to her room, at the end of the day.
Her room mate Enya was sad, apparently her day too had been bad. Sri held her by shoulders. Enya turned and looked at her. She was crying.
Sri asked, "What happened?"
"nothing"
"You sure, baby?"
"Yeah, I'm. Just one bad day won't hurt, right? It's some experiment gone bad..."

Later that night, Chitra came to Sri's room.
"Everything okay Chitra?"
"Yep. Is Enya asleep?"
"yes, she just slept, can you ask me whatever it is, on a stroll?"
"Sure".
On their way on a big 2.2 km long circuit, Chitra initiated the talk.
"Just wanted to ask you something- you orchestrated this whole scandal, didn't you?"
"What leads you to think of this?"
"My locker has number lock. The key to that lock is known to you and Vir only. Vir is not that a fool to copy it blatantly. You know, he always introduces a twist in something original."
Sri recalled the day about a month ago, when she was crying in the room, and there was no one to support her.
Chitra had told her that she had seen Enya and Vir strolling late night in the institute, when she had been to the department to change the Wall magazine in the noticeboard. They hadn't seen her.
Sri had been thinking of an adage "When faith becomes blind it dies". How was it, that she couldn't get the point of Enya asking her about trust and faith? Wasn't it the same day Vir told her that he was going to the town? Sri first didn't believe this whole thing. Seeing is believing. She started digging into the emails, and saw only one email of Enya to Vir, appreciating how smart and intelligent he was, with a reply of thanks from Vir. She cried the whole day.
She realised then that faith in a relation is like a principal sum in bank. It accumulates slowly, and steadily. It can not be given to someone in a lumpsum. It is more related to actions in the past, not the feelings.
She composed herself, and came back to her room, still undecided whether to let them go, or to avenge. She was convinced that she was cheated, and her right was denied. So Vir deserved an apt return gift .
Why did Enya hint her about her feelings then? May be it's completely human to hint their own actions in advance, which might satisfy their emotions. Anyways, it was foolish of her.

Next day, when Enya opened her eyes, she saw Sri smiling, "Good morning baby! How was your sleep?"
"Ummmmm... It was quite good, thanks!" Enya replied, stretching her hands.
"Water, in stagnation, rots. So should we move?" concluded Sri. Enya couldn't agree more.

Vengeance: part 1 of 2

"Water, in stagnation, rots." concluded Sri. Enya couldn't agree more.

6 months ago, Sri and Enya were sitting in a theatre, watching movie, when she said, "Enya, how do you like Vir?". Enya giggled, and said "Assure me I would live after I said I liked him!". Both of them had to be shooed into silence by the audience who were more interested in the movie, than in their heart to heart banter. They made faces, and started watching the movie.

Vir studied in the same section as Sri, and Sri, being the "master architect" was the pet of all the professors. It looked as if she just was revising the whole architecture course. Sciography, drawings, illumination engineering, waste water management, all the courses were at her tips. Often one would see her laughing and giggling around with Enya, her room mate, who was from electronics.
Because Sri also was good in mathematics, so Enya started to harness her ability into understanding the equations which required high degree of knowledge of calculus. Analog Circuits was her nightmare, and it suddenly became easy when Sri started dissecting the formulas. There was now no need to mug up. Soon their friendship grew beyond buck converters and Universal Serial Bus protocols and they started to share their small worlds with each other.
Enya often wondered how was it that Sri always had some time at her disposal, when all her batchmates would slog for hours and hours on the very same assignment. Sri preferred to keep the suspence with her smile. Often she would fill her cigarette with weed, as she would sit with the A0 sized sheet on her drawing board, and she would design everything with a single stroke. No need to draw the rough. She knew her hands, and her hands knew what she was upto. Six hours flat and she'd be done with it.

The second semester from January demanded she should do more courses from architecture than the common curriculum, so she started to take note of people who were in her department. And as the second sem started, the seniors started their regular drama of orientation periods, and extra- curricular activities. It was there, she had first noticed Vir. He would often be present in the Thursday's evening club (organised by the budding architects of the department).

Often, she'd find him in the library too, or in the canteen near the main gate of institute. Three months later, she was competing for the post of Journal secretary, when she found her team (for the doing the ground work) of the post also comprised of Vir, Rekha and Chitrangada.
Working for the post- printing arrangements, the 4 would often go for a night- out, and there would be long sessions of tea, which would be often taken care by Vir. The ideas were mainly of Sri, but Vir would often give a twist in them, making them even more interesting. The sheer brilliance versus the creativity would often make an interesting competition, and whence, they started to have an inclination towards each other.

They even exchanged their passwords of email IDs. Sri's self would never allow her to accept it in front of Vir that she often read his mails, for curiosity's sake. But soon she gave up checking into his account, as her own self would not permit it.

Vir was tall, fair, and his gait was free. Nothing bounded him, ever smiling. Sri often mentioned him with Enya, How the discussions on the ideology of Meis Van der Rohe went, and how charming but difficult was the life of Frank Lloyd Wright, and Enya was no fool to let it go unnoticed.

So, it was after the theatre, Sri decided that she, Vir and Enya would have a small get together. As Enya too wanted to meet him. He sounded interesting to her.

Next day, Vir, Sri, and Enya sat in the coffee bar, and were discussing things, Vir was sitting almost straight, Sri, leaning on his support, with her head on his shoulder and Enya in front of them. They chatted for some 2-3 hours, and thanks to Vir's smooth talking the time warped, and it never felt that long, had not the position of sun been a measure of time too. Vir wanted to become a good architect, and how he had been struggling for the rank in this institute, and some funny stories of his tuitions were quite funny to pay heed to.

That night, as Sri came back at eleven, switched off the light and fell on bed. The creaking bed announced her presence, and Enya asked her "Are you still awake?". Sri said "Yeah" with a sigh. "how did you like him?", Sri asked.
"How much do you trust him?" Enya questioned her in response.
"I love him a lot! Isn't it sufficient?" Sri fell asleep, getting oblivious to the next question of Enya.

... next part concludes

Circus

In the jungle of Institute of Indian Technologies, there existed two crazy students, with particularly varying interests. The Monkey was a detailed thinker, mostly residing in his own theme, and rarely peeking out to see what the world was doing. He'd get a screenshot of the current state of world, and will quickly recreate in his brains what must have happened, and then he would quietly get absorbed in his thinking. The Donkey was the one who was always on the roll when it came to foreign policies, polity, politics, and bureaucracy. He would always have a conclusion ready on the weirdest of the patterns and he would often extrapolate them to predict what the future held.

Two years later, both of them passed and joined the beautiful world outside. Their job description was the same. Only that satisfaction level was different. They would often meet and The Donkey would often narrate interesting affairs surrounding, or may be they would discuss the ideas of various people.
One day, while roaming, The Donkey mentioned a famous quote, "The god is a performer, performing before an audience too afraid to laugh". "Don't we remember something about an audi, performance, stage, and we all being characters?" The Monkey thought. Strolling in the great market place, the two friends were discussing this. The Donkey continued, "The Penguins at a far-away-land Antarctica often feel hungry at a time when there are too many fish in the sea. They dive to dine, and before doing that, wish each other bon appetit. The sharks too feel hungry at the same time, and they too wish each other bon appetit, and then hunt the penguins! Look at the comedy- they both feel hungry at the same time!!". Seeing the facial expressions of the Monkey, Donkey suggested another example- "The newly born birds which live near ponds often take their first flight after a few days of hatching. The comedy is that if they crash during their first flight, they often fall in the open mouths of crocs and other animals waiting for them. They become the feast of these animals in the first flight itself!", continued Donkey, " If you call it a comedy, it's a grim one".
"Take a third example- In Sundarbans, the jungle is so dense that humans often prefer to live near the shore of delta. The water level often varies markedly during the whole day, and there live piscivorous tigers, who drink that saline water. These tigers, often known as Royal Bengal Tigers are the smart and aggressive cousins of other indian tigers. They are big, and they are bad, they know their footsteps, and they will hunt humans, whenever they can. It is virtually possible to go deep inside the forest." Having laid a proper foundation, the Donkey took a deep breath, and continued "Now, the fun part is that honey bees also make their combs in the deep forest. The combs often are huge. Now, humans have to go inside to harvest honey from the bees, where their predator awaits!".
The examples started a train of thoughts in Monkey. So far, he believed world is an auditorium, and the god is the only audience. Now there is an opposite theory, the god is a performer, and we all, observers. How can it be? It seems like the trees are moving in a direction anti parallel, when we move.
To interconnect both the perspectives, we can shift our own. Imagine the world is a circus, with everyone being a performer, and god being the ring master. May be he's more than a ring master, he may be an organiser, who has put a constraint, a starting condition, continuing conditions for the act, and a terminating condition. The performers in circus are all acrobats, so they can not see their own moves, but can witness how the tight rope walker is performing, and how good the tigers are doing ball with the humans, etcetera. Now, we can safely say the god is performing, we too are performers, and yet, we don't dare laugh, because we are walking on tight rope ourselves. We laugh, we fall. Only if we are too busy to watch others than noticing our own steps on the tight rope.
Special Mentions: Chaitanya Vardhan for his inputs, Voltaire and Shakespeare for sharing their piece of perspectives, God- his circus is interesting.

Singing on a Lower Pitch

The Dog was lurking in the dark alleys of internet, and by chance, he ended up sniffing few write ups in a blog filed under the title "rant". The article writer definitely wanted to be heard, and she was being heard, with comments on her blog being double of The Dog's own. What caught again The Dog's sniffer nose was the unusual intensity of the word "rant". Technically barking- rant would mean too much of violence or extravagant, as would be the context when the word was used when it shouldn't have been. Everything was perfectly under control, with no emotion being out of control, as the label would claim, observed the beast. He had encountered a similar observation not so long ago, may be half a decade ago.

The Dog wanted to go for higher studies, for which he wanted to write a cover letter, shamelessly mentioning why he fitted that university, in a land far far away. He was genuinely interested in the subject and wanted to make it his career, and hence, to show his keen curiousity, he chose words he deemed fit to design the application. A wise and kind man lived next to him, who would often help him diagnose his inner self. The wise man perused through his application, looked up to the animal, and said "Everything you wrote is the truth, but your know, there is a problem. I call that problem overexpressing an emotion, for example- instead of "highly interested" may be you could have suggested some of your acts which depicted the same."

The Dog was gifted, actually, compensated to understand the human languages, for; he was unable to comprehend much of human emotions. He would never understand the rising or the falling graph of emotions, or understand the unsaid, so he would often tilt his head to one side, and stare wide- eyed, with a bewildered expression at men and women, who would often dramatise and romanticise the events.

Why did people often do that? His own kinds knew only a few notes to sing the famous lyrics of Baha men song "who let the dogs out". They were never dramatic, in fact, most of the animals, unless it was the mating season.

The only reason, The Dog, understood was that people often had a sense of awareness, which allowed them to realise they existed. The self also had an extension, which The Dog felt was vestige, known as ego. This part of self (illogically, but successfully) tried to convince the self that the being was a unique individual, with no one as special as him. This would often make him feel cherished, and would make him want more. The more meant even more, when it came to fame.

The fame rhymes with the word name, observed The Dog. That too wasn't without a reason (though that very same reason, however, didn't follow with shame, dame, game, blame, etc). The ego or the sense of self, allowed the humans to associate themselves with words which they thought were unique for them. If someone uttered that word, they would respond, as if someone had nudged them.

[Agreed, my family didn't have names, and we used to understand how to hunt a mouse or a poor small animal in packs, and everyone developed his own sense of responsibility in the team, by the games we often played in our childhood. But humans named everything, even their homes, cars, and pets, including me. I responded to them, because everytime i responded, I was given my favourite bone to suck, or a juicy piece of mutton. The reward is a big motivator.]

So, when humans name is called, they feel elated a bit, and this gives them a sense of being wanted by the person calling the word, that is, what they call name. If a lot many people would call their name, it would be a transaction in which the input is too overwhelming. To make people call your name, you need to be different, you needed to be dramatic, guesses The Dog. May be, you needed to be special, hence the usage of the word "rant" in the title of the article, when it wasn't necessary, to dramatise a simple event.

Humans, are the descendents of the great Ape family, and hence, they believe in copying what they find attractive. As a result, now The Dog finds all the world being dramatic in a way or the other. May be, for a change, letting the actions communicate would keep things simple, and clean. It may sound boring at first, but the closer look would reveal that since the things are easily understood, so it would greatly increase the pace of the work, and speed is more fun, The Dog guesses that's what the wise and kind man meant.