The Happy Wanderer

"Comfort's journey from the familiar to the unpredictable..." In the age of AI, if you are an AI Engineer like I am, you would swear by predictability. It's indispensable. We will find patterns in your genetic tree. We'll find them even in your whim of a Gulab Jamun or Barfi. We'll try to connect dots that are distant by miles. Yet, I'm here to tell you that we cannot afford predictability today. Sounds crazy and totally contradictory right? But I can be weird.   I'm here to tell you about randomness. I want you to experience it too. Well, you're smart people, readers. I may not be as smart. You know why we can't enforce patterns.   Someone will read them. Someone will exploit them.  Someone will feed them to an AI (Tool) and figure out what to do with them. You see what I mean? I'm being random. Randomness is not entirely useless.  I want to be equally random. I am stupid, gullible, naive and I'm wandering... You can say that I can be ...

Today, I wish people were more like poems.  A sad truth is dawning on me.  I can't just be. Most things just are. No proof required. No justification. Here I feel like an instance Of a class. Some kind of template  With some methods Instantiated. Many of my methods are public. Others comment on them. If I encapsulate, They pry. If I am abstract, They talk. What's going on? I'm not going to plead any more. I'll just shut all the doors. Make all the methods and variables private. Too many people tampering with the balance of it all. Our lives are not portraits or leaflets to hand out. Media often makes us feel so, but existence is way older, Authentic and organic- than the glitzy hood of social media. Human beings, like plants, need space, nourishment and nurturing To thrive. Are plants dependent on these things? Can they not stand on their own roots? They can, and they do. But you cannot neglect  The environmental variables that make them happen. So don't comment on ...

How much is fact, and how much is fantasy? Winter mornings are dewdrops. They settle like the treble in a song, only to fade away like echoes.  I can hold them on my fingertips, but the next instant they are gone. Elusive. Just like peace. Just like people you don't really know. Come to think of it, I realize that everything in this world is transient. The barking of the dogs in the neighborhood. The incessant crying of a baby. The footsteps of the milkman. The steady, tremulous tone of someone making a point over the phone. The chatter of neighbors. Yet, only a few moments have passed before I can remind myself that transience is, after all, a tricky business. Everything appears temporary because it is warped by time and spaced into a fragment of its entirety. What appears to be a puzzle, is actually just one piece.  I am wearing the most concrete example of this irony of interconnectedness. Of permanence. Of durability. It wraps your hands and skin in the warmth of several i...

I don't know why this drill came to my mind today. My coach called it 'Board Balls'. I don't know what the official name is, or if even there is one. I remember it as one of the most taxing practice drills- both mentally and stamina-wise- for me, personally. It seems strange but it's true. I find individual drills and exercises simpler, because you have just one person to keep motivated - yourself. And you have just your own angst to face, and yourself to answer to, if and when something goes wrong. But with 'Board Balls' and team games it's entirely different. You have more people to answer to, more people to take along. You need to save yourself but not at the cost of throwing someone else under the bus. You need to preserve your energy. It matters not just for you, but also for the team. And you can't quit. One person misses, and the entire group needs to start all over again. The feeling of dissipating guilt as you mistakenly hit a weak board-bal...

 Coconut Tender as a coconut. Hard as a coconut. Light as a coconut. Heavy as a coconut. I wish I was a coconut Today... A double-shelled, strange coconut. They call those people coconuts Whom they cannot understand, Like tapping on hard rock but not getting hurt- Like knocking against the hollow And shaking a bowl of jingling water That is cushioned by tender walls. Well, maybe people could be coconuts They could have hard shells and tender interiors, A hard crunch but a sweet essence- I would like to believe so. I want to know why I'm fascinated by the coconut. It can't be solely because of its duality. It can't be its beguiling double facedness. What is it, then? I feel like maybe a shaft of light A hollow for each hard tap- Tears through the hard door. An intriguing belt of  adventurous light Wriggles out from apparent darkness. Mystery, mystery. That's what it is. The mysterious coconut.  It has a shell But it has a soul- Shell protects soul, Soul preserves shell I...

Sometimes I just wonder, I ponder longingly. On how much power it takes one To let things just be. I wonder how beautiful All that is around me, could be, If no one touched, tampered with or teased, Its inherent beauty. I think of atoms, electrons and protons, Neutrons and energy Matter and mind become one When we can let things be. I think of reactions, processes Forces- friction and gravity That created what would be a wonderful world If we would just let it be. Now I will jumble up my sentences And forget to cross the t's And won't wait for you to correct me, For I'll just let it be. 

 What does the new year mean to me? I don't know.  I think it just means that I can give myself another chance to try, fail, succeed.   I think it means that I can spend time with family, differently this time. I think it means that I can connect with people and with myself, in new ways.  I also think that it gives me a chance to see things with a different lens. The kaleidoscope becomes a periscope. I don't know what else. Every year, I put on a new pair of goggles. Every year, I grow, whether I try, or not. Some things may work as I had expected them to, some may not. But who knows?  I will allow myself to be Novak Djokovic in my arena, who hears his name when the crowd cheers for Nadal or Federer. I will allow myself to be Rafael Nadal, who always has a plan, no matter how bleak or bright things may seem, and sticks to it. I will allow myself to be Roger Federer, who glides in, serves, plays and walks out, all in grace and style. I will allow myself to b...

Strong girls are turbulent rivers Turbulent, tenacious Self-controlled, forceful, Brazen  Streams  That surge- surge ahead Propelled by Dreams And compelled by  Fear  Of contamination and  By the  Turn of the tide. Strength must foster more strength. And every dream must merit Proof of concept.  To keep the river together Through adhesion and cohesion  The river must bear   ....The river flows in me.. To be continued..

"I began to realize how important it is to be an enthusiast in life.  White hot and passionate is the only thing to be."                                   -Roald Dahl  Confetti on the Tree  The confetti on the tree Well, that calls to me! Ribbons, strings, paper bonnets  They call to me. Roots remain rooted, None uprooted Stems stay steeped No sap has seeped Yet the confetti on the tree The Christmas-y blitz and glitz And glamour- shimmering and glimmering Rising into an uprising- It gives me a faint, Yet quaint, call.  The ribbons on the mighty tree Beckon me to run up to them Admire them Then ruffle them up a bit And give them the friendly old pat For making the tree beautiful. Woe be me- says the tree- the confetti- The fluff on the head- for it to soothe the shoots And calm the roots And keep the tree in one piece- It'd have to be less glitzy And more... ...

We are all threads of one fabric- The fabric of the human experience. Embroidered by effort, dampened by tears, Emblazoned by ambition, creased by anger- We are all threads of the same single fabric- Which is the fabric of our human emotion. Emotions that flow, those that can't Those that sneak away, waiting to be discovered- And those that comfort us In times of distress. We are drawn by our emotions like puppets tied To a string- becoming caricatures in the live play Which is our every day life. And yet, it is  These emotions that define us. You, me , everybody- Tied together by shared experiences that are Composed of shared sentiment. And yet, pangs of doubt refuse to depart- Is that which I'm feeling, justified? Is it alright? I say to you- I think every feeling has a place. Yours, mine, theirs, everyone's. It's got a role to play. So don't hold it back, pin it down or push it away- There's a definite reason that it's here for you today. Differences defi...

  Sforzando (in music, Italian): played with a prominent stress or accent- used as a direction in music “I am not the languid legato- Played swiftly and in ballet-like grace- I am not the crisp, aloof staccato- The tangent cut against the circle of a tune, Sharp, patent, chivvying the other notes To be bolder- I am not the stern tenuto- Making appearances at the end of musical phrases- I am not the wistful tremolo- nor the bristling trill- Each blending into the magic of the tune With unparalleled subtlety- innocuous, smooth, Blending into every fiber with poise… I may be an outsider; who would say that I belong- An outsider, imposter, traitor, and rebel- yes, I am All of these things- I arrive with a bang Depart with a smash- I hoodwink you I play you… you may call me vindictive, Un-abiding and a transgressor. I don’t conform, I don’t submit, I exist, I am, I shine, I disregard The other entities that precede, And follow me- my fellow musica...

Golden halos graze lavender breezes Fresh marigold blooms caress verdant tresses.. Rose-sprays engulf cherry-blossoms Soothing lilts in familiar tones traipse in traces.. The ground shakes, crumbles, folds, And peels into seams barricading  Heaven from the Underworld. The skies from the undergrowth. The ventured from the unknown. I feel anticipation throb against my chest- Pain pelting my heart, horror seizing my mind- The charm of the face, the charisma of the gait, Lend the atmosphere an uncanny poignancy... Ripe yodels seize the air, elegant tunes rent the breeze Warmth embraces me amidst a chill storm Like sun dappling in unseen corners on hidden  Mosses, lichen, mistletoe. My eyes are rapt My gaze intrepid, unwavering, dazed. Violas and banjos, guitars and cellos,  Pluck at my heart-strings, rattle my bones, Only to tune them to their synchronous frequency. I clasp the nearest object, I am now enamored. Multiple motifs creep stealthily into unwatched corners Of my be...

 Let me start by saying that I'm not sure why I chose to write this. It may have been because I was too overwhelmed for the past 28 months to elucidate my feelings as anything coherent. Or it may, equivalently, be because I hold so much against the entire class that I felt that I just had to give vent to all of it before saying 'Adios, Sayonara, Au Revoir.' Well, you know I'm kidding about that last one. :)  "The years gone by." They have been two long years, haven't they? Rhetorical question. I know they have. Time usually flies like an ISRO Rocket diving upwards into space to launch the Mars Orbiter Mission when I'm in school. Now it just simpered through the space like a feeble paper-plane. It was exhausting, to say the least. Yet, in many ways, I'm thankful that these two years happened this way. I couldn't have imagined them any differently, because COVID had killed my imagination. I'm being honest about this, one hundred per cent. The...

  Let what is, be what is seen... Don't force me to clean the white-board, my doodles, my imagination, My math, my trepidation, My haiku, my not-haiku-  Don't urge me to rub these off...  For, even if it leaves marker-smudges or deep imprints, I won't. I won't wipe the white-board clean, If I hadn't intended to today, before you said you'd drop in. I won't wipe the white-board clean, Because it was never on my plan, anyway... I won't do it, just because you're calling on me today. I don't want to show you the spic-and-span, I don't want to show you an empty land, I want you to see what I've been seeing, What I've been doing, and not doing, And saying, and not saying- I want you, To be allowed, to decide, whether you want To read my white-board or not... I want to give you that fair choice. For caricatures are all fine, but not with good friends, And not with good people. I'll leave the easel threadbare, The canvas en forme pleine,...

  Dedicated to my youngest nephew (as of now), Rishabh Iyer, a.k.a. Rishi... :) N ÉE  Edmonton, Canada.. The temperature was minus-something degrees Celsius, Freezing, chittering cold clipping at bones and shaking teeth, When a young lad, hale and healthy, arrived to grace a household, Which, like every other, was plagued by a pestering pandemic. He was little, sweet, and playful- eyes like tiny stars twinkling into the snow, Hands like tiny shovels, ready to scoop all the fractals of ice off the driveway, A smile ready to ring in merriment in the form of shrill squeals and gurgling laughter.. An easy manner, a mild temper, an impatient presence, a sweet shyness- Everything a blessing, heralding warmth in a land where one was chilled to the marrow. They called him Rishi- short for Rishabh. I liked the name- I took a liking to it instantly, Yet, Rishi preferred to be led along the house and garden through a series of gestures, Rather than by the call of his name. It made everyt...

  The tree says Hi! My balcony was briefly an arboretum. Windswept leaves splayed over the floor  Like champion specimens -parts of a fine species- Careening into a welcoming sanctum That is otherwise empty- save for clothes on stands Or people on feet. When this tree paid its timely visit Luckily, there was nothing, no-one. It probably seized A rare chance- when it was out of anchor, fit and fine, In form- and the tiled floor bare. No sign of occupation. It bore its way past the metal rails that serve to Prevent our falls, but here cushioned the tree's. It rested its somber branches easily on the rail, Which is mighty strong and sturdy, as I can now discern. It snooped its slender branches threateningly over A cauldron of leaves. Green cauldron, green sorcerer. When I woke, there it was, unshakeable, unmovable. Oh, it was mobile alright. It'd have moved of its own will. It was merely enjoying its soiree in a forbidden land, Like we all do. But it just stared at me, with compo...

 My Journey with Basketball that has been as much of a roller-coaster as Sooley's, though in an entirely different way. Samuel Sooleyman. A South Sudanese teenager for whom basketball is life. It's what he does on the dirt-caked streets for the most of his day that he has to himself, with love, devotion and of course, tenacity. Aparna Iyer. An Indian teenager who feels proud just to say she can shoot a couple of baskets, no more, no less committed. And loves to hear the slapping sound of the ball against the board as it delicately curves inside the net. Not much of a resemblance, you'd say. Samuel towers over the rest, bracing the basket at a solid 6 feet 4 inches. And growing. Aparna cowers to the hoop at a modest 5 feet 3 inches. This itself could speak for the play, but let's say, size is misleading. Even then, maybe the common thread, for starters, is merely that both 'Sooley', as he has been nicknamed, and Aparna, love basketball from the bottom of their he...

A landscape of feathers The smoothest natural canvas, For Nature's painter- Alighting while parading its beauty Before retreating  Into a well-worn easel. Soot-black, rust-grey, brown like tinsel, Folding up and pulling down the covers Over grace, beauty and space, Compounded with distance, Rendering known unknowns, beautiful art. Now mingled with unknown knowns, Streaks of color paint the marauded canvas Differently. Camouflage seems eminent, Unimportance, inadvertent. The marvels Of the aerial world, beget stupor as  They transform into the pedestrian In the realm which is terrestrial. The miracle of flight now a bane, As for food they must forage  With feet, not fly with feathers. I don't want to startle them. It is silence that beckons them to the ground. Startlement stirs them upwards, into the skies, Simpering, whimpering, not soaring and diving- Trespassers on a land where they are weak, Vulnerable- they know they can't win. Aviation is a weapon futile against...

  "When I was a little boy, my mom used to say, 'Son, the most powerful, the most dangerous creature on this whole Earth is a woman who knows how to think.' "       - Richard Williams, father of the Williams sisters (Venus Williams and Serena Williams) After a long sojourn from watching movies in the theatre, I finally paid a visit to the big screen last week. :) I cannot express my elation at entering the Multiplex Theatre. Absence truly had made the heart grow fonder! If you find me tripping to the movies more often now onwards than before, once the restrictions are uplifted, of course, these two years will have been responsible for it.  The choice of movie was fortuitous. However, there's no denying that I am a tennis lover, which means that the tale of the legendary Williams sisters had always been on my 'To-Watch' list. So we booked two seats for 'King Richard', a biopic of sorts tailored around the pivotal role played by Richard Williams in l...

Sometimes we wait too long, To speak our minds. We let lingering truths linger, We let sporadic clocks, chime.. We allow patient seams to fritter away Like a sparrow does with the timber of the tune That she was shrouded by; shrill words tearing  Ears, each word she utters, careful, today. While the first day it was a free reign, until Some unctuous winds carried to her, criticism. Just the same way as copper utensils in a house Of steel, are anyone's delight, until bronzed,  With wear and use, both are the victims Of sundry needs and glances. Just the same way, some things, Are stowed away in careful pockets Because they have borne a lot of perusing When kept in the open.  Like love. Like hurt. Like envy. Like silence. Trust and truth are two things I can list, That are given, that are l'habitude. I tell the truth because it is, it exists, It is what I perceive, it is what I've lived.. And I keep your trust, because I've learnt That it'll help you keep mine, it wil...