Crossing a river

No person ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and they’re not the same person. – Heraclitus

Your eyes are closed but you are waking up. Your face is pressed onto the mattress and you can smell it when you take a deep breath. The deep breath is to stretch your lungs. You are still too sleepy to properly stretch but you want to feel the pleasure of lazily stretching your lungs, of slowly waking up. It is more to know that you can be lazy while waking up. There is nothing to do once you wake up; you want to roam around, but there is nothing else to really do. It is all on you, your choices, your ability to beat your own thirst for procrastination. But what use is it to force yourself? You can’t force enjoyment, even on yourself. Continue reading



A very long time ago, someone told me that I need to learn self-discipline. I need to be able to do things without there being a deadline, without some form of external pressure telling/forcing me to do things. School, and the homeworks and assignments it brought, came with its own set of deadlines and the pressure to get good grades. Those I managed to do (more or less), but there were other things that I just wasn’t able to make myself do. The lack of self-discipline started to matter with these things, the ones that didn’t have a deadline or any form of external pressure to push me to finish things. Continue reading

Strings Attached

I have not always been a music listener and ever since I did start listening to music, I haven’t enjoyed all kinds of music. I kept jumping from genre to genre trying to figure out songs that I could keep listening to. After going through many genres I realized that I don’t really give a particular damn about the lyrics of songs, I always tend to focus on the music, the beats, the instruments; the feel of the song rather than the poem that it sings.

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The irony of a centralized internet

[This article is the result of penning down of some scattered observations and thoughts of the author. This doesn’t comprehensively capture his views on this subject.]

It could be said that the internet’s origin lies in what was called the Usenet. Anyone who wanted to use it could do so by simply running a server, connecting over dial-up to other computers and start sending/receiving messages. What made this model so great was that there was no authority who controlled any of this. Everyone was the master of their own connection to this network and could choose to join/leave when they wished to do so. Continue reading

These covers will take you to church

Ever since I found out that there exist violins in the world—that is to say, I heard someone play something I know on a violin—I have enjoyed searching for violin covers or string quartet reproductions of songs. Although I do admit that I haven’t gone string cover hunting in a long long time.

Then, recently I came across this link . It’s a string quartet version of Hozier’s Take me to Church made by the Vitamin String Quartet. It’s a really lovely cover of the song and I really liked it. String covers are generally wonderful in certain kinds of songs. Take me to church does sound quite soothing when done using strings.

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[This was co-authored with Yashwant Keswani for my college’s magazine. You might find references to our college’s intranet, where our professors provide us with course material.]

One of our TA’s once saw us experimenting with wget in the lab and he mentioned in passing that “Wget is the best download manager.” Or something to that effect. He had a way of making these succinct statements and then walking away like a badass. And a badass it turned out to be; both him and wget.

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Were the tigers always there?

Adrienne Rich, “Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers”

Aunt Jennifer’s tigers prance across a screen,
Bright topaz denizens of a world of green.
They do not fear the men beneath the tree;
They pace in sleek chivalric certainty.

Aunt Jennifer’s finger fluttering through her wool
Find even the ivory needle hard to pull.
The massive weight of Uncle’s wedding band
Sits heavily upon Aunt Jennifer’s hand.

When Aunt is dead, her terrified hands will lie
Still ringed with ordeals she was mastered by.
The tigers in the panel that she made
Will go on prancing, proud and unafraid.

This was another poem that was discussed in the reading-discussion group that I talked about in my previous post.
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Of interpreted poems

This has spawned from a reading-discussion session that I went to some time ago. The group of people consisted of three of my professors, some of my friends and a few others from my college. It was the first such session that I had ever been to. It was also the first time I sat down and discussed poetry with anyone. I barely read any poetry, the idea of reading in a group and discussing it, especially in the presence of these professors had me unnerved from the start. Continue reading

The field and the tables

There used to be a field in front of my house. It was full of tall grass and other vegetation that precluded me from playing there. Now that whole place consists of buildings, greeting me every time I get out of the house. There is probably more color now than there was before. There are colorful plants and flowers and red bricks and grey concrete roads and black signs and poles. There only used to be things in this spectrum from brown to green, the natural colors of growth and decay. Continue reading