Dreaming machines aren't just dreams

During the summer of 2010, Christopher Nolan’s box office hit, Inception, swept through cinemas across the globe, leaving science fiction buffs spell bound. We were in awe at the implications of futuristic lucid dreaming technology. Six years later, as much as we still wonder if the totem in the last scene continues to spin, we also wonder if this movie incepted a ground breaking idea into the minds of innovators.  Lucid dreaming is slowly becoming a key area of focus for technology. You might wonder why? Let’s start off with what lucid dreaming is. Lucid dreaming is a state of dreaming where the dreamer is aware that they’re dreaming and can exert a certain amount of control over their actions and surroundings in the dream. For any sort of technology to really sell it should be satisfying an existing need or improving the quality of our lifestyle. And so the question arises as to how lucid dreaming can be a game changer in multiple spheres of life, other than of course being used illicitly to incept ideas into the minds of corporate heads. Note the following suggestions would not only require technology to induce people into a state of lucid dreaming but also technology that enables people to design a dream environment. Let’s call these people dream designers. Here’s a few possible areas where lucid dream technology could be implemented:-

Nightmare treatment:- One of the most popular suggested uses of lucid dreaming is in the treatment of patients suffering from dream anxiety disorder(aka nightmare disorder). Pressure and trauma are some of the known causes for this disorder. Patients suffering from depression or post-traumatic stress disorder have also experienced bouts of nightmares. The realisation that the patient is in a dream and the ability to control the dream could go a long way in eliminating nightmares.

Gaming:- We see that gaming equipment has gone through a transition from standard hand held controllers to motion sensor equipment and now virtual reality gear. Games are continuing to evolve with the intension of making them feel more life-like. Now imagine if we could put gamers in the gaming world through lucid dreaming technology. This is almost exactly like putting a person in the game. They will be able to literally run around, jump and do everything they usually saw themselves doing on a screen. Lucid dreaming technology could take the experience of gaming to a whole new level.

Entertainment:- Imagine being on-board the titanic during those tense moments where it was about to sink? Or walking along side Will Smith through a desolate city in I am Legend? Or being in the haunted house in Paranormal Activity? Futuristic lucid dreaming technology could achieve all this and more. Perhaps in the future, the production house Dreamworks would actually be working with our dreams. We’ve already seen 2D, 3D and 4D movies, maybe with further advancements in technology the dream realm could become the final frontier of cinema.

Advertising:- Instead of watching celebrities endorse products on screen, you could be holding these products in your hand and experience what it is like to own that product. After all isn’t advertising all about making you feel like you’re missing out on something that could enhance your life? What better way to do that then to show you your life with that product.

There could be a number of implications of lucid dreaming technology. And now that we have had a fantasised about a world where it exists, let’s talk about the practicality of this technology is. Lucid dreaming is sometimes referred to as a state of micro awakenings, what this means is that you are aware that you’re dreaming but not aware enough to jolt yourself awake. There are some small scale implementations of lucid dreaming induction machines that you can find on the internet. Here’s one from instructables.com.

http://www.instructables.com/id/The-Lucid-Dream-Machine/

The design suggested on this webpage is essentially a pair of glasses worn while sleeping. AVR microcontroller pulses LED’s that shine into the eyes about 4 hours into sleep(An approximate measure of time for one to achieve REM sleep, which is when one starts dreaming). The flashing lights will partially awaken the person which could theoretically be sufficient to make the dreamer aware that they’re dreaming. Similar induction devices can be found on Amazon for a price of 200 dollars. The Aurora Dream Enhancement Headband is another lucid dream inducer that can be found in the market.

 It is important to note that all these gadgets can only induce a state of lucid dreaming but if we really wish to implement this in various spheres of life we need to find a way to be able to design the dreamer’s environment which might be a challenge. However, if we manage to pull that off in the next century or so, we could create a world of our dreams. Pun intended.

To all the innovators out there who are working with dream technology, all of us particularly the science fiction buffs are rooting for you to make our dreams a reality.

Sweet dreams, my dear readers.

Engineers: Most versatile and best multitaskers?

Engineering. Is it me or does the word itself sound mechanised? Over the last two decades this profession has been put on the pedestal by society. And if you're Indian, it's treated as the holy grail of technical careers. The hype might have a lot to do with the fact that it boasts a handsome pay package. However there are some undeniable facts about engineers that'll probably make all those of us who are toiling away to get our engineering degree, puff our chests and hold our heads high. 

 When it comes to versatility, engineers can give professionals from any other field a run for their money. If we examine engineering from an intra-discipline perspective, versatility exists quite evidently. At the very onset of our bachelor’s degree, we spend two semesters learning the basics for all disciplines of engineering. Saying we could replace our counterparts in other disciplines in the workplace, would be a stretch but we are equipped with the basic skills and some sincere effort overtime might just yield surprising results. As for our versatility in other fields, this is where that checklist of trademark traits of an engineer comes in handy. Let’s go through this list shall we?

Curiosity :- Apparently being scolded for taking apart appliances at home is a rite of passage for any true engineer. Curiosity is an essential personality trait in a number of other careers ranging from human resource manager up to private detective.

Creativity:- Engineering isn’t just about mugging up formulae and using the same to solve problems. Many engineers find themselves in the innovative line of work and are brainstorming ideas for new products. We have also spotted some engineering graduates in creative fields. Ashton Kutcher, Alfred Hitchcock and Rowan Atkinson are a few of the many “nerds” who have become a phenomenal success in their chosen creative fields.

Teamwork and leadership skills:- At the stage of our Bachelor’s degree we’ve had a fair number of group projects and we’ve learnt that working as a team is beneficial in our field. And just as well, learning to take charge is essential to steer a project to a successful completion. Is it any wonder that several engineering graduates have swarmed in and taken over the corporate world with an MBA?

When it comes to our multitasking nature I’ll once again draw reference to our academic lives. Our coursework involves several assignments, group projects and exams. To stay on top off all that hones our multitasking skills. When we talk about multi-tasking in the real world post-college, the jobs that you juggle could even have life and death implications. Here’s a few engineering jobs that are known for their killer multitasking level:-

Nuclear engineers:- As we move into an era in which we explore options to meet our energy requirements through nuclear power, nuclear engineers have a tough job at hand. Their job encompasses designing and developing nuclear equipment to examining and preventing nuclear accidents. Does the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster ring a bell?

Flight engineers(aka Air Mechanics):-From performing pre-flight checks before take-off to ensuring that the complex aircraft systems run smoothly, flight engineers are responsible for the safety of all passengers and crew on board the aircraft.

Industrial Engineers:- Although the specifics of the job varies from one industrial process to the next, the basics remains the same. Optimising production and reducing wastage are the key tasks of an industrial engineer.

Engineers can be called a breed of their own. Versatility/killer adaptability? Check. Multitasking beasts? Check. Love them or hate them, engineers are irreplaceable members of the workforce. Scratch that, of the human race rather. Period.

Are we becoming dumber as devices are becoming smarter?

Are we becoming dumber as devices are becoming smarter?

As technology progresses in leaps and bounds with each passing day, we finder “smarter” ways to do almost everything. As a consequence, we are constantly plagued with the question, as to whether smarter devices are inhibiting us from giving our grey cells a much needed workout? To really examine the question at hand we need to first understand what we mean “smarter” devices and how we evaluate the smartness of humans.

If I pull up a definition of smart devices from the internet, this is what I find:-

A smart device is an electronic device, generally connected to other devices or networks via different wireless protocols such as Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, 3G, etc., that can operate to some extent interactively and autonomously.

The most common example that comes to mind would be a smartphone. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We have entered an era of digital assistants, smart locks, robot vacuums and fitness tracking watches amongst other things. As life becomes easier day by day or app by app, is our increased dependency on smart devices leaving us less smarter?

Smartness of humans isn’t something that’s well defined. Intelligence can be measured with IQ however a more comprehensive evaluation would only be complete if we considered EQ(emotional quotient). And so I would like to evaluate the effect of smart devices in our lives by considering the following parameters that can be associated with IQ or EQ:-

Memory:- We have data bases full of phone numbers, birthdays and search engines to pull up facts within the matter of seconds and as a result we don’t feel the need to remember these things. We are constantly looking for ways to expand the free memory available on our devices and thereby diminishing our memory power.

Social interactions:- The rise of social networking has undoubtedly made the world a smaller place but however it has done no good to our interactions in person. A lot of people take comfort behind a screen and have no trouble talking to others over the internet but it’s this very nature of theirs that makes it hard for them to exhibit the same charisma in person. Over the internet we don’t have to worry about eye contact or body language, which are major factors in our interactions with people.

Critical thinking skills:- Studies show that our attention span has fallen drastically in the recent years. We live in a world where we are constantly bombarded with notifications from various apps and streams of information that gets updated by the second. It’s no doubt that we find it difficult to focus our attention on any one particular thing. Attention span is a very vital part of our critical thinking skills. Critical thinking involves assessing and analyzing problems and so wavering focus can immensely lower our critical thinking skills.

Creativity:- The internet has become a hub to display creative talents. With multiple platforms being opened up online, people who claim to be right brain dominant have a fantastic outlet for their creativity. Muses crop up on the internet day after day. And as a result occupations in the creative field that didn’t exist a decade or two ago are now becoming increasingly popular like Youtubing for example.

As people are becoming increasingly aware of the age of digital dumbness that is dawning upon the human population, apps and devices are being redesigned to prevent this intelligence apocalypse.

For example:-

The QAMAS calculator works as any other calculator except for the fact that it requires you to input an expected answer as well. If the expected answer is in close range to the actual answer it will display the correct answer or else it will not show an answer. After all the underlying mathematical principles are not to be forgotten.

We can conclude that we aren’t exercising our grey cells as we should be due to technological aid in almost every field of life. But however it comes down to how we chose to use technology. We can either allow it to cause our natural human skills to rust away or to oil the cog wheels that run our minds. The choice is yours. A smarter click on your smartphone can make you smarter.

 

 

 

Home

Where is home? I wander around asking.

I own a worn out compass and I inked roads once traveled on pieces of paper.

I still search for home.

I think I know what home is.

It’s the place where the air would embrace you affectionately no matter how long you were away.

It isn’t always the land that scented the blood that flows through your veins.

Home is also not the place where you were always happy.

Home was the place that hurt you and broke you down.

It shattered you into a million pieces like shards of glass.

But it also pieced those shards back together and painted them in vibrant hues.

Set before the sunlight every scar of yours now emanates a beautiful glow.

I think I know what home is.

It’s those familiar sounds that chimed into a unique symphony that I long to hear once again.

And now I know why seashells found on the shore still whisper ballads once sung to them by the ocean.

Home is what I search for everywhere I go

Sometimes I search for it in food.

I long to taste it amidst foreign flavors.

Sometimes in language.

I long to hear those familiar words spoken in a foreign language.

And sometimes in people.

I long to see it in the spirit of people I meet in a foreign land.

Beautiful

“Mirror Mirror…….”

“You’re beautiful” it said.

“You’re gorgeous from head down to toe.” It once said.

Convinced by the conviction in its words she was never in doubt.

The present paints a painful picture.

Every reflection laughs mockingly.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, you once said I was beautiful”

“Beautiful? How could you ever be?”

It frightens her how perfection is the new norm.

It frightens her how perfection is so close within reach.

“Mirror,  Mirror on the wall, the next time we meet I’ll be beautiful”

“You better be.”

She sits there waiting at the clinic.

During her first visit she was told that she could be beautiful.

All she needed was just a little nip and tuck here and there.

She sits there with images of air brushed models staring down at her.

Digital beauty is cheap.

Meanwhile a billion dollar industry is readying its scalpels.

What price would you pay to rid yourself of insecurity?

Unfamiliar faces stare at her at work and at family gatherings.

Their voices are still familiar.

With translucent skin pulled tight.

The sheen makes you reminiscent of glossy pages in magazines.

Magazines that revealed “true beauty” page after page

through air brushed models that hid their age.

Beware ye who yearn to be forever young.

The fountain of eternal youth runs Botox.

Why didn’t anyone tell her that imperfection was indeed beautiful?

Why didn’t anyone tell her that her wrinkles were not rings on the bark of a tree?

Their count didn’t give her age.

Why didn’t anyone tell her that the constellations of the night sky were mirrored in her freckles?

Why didn’t anyone tell her that measurements didn’t make her?

Her infinite mind should never have been limited by finite numbers.

Finite numbers. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

It began with finite numbers shown at board meetings,

 Convinced directors would then increase the marketing budget.

Investments were made in superior editing software and models from the most sought after agencies.

Models who went under the knife to survive the competition.

Adverts covered every square inch of her life.

Magazines, billboards, newspapers, TV, the internet.

Sweetheart there’s no doubt why you can’t see that every square inch of you is beautiful.

Reflections: Longing

[This is a part of my short story series called Reflections. There are three stories that are a part of this series. They are unrelated except for their common setting.]

I see her every day. She enters the bus at the stop after mine. I watch her mesmerized by even the smallest gestures she makes. I don’t know what it is about her. Is it the way she idly runs her fingers through her hair or how she laughs or how she smiles at just about everyone she sees? No. It’s everything about her. She gets off at her college while I wait on route to my own. It’s been this way for a year now.  I have fought the urge to talk to her long enough to believe its best I don’t. Maybe this is how it’s meant to be. Maybe I am just meant to admire her from afar and carry on knowing that we’ll never have those conversations that I have had with her in my head. She probably has them with someone else already. Someone else. And to him the sound of her voice and her laughter must be as commonplace as the sound of birds in morning. But not to me. Isn’t it ironic to long for something enchanting to be commonplace?  Maybe in another life we’re meant to meet and cross the threshold between being strangers to being friends and maybe even more. But for now it’s like we’re separated by a two way glass mirror. I see through the glass and I see her looking my way but on her side she stares at the glass only to see her own reflection. 

Reflections: Guilt

[This is a part of my short story series called Reflections. There are three stories that are a part of this series. They are unrelated except for their common setting.]

I take this bus every day. But today just feels different and I don’t know why. I look around for a seat. A young lady gathers her things and gets ready to leave. The bus comes to a stop and she rises and I take her seat. The old man in the seat beside me throws me a familiar smile. Since I take this bus on a daily basis I have become familiar with the other regular passengers. It’s funny I don’t know his name but we smile at each other every day and on occasion we’ve engaged in small talk about the weather and cricket. Today he just smiles at me and shuts his eyes to take a nap.

 And then I drift off into a reverie. A scene from last night plays back in my mind. In the dim kitchen lighting I search through the medicine box. All I find is empty packets of tablets and small covers made out of newspaper. I look up to see my brother’s wife standing over my shoulder, her eyes begin to well up. She holds some money out to me. One hundred and twenty three Rupees. I have around Rs. 200 saved. The total is far from enough as the monthly bill for medicines came up to around Rs. 1500. She starts to cry I reassure her that I’ll get the money and buy the medicines. A promise I am not sure how to keep.

My younger brother has been sick for about a year now. My wife and I work as construction labourers and my brother’s wife works as a maid.  We pool in our earnings to support both our families. We’ve been managing to get by so far but the last month had been tough. My brother’s condition worsened and he had to be hospitalized. Any money we had saved, jewelry that we owned was all put towards paying the bill. He showed signs of improvement and was then discharged from the hospital 4 days later.

I sink into my seat in worry. I glance sideways. The old man has drifted into a deep slumber. His heads falls. The bulge in pocket catches my eye. I quickly scan the other passengers to ensure no one was looking our way. I slip my hand into his pocket and extract his wallet. He doesn’t flinch. I get up to leave. I know there’s a good chance his wallet may not have enough money to cover the bill but maybe with a little more money I could buy enough to last my brother another 10 days.  I never believed there was a grey area between right and wrong but desperation

led me right to it. That still doesn’t explain the unsettling feeling at the pit of my stomach. I make my way to the front of the bus to get off at the next stop. I catch my reflection on the doors, the sight of the bulge in my pocket fills me with disgust for the man I see, the man I’ve become.

Reflections: Loss

[This is a part of my short story series called Reflections. There are three stories that are a part of this series. They are unrelated except for their common setting.]

I take this bus every day. The stops don’t interest me, I am just hoping to relieve the routine you had. I know it’s not going to bring you back but maybe it would take me closer to you. I scan the faces I see entering hoping that I could see you with your backpack. Do you remember how I used to say that your backpack made you look less like a working man and more like the little boy I used to take to the bus stop? Maybe you still remember that but I’ve been forgetful since you left. I forgot that I no longer needed to pack a lunch and send it with the Dabbawala. He would look at me with a mixture of discomfort and sorrow and then apologise saying he couldn’t deliver it anymore. You were a very forgetful boy too. I can recount days when I had chased you onto the street before you got into the bus with something you left behind. But this time it’s not your phone or your watch that you left behind. This time it’s me. And I’d chase you if I knew where to run. Death is indeed alive. It feeds on the living. I stare at my reflection in the window. I feel myself growing smaller day by day and the void in my life seems to grow bigger.

Checkmate

[I’ve written this free verse in the slightly dramatic narrative of the six pieces you find on a chessboard.]

 

We stand lined up in formation at the battlefront.
The air is thick with bloodlust.
Capture and conquer is the command.
Martyrs are what most of us end up becoming.
They call us Pawns.

I have mounted my valiant steed.

Our souls are two but camaraderie makes our fate one.
I take a deep breath just as we’re about to charge into the battlefield.
They call me a Knight.
 

I whisper a silent prayer as it begins.

I agreed to sacrifice my miter if it would save the king’s crown.
They call me the Bishop.

 I cast a watchful eye over battlefield from my high tower.
Defending my troops and engaging in combat when necessary.
After all defending and attacking are two sides of the same coin.
They call me the Rook.

 I draw my sword from its sheath.

Here royalty doesn’t command from the side-lines,
we fight at the front lines.
On the battlefield, the eager talons of death are ever ready to clutch at life.
I am their trump card their deadliest human weapon.
They call me the Queen.

 I stand strong on the battlefield.

Death saved me for last.
I watch helplessly as bravehearts are slain.
After a series of calculated moves,
We avenge our troops in one final blow.
Checkmate. Swords fall to the earth.
They call me the King.

 

 

 

 

Invisible Blood

[I wrote this piece in light of the tragic Paris attacks.I condemn terrorism and pray for those who lost their lives to it and also for their near and dear ones. I also condemn generalizing communities based on a few individuals. I pray for those who face unnecessary judgement for their beliefs.]

What would you say if they asked you why?
Why do people treat them differently?
Is it their headscarves or their names?

Their hands are stained with invisible blood.
Blood from murders they did not commit.
They can't see it no matter how hard they try. 
Then why do others see it?

You would recall numbers that the media used to sum up casualties.
Those numbers always fell short of the real number of victims.
There are more victims, they've  stayed hidden from headlines.
They may not have lost their lives, their limbs or their blood.
But they've lost the respect they deserve.
You'll recognize them by the invisible blood stains on their hands.

And then what if they asked you why millions should atone for the sins of a few?
What would you say? 
Why has unjustified hatred become a popular means to execute justice?

So tell them that you said prayers for those who had their last breath at the end of the barrel of a gun,
for those whose heartbeats synchronized to and were silenced by the ticking of a bomb
and for them too, the ones whose hands are stained with invisible blood.
And so may we wash away the invisible blood off the hands of the innocent.
Divine judgement is reserved only for the guilty.

Star crossed lovers

Maybe the sun and the moon are two star crossed lovers.
Fated to shine in the absence of one another.
For the briefest moment we catch a glimpse of what they could have been
when they come in perfect alignment with each other.
And we watch spell bound at how a love like that eclipses everything else.

Paper life

I see her looking down at me. Hoping to see the words take form on me and appear as though by magic. And then it happens, her pen dances across me, her words etched into my very fiber. She sets her pen down. Satisfied? I can’t tell.  And then I’m folded up and put in an envelope sealed with the greatest trepidation.  And then I travel miles and miles for days or perhaps even weeks. I can’t tell time in this envelope. I don’t know if the light I see through the envelope is sunlight or a spotlight. And finally I hear a sharp rip of the envelope. Light and air pour in and we embrace each other like friends reunited after a long time. I’m put on a table and flattened. It isn’t her I see now, the one whose words I was entrusted with, it isn’t her. He reads while his fingers run across the ink idly. And then in one swift move, he crushes me into a ball and tosses me away. I feel pain and I already know that my pain would travel across miles and eventually reach her too but in the form of absence - absence of a response. I hear a crinkle as I to stretch myself little but all in vain. Hours go by as I am reminded by the omniscient ticking of a clock. I also hear water dripping from a faucet somewhere. The silence is suddenly broken by footfall and the unmistakable flicking of a light switch followed by the buzz of a tube light flickering and then flooding the room with light. I’m picked up and then flattened against a table top. It’s him again but something has changed. He reads me over and over again and finally pulls out a sheet of paper. I watch as his pen dances across the paper just like hers did. He flattens me against the table top again and then folds me and puts me into a box. And then I meet a hundred other letters she wrote him and we share our stories. I also meet a few he wrote her but never sent. He opens the lid of the box. Letter in hand deciding where it should go. The box suddenly plunges into darkness but just before it went dark I caught a glimpse of him scrawling something atop an envelope. And that ink pattern I suppose is where she is.

Contemplate

(This is my try at perspective writing. I have written this narrative not in my own words but in that of an old man who finds himself contemplating over the journey of life)

I see a page torn from a newspaper I owned some decades ago. It’s preserved between the pages of a hard bound book. The page has turned yellow with age. I run my trembling fingers along my face and feel my own skin marred by the same agent of time. This is the way things go I suppose. I remember being a young boy full of energy. I recount scabbed knees and other bruises I earned on the playground that I wore with the same pride as if they were medals of honour. Those cold winter nights that I watched melt into summer days were a true act of magic. Back then I possessed a vivid imagination and it would breathe life into the most dullest and mundane occurrences in life.

Then came the next phase – youth. Things seem to complicate themselves unnecessarily and whirlpool of emotions didn’t make it any easier. I remember having to make several supposedly life changing decisions and only carrying on ahead in life to realise that those weren’t the decisions I had to be careful about. It was the others that had to be made on a whim, the decisions that didn’t come with paperwork and formalities. Those are the ones that still haunt me today. The decision to down another peg in spite of knowing I was already too drunk was one amongst my regrets. I burnt several bridges at the time and built many afresh.

My choices right or wrong led me to the self-same path of adulthood. I came face to face with the real world only to realise just how naïve I had been up till then. And then it happened, I started to relive the phases I had already passed, through my son. But it seemed to go by a lot quicker and eventually an air of melancholy set in when time dragged along distance into our relationship. His hand that was once small enough to fit in mine completely was now just as large as mine and that same hand that would reach out to me so often now pushes buttons on a phone to contact me in an attempt to bridge the distance of 1000 miles that lie between us.

The years roll on and things change some more. My limbs become stiffer, fatigue is a frequent visitor and my hair is coloured a distasteful white. But it feels as though my hair isn’t the only thing that has lost colour in my life. These days the news mourns the death of personalities I knew well as a child. And I sit here contemplating the life I made, words left said or unsaid, opportunities utilized or wasted and I ask myself what it’s all worth. Lying six feet under the dirt would render my social status irrelevant, my shoes would lose their shine and my crisp black suit would become a befitting shroud. All I hope to have earned in this lifetime was some love and respect. Maybe then I’ll be granted immortality in someone’s memory. Just like the page of the newspaper that turned yellow with age. Perhaps it’ll be discarded someday but I’ll still remember what the headline read.

Miscellaneous lessons

When your life is plagued by stagnancy know that change is always expected to arrive shortly

because even the dark sky transforms into a canvas at the crack of dawn

painted with crimson and a band of gold at the horizon.

And when the first attempt fails know that perseverance will succeed 

because even the roughest boulders were smoothened over time by relentless waves.

Let your fading scars remind you of how every wound heals.

Let this thought be your anaesthetic to pain.

When society tries to conform your life within the margins and categorise you 

remember that masterpieces weren't made by colouring within the lines.

The cynical will mistake a brilliant blaze from a bonfire to be solemn crackling sparks from a funeral pyre burning away at deceased dreams.

Fear not where the wayward currents of life carry you for serendipity pays a visit when least expected.

Pied Piper Perhaps

Perhaps you could call me pied piper.

I'll draw you in at every intricate indentation.

What I live and breathe for is weaving words with seams of sentiment.

Gambles I make aren't with grand gestures.

Worlds I make are with words not wands.

No tricks up my sleeve.Never.

Well just some well-orchestrated wordplay.

Lifeless limitations like full stops don't bother me.

To my ears the sound of words creates a pleasant mental melody

equivalent to the ringing of fingers running across the rims of a thousand half filled wine glasses.

Every clever concoction of words I brew has a different aroma

that drifts and startles the senses of the unsuspecting.

Perhaps you could call me pied piper.

I'll draw you in at every intricate indentation.

What I live and breathe for is weaving words with seams of sentiment.

Words are my only weapons.

These stanzas are my only shield.

Expression through words is my personal elixir of life.

I wander forever in a tantalised trance of unwritten words in the labyrinths of my mind. 

Perhaps you could call me pied piper.

I'll draw you in at every intricate indentation.

What I live and breathe for is weaving words with seams of sentiment.

Behind the glasses

Let's talk about my vision. If you've met me in person you've probably never seen me without my glasses and with good reason, my prescription is a jaw dropping -6.00(L) / -5.75(R). So without my glasses the well defined contours of objects melt away into a blend of colours and very vague silhouettes even if these objects are very close to me.  Close is a relative word isn't it? Okay how about I explain it like this, through my eyes large and bold writing dissolves into its own background. Now that brings into question how big the font is and the relative distance between me and this aforementioned clear piece of writing. Okay then this might be the best way for me to put it, it's much like the blurry vision a person who is about to lose their consciousness experiences. That sounds about right.

I got my first pair of glasses when I was 8 years old. At the time my prescription was a modest -0.75. And from then on it proceeded to shoot up at regular intervals. As you can imagine visits to the optometrist were also just as regular for me. Once a year or so. And I absolutely detested those visits much like how children(and adults too I guess) detest visits to the dentist. Well there is nothing physically painful about these visits but my hatred was primarily because it usually ended with the realization that my vision had worsened. For some reason I blamed myself for it. But I was constantly reassured by optometrists that this was largely(I sense the possibility of a pun here) due to the fact that my eyes were still growing. And yes let me dismiss the wildly popular myth that your eyes don't grow after birth. The axial length increases up until you reach the age 18, a fact which when coupled with my pre-existing nearsightedness resulted in me going through several pairs of glasses in a relatively short amount of time. And just two weeks ago I visited the optometrist for my annual eye exam and for the first time I was told that my prescription hadn't changed since my last visit. Well I guess it's about time since I'm 19 now.

 All though most people are baffled at how bad my vision is, I've always held the opinion that I have a very unique view of the world quite literally. Each and every pair of glasses I have gone through over the last 11 years was a talisman of a period. Each with a different story to tell from its point of view. And when pieced together in chronological order, you have the last 11 years of my life.

Familiar fragrances

Some memories are stowed away in photo albums.
Some play in songs heard one too many times.
And some others waft in air through familiar fragrances.

The smell of wet earth after a rain is an aroma infused
with a thousand tales from monsoons of the past.
The smell of fresh jasmine and incense, sounds the bells of the temple
A rush of nostalgia sets in with one whiff of these familiar fragrances.

Take a breath. Make a memory.
And just like that you've thrown a message in a bottle into the water.
Years fly by and you find yourself walking new shores
 only to stumble upon that bottle and you uncork it to momentarily relive an era that passed.
All through a familiar fragrance.

And as I open my mother's perfume cabinet I find myself walking out onto a private beach.
There lie a hundred bottles peeking from the sand.
The messages encased in these bottles are memories from different periods in my life.
I shake the last vestiges of perfume in the older bottles.
Memories come to life in these familiar fragrances.

Musings on a homecoming

Tonight at 20,000 feet above ground the world looks a tad different to say the least. As we fly above the tapestry of clouds I peak through gaping holes where the seams have run loose like a child peaking from behind a curtain and the sight is spectacular. The city I call home sprawls before me as a sea of lights, white and yellow. Some jagged lines of yellow curve through and join others like tributaries of a river. The white lights set to the background of this dark night makes me reminiscent of starry nights drowned in city lights. We cruise above places familiar to me, above roads I have often taken. And down below, my loved ones carry on with their day momentarily interrupted by the rumble of a Boeing 777 gradually descending onto the airstrip. It's funny how every time I return home I expect it to feel different, to feel new again like I have never been here before. But it doesn't feel different, I just seem to pick up from where I left off.

The City

Welcome one and welcome all
to the city.

The only stars you see here are illuminated windows in tall towers
and the twinkling red beacons upon their tops
warning the insomniac metal birds of night sky.

Watch as skyscrapers shoot up and pierce the sky.
Scaffolding is torn down
a new building takes birth like chick hatched from its egg.
And there beyond the horizon, construction cranes steal glances lovingly.

When the sky grows grey
and the water washes down metal spires and glass panels
it pools along the edges of roads with the luminescence
of neon lit boards and street lights.

The sirens from ambulances and police cars,
vehicles zooming past on the tarmac
and a hundred hushed conversations
chime into one melodious symphony.

Electric lines, water lines, drainage lines run beneath the ground
pulsing like nerves, arteries and veins beneath the skin.
Lives here are disconnected and solitary.
Eyes that dodge that of others, indifference but to their own
and an existence that fades away into oblivion.

Welcome one and welcome all
to the city.

Drift

[I am not sure what to call this.  Drifting poetry perhaps? Each pair of sentences in this poem is independent of the preceding one. However the last word used in each pair links to the first word used in the next. And the final sentence links back to the first]


The path strewn with leaves of a hue brown,
the others green with envy await their fall.

A fall into water echoes far and wide
as ripples race to the edges.

Edges are where we arrive at a crossroads,
a decision to either soar high or dive deep.

Deep beneath the surface, roots reach downwards
gripping the soil like underground claws.

Claws of nature that tear apart the earth in vengeance
in quakes and along creases called fault lines.

Lines that run on our palms
claimed to be drawn by destiny, the artist.

The artist that splashed colour on the canvas,
like the peacock that proudly unfurled its feathers.

Feathers blown in the wind
voyage into the unknown like wisps of smoke.

Smoke that ascends and dissipates
a true vanishing act performed by air.

Air that dances through the trees dropping leaves once green
to shrivel to a golden brown, on this path.