Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Bottle

The man knew this place like the back of his hand. He probably could sketch each rock, every tree, the anthills present here from memory. He trod the pathway unfeelingly today. Mechanically. Noticing nothing. His legs carried him without any conscious effort on his part.

He swayed a little as he walked. He gripped the bottle in his hand tighter. It had been a long time since he had been to this place. He stopped a moment and took a deep swig of liquor from the bottle.

Random scenes started floating in his memory. He started to walk without realizing again. He had always been lonely in his life. But he had never felt alone. It was only after he got married and had his first child, he had realized that his life had really been empty till then. He was happy for the first time in his life.

The scenes in his head ware clear and the images lifelike. He was holding and feeding his son while the toddler was gazing at the moon. He was holding his kid’s hand as he walked his first steps. He was blowing air into the wheels of the tricycle, as the child impatiently danced around him. He was teaching him the alphabet from a ridiculously huge chart. He was trying to explain division as repeated subtractions. He was correcting the loops in the ‘g’s and the ‘y’s in the boy’s cursive writing book. He was waving his son a bon voyage, as he left with his mother on a ship - a trip on the sea - which had always been the boy’s dream; using all the strength he could muster to keep his tears hidden. He could, as clear as day, hear his son’s choked voice assuring him that he would explain in detail every little thing that occurred on the trip. He could see his wife smiling, as she put an arm across their son’s shoulders. He was watching as the ship drifting away beyond the horizon.

The images became muddled and blurry then. It was like in a tragic movie fast forwarded. Headlines from various papers about the shipwreck. Delays in the search and rescue teams. Body counts. Missing people. His son and his wife among the feared dead list. Mourning and cries. His first drink. His tenth. His hundredth…

The cold sea breeze hit him then. That broke the images and brought him to the present like magic. He stared into the calm sea for a while. His mind was surprisingly clear for the first time from a long time now. He had always loved this beach. He had fallen in love with this place about the same age that his son had. The family used to come here as often as they could. This was a secluded and an unheard of place. It always felt peaceful here. He felt that he belonged again. The raising and falling of the waves calmed him. He stood there for a long time. He slowly began to feel that he could heal. That, at last, he could accept that his family was gone.

By force of habit, he raised the bottle to his mouth. The moment the liquid touched his lips, he felt disgusted with himself. His child would not want to see his father like this. No one would. He had let his sadness ruin his life long enough. He ran a few steps on the sand and threw the bottle as far as he could into the sea.

He felt strangely light. He took a huge breath and exhaled slowly. He could feel the pain of his loss start to ebb away slowly. He sat down on the beach and looked at the reflection of the moon on the waves in the distance transfixed. The waves lapped at his feet every now and then. He felt that he was a part of nature.

After a long time he decided to leave. He would change everything. The beach had done him a world of good. But there were just too many memories here. He decided that he would go to a far off place and start a new and sober life all over again.

He stood up and turned around. The bottle lay in his way again. The sight of it somehow made him angry. He picked it up, all set to throw it into the sea again.

But this bottle felt different. It felt slightly old. He looked at it. It was opaque, dark and corked. It was not the same bottle that he had thrown away. He pulled the cork off, and realized that it had a letter within.

The moonlight was not really bright. But the man didn’t really need anything more. He did not even need to read till the end of the letter.

It started – ‘To Daddy…’.

He could recognize the loop of the letter y in his sleep.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

The Party

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

PS: 'Cos even small ideas are publishable too'

PS1: TINAMITE: The internal online quarterly magazine of the company
PS2: Before I knew it I had a mail saying -
Aniruddha: Welcome to Tinamite team and we look forward to working with you.
As a part of the 'working with you' I was to write an article to - 'enthuse many more TIers to become a part of/ contribute articles in many ways to TINAMITE'.
PS3: The article is pasted exactly as it appears in the magazine.
PS4: The article below took the least amount of time to post to the blog ever. I just 'selected all' in the original article and middle-clicked in the create-new-post window. :)
PS5: Editing the article in blogger - even adding this PS - is screwing up the entire arrangement of words and images. That is the reason for the existence of this post.
PS6: The background in the original article in the magazine is white.
PS7: TINAMITE May 2009 Issue

Update: The pictures in the post below had to be modified as the original pictures were linked to the company's internal site. :)

Cos even small ideas are publishable too

[This article is a stub. You can help TINAMITE by sending in new articles of your own.]

Wise men say to open with a joke. Especially in posts like this one. Studies have shown that most of the times, this makes people to actually read till the second paragraph at least. I thought of using the spherical chicken joke*, but deemed that too clichéd, thus, a bar joke follows -

“Infinite number of mathematicians walk into a bar. The first one orders a beer. The second orders half a beer. The third, a quarter of a beer. And so on. The bartender says "You're all idiots", and pours two beers.”

Subject of the article:
‘Put Something In’ TINAMITE, where ‘Put Something In’ is partly defined by:

Put Something In
Draw a crazy picture
Write a nutty poem.
Sing a mumble-gumble song
Whistle through your comb
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before.


- Shel Silverstien

On a more serious note:
A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.[1]

It is certain that in this esteemed organization that several people amongst us have unique talents that transcend just exemplary skills in everyday work. So, put your creative hats on, grab a piece of paper, a pencil and get started. Consider this article a personal invitation to submit your creative outpourings.

Frequently Asked Questions:

How to write?
No thinking - that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is... to write, not to think! [2]

What to write about?
Travelogues: The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page [3]. So, Travel. Fill pages. Submit the pages filled. Thus, more people can travel. Fill pages…

Music: Supposed to be language of the soul. The poetry of the air. Love in search of a word. The shorthand of emotion. What feelings sound like. So, if you stumble upon some music that comes close to the above description, spread the joy. Let others know. Choose TINAMITE.

Gaming: The Quakers, the Counter Strikers, DOTA warriors, PS2/ PS3/ Xbox/ Nintendo /Dreamcast/Game boy users, the MMORPGers - the rouges, the priests, the night crawlers, even people who stick to Minesweeper - As a Draenai Elf Vendor might say - "Your gold is welcome here!" (as long as it takes the form of an article) - feel free to discuss latest games, latest consoles, 25 men raids, God Like and Triple kills... even less than 100 seconds in expert level Minesweeper.

Short Stories: The short story is like an old friend who calls whenever he is in town. We are happy to hear from it; we casually fan the embers of past intimacies, and buy it lunch[4]. Send in your stories. We would be really happy to hear from you. We might buy you lunch too.

Poetry:
The only problem
with Haiku is that you just
get started and then[5]
Any poem with more than 17 syllables, thus, is most welcome.

Art: A picture is worth a thousand words. A sketching or a painting is worth even more. Enough said.

Hobbies: When your hobbies get in the way of your work - that's OK; but when your hobbies get in the way of themselves... well…[6] Put them in the magazine.

General stuff: Individuals can expect miracles to happen to them, at the rate of about one per month [7]. Document any such revelation informally in TINAMITE for the greater good.

If you are reading this, it means that you have almost reached the end of this article:
• Firstly, thanks a lot from taking the time out and perusing the article. Arigato Gozaimasu.
• To define is to limit[8]. The ideas presented here constitute just the tip of the iceberg. As the tagline of the magazine says: Let your thoughts explode.
• Always remember -
o “Nothing is original” [9]
o “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to” [10]
o “90 percent of everything is crud.” [11]

We sincerely hope that you take up an action item to contribute for the future issues of the magazine.

* A farmer notices that his chickens were sick, and calls in a friend, who happens to be a physicist to help diagnose the problem. The physicist calls him back a few days later and says: “I think I have solved your problem, but it works only for spherical chickens in a vacuum”.

Credits:

[1] Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
[2] Forrester, Finding Forrester [2000].
[3] St. Augustine.
[4] R Z Sheppard.
[5] Roger McGough.
[6] Steve Martin.

[7] Littlewood's law
[8] Wiltshire's Law of Explanation
[9] Jim Jarmusch
[10] Jean Luc Godard
[11] Sturgeon's revelation