My Search For the Truth with Paul Simon

1. Yes I would, if I could

2. Shades of Mediocrity, Emptiness in harmony

3. If I never loved, I never would’ve cried

4. I touch no one and no one touches me

5. The song I was writing is left undone

6. Be careful, his bowtie is really a camera

7. Words of the Prophet

8. A Poem Poorly Written

9. The Only Truth I know is You


Yes I would, if I could

[El Condor Pasa]

“I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail, yes I would, if I could, I surely would.”

My fingers dab furiously at the piano. The resounding noise makes me feel as though I’m getting there. I share a silent moment with Yoko Ono – I’m sure she doesn’t know me – as I roll into rhythm for a nice progression of chords. Imagine. Surely enough, I don’t have round glasses on my eyes, and nobody calls me John. Someone pops up – “ What is the price of this, my friend?” I get back to work. I explain to him why Yamaha is a better choice than Casio. So that’s precisely what my education has added up to. Why Yamaha is better than Casio. The same education will probably compel me to say someday that Casio is superior to Yamaha. I can say whatever I want to. No fucking person to check. If I don’t say – they don’t pay. If they don’t pay I don’t eat. And that wouldn’t justify my old man’s expenses on my education. It was always about food for the body, not for the freakin’ mind.

What if I had no education? What if I couldn’t tell the difference between force and thrust? What if I didn’t learn those trigonometric formulae by heart? What if I didn’t come across 4 Ps of marketing, or some crap like that. I would pick up a guitar a sing on the road right? Yeah, forget the Burger Kings and the Fried Chicken, I would have to learn to live on a two pence meal. Or maybe if lady fortune smiled on me, some people might have named me John. Imagine.

Either ways, I’d be smiling now, and would have no business penning down this trash.


Shades of Mediocrity, Emptiness in harmony


[Homeward Bound]


Avi collects his papers together and hands them over to me.

“Ishan, we seem to be getting bigger every year in GITEX. Makes me feel good.”

“ What are we doing?”

“We’re giving out 2 Laptops every hour as a raffle gift”

“ But last year only we did the same damn thing, Avi!”

“ Yeah, but last year we gave away one laptop every hour, this year we’re giving out two!!”

“ Avi, is this where our creativity comes to a stop?”

“Dude, its Dubai…People like to win here. You know anyway what its like in this company right.”

“OK. Whatever”


2 years back we gave out one laptop every hour through a raffle during the biggest electronics exhibition in the Gulf. Last year we repeated the order. This year we asked for one dish more. It took 3 well-bred marketers- all MBAs, a whole year and a battery of meetings to come up with this plan. The sweat still lays well absorbed in office carpets. Papa doesn’t know – I’m glad for it. He would’ve demanded his money back. 6 lakhs on 3 certified degrees. An expensive education. He over paid. Probably. Definitely.

Jumbo announces the scheme to the market. We walk away with collars turned up, and I stare in dismay.

“We’re getting bigger every year.” Just like that.

No prizes for guessing what Jumbo’s doing next GITEX. I’ll give you a hint. The number 3.


If I never loved I never would’ve cried

[I Am A Rock]

I slept in a hotel that night. Slept alone, but well accompanied by myriad thoughts. Upstairs he was with his lover. I thought I was done with long phone conversations- but hell no, this one was perhaps the best long conversation Id ever really had. Brought me back to my school days where catching up on the phone with buddies you really spent your entire day with was considered chic. But this time, I didn’t discuss what was on TV, or why mamma didn’t let us stay back after school for the cricket team selection. Not about unit tests and parent teacher meetings. We discussed a life we hadn’t lived as yet – our future. The harmonies and the disharmonies. Our families. Their perceptions. Attitudes. Cousins. Meat. If I gave myself that one opportunity to be honest to myself –Id say this much – I just can’t get enough of talking to her. Not because she and I agree on everything. But because we see ourselves as two vast oceans in which we love to swim. Without tubes. And these oceans don’t have sharks in them. Just small ocean currents that help us flow.

Seeing her after so long, rediscovering her, and discovering myself in her eyes was wonderful. The same eyes, the same smile. Just some extra kilos here and there. And curly hair. Otherwise the same. Pretty much.

It was still dark when I was getting ready to catch my flight. Stopped over for a couple of minutes to hug her goodbye. The last four days changed the course of my life. And for once, it changed in the right direction. Felt a tear somewhere in the corner of my eye. I’ve always hated goodbyes, but this one I hated a little bit more.


I touch no one and no one touches me

[I Am A Rock]

My opinions – yes, they define me. Love me or hate me, you would know that I’m fucking opinionated. But not biased. And not narrow-minded. I just have ideas. You may not agree to them. But then again, I touch no one and no one touches me.

I think religion has done more harm than good. The Gods are laughing at our ridiculous acts of faith. We’re fucking killing people. Slaying them. Raping wives, killing children. Coz you and I have different Gods. Coz you and I pray in opposite directions. Coz you don’t eat the meat and I do and vice versa. I think pre-marital sex is perfectly acceptable. Are you telling me that my wedding is really a license to fuck? I think people who have been deprived of their physical pleasures dwell in that opinion. Making love is nothing less than an expression. Man and woman are biological creatures with organs developed in ways to please each other. Puberty is a biological stage that signals the preparation for sexual intercourse for the human body. So somebody tell me why ruining a man’s ambitions by cheating him in business is considered as ‘strategy’ and premarital sex as ‘immoral’? I think diamonds are as bad as cigarettes. But you wont agree to that because harming, and I repeat, harming ones own health is a good lot worse than killing a few thousands in Africa as a result of diamond-artillery trading. Yeah right. I think we live too much of our lives trying to please others rather than trying to please ourselves. I think Indians have issues with progress. I think I should practice politics rather than despise the men who do. I think you still haven’t gotten over the sense of glory you had about your grades in school. I think there’s some confusion between questioning and rebelling in some of the parents in this world.

So what I’m telling you is this. You can go out there and trade your two pence worth education for setting up your own business, build factories, hire children below fourteen, make them work over time and pay them enough to prefer death over this life, make profits, drive your Mercedes, pay that weekly visit to the nearby temple and pray to the Gods of wealth, come out of the temple and ignoring a dying child on the road, and glorify yourself by not eating beef because you’re a motherfuckin’ Brahmin. You can tell your children that they should not make friends with those with low grades in school, and not play cricket with street children, and not eventually fall in love with a Muslim girl. You can do what the fuck you want to do.

But I wont do it. And you cant do shit about it.


The song I was writing is left undone

[Kathy’s Song]

It’s time to move. Move on to newer challenges, new people and new processes. Time to look back on the last 6 months, and possibly look ahead to the next 6. What I’m leaving behind is a little love story that ended abruptly. Because some banks in America dished our loans without a sense of caution.

I still feel we should be closer to the customer than we are.



Be careful, his bowtie is really a camera

[America]

He was one of the six sons of a middle class bread earner. His father denied him new clothes on Eid and so he left home.

Many years later, he stood in front of the majestic building of Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay. He diligently studied the exterior from top to bottom with supreme precision. It had to match up to everything that he had read about it – and all he had done for the last year or so was study this structure. Every little nook and cranny of it. He could paint a picture of the Taj left handed now. No, he wasn’t an architect. He was here to kill.

Now the inside. The maps were already with him, but nothing replaces on field experience, they say. He was well dressed, and as he walked past the entrance he received a salutation that made him chuckle under his breath. Quite impressed with the marvel that he experienced, he made a few quick rounds of the hotel, spoke to a few receptionist about the rates for an art exhibition he planned to conduct in the coming month and even got to get a word in to the manager about the same. He completed his routine with a nice 4 course meal at the Indian restaurant inside.

He came back a month later, as promised. This time in a boat. With AK 47s. And grenades and Molotov cocktails. And a few friends. To abuse the sovereignty of the great nation we know as India. To make a mockery of it. And to remind his Allah of the great shame that most of his tribe had put Him through.

As for me, I saw most of it on television. And built a few more bricks in the wall.


Words of the Prophet

[Sounds of Silence]

"...if any one slew a person - unless it be for murder or for spreading mischief in the land - it would be as if he slew the whole people: and if any one saved a life, it would be as if he saved the life of the whole people...(The Noble Quran, 5:32)"


A poem poorly written


[The Dangling Conversation]

Mumbai -- One

One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for letter, from girl to boy,
The words flow, and he loves her so.

One war-torn nation,
Fire stations,
Blood stains on our national guest room,
The words in the letter are yet fully read,
But now its his turn to be dead.
The bullet pierces him, and he slowly bled.

We're oneBut were not the sameWe've got to carry each other, carry each other.

One flew over the cockoo's nest,
To the mountains, where the skies are blue,
I want to be that bird, I need some rest.



The Only Truth I know is you

[Kathy’s Song]

We close the door. Silently. The children are sleeping.

No sooner the door is closed than we exchange an uncharacteristic naughty smile. Its been a long time, we both realize. You come closer to me and put your tiny hands around me. I dissolve into molecules. I kiss you very softly on the cheek and say “Wait, we should do this our style.”

I move towards the swanky DVD player and insert a disc. The volume is still low, and I dare to keep it that way, just in case the children wake up. We’ve both always loved Simon and Garfunkel, and so in this moment of romance, I play what Garfunkel once hailed as Simon’s greatest love song, Kathy’s song.

I return to you, into your arms. Your eyes are closed; I kiss you all over your face. In a strange yet rhythmic fashion, like you’d know where the next kiss was coming. There is a faint smile on your face, and it always turns me on to see you being pleasured by me. My hand is on your waist, and I feel the naked skin that’s been my bedmate for almost a decade now. I run my fingers over your stomach and tickle you for a short second. You immediately open your eyes.

“Naughty!” you say.

“Me?”

“ No! Me!!” You press your lips against mine. I can still taste strawberry there, I swear.

You make yourself comfortable in bed. In a way that asked for some more comfort. So I came closer to you, and kissed you all over your body. Your breasts. My best friends. It’s always great to know that some friendships are like wine, getting better with time. I could feel the goose bumps coming on your skin, and I was quite hard myself. Your hands clutched mine, and we made love. Like two colours blending in a palette. Like a shot of Jack Daniel on a glass of coke. We rolled on each other, like snails.

But then I said at the start that Id rather be a sparrow than a snail. Simon makes me move in circles. He makes me visit square zero again. In search of the truth. I’ve completed the circle. I’m back on zero. The truth was right here, all along. The only truth I know - you.


[ The author would like to express his apologies to anyone who's feelings have been hurt by some of the comments and sentiments this post]