Malvika’s Ramblings

Mr.Bunty Ind checked his watch. 2.3 more millihops to go. He could not wait to reach Vulcan, reach home to christen his new-born son. He had decided a name he really liked. It had been given the thumbs-up by all his colleagues and friends too. He had made sure it did. After all, he did not want his son to go through the same trauma he had. “Bunty….what a name… would have changed it pronto if I had been there at my christening” he thought. Putting down THE CENTAURIAN, he looked around at the others on the intergalactic bus—GALAC26ST10.

The gentleman to his right was surfing like a maniac through the holographio channels…. “Must be a Mr.Ame” thought Mr.Ind. The gentleman on seat UV10 was fingering through a copy of “Grow your own Tom-Toms”. “Nice morph” thought Mr.Ind as he observed just the slightest shade of purple blood running in the veins under the translucent skin. Some old chord was struck in Mr.Ind’s heart at the words “Stop playing with your food”. He changed his arm-rest and looked at a chinky-eyed kid making bulks of 3D shapes in the air with his wonton soup. The kid had managed to degravitate a small volume of space in front of him and the soup floated as if in a meditative yogic posture. “These wiz kids..”thought Mr.Ind, “getting smarter by the day…..no wonder the FBG (Federal Bureau of Gravitation) is having so much trouble……Mr.Chi or Mr.Jap…whoever, must be a proud father.”

The space-hostess entered the capsule. The soup fell back neatly into the bowl. Somehow, robots had never replaced space-hostesses. She started, “Please fasten your seat belts. Your anti-jerks have been activated and G increased by 26.4%. The bus has run into a meteor shower. We are cut off from the bus hive. We are on independent navigator.” The instructions were followed. The passengers were unperturbed as they believed that come meteor or comet, they would reach their destination. One Mr.Fra, hoped that they would not lose time as every microhop was crucial for his business. His eyes were trained on the consteller which kept reporting the progress of the bus. Mr.Ind wore a slight frown as he recalculated his desertion time.

Suddenly, everyone lurched forwards. “It must have been a massive collision…” they thought “to make an impact inspite of the anti-jerker!” All eyes were on the consteller now. “Navigator strikes meteor, 11 fin in diameter. Detour taken. Route beyond map-scope. 30˚ to the paik, 35˚ to the paik, 40˚ to the paik. Returning to trajectory. 120˚ to the saik, 125˚ to the saik,130˚ to th……129˚…128˚…unable to return to the trajectory…return failure…return failure….unmapped black-hole detected..” Suddenly the consteller zapped out. All was dark except for a faint luminosity. Everyone knew what was happening. “This must be the biggest disaster in megahopsx10z” said Dr.Aus, giving voice to everyone’s thoughts. They were all being sucked into the blackhole. Soon there would be no light at all.

The emergency exit of the capsule opened. In no time, everyone would be left entirely to their own devices. In other words, each one would be ejected with no devices, save V-lungs, at all. Mr.Fra was released and pressing his nose to the window, Mr.Ind saw him hurtle into the black core till the speck had disappeared. Many people had logged on to the telesympathy service (free with every Nokya movile). Light had diminished further but there was still some light as they careened through the border-belt of the sphere of inescapable gravity. In the capsule, some passengers decided to utilize the last moments of their lives for a last chat.

Mrs.Jap: I hope Mr.Jap will finish the sushi in the refrigerator before Taurusshine.

Mr.Rus: What racer does he have? I have (sniff), had a SUPAH NOVA.

Mrs.Jap: Oh, he had, no…no, has a SVELTE… the boot has lot of space for the grocery, you know.

Mr.Rus: My SUPAHNOVA has a streamlined body to attain max speed of….

Mrs.Ger and Mr.Eng had been ejected….all with the same fate. It was Mr.Ame’s turn. He floated to the exit, a red sign “UV10″ flashed and he was ejected too. Now, Mr.Ind felt himself carried to the exit. Suddenly, a piercing alarm was set off, a red sign flashed and he was thrown out—in the opposite direction. As Mr.Ind flew with incredible speed, he felt his limbs elongating and trunk swelling. Regardless of the weird phenomenon, his brain struggled to find an explanation until he realized what had happened. The capsule, designed to throw out ticketless travelers had detected him as one and building up a force against its motion, had thrown him into space, away from itself, away from the black hole! Mr.Ind had not planned to get caught for keeping up the tradition of his ancestors but felt extremely blessed for the smart legal system for once.

Suddenly, it struck him that he had not inserted his V-lungs that shine. So, how was he breathing in vacuum? His capacity for anaerobic respiration was barely 1 millihop. “Surely that must be over by now.” Mr.Ind looked down (or up, or whichever direction it would be) at his new shock-proof watch and had hardly gaped at the irregular timing it showed when he landed on something soft and green behind a kid called Wolfgang who was looking at a heap of polythene trash and saying “The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us.”*

Mr.Ind checked himself for injuries and finding himself in normal dimensions, the configuration of his bones undisturbed and all his body contents within his skin, he proceeded to use his “own devices” and looked around. “Green hair on ground, blue sky, organic pillars or sculptures…” Something triggered in his brain. The pages from his history CD flashed through his head. He realized he had been thrown back in time and was on earth, probably in a place called Jerm-ninny, or was it Germy? He thought “Wow! A new beginning! A new life! A new me! So…my breathing is explained…but that temporary expansion in my size…..” Mr.Ind bit his lower lip as he pondered over the puzzle. He took out his pen, caught a stray scrap of paper flying in the breeze and jotted down E=mc². The rest is history……

*Line from Calvin & HObbes

 I swam through parts of Nausea. I carefully read others. I agreed, disagreed and was indifferent. Instances made sense, or even if they didn’t, could be well imagined and felt, such as the beer mug at the bar. Then, the author’s acute awareness of objects around him such as the black root seemed to be the condition of a man who thinks too much out of lack of work. He feels the root’s damp black texture, smells its rotten smell, identifies its hooked nature, finds it like a claw, and ponders over its blackness. He doesn’t simply acknowledge the root but feels it mentally so that it acquires immense importance, which seems unnecessary and inconsequential. The author is ‘aware’ of things such as the park, someone’s purple braces, someone else’s hands, and the stool he is sitting on just because they exist. He also thinks that there is no other way to exist than to exist strongly. He finds it a waste to exist. He finds it superficial. What I gather is that to exist merely because something ‘is’ seems meaningless and petty to the author. Yet, he does not think that loving those around (humanism) or being ambitious, achieving worldly success justifies existence. This is seen by the author’s apathy to act, or his lack of drive. The author does not seem to be wallowing in martyrdom either as his gloomy views towards the world appear very genuine. The aim of his thoughts and views seems to be to see everything as it is, stripped of all veneers. In doing so he strips objects of all things like functional value, aesthetic charm and looks at them as things that just exist. He finds himself a part of the uselessness. Suicide is not a way to step out of the scene as he realizes he would be useless for all time, a useless living man or a useless decomposing corpse.

The man is lonely and speaks less. His thoughts are not the usual thoughts of men. However, in a few places in the novel he is charged like usual men and grabs an offensive man by his collar or desires to hold Anny (ex gf) in his arms. The passion is dilute though. He lets the man go and does not try to hard with Anny either. Instances with actions of reality, such as when he returns the library books keep the link between him and the world around him intact and keep the readers as well as the author on some sort of firm ground.

Objects, as they appear useless to the author, make him sick in their existence. This leads to bouts of nausea. The author gradually realizes that everything around him makes him a bit sick and the nausea is him. At times his thoughts stretch, elongate sickeningly and he imagines situations such as a blood stream with cream creating separate bloody rivulets, he thinks of a man in his room as dead with a purple tongue lolling out and the most grotesque, he thinks of a man waking up naked on a blue surface with large testicles which bleed as birds peck at them. Some of the writing does make one gag and feel nauseous. In that, I must appreciate the power of the author.

The author finds some meaning only in a jazz tune he listens to at a café. He likes the notes as they build up and die. He finds meaning in the existence and death of the music. He thinks that the negress who sings to the music on the record is called by the music. The music builds up and invites her voice, which enters at the correct time, and since it is wanted, has meaning. The author considers the music to be outside the useless world that exists since it is physically intangible. It has meaning and not just a petty form. It is above the rest of physical gadgets and materials. He says that he might grab the record and break it but he would not get to the music, which is sublime. Then the author thinks that the composer of the song has also risen above his existence by creating the music out of himself. The negress has also justified her existence by being part of the music. At this, the author thinks that he could also free himself of the heaviness of his existence by writing a book that would be to someone what the jazz piece was to him. The author is a historian but decides to drop history as he thinks that existence could not be given a meaning by thinking over existents of the past. At this conclusion of the novel I could comprehend the scene well and that happened completely only at a few places in the book. One could see that a man had found a strong reason to do something and was ready and inspired to do something as specific as writing a book. This action is a definite thing in contrast to the thoughts that went through the author’s head, evolved and were explained at length by the author for the reader to grasp. And well, at this conclusion one also thought here we are at a simple solution that we did not need a philosopher for, any man with ordinary intelligence would realize that he had to work to give meaning to his life and existence, work that he believed in. It was like experiments which scientists conduct in their laboratories with much money and effort to come to the conclusion that laughter is a sign of happiness. The question is, does the book show us how the author looked for meaning and usefulness in his existence? I do not know as it did not seem as simple but then, many high flown things are simply argued, discussed, thought-over lines of morality from children’s fables.

There is an interesting instance when the author examines his face in a mirror and finds himself sleeping with his eyes open. He leans closer and closer into the mirror and observes objectively as he has been lonely and has not had comments or compliments to help him form an opinion of his appearance. At another time he is sitting in a restaurant and notices how the mood of the place changes with the entry of different customers and how despite all the disconnection, the people present are connected to each other. His thoughts on the happy young couple in the restaurant are cynical. At the restaurant he listens to his friend and his views on humanism with half interest. So, in places one empathises with the author and is quite relieved to have him describe all that and, in a way, legalise lonely thoughts and experiences. But then, when I go out into my garden and look at the rusty iron ladder just as a rusty iron ladder, find the grass dewy and green and no more, objects seem justified in their existence. There seems to be no problem, one realizes one is looking harder at things just because one read the book. No chronic nausea.

He shivered a bit but continued to gaze at the sky. Hands folded behind his head and feet one over the other, he lay flat to be inspected by the stars which he was inspecting. Maybe some unknown life-form from a mauve or yellow planet was studying him.
However, he was oblivious to everything except the black studded concavity; even oblivious to his consciousness or thoughts so that they flowed easily and swiftly. Although he had not forgotten it and it had just retired to a dark niche in his brain, “Badmaash, get out of the house” had lost is jarring note.
He took a deep breath. Icy fingers of the night air traced fine lines along his wind-pipe –cold but nice, just like the moon, offering no warmth or solace but with tranquil and cold beauty, even friendliness. Maybe his small sister would understand it as the pleasure an icy sherbet gave her when she returned from the mosque on a hot and sweaty day. “Mosque….so long ago…” A message that he had read, on a girl’s T-shirt at the market the other day, flashed through his head –“I thought I was an atheist until I realized I was God.” His lips curled in a smile to the indifferent stars.
He saw an equestrian figure in the sky. “Was the structure of constellations pre-determined?” he wondered and satisfactorily answered his question himself “No. Just order out of disorder.” A question mark there, an arrow there. As he stared, the sky disclosed fainter stars to him –those he hadn’t noticed at first. “Faint….but stars all the same. Dying energy? Latent energy?” His eyes fell upon a rapidly moving star going on and off.” His head was shot with momentary confusion before he realised that it was just an international flight. “Long distance” he thought but as he lost himself again in the mesmerising stars, their snow-flake patterns and constellations unmatched by any jewellery designer’s creation he thought “Weird…..objects light years away seem to be closest to me right now…..people and events infinitely distant in space and time.”
He recognised the Orion and searched for The Great Bear –a constellation he had never been able to trace himself. Two bright dots with a bluish tinge reminded him of a jackal’s eyes reflecting the headlights of a vehicle. A silver star twinkled red like an unblinking puppet, at a fair, which had suddenly winked secretly and mischievously. “Mars?” he wondered. “Copernicus, Galileo, Newton must have all gazed at these very stars. Unprotected by museums, unhidden by dusty libraries, unattained by governments, they are all up here for me.” Schizophrenically, his sense of “I” and of the sparkling inky dome grew big. A mosquito humming in his ear pierced his unfettered thoughts. Not wishing to avert his eyes from the stars to smash it, he mentally ordered it, with a smirk, “Badmaash, get out of my ear.”
He could no longer see any star. It was all black…no, it was a silhouette of a head, over his head. A gruff voice said, “Chalo, come home.” He got up obediently.

“Zap out”. Unsuccessful-again. Unsuccessful again in 80 earth years. Caught in my own creation. Caught in conviction; in imagination. Caught in what these guys call reality. No escape for me.

My mind once again races back to those times when I was free-one of the few human beings floating around nebulae, supernovae, comets, meteors and steering clear of black holes, free of physical processes, living through mental processes, waves and thoughts.

I remember when “The Idea” struck me. I was orbiting around Proxima Centauri then. I noticed how the spheres and dust around me revolved, attracted, repelled and spun, how all that existed behaved in existence. What if I created something new that functioned and behaved along a different pattern, the rules of which I set? Considering the sparse population of thinking heavenly bodies, viz. human beings in space, I decided to create an environment of human beings limited by certain parameters. So I created it.

A floating-she had inquired what creation I was spending my thoughts over? I had vaguely answered, “Er…..err…it’s the….the…err..the..”. “Erthe. Is it?”. “Yes. Its Earth”, I said decidedly. So Earth it was.

Let me get one thing clear. Earth,as you may imagine, was not a solid sphere. It was a product of the energy-radiations (ER) my thoughts and mental processes emitted. It was an intangible sphere of undetectable waves. The strength of the lithosphere, atmosphere, hydrosphere and biosphere lay in the structure of my ER.

After the creation of human beings, before I switched their brains on, I took care of the parameters which would limit them and not allow them to escape the system. Inspired by the physical laws that control the actions of bodies in the universe, like the laws which bind the Solar System to the Milky Way, I put physical limitations on the Earthling. It would be dependent on O2. I created atmosphere. It would need optimum temp. I positioned the earth suitably for reception of thermal radiations. It would need fuel. I created vegetation. Now it would be grounded to Earth, in order not to deflate, shrivel, melt, starve…………….and die.

I introduced the germ of the concept of clans and communities in the human brain. I also introduced the concept of God and religions to keep the Earthlings confined to Earth by major engrossment in communal affairs. Their thoughts, in this way, would not venture dangerously far, beyond the Earth. I also introduced certain hormones in the human beings of opposite sexes so that being engaged with each other they would not have much time or inclination to look elsewhere. I broke infinity down to birth and death too.

Then I switched the Earthlings’ brains on. Initially things went on as I had planned. The Earthlings also made excuses for their existence and wrote of Adam and Eve and Manu-very convenient for me. Earth received ER automatically and continuously from me.

Then things started getting jeopardized for me. I guess I had underestimated the power of human thought. The human brain I had created evolved slowly but surely, to me as an unnoticed A-bomb ticking away its seconds. Man+Woman developed its right and left size of the brain. The walnut-sized brain became bulkier. I could not stop the automated transfer of ER. A guy called Michaelangelo pushed the human power of conceiving ideas, perceiving inspiration and expressing the insuppressible human spirit, forward to a great distance. Aryabhatta was a major threat to the self-involvement of man. Einstein wrecked havoc upon my system. That German refugee overcame the national barriers I had set and made revolutionary discoveries and theories. He did much damage, yes he did. Human endeavour reached new heights. With strong art and well-founded science a new concept , contrary to my plans, developed-Recognition of and conviction in existence.

This conviction became very strong. The development of Earth became too dynamic for me. The rate of absorption of ER became uncontrollably rapid. I did not have enough energy for my own existence. I fought but failed and was sucked into my system. I catapulted headlong into the Earth; now strong enough to be independent of my energy-a vital energy in itself.

Human conviction is the limitation that now binds me to the Earth. This conviction is giving Earth a solid form. As man transformed from a lost Neanderthal to a being in full-control and a well-defined position on Earth, so is Earth transforming too. The conviction has lent great power to imagination. Based on imagination, a new system controlled by man, my wayward creation, is establishing. What is, man has imagined and discovered. Now what man is imagining, is becoming.

I concentrate my energy and try again. “Zap out”. No success. No escape for me.

so spectrum was fun…

i dunno if u felt it as much as i did..this whole wave of Malvika makeover..

Hey guys, thats the real me.. the slop u see everyday in track pants and the toothpaste-smudged black jacket is the exception. Heh heh. Diva Naturale

I enjoyed undue advantage of my size and power and all that and won the badminton singles tournament. Apart from pride and glory and blah, blah my incentive was lotsa money to do things that my parents just wont consider funding. However, its been no use. I think i am going to get loreal vouchers.

I already have 20 vouchers or so from winning HAM (Half a Minute). They announced that I win a voucher worth Rs2000. ‘Not bad’, I thought as I smiled an oily one and shook hands with SS Trading company ka representative.

Few hours later, open envelope to find 20 vouchers of Rs 100 each. the vouchers cant be combined. so now, I have this delightful opportunity of getting 20 hair gunk things done to my hair of about Rs 100 each before march ends. With this kind of budget something reconciles me with my ex-barber - shambu. he charged only Rs 5, did the whole job in one’s backyard as the morning birds chirupped and mangos ripened. An excusable shortcoming in his method was that he gave everyone short haircuts. really short. he was the same guy the hospital close by had employed to give neurosurgery patients a scalp shave before their skulls were cracked open.

No, and i am not distributing these vouchers around. RBM has been really useful. How about starting an on-campus bidding thing?

Or could it be really possible that this 2000 divided by 20 funda has been an innocent mistake on the part of those who have done so much in the last three days to bring to a boil the spirit of competition, talent and youth?

‘The Worx’ of FC was diminutive but a big success in this that we finally put up something. FC sem 6 suddenly had a face. it became an enity to consider. the sunny patch we would be found lingering, pestering Lola ma’am and quickly finishing coffee at suddenly became karm-bhoomi.

WHy? why? why? Shibani kashyap (she really does need all that support of background stage dancers) and band of boys.

Oh but something great happened at a personal level for me this spectrum. i felt music again. Music had become a dirty word. It meant just one of the 3 things to me:

1. Tonk(neighbour) ki car ka punjabi lyrics as we swerved on delhi roads in his car. it was concerned with the deep emotions farmers feel as these booze over tubewells in fields and miss their girlfriends.

2. karan johar, yash chopra and ‘dil mein baji guitar’ strains that raucously lull me to sleep everynite in my shared flat.

3. The five songs that aditi bandhu (flat mate) has looped and played since august 2006. Crash into me, Mr crowley, Mama i’m coming home, no more tears, wake me up when september ends

I usually avoid the rock band competition unless the drummer is cute. but this time FIRE EXIT had me glued and headbanging. They were free of the angst and skeletal ghouls of ironmaiden. They performed understandable numbers like ‘Will you be my girl?’ They had such self compositions that built up the music in me from inside. It was all a rumbling and simerring. i hope it wasnt just the heady mix of good weather, crowd and music and they’ll be just as good when i listen to them next.

Woh shaam ko momos, woh momos ki chutney
Woh subhash ki chai, woh garam-garam maggi
Wot sutte ka kash, woh cigarette chidaknaa,
Woh vintage shades se duniya guzarte dekhnaa
Woh 9:30 neend mein class ko bhaagna
Woh late hokar CD writing ka bahaana marnaa
Woh amphi mein taaron ko chamakte dekhna
Woh rock band ka phirse try maarna
Woh canteen mein line mein sadnaa, bigadnaa
Woh Raju bhaiya se dosti badhaana
Woh Nescafe par coffee break bitaana
Woh dost ke muffin se chocolate churaana
Woh LD ki chhat pe suicide ki baatein
Woh night lab mein ghost stories ki raatein
Woh foyer pe fachhu ki chaddi utaarna
Woh system ki problem ka solution nikalnaa
Woh group work mein ladna jhagadna
Woh ladke jury mein saath goli khaana
Woh bunk maarke bf se milne jaana
Phir Lola se aake attendance lagwaana
Woh submission se pehle library jaana
Like s’pose gyaan ka suddenly aana
Kaise bhoolenge hum yeh college ki yaadein?
Abhi ek saal aur yahin hai bitaana!