Hobo Chatter

[10:29:26 PM] Pratyush Tiwary: And how does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?
[10:31:26 PM] Nisheeth Srivastava: pretty darn good!
[10:31:31 PM] Pratyush Tiwary: yeah!
[10:31:33 PM] Pratyush Tiwary: :)
[10:31:36 PM] Nisheeth Srivastava: :)

Prana

That which increases most vigorously
The more intensely it is spent
Is prana

Dukkha

New dukkha;
Always the same
As old dukkha

Carl & Ellie: A love story

Nothing more need be said :)

Deep space

In brooding darkness
Storm clouds gather
Nectar falls
Spirit rises to meet itself
In throbbing bouts of ecstasy

Unhappy Independence Day

On the occasion of remembering India's liberation from British bureaucrats and its usurpation by Indian bureaucrats, I must confess to a pang of sadness. I can best explain its origin by means of the following graph (obtained from the World Bank Report on water in India)


Magnify it and look at it by all means. Its an important chart. Now let us look at another fact, this one drawn from the UN's Climate Report published in 2007. By 2030, i.e., a bare 21 years from now, the Gangotri and other glaciers feeding the Ganga (I refuse to call it Ganges) river will have disappeared, making it highly likely that the Ganga will become a seasonal river and, by the time I seek to be cremated by its side in Varanasi in 70 years' time, will have vanished completely. The India that I will breathe my last in will be an India where the Ganga will have joined the Saraswati and Yamuna as a mythical river.

Setting cultural nostalgia aside, countries throughout the world are beginning to suffer from what is euphemistically called "Limits to growth". For the US, the major bottleneck is one of securing petroleum reserves. Why do you think global warming has become such a big talking point? Because people have suddenly realized how fragile the eco-systems are and have developed a sense of reverence towards Nature? Poppycock! Its because the global warming issue can be used as a narrative to explain and begin the inevitable shift away from fossil fuel based economies to other sources of energy.

For India, the bottleneck is far more severe - in both the logistical and temporal sense. Logistical because water is far more fundamental for survival than oil. People might grumble if they can't drive, they might shout if they have to pay a little bit more for food because transportation costs have gone up. But think of the panic that erupts whenever there is a drought. Now extend that into the infinite future and you will have some sense of the logistical nightmare that is about to erupt. When is it going to erupt? That's where the temporal problem shows up. By most estimates, water demand in India is going to exceed all possible sources of supply by 2020 (maybe 2025).

At this point, gentle reader, you are likely to think, "Demand exceeding supply you say? How fascinating! Note to self: remember this for dinner table conversation." To gain a deeper appreciation of this fact, why not perform the following experiment: perform as many push-ups as you can. When you reach your limit, perform five more. Come back and revisit the phenomenon of demand exceeding supply when you're done. You will then understand the concept better.

In 11 years' time, the Indian economy will start hitting its limits to growth. Any further expansion in industrial water usage would come at the cost of domestic water supply, political anathema. At this point, there will arise crises along multiple dimensions, not least geopolitically, since the Himalayan mountains that supply India with 70% of its fresh water also feed its illustrious and cantankerous neighbors. In the face of rising public discontent, how hard is it going to be for some demagogue to promise abrogating water treaties as a route to political exaltation?

11 years, gentle reader. The India of 2020 is not going to be a land of peace and prosperity, well on its way to becoming a mini-USA. It is going to be a land of turmoil and factionalism, with industrialists trying to cut deals with government to keep their water supply quotas intact, states screaming at the top of their lungs and threatening to secede from the Union unless their neighbors stopped filching what is rightly theirs, and last but not least, a population finally waking up to the fact that the patina of capitalistic prosperity that it has so eagerly accepted is not likely to last very long after all.

What's that you say? China already has a water deficit and is doing fine? No, dear reader, China is not doing fine. The reason China appears to be doing fine is because it runs a current account surplus that will allow it to be a net grain importer. It has already begun running a grain deficit, and that is when it is overpumping its groundwater aquifers and diverting enough water away from its rivers to leave them almost dry. Believe me, the water crisis is going to hit them pretty hard just as well.

There can be no anarcho-primitivist fleeing to the hills here. Back to the basics survivalism won't help when one of the basics is in short supply. Feeble efforts at water conservation and retrenchment of river systems will buy a brief period of grace, but against the geo-physical events that are presently in motion, I fear that all the ingenuity and effort of humanity would fail. And we aren't even making that effort!

And why stop at 11 years? 2050 is not that far away. Most of my readership will have children their current age by that time. Think of the devastation that is likely to result when available water supplies shrink to 20% of their current volume. There is only one word that comes to mind to fit the picture - catastrophe.

Is there anything that can be done to avoid this? Surely there must be something that we could do to solve our problems - the inveterate humanist bleat. At such times I am reminded of the Club of Rome's shockingly honest appraisal of the heart of mankind's problems - too much mankind. What is the problem? There's too many of us struggling to survive with a finite amount of resources at hand.

You must, of course, argue with me here. Fine, chuck the bathing and the laundry (ah! I would be seen as a prophet if this were ever to come to pass). That still doesn't help. 90% of India's water consumption is agricultural. Stop growing food? A sensible partial solution, of course, would be to try and grow less water-intensive crops. But the only way to get farmers to buy into that paradigm is to stop subsidizing their electricity bills for pumping out ground water, doing which is electoral suicide.

You wish to educate the farmers and the voters and the general public about this grave matter so that they may take steps to redeem the situation? Within 11 years? I commend your idealism. Why not take on an even nobler task then? Get people to stop having kids. Reduce the population of India by 50% and observe the peace and prosperity that would descend. Rivers of milk and honey would flow, man would treat his fellow man justly, a veritable Golden Age would descend! You would go down in myths and legends as the redeemer of our civilization!

Unfortunately, there is only this one way to solve this problem - stop population growth. How likely is that? Let alone reducing population, think about the likelihood of even stabilizing the Indian population at its current levels. Impossible! Human nature will do what human nature must do (I would explain this further here, but it would take away from the import of the present writing. Some other time.). It is in the nature of man to perpetrate the tragedy of the commons. That's just the way it is. In my opinion, there is not much to be gained by flailing our hands and invoking romantic notions of victory over the laws of physics and human nature. All we can do is use foresight and planning to sidestep problems once we can see them heading our way. Once our own existence is no longer threatened by a problem, we can try and find palliatives for others.

In practical terms, what can one do to include this rather bleak outlook in one's long term plans? Offhand, I can think of the following general suggestions:

1. If, like me, you're not in India, set the wheels in motion to never have to go back and make arrangements for family members to emigrate just as well.

2. If you are in India, set the wheels in motion either to emigrate, or to settle in the South of India, somewhere near the coasts and one of the rivers Mahanadi, Godavari or Cauvery. Those will not run out that quickly.

3. If your family owns real estate in the Northern Plains, think medium term (3-6 years from now) about selling. Property prices aren't exactly going to go up if the river basins start to dry up.

4. Buy and hold investors among you might want to shorten your horizons and those holding government bonds might want to sell. I haven't explored any investment opportunities that might benefit from water scarcity yet, but I will at some point.

5. Be prepared for major societal upheavals. When I say major, think on the order of the violence during Partition, less rabid, but occurring on a much longer time-scale.

What's that? I am advocating escapism? I am proposing that when the ship is on fire, one depart in haste and not stick around on the burning deck for some sentimental reason or the other? Yes, precisely so.

Feel free to laugh at me and mock my fanciful predictions. If I am wrong and there is no crisis in the offing, I would be very happy to see that the country of my origin is doing well and is stable and prosperous. That joy would likely offset all the derision that I would face in such an eventuality.

Let me state very clearly though, that none of what has been said here has been said thoughtlessly or in jest. I could, as disclaimed above, be a moron who is utterly wrong. I could be an alarmist who is fretting about a problem that will resolve itself when the time comes. That being said, I have written this because I think I am right and that water woes are going to become perhaps the most important aspect of India's existential trajectory within the next two decades.

Researchers who study the limits of growth paint a gloomy picture for humanity in the second half of this century, a time that seems to most people to belong very far in the future, hence not a suitable subject for analysis. Unfortunately, gentle reader, the future is almost here, and the road to this unpleasant future from the simulacrum of cornucopia prevailing today is bound to be a bumpy one. It just so happens that, for geophysical reasons, one of the countries that will suffer most from hitting up against the limits of growth is going to be India, which is why I am forced to observe the 62nd birth anniversary of its rebirth as a republic in such a solemn manner.

UPDATE (21 Jan 2009) It turns out that some of my dire prognostications are based on incorrect data. In particular, the prediction from the UN's IPCC report concerning the fate of the Himalayan glaciers has now been shown to have been false. While I have tried to stay abreast of the climate change propaganda that has been spewed out in the recent past, I had hoped that the main scientific findings, at least, would be free of error. Apparently not.

If the glaciers are in no imminent danger, then the water crisis cannot be terribly pressing. Of course, groundwater depletion remains a concern, but not as terrible an existential concern. I may update this post further when I have had time to think over the implications of the new scenario.

I am happy, though, at the thought that the glaciers still have another few centuries to go.

A song on the six perfections

I have of late acquired a great appreciation for brevity. Undoubtedly, writing cannot be useful just because it does not take up much space, it must also have some utility. For a combination of brevity and utility, I have not yet come across anything remotely close to what the great poet Milarepa has written,

For generosity, nothing to do,
Other than stop fixating on self.

For morality, nothing to do,
Other than stop being dishonest.

For patience, nothing to do,
Other than not fear what is ultimately true.

For effort, nothing to do,
Other than practice continuously.

For meditative stability, nothing to do,
Other than rest in presence.

For wisdom, nothing to do,
Other than know directly how things are.

Anitya

The river flows
Rippling and shimmering
In every moment
born anew

Andheri Madhushala - II

अँधेरी मधुशाला - २

मधुशाला जो जो जाते हैं, सब प्यासे वापस आते हैं
मदिरालय के प्रांगण में टूटे प्याले बिखरे जाते हैं
मदिरालय से मदिरालय फिरने में हम हाला पाते हैं
प्यासे प्याले चूमे इतने, मदिरा ख़ुद बनते जाते हैं

Moksha

Have you found it?

Yes, I have found it.

What will you do now?

I will go looking for it.

Meditation

Ignorance to Knowledge

I live in a world of magic and miracles
Where acausal deities rule mercifully
Through some anthropomorphic creed

Slowly, I am killing those gods
One by one I sacrifice them
At the altar of Reason

I now perceive with no bias
I now hold all false lest proven true
No error have I, for I doubt all


Knowledge conflicted

I cannot explain the comprehensibility
Of the universe to my own perception
Reason stands silent, Nature speaks

My spirit is tortured with insanity
Whence existence? Whence knowledge?
Reason founders in a storm of semantics

All questions point to one, `Who observes?'
Half-answers leap out of age-old tomes
Mysterious whispers from forgotten times


Knowledge to Ignorance

I am now a hermit, body smeared in ashes
Mind withdrawing from the sensate world
I labor incessantly with a single thought

Body must be strong and stable, like a rock
Mind must be supple and becalmed, like water
Memory must be purged, ambition lost

I now sit in meditation hours-long
There is no body, no mind, no thought
A dark nothingness embraces my identity


Ignorance to Knowing

The darkness parts with a jolt and I face
A deep throbbing power with no name
Its vibrations fill me with delirious joy

Meditation becomes exhilarating now
Sights, sounds, vibrations beyond sense and thought
I play in a universe beyond time and space

And ever draw nearer to the throbbing thing
Until no play remains, no pleasure, no pain
There is naught, save the throbbing and I


Knowing to Being

Days pass as if in a dream,
The throbbing finally speaks its name
It is Consciousness, the seed of the Universe

Meditation is perpetual now
The throbbing mass of awareness draws me
Deeper into an unfathomable abyss

Lo! There is no more I, no more Consciousness
There is only One, throbbing vibrantly
Sustaining in its pulsation the fabric of Reality


Beyond Being

Words cannot describe it, for memory goes there not
Mind cannot perceive it, for intellect qualifies it not
It broods, the throbbing at the center of all existence

Current affairs

I have been meaning to write about the economy for a while now, but this expresses everything I wanted to say much more succinctly than I ever could. Thank you, Bill.

From Seeing to Being

The well of meditation has been deepening continuously in the past few weeks. Every waking minute spent outside meditation appears harsh and unnatural at times. Eyes no longer hold clear vision to be their natural state, ears no longer sense sound, breath flutters gently like a song-bird in a vast hallway. Throbbing in all places along the spine continues intermittently. Vibration and pulsation at crown of head remains almost constant.

Awareness is ensconced in a ball that is light on the inside and dark on the outside. The dark exterior of this ball pushes away fragments of internal narrative arising out of identity as well as extraneous thoughts arising out of perception; keeps them away from mindfulness of awareness.

The walls of ego are crashing into ruin, the halls of perceptive coherence are aflame. There is no hope, there is no despair. There is no desire, no renunciation of desire. There is no knowledge, no ignorance of knowledge.

At the farthest edges of awareness, there has arisen a subtle but monumental shift. There is no longer awareness of undifferentiated reality, there is now awareness as undifferentiated reality.

Consciousness is.

Rest in peace, Dilip

Dilip Veeraraghavan, receptacle of adolescent socio-political angst, commentator extraordinaire on all aspects of Indian philosophy and culture, ardent Gandhian and inspirational teacher, is no more.

Where his eyes lacked light, his intellect scintillated. The scarce occasions when we would speak of economics, I, in my youthful brashness, would keep trying to prove the infeasibility of Gandhian libertarianism. One day, I told him Gandhian living would turn me into him. He said, `And that thought scares you?' I was cruel; I said, `Yes, it scares me.' He smiled, but I knew it hurt him. Three years on, when now I understand the wisdom of his ways, he has passed into silence.

There was erudition, there was grace, there was simplicity in his demeanor; humor twinkled ceaselessly in eyes fixed always upon infinity. His living example inspired lifestyles of voluntary simplicity in so many who knew him.

As with all lives well-lived, this is an occasion not for sadness, but for silence and remembrance. In memory of one of the gentlest and kindest of men, I embrace both tonight.

Rest in peace, Dilip.

--------------------------------------------------

UPDATE: 10 Feb 2009

The aforegoing eulogy for Dilip was formulaic, impersonal and brief for a reason. It was written not so much as a personal assertion of loss as a message of solidarity with the many who I knew would have been deeply saddened by his passing. It was difficult for me, when I heard the news, to comprehend and process it in an authentic manner instantaneously (I am excruciatingly slow at processing emotion). Now that I have had time to think, I feel that it could be of some value for me to place on record my understanding and appreciation of a true saint among men.

To begin with, I must confess that since I have a very detached perspective towards mortality, Dilip's passing did not occasion much grief for me. If anything, it merely served as a reminder to me of the errant days of my youth when I knew him. It seems hard to believe it was a scarce three years ago that I was frequently in his office, talking Carnatic and western classical music with him. At the risk of sounding cold and heartless, I must further confess that Dilip was interesting to me at the time primarily as a fascinating cognitive science case study. While he was indeed a storehouse of knowledge about Indian history and culture, and was to a large degree instrumental in shaping my appreciation of Tamil Brahmin society, I did not set exceptional store by his erudition.

No, what fascinated me was the quality of his opinions, fluid and unconventional narratives that melted into each other with a strange absence of causal connections. I formulated, in those days, the naive hypothesis that his brain, blessed with exceptional memory and curiosity, was not infected by the need to make the sharp distinctions and categorizations that those with normal eyesight are doomed to make. The darkness that shrouded his existence perpetually had the effect of rendering his inferential mechanism about the world he knew strangely singular and untouched by teleological/theological thinking. The reluctance to ascribe causality to correlative events has become to me, over the years, one of the greatest marks of a deep intellect. Looking back, I find that Dilip possessed this quality to a degree unmatched by almost every other contemporary thinker I have come across (save perhaps Stephen Jay Gould). At the time, I attributed this quality of his to his blindness and did not appreciate its rarity as I do now. (En passant, the careful observer will note in my immature hypothesizing that precise element of teleological thinking that I now have sensitized myself against, and that Dilip was careful to always qualify.) He would mention correlations, and his vast store of knowledge would allow him to find not one but many correlates for almost any socio-cultural datum. He would leave the process of hypothesis formation and likelihood generation to eager theorists like me. I would say something like, `Ah! So you're saying X caused Y caused Z, and resulted in a counter-move A, which in turn led to B'. He would smile and say, `Perhaps'.

At the same time, I conjectured that his love of classical music was an epi-phenomenal proxy for his logical and inferential mechanisms. Since he was consigned to having students read letters and books out to him, the task of perceiving the written word could not be attended with the solitude for cogitation so dear to most intellectuals. I felt that his mind would naturally find deeper satisfaction in the mental stimulation in solitude that music could provide him. At times, I would visit him to find him listening to some Carnatic performance or the other, and would feel envious of his ability to not have to worry about visual stimulation, to perpetually inhabit a world of harmony, rhythm and localized meaning.

At other times, I would pity his dependence on others for the fulfillment of basic daily activities. I would pity not only this dependence, but also his knowledge of the sympathetic figure he must have known he was in the eyes of all who beheld him. It is only now, with distance in time and space allowing less judgmental understanding, that the grace and humor with which he embraced his condition and attempted to set all who interacted with him at ease stand out as marks of a phenomenally self-aware and sensitive intellect.

By rights, Dilip should not really have been on my mind any longer, since my association with him was never really emotional or inspirational, as it has been for others. I find, however, that in the years since I knew him, my appreciation for his character, wisdom and humanity has grown tremendously. As the ultimate futility of reductionist theorizing has impressed itself upon me in recent times, I have often found myself listing people I have known or know of whose intellects have managed to elude this treacherous intellectual trap of conflating representations with understanding and correlation with causality. Einstein and Schrodinger are on that list, as are Gauss and Grothendieck. Tagore is there (though he was hopelessly muddled most of the time, his moments of clarity were blinding and momentous) , and Aurobindo and the unknown authors of the more reasonable of the Upanishads. Dilip is on that list too - my strongest personal influence in favor of avoiding the convenience of causal narratives lest they cloud one's understanding. Thus, unconsciously, Dilip has had much to do with my intellectual evolution from passionate advocacy of possible hypotheses to silent contemplation of the representational structures that convey evidence for or against various hypotheses to my awareness.

And to me, this points to his greatest quality. Above all, he was an honest man. Honest with others, and with himself. His simplicity was the simplicity of a man who had nothing to hide. His originality and wisdom were the consequences of a sharp intellect that owed no epistemological fealty to any but itself. Where others might have chafed at the lack of privacy that blindness enforces, his radiant acceptance of his condition transformed it into a source of spiritual enrichment and intellectual clarity for both himself and those he knew. His humility and compassion arose through a fearlessness that, in turn, arises from a mind at peace with itself and the world.

In a cloud of ego-centric curiosity, I would sit and spin chains of reductionist thought while the Socrates of IIT Madras would sit across from me nodding his head to the faint sound of the veena and to the melody of the synthesis of his own thought with what I would just have told him. I do not regret my past intellectual prejudice, one has to crawl before one learns to walk. Even in his passing then, Dilip has left me a priceless gift, the gift of perspective into my own weaknesses - both past and present.

He has passed into the greater silence - he who could see more than those with eyes, he who could convey more through silence than many with high-flown words, he who was at the same time child-like in innocence and ageless in wisdom, he who changed the lives of all he knew simply by virtue of being a human being.

Dilip Veeraraghavan, I am glad I knew you.

Winter turns to Spring

Blue sky







Blue sky







Blue sky

The origin of the gods

Who verily knows and who can declare it, whence it was born and whence comes this creation?
The Gods are later than this world's production. Who knows then whence it first came into being?

He, the first origin of this creation, whether he formed it all or did not form it,
Whose eye controls this world in highest heaven, he verily knows it, or perhaps he knows it not !?

- Rig Veda Mandala 10/Hymn 129

An aspect of Hindu culture that surprises independent observers considerably is the immense menagerie of deities that appears to occupy pride of place in its devotional practices. In no other system of devotional belief does such a large number of gods and goddesses arise. The Vedas are generally cited as the scriptural authority for the existence of all these deities, and the usual explanation attached to their origin is animistic in nature. That is to say, scholars suggest that the early Aryans, like most other nomadic tribes of the time, worshiped natural objects and phenomena as a means to derive predictive power and control over them.

Unfortunately, while this interpretation may possibly be correct as an explanation for the historio-cultural origin of Indian deities, it fails to take into account the subsequent development of the pantheistic monism that underlies Vedanta. Modern day Hindus, therefore, are left facing a piquant predicament: they must reconcile the existence of millions of gods and demons in their religious culture with the triune Unity of Sat-Chit-Ananda that is proclaimed to be the ultimate origin of all that exists. Since the latter concept arises at a later date and appears to be more comprehensive in its understanding of reality, the question Hindus have to answer is, `In what context do we understand our vast array of deities without appearing to be fruitcakes?' Given the unspoken stigma attached to polytheism in Semitic traditions, it may be mildly socially beneficial also to understand the philosophical roots of the polytheism of our culture.

My exegesis here begins from and draws centrally upon an examination of the last two tristubhs of the Nasadiya Sukta (quoted above). The rishi who has composed this hymn suggests that it is not feasible to ask the question `What came before creation?', since the very possibility of fragmented sentience arose after it had come into being. Crucially, the phrase, `The gods are later than this world's production' is best understood by empathizing with the pantheistic solipsism of this rishi's mind - the entire universe is considered here to arise, and to have no existence other than, as a thought of the underlying Creator. I suggest that the `gods' referenced in this phrase can best be understood as occupying the same metaphysical universe as Platonic ideals.

What, you ask me, are Platonic ideals? Platonic Idealism is the school of philosophy that emerges from Plato's theory of Forms. Here, Plato suggests that there exists a realm of ideas that has absolute reality. The reality the human mind perceives is a consequence of the human consciousness' projection of ideal objects into the observer's perception. Thus, when an observer imagines/draws/sees a `circle', he is merely instantiating the Platonic ideal `circle' in his own consciousness. The observer's perception of a `rock' is simply an imperfect reflection of the ideal `rock'. Should you, gentle reader, choose to, at this point, yawn and exclaim, `Boring!', I urge you to consider that Platonic Idealism is the only philosophical theory that justifies the existence of pure mathematics. In the mathematical realm, this is isomorphic to the statement, `Mathematics is discovered, not created'. Similarly, empirical science relies largely on the belief in the existence of an objectively evaluable set of `truths', a philosophical view that draws largely from the thought of Pythagoras and Plato. Thus, if you are a 21st century scientist or mathematician, Platonic Idealism is what brings you your grant funding. Do not scoff at it!

It is tempting for me to take a detour into the subsequent evolution of Neoplatonism through Plotinus' understanding of Plato, but that is too delicious a subject for me to refer to in passing. Suffice it to say that Neoplatonism is the Greek advaita, leading to mystic movements such as Gnosticism and indirectly, Sufism. Having described Platonic idealism and established that it is not a metaphysical premise to be taken lightly, let us continue with our examination of Hindu gods as inhabitants of Plato's world of Ideas.

I will not dwell upon trying to prove this hypothesis, primarily because there is no empirical evidence that I can provide that would be deemed sufficient. Had the possibility of finding correspondences between the deities of Indian mythology and abstract concepts in Western philology enthused me, I might have taken up the challenge. However, our hypothesis does not claim such a correspondence, it claims that these entities belong to the same metaphysical `class' of entities. Thus, our hypothesis suggests that while there may not exist a deity of gravitation in the Indian ethos, the physicist's conception of a `law' of gravity is metaphysically equivalent to belief in the existence of a deity. Conversely, while there is no unanimity among Western philosophers over the existence of qualia, the Indian conception of a deity of sensual desire is essentially a universalized formulation of the corresponding quale. Since there is no objective way of analyzing whether people actually `feel equivalently' about an entity, there is no objective way for me to prove this hypothesis. Readers will have to use their own subjective understanding deployed upon subjective anecdotal evidence to verify this (ignoring, if they can, the empiricists' anguished screams of horror).

If we grant this hypothesis validity, the statement, `The gods are later than this world's production. Who knows then whence it came into being?' makes perfect sense. All it is saying is that all representational structures (ideas) arose after the origin of the Cosmos. None of them, therefore, can be projected into individual consciousness to perceive the Cosmos as it was before these ideas came into existence. There is a much deeper story here and has to do with the manner in which the universe comes into existence, but that must await another day to be told. (Yes, I know about Planck time. As I said, I do not wish to bring it up here and treat it partially.)

`Are our esteemed deities simply triangles and trees then?', the perplexed Hindu might ask. The answer is an unqualified `Yes', much as it might upset some cultural and aesthetic sensibilities. What about all the gods and deities that appear in visions to devotees and instruct them in all kinds of activities? Auto-suggestion and self-hypnosis. Christian mystics have seen Jesus, Sufis never see anybody, Pastafarians claim to be touched by `His' noodly appendages (how dare you mock our faith!). Are there separate departments in the supernatural world for every religious group's mystics? Or is it simpler to understand that extreme devotional fervor causes the devotee's consciousness to instantiate objects of affection and devotion with increased realism?

This does not, of course, mean that gods are not real. In fact, this proves that they are. Is a circle real? Is loneliness real? Long after you and I are dead, children will still be drawing circles with compasses. So long as consciousness remains in the Universe, there will be loneliness also. In Plato's vision, the world of the gods was absolutely real; human reality was merely a persistent illusion. In the Vedantic tradition, neither the world of ideas, nor the world of projected images is absolutely real, but since they are all projections of the thought of Sat-Chit-Ananda, they are not unreal either.

`That which is awake in those that sleep is a God seeking to realize Itself in Itself'

Thus, we arrive at an understanding that Hindu gods and deities are simply representations of ideas - that is the entire span of their ontology, no more, no less. Does that mean that the `concept' Ganesha has no more social value than the concept `runny nose'? Not necessarily. There must also be addressed the question of the value of the associated mythology.

One may think of Indian deities and their associated mythologies as art composed over centuries of civilization. Like all good poetry, they draw upon the life experiences of many. Like all good music, it is those fragments of it which speaks of happy endings and tenets of moral behavior that are passed on down the ages over fire-lit evenings of communal revelry. In the process of transmission over generations, they thus attract and become repositories of cultural universals. With the invention of writing, fluid adaptive oral transmission was replaced by frozen written replicas that survived for generations. The poetry became ossified in the spirit of the Middle Ages and is now a relic of those days. Hence it is anachronistic now, and is justly held to be thus by all rational people.

We can see though that Ganesha has more social value than a runny nose, simply because more people find Ganesha to be relevant than runny noses (when they don't have a cold, that is). Ganesha is a cultural artifact that binds a people together in the knowledge of a shared heritage, an extremely valuable object for the stability and integrity of a community. Does the concept of Ganesha, which holds value for a small section of the world's population, have as much value as more universal entities like abstract mathematics and van Gogh's sadness? Probably not. In the case of the specific example below, almost certainly not! While we must be careful not to trivialize the importance of religious tokens, efforts to exaggerate them must also be avoided.


In conclusion, I hope that those who find this conclusion meaningful will be able to understand Hindu rituals and mythology in a more rational and integral context. When a bald-headed priest offers up incantations to an elephant-headed deity, it is possible to see ignorance and superstition. It is also possible, at that moment, to think of the Platonic ideal that deity seeks to project (in this case, `new beginnings') and the cultural detritus the deity's cultural identity tows in its wake and to find value in that reminder.

The Divinity Equation

Thanks to the vagaries of the Indian educational system, I believe I encountered recurring decimals a few chapters before I encountered fractions at the tender age of six. I distinctly recall the fact that I thought the teacher had a screw loose, since the concept of an infinite sequence of numbers seemed to make absolutely no sense to me. How, I argued, would 0.9999.... be any different from 1? You can't tell them apart, since if you try to, you have subtracted at a finite decimal position of the former, which should be impossible. Of course, by the time we'd gotten to fractions, I had forgotten all about the question. It was nearly ten years later that I came across the idea that

0.9999... = 1

and sad to relate, disbelieved it and had to be shown the proof. Since then, it has become an important part of my repertoire of math problems which I set teenagers in order to provoke some philosophical thought (much to the chagrin of their protective mothers, who would rather I kept my loopy ideas to myself).

The pathless land

Even though I have known the equation for a long time, it was not until very recently that its metaphysical connotations struck me. When they did, I realized that this equation can be used not just as a tool to get children thinking about mathematical infinity, but also adults about the concept of spiritual and existential infinity. This essay constitutes a brief exposition of the latter. Note that I'm not claiming any epistemological truth behind the equation, I am simply using its interpretation as a metaphor to clarify some aspects of the spiritual quest.

As the yogi delves deeper and deeper into the labyrinths of his mind, he receives (or appears to receive) deep clarifying insights into the nature of reality and his own existence. At times, this occurs as a blinding flash of comprehension and awareness followed by a gradual dissipation of the initial certitude of discovery once reason examines it and finds it irrational. At other times, the insight obtained is a rational understanding of previously unexplained insights, in which case, there is a greater sense of achievement, since the insight obtained is communicable. However, the yogi finds that as he goes deeper, the insights keep subsuming themselves, reaching eventually a stage where even the insights of reason seem to lose their certitude, since they appear to be simply statements made at a shallow plane of understanding when viewed retrospectively.

The same applies to the sense of Bliss and Joy the yogi obtains as part of his spiritual practice. Even as he finds deep and fulfilling bliss at a particular stage of his practice and decides that perpetuating this particular state of Being through every waking moment is the ultimate goal of his practice, a few short months later, he attains an even deeper sense of Bliss that makes the previous experience appear epi-phenomenal and ephemeral in retrospect. The continual subsumption of one's own deepest realizations appears thus, to be an important characteristic of internal inquiry.

Somewhat recursively, this particular insight in my own case has caused me to appreciate the significance of what I have called the Divinity Equation. It is conceivable that further practice will make me feel disinclined to speak of it, since the realization that at the moment appears to me to have some value will then appear to be quite trivial. The reason this particular insight seems non-trivial and communicable at the moment is that it appears to connect the normal consensual plane of human existence with the more esoteric ones I tend to deal with these days, and hence may have some value to others besides myself. I must , therefore, speak of it now before greater wisdom and/or laziness cause me to hold my tongue (and pen).

Metaphysics of the Divinity Equation

The desire to seek experiences and feelings beyond one's current state of awareness is the essential definition of spirituality. Lighting incense sticks, chanting, praying, meditating etc are activities that boost spiritual awareness through inward perception. Falling in love, climbing mountains, working professionally in a team, even drunken revelry are activities that boost spiritual awareness through outward perception. At different stages, however, practitioners realize that the goal they seek is too far away to meaningfully achieve and direct their motivations towards less idealistic goals. The motivation towards deeper spiritual awareness can then, with some anthropomorphism of the concept, be summarized by the slogan `God/Spirit/Meaning is near/realizable', while the existential angst, moral relativism and spiritual apathy that results from diminution in awareness is best summarized by the slogan `God/spirit/meaning is dead/unrealizable'.

The Divinity Equation serves to place both these perceptions of the role of Spirit into perspective. 1, the Godhead, is infinitely far away from 0.9999, the aspirant at his 4th (or nth) level of understanding, if one chooses to count the number of steps of understanding one requires to attain identity with the Godhead. This view reflects existential sorrow and relativism in endeavor (`Spiritualism is a sham/cul-de-sac. Life has no meaning'). 1, the Godhead is infinitesimally close to 0.9999, the aspirant at his 4th (or nth) level of understanding, if one chooses to measure the extent to which one has approximated identity when compared to random existence, e.g. 0.5731. This view reflects faith, often anthropomorphized for cultural and historical reasons (`We are made in the image of Divinity/God. We must try to get closer still.'). Depending on one's perspective of reality and one's own place in it, the Divinity Equation can be used to show that God is both Near and Far.

Everyone is a yogi

Both these paradigms arise in every person's life, and are often intertwined. The young lady standing on the edge of the ocean looking into infinity feels the twinge of tears tug at her eyes, and she doesn't know why. It is the tug of the (n + 1)th 9, pulling her on into the vast progression of deeper and deeper insights that would draw her inexorably closer to Unity. The rock-climber perched precariously on a ledge in the Sierras, looking out upon the view beyond the craggy rock face feels the enormity of existence pour down upon him as a thrill of Life and vitality flows through his body. It is the thrill of the (n + 1)th 9, the flow of a purer current of Life than his body-mind has heretofore known, shredding the canopy of his current existential narrative with the promise of the ever-elusive `beyond'.

Think of a rock concert - thousands of bodies swaying in unison, thousands of minds letting go of their social inhibitions in one vast sea of supercharged rage and libido, the urgent spirit of Youth. Think of devotees chanting in an ashram, a shaman leading an incantation, scientists at a conference, all those brief flashes of social collaboration where the individual vanishes into the throb of the social creature that it has birthed. In each and every one of these instances, if there arises a sense of wonder and awe, it is that (n + 1)th 9 worming its way into the hearts of men, thrilling them with the promise of deeper understanding and a greater freedom than they have ever known.

And since all of us have felt that thrill, since all of us have felt that ennobling flash of intuition that makes life, if for one instant, worth living, we are all, in the deepest and truest meaning of the word, yogis. When one looks at oneself and sees 0.9999, there may arise, depending on one's perspective, a deep sense of unease and inadequacy. The solution, the Tao, the path of Raja Yoga, as far as the equation is concerned, is to merely pay attention to those little dots at the end. One of my heroes, Vivekananda, once said, `Not a sheep, but a lion thou art. Stand up and roar.'. Translated into the metaphor of the Divinity Equation, this should read, `Not 0.9999, but 0.9999... thou art. Stand up and recurse.'

When the music stops

The yogi who knows he is 0.9999..., ever growing, ever evolving, ever seeking after the next elusive 9 in all that he does, is already where he is trying to go, he is already the Divinity that he is trying to become, though he doesn't know it. Unfortunately, as soon as he stops to contemplate what he has accomplished, he is going to run into trouble. We have already talked about the two perspectives that accompany an awareness of the finitude of one's awareness. It then seems natural to presume that the yogi who stops to count how many 9s he has subsumed so far is going to end up doing one of two things (a) realize that he is never going to get where is he is trying to go, become depressed, get married and watch TV or (b) find that he is much farther along than the stupid ordinary mortals he is around, grow a beard and begin pontificating and sermonizing.

The former, the sense of inadequacy, loneliness and apathy, is best described by the statement, `0.9999999 is as many levels of understanding far away from 1 as 0.99. Why bother growing? Why bother learning?' It is something the vast majority of humanity believe in their darker hours, some perpetually. Gazing into infinity, in such cases, creates a sense of loss and existential meaninglessness that few can honestly stand. Thus, the young lady gazing at the sea breaks her reverie by transmuting her desire to see infinity into the desire to be close to her soulmate and lover, subsequently transmuted by practical circumstance into calling up her current boyfriend on her cellphone. The young man climbing and gazing at the view transmutes his desire to lose himself into infinity into the desire to take a picture and move on, further transmuted eventually into a desire to put the picture up on his web album to demonstrate his virility and fitness to his peers. The concert-goers, full of the vigor of life transmute their desire to climb the crescendo of music up into infinity into a desire to head-bang, anon into a desire to climb up over their fellow concert-goers and shout loudly.

The latter view, the egotism, is best described by the statement, `0.9999 is better than 0.99', something a preacher might tell his parishioners, or an ecological conservationist might tell an oil-rig worker. The urge to proselytize and impose one's own understanding of reality on others occupies a significant proportion of the conceptual space of most spiritual movements in the world and, in my opinion, is one of the principal causes for the low opinion that rationalists and bright people everywhere hold of spiritual practitioners in general.

The Divinity Equation expresses the irrationality of proselytism and arrogance of understanding very well. 0.9999 believes he is closer to the Truth than all the foolish and superficial 0.99s he sees milling about. `Why won't you open your hearts to the Spirit and let it transform your lives? And why don't you give us some of your money so we can help you do so?', he piously clamors. Viewed from his perspective, he is absoutely right. 0.9999 is closer to 1 than 0.99. However, 0.99 believes that while he himself is really far away from 1, he also sees that 0.9999 is not much closer either. He, therefore, sees little point in listening to what 0.9999 has to say, since the latter's aggressive pronouncements come not from infinity but from the 4th decimal place.

The first of these two errors, the `just 0.9999' error, is the denial of the agnostic materialist, who looks at infinity, then averts his eyes and insists that all those who do not do the same are foolish and irrational, since however large a sequence of 9s they may subsume, they will still be infinitely far away from true understanding.

The second of these errors, the `look at me, I'm 0.9999' error, is the egotism of the spiritualist. The egotism of the spiritually advanced practitioner leads him to impose his view of the world on others, a process that has the advantage of benefiting several 0.99s who may employ 0.9999's advice to reach 0.999, but which has also the disadvantage of trapping 0.9999 at 0.9999, since he has defined and promulgated his view of the world at his existing level of awareness as the Truth and now cannot easily subsume it further without adopting either secrecy or hypocrisy (or both).

However, not realizing the infinity inherent in the Divinity Equation need not necessarily cause one of either disillusionment or delusion. The ability to perceive clearly the beauty of being `just 0.9999', the ability to silently accept the pain of being afloat on a little boat amidst an infinite ocean, is the causal source of all that humans create in the external world that lasts beyond them. It is what drives the tender ballet of copulation, the emotional agony of musical composition and the existential sadness of great literary creation. While there are some who equate artistic and creative endeavor with spiritual awareness, it should be clear from this exposition that while the first arises from a clear and courageous perception of what `is', the latter subsumes the former in arising from a clear and courageous perception of what is and what may yet be. Spiritual awareness will often manifest itself creatively, yet not all creativity will necessarily be spiritual.

The error of advaita

There is one final erroneous perception of Divinity that we can explain using the Divinity Equation. It is the denial of the ascetic, a subtle error in that it is equivalent to the statement `look at me, I know I am just 0.9999....'. This, while obviously an accurate understanding of the infinity of perception involved in the process of spiritual practice, partakes of both the errors we have discussed earlier. From the denial of the materialist, it takes the concept `just' and from the egotism of the spiritualist, it takes the concept `look at me'.

The advaitin claims that reality is illusory and that what truly exists is definitionally unknowable, unthinkable and unspeakable. He further claims, implicitly, that knowing this is equivalent to supreme understanding. It is difficult to pin down the error in this solipsistic denial of the necessity for inquiry beyond a functional understanding of the Divinity Equation using just the equation itself. Therefore, I must introduce the additional metaphysical statement that knowing that there is an infinite sequence of 9s in the chain that connects the aspirant to the Godhead is not equivalent to following that chain of understanding all the way up.

Building upon this latter view, at every level of awareness, when the thought arises, `This is what is', there must and does eventually follow a realization, `But this is not all that is'. This realization primes the quest for the next level of awareness. The `neti, neti' solipsism that follows from advaita would throw away the understanding `This is what is' as soon as it arises using the premise that it will eventually be refuted (with no understanding of how it will be refuted). The crux of the argument here is that unless the negation of the premise is allowed to arise naturally as a consequence of the aspirant's experience of reality, there will be no motivation to proceed further along the sequence, and the aspirant's level of understanding will remain fixed at its existing level, tied down by the metaphysical assumptions of advaita.

Thus, while knowing that there is an infinite hierarchy of understanding is an important part of the spiritual quest, it is also necessary to experientially climb this hierarchy in order to approach a deeper understanding of the true nature of the awareness that sustains reality. While losing sight of the mountaintop can cause climbers to either lose hope and slide down discouraged or set up tent and pontificate where they are, to claim that one can see where the top of the mountain is and hence need not climb up also appears somewhat unfruitful and is, in a nutshell, the error of advaita.

To conclude, from a simple children's exercise in conceiving and understanding mathematical infinity, we have drawn parallels to some of the metaphysical and spiritual issues that occasionally arise in our personal existence as we seek to assign probabilities to the infinite sample space of our understanding. I hope that it may prove to have had some value, if only as a source of amusement.

The Heart of Shiva

My deep and obsessive fascination with Shiva began as a young child, as the mythology of Shiva addressed the archetype I have always identified with most: the primal ascetic. As psychological growth led me to a more rational understanding of reality, I came to understand Shiva as a primitive archetype corresponding to entropy - hence the appellative mahakala. Shiva came to represent to me the arrow of time, the creative as well as destructive dimension of space-time. Cosmologically speaking, Creation then corresponds metaphorically with the Dance of Shiva, where at every level of complexity, beauty and salience are supported by comparatively large quanta of random permutations at lower levels. Much of my scientific motivation and interest in information-theoretic aspects of physics and biology stems from this metaphysical lemma.

A breakthrough in my understanding of both Shiva and reality was set in motion by my chancing upon an interesting definition of Shiva about nine months ago. Shiva, in some Vedantic tradition the name of which escapes my memory now (UPDATE: Its originally drawn from the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad), is defined as `that which is not'.

Shiva is defined as that which is not.

This thought, while innocuously koan-like in its statement, led to much thought and meditation for me, culminating in a post-rational cathartic experience this summer. It has led me very deep into questions concerning the relationship between the Physical and the Spiritual worlds, the one characterized by the passage of Time and the other by the increase in fullness of Joy. It has also brought together the intellectual and Sufi strands of my thought into a rather interesting synthesis of understanding, where Shiva is now the source of the undifferentiated Consciousness that, in turn, is the source of all reality. Not to put too fine a point to it, I now believe that the story of existence can best be told as being a meditative thought in the heart-mind of Shiva. All insights that we obtain into Nature and our internal selves are reflections of the heart-mind of Shiva; the very possibility of comprehensibility arises only because that which comprehends (awareness) is an instantiation of the heart-mind of Shiva.

I raise these autobiographical details to provide context for what follows here. The Shiva Rudrashtakam is a piece composed by Tulsi Das, one of the greatest and least respected intellectual giants of the Indian Middle Ages. It is written in Sanskrit and contains eight couplets in praise of Shiva. I must confess that my Shaivite tendencies caused me to be rather dismissive of Tulsi Das and his typically Vaishnava (dualistic) compositions when I was younger. The Rudrashtakam changed my views. In the course of eight couplets, Tulsi gradually traverses the philosophical spectrum from definitive non-duality to definitive duality in a shockingly elegant manner.

Here, I translate the Rudrashtakam from a completely non-dualistic viewpoint, thereby thwarting, in a sense, Tulsi's noble intent. I contend, however, that it is of some value to regard the Rudrashtakam as a non-dualistic characterization of the nature of Shiva rather than as an explanation of the essential unity of the dualistic and non-dualistic understandings of Shiva. While the latter is more intellectually salient and deep, the former is more emotionally charged and potent as a meditative aid.

Lastly, I am sure some grammarians might take offense at what they might consider liberties I have taken with the language in my translation and metaphysical innovations that I have sought fit to introduce. I therefore emphasize that this is a subjective translation by a scientist in the 21st century, not an objective one by a Vedic scholar. Without further ado, let us delve into it. Most lines are translated individually, making two notes per couplet. The seventh couplet is translated in one place.

Shiva Rudrashtakam

namami shami shana nirvana rupam vibhum vyapakam brahma veda swarupam

We sing of Consciousness: the ontological fundament of the physical Universe, the contemplation of whose nature is the source of inexhaustible Joy. We sing of that which is all-powerful for those who meditate upon energy (latent motion), all-encompassing for those who meditate upon motion (activated energy) and the primal cause for those who meditate upon causation (source of motion-energy).

nijam nirgunam nirvikalpam niriham chidakasha makasha vasam bhajeham

We know that to be Shiva which is the devourer of the interior perception; that which is beyond categories, beyond qualities, beyond causality and differentiation. We know that to be Shiva which is the devourer of the exterior perception, the deconstructor of all narratives of external reality, who exists beyond the physical universe.

nirakaramonkara moolam turiyam gira gyana gotitamisham girisham

We know that to be Shiva that is formless yet forms the substrate for all levels of Consciousness, the generator of Turiya, undifferentiated Consciousness. We know that to be Shiva that transcends all these levels, beyond individuated comprehension.

karalam mahakala kalam kripalam gunagara samsara param natoham

Shiva is that which unfolds both the involution and evolution of the Universe. Shiva exists beyond the realm of physical reality.

tusharadri samkasha gauram gambheeram manobhuta koti prabha shri shariraram

Shiva manifests in external awareness as the perilous, blinding radiance of the mightiest snow covered mountains. Shiva manifests in internal awareness as a formless form verily defined by the reflections of countless rays of light.

sphuranmauli kallolini charu ganga lasaddhalabalendu kanthe bhujanga

From the creativity of Shiva springs the sustenance of all that lives. From the will of Shiva spring all mysteries and death.

chalat kundalam bhru sunetram vishalam prasannanam nilakantham dayalam

All archetypes of physical beauty stem from Shiva, all aestheticism is but the comparison of the percept of the object to the percept of Shiva. All archetypes of morality stem from Shiva, all virtues are judged relative to the anthropomorphized nature of Shiva.

mrigadhisha charmambaram mundamalam priyam shankaram sarvanatham bhajami

All asceticism finds its root in Shiva, all practices of yoga and meditation stem from the desire to perceive Shiva. We sing, therefore, of Shiva, the universally beloved.

prachandam prakrashtham pragalbham paresham akhandam ajam bhanukoti prakasham

The ferocity of storms, the luminosity of stars, the indivisibility of unity are all pale reflections of the potency of Shiva. Shiva sows the Seed for all of Creation, and appears in the perception of all that is created as the brilliance of a billion suns.

trayah shool nirmoolanam shool panim bhajeham bhavani patim bhavagamyam

The thought of Shiva heals suffering through alienation from the Source in the physical, subtle and causal realms. The thought of Shiva is accessible only when thought of the self dissipates through the arousal of Divine Love.

kalatita kalyana kalpanta kari sadasajjananda data purari

The thought of Shiva suspends awareness of Time, it generates deep insights and transformative catharses. The thought of Shiva always rejoices those who seek it sincerely.

chidananda sandoha mohapahari prasida prasida prabho manmathari

The interior representation of Shiva takes the form of supreme awareness and bliss, dispelling delusion. Therefore, we sing and embrace the thought of Shiva.

na yavad umanath padarvindam bhajantiha loke pare va naranam

na tavatsukham shanti santapa nasham prasida prabho sarva bhutadhivasam

A fascination with external categories and causalities associated with them inevitably leads to uncertainty, alienation and unhappiness which manifest themselves as deleterious transactions with the external environment. We sing and remain mindful of Consciousness that moves all thoughts and action so that they may always remain useful.

na janami yogam japam naiva pujam natoham sada sarvada shambhu tubhyam

Self-awareness requires no denominational practices or rituals. The only requirement is a continual and persistent mindfulness of the interior representations of Shiva.

jara janma dukhaugha tatapyamanam prabho pahi apannamamisha shambhu

It is miraculous that finite instantiations of the Infinite can hope to merge with it. We sing, therefore, in the hope of perceiving the heart of Shiva.

Thus concludes the Rudrashtakam, a metaphorical device that always helps me in my meditation and mood. As a matter of fact, during a period of ecstasy in summer, I recorded a musical version that continues to give me joy every time I listen to it. Among other things, it reminds me of the paltry few coins that I earned busking with this in my repertoire at the Vondelpark in Amsterdam.

My very own bildungsroman

Most young writers write at least one bildungsroman before they are out of their early twenties. Some, like Salinger and Hesse, hardly ever write anything else. I have often berated myself for not having done so while I was younger. I fear my meditative practice has subdued my existential angst and questions to a great degree. At the same time, my completely solitary existence has removed my mind from social contexts, making it difficult for me to frame my ideas in the form of narratives involving people. For these two reasons, I think I am now too old to be able to write `coming of age' literature.

I am happy to say, however, that, apart from poems and songs bemoaning my meaningless existence, I did write something of substantial length as a fiery and vacuous 22 year old: a three act play. While some of the metaphysics in it appears tacky now and some of the pop culture references gratuitous and pathetic, I am convinced that I could not have painted a better picture of the artist as a young man. Reading it three years after it was written, I find it quite unbelievable that I managed to weave in such a large number of events that occurred in the lives of my friends and myself in such a short piece of writing. Unfortunately, this means that several of my readers will find it hard to appreciate many of the parochial references and inside jokes - this is unabashedly a play written by a student of IIT Madras, for his college peers resident in the Godavari Hostel and with several people he knew at the time as his characters. For the same reason, the language is deliberately stilted and `Indian-pidginized' at times to capture and transmit the memory of times and places that have meant much to me.

Finally, and rather interestingly, I wrote this play over a period of two days, having been motivated by special circumstances. These special circumstances were as follows: there was this girl at my college an year my junior who had a sibling pact with me. To her mind, I was supposed to be to her what the Glass Man is supposed to be to Amelie. Her heart was set (for a brief period of time) upon a good-looking young lad in her own batch, among whose many virtues modesty and diffidence played a prominent role. This was intolerable to young Amelie and caused her to shed frustrated tears in my bosom one fine day.

Being a man of action, I determined to bring them together in an elegant manner. Since the kid in question lived in the same dormitory as I and was enthusiastic about theater, I resolved that I would have my dormitory put up a play in the annual IIT intramural competition that would allow me to cast the two young people as intensely passionate lovers. Having decided this, I apprised young Amelie of my intentions and she went away on her tippy-toes strewing roses out of her hat. The question of finding a good script, however, was to cause me some trouble. I could not think of a good idea, so I resolved to write one myself. Hence, this play emerged as an act of almost complete altruism (mixed with a small element of the desire to show off) from the practical point of view.

With one last point of order, I give you `Maskless at the masquerade'. The point is as follows: when I had written this play, the characters were all drawn from people that I actually knew, with their actual names. To preserve their privacy, I have changed their names here (except Fudu who has the coolest part anyway, and some of my old druggie friends who probably won't care one way or the other). I am rather inclined to give young Amelie's identity away as well as repayment for her asinine behavior a couple of months ago in Vienna. However, since she has given me to understand that her mother keeps trying to look up her daughter on Google in order to assure herself that the apple of her eye is acquitting herself the way all nice `Tam Brahm' girls should, I will desist.

Maskless at the masquerade

Cast

Siddhartha

Dad

Mom

Nerdy stereotype – Qumran Saleem

Lover (male) – Kevin

Lover (female) - Amelie

Pushy stereotype – Shikhar Fonsore

Cool stereotype – Gautam N Asokan `Fudu'

Faceless person

ACT I

(Scene – a typical urban sitting room – sofa set back center, chairs symmetrical up front. Discovered seated – Mom and Dad. Dad is impatiently leafing through a newspaper, Mom is sitting sullenly agitated. The atmosphere is one of an uneasy ceasefire)

Mom: How can you be so phlegmatic about this? Siddhu’s absolutely stopped studying and all you can do is sit and read about random acts of parliament.

Dad: It’s a lot better than having to think about that boy and all HIS acting, for one. (looks up to wall clock) It’s 7 already, and he still isn’t back from his basketball. (Harrumphs impatiently and resumes reading)

Mom: But, don’t you think he’s having some emotional problems, you know, like the ones that psychologist was talking about on NDTV the other day.

Dad: Emotional problems forsooth! What kind of emotional problems, may I ask? Girls? With a face like his, do you suppose a girl would look at him twice? The boy is plain lazy. Spoilt and lazy! If only I had been firmer with him when he was younger …

(Enter Siddhartha stage left, dribbling basketball, gauges the scene, stops anticipating a harangue. Dad dips back into his paper)

Mom: Didn’t I tell you to be back by 6, Siddhu? You know study time is from 6 to 10, don’t you?

(Sid makes an elaborate grimace, then sits on the chair left front and closes his eyes)

Mom: Don’t be insolent, Siddhartha. You know your father and I have been worried about your studies. How can we feel reassured when you spend all your time playing and roaming around town?

Dad: See that, this girl’s got 96.8 in CBSE …. No! No! That photo down there in the corner. Can you think of the kind of competition this generation has to deal with? It beats me. Of course, some geniuses don’t have to concern themselves with that at all, you know? They will loaf about reading novels and playing stupid computer games and marks will take care of themselves.

Mom: Are you listening, Siddhu? Your batchmates have all matured and are taking their work seriously. Your father and I think it’s high time you did the same. These four or five years are going to decide the course of your life, son. You can’t expect to close your eyes and make that reality go away, can you?

Answer me Siddhartha, your father and I have been asking you this since you were in 9^th class. How are you going to get into IIT if you persist in studying just two hours a day and associating with all the under-achievers in your class?

Oh, I know a way to loosen the strong, silent types … yes I do!

(Goes over and pulls his ear)

Siddhartha: Ouch! Oh yeah! I’ll show you …

(Grabs her around the waist and playfully shoves her on to the sofa)

No Ma! Seriously! Can’t we move on from this subject ever? You said it yourself; you’ve been on it for the last four years. Aren’t you ever tired of it?

Mom: I am tired of you acting like a kid, Siddhu. You have to grow up and start acting your age. In five years, you will be …

Siddhartha: Yes I know … a grown man, contributing member of society, responsibilities, duties, income tax returns, blah. Let’s change the subject, Ma.

Dad: How long are you going to keep changing the subject, son? You have to grow up and take charge of your life, haven’t you? Do you imagine you’re going to have us to take care of your needs all the time?

Siddhartha: So what would you rather have me do, Dad? Become a door-to-door salesman peddling soap to start earning my own keep and stop burdening you with having to pay for my food?

Mom: Siddhu! Don’t you dare talk to your father like that. All we want to know is what you plan to do with your life, son. That isn’t a very great imposition, is it?

Siddhartha: But this is so ridiculous, Ma. On the one hand you people want me to grow up and be independent. On the other, you are asking me to seek YOUR approval for what I want to do. Don’t you see how you are contradicting yourself?

Mom: A glib tongue doesn’t put food on the table, son. You can mock us and call us old-fashioned if you like. But don’t forget where our old-fashioned hard work got us.

Dad: Your grandfather was a clerk making 60 rupees a month. And with those 60 rupees he gave me and your uncle an education. And I can never remember ever asking him for anything. You hear me? Those were the days when a youngster would never dream of answering back or staring insolently at elders, as seems to have become the fashion these days. Ah! But I bore you, I am so very sorry. Go ahead inside; your video game must await you eagerly seeing that the two of you are seldom apart.

Mom: Why don’t you show Siddhu that advertisement about that Brilliant Test Series? I am sure it’s a good thing. Have you heard of this before, Siddhu?

Siddhartha: Um … actually Ma, I think I ought to tell you people now. I don’t want to go to IIT. I am thinking of stopping studying for it.

(Stunned silence, Dad puts paper down and then takes it up again)

I’m serious. I don’t see why I should waste my time trying to get something just because it’s hard to get. I don’t know what engineering is. I wouldn’t know a worm gear from a hole in the ground. I simply can’t see what the whole hullabaloo about getting into engineering is about.

Mom: Well? Aren’t you going to say something?

Dad: Who me? Say something? Is there anything left for me to say? Is there anything new in what he says? “Thinking of stopping studying”? When was the last time anyone saw this boy study?

Yes, I understand you perfectly, Siddhu. You and all your generation are a bunch of spoilt brats. We have given you all the comforts of life without your having to make any of the sacrifices we had to make. You people don’t understand the value of money, of discipline, of hard work, of anything except your desire for instant gratification.

Very well, Siddhartha. You know how we are bound to provide for you, and that knowledge makes you arrogant. Go ahead and do as you please. Life teaches everyone, my son. She’ll teach you too. Mark my words.

(Exit Dad stage right)

Mom: Don’t mind your Dad, Siddhu. He’s been tense these days over that Reliance portfolio. But you know, you really shouldn’t scare us like that. What else would you do if you didn’t do engineering? You dropped Bio after 10^th, didn’t you?

Siddhartha: I am thinking of joining the merchant navy or the NDA

Mom: What’s that? The merchant navy? My son sweeping up decks on luxury cruises and pimping for the tourists? Siddhartha, your father is right; you are incorrigible and lazy and a disgrace to the family.

(Flurried exit Mom stage right)

The merchant navy – what are youngsters coming to these days ……

(Enter Qumran stage left)

Qumran: Hey Siddhartha, there’s a quiz at Landmark tomorrow. I’ve been looking for partners. You want to come?

Sid: No man! I am in the dog-house here. I can’t go out more than once this week now and I have a ball-game on Saturday.

Qumran: Oh, never mind then. By the way, are you done with my GEB yet?

Sid: It’s more a journey than a destination, I guess. Nah, just kidding; I’ll give it back to you by the weekend. See you later.

(Enter Kevin stage left, exit Qumran stage left)

Sid: Kevin my man! Come along in and bring the roses back to my cheeks. What is my favorite beatnik up to these days?

Kevin: You know what Sid? The one thing I absolutely loathe about people who drink? They have no taste for refinement. I was reading ‘Catcher’ the other day and my bro came in from some birthday party or the other. And I tried talking to him about it and he started calling Salinger all kinds of names. Blah!

Sid: You were reading Salinger? What was this, about the hundred and seventeenth time?

Kevin: How can you keep count of Salinger’s books, Sid? They are more than literature. They are Truth, with a capital T.

Sid: You should go talk to Amelie. She says the same thing about Ayn Rand.

(Pretends cleaning his tongue)

Blah! I took that intellectual prostitute’s accursed name again.

Kevin: I’m with you on that, people who like Ayn Rand ought to be lined up against walls and shot. Er …. Do you know what Amelie is up to, by the way?

Sid: Ha ha ha! This is so pathetic. Why don’t you tell her you love her, you poor little dweeb? How come the wells of your eloquence dry up as soon as she shows up?

Kevin: Who me? Amelie is a rag, a bone and a hank of hair. Whatever put that idea in your head? And wipe that silly grin off your face.

What? What are you implying? Oh God! You’ve been talking to Keerthi. I’ll murder that empty-headed flibbertigibbet, if it’s the last thing I do.

Sid: Relax man! Where’s the fire? Now, why don’t you tell me about it?

Kevin: It’s all lies, man! How could you ever imagine such a ridiculous idea?

Sid: Well, I must confess I wouldn’t have considered it very likely, but I think we needn’t go into proving the thing any more. Look at yourself dude, you’re positively blushing. If you start fluttering your lashes now, I just might end up kissing you!

(Enter Shikhar stage left, excitedly)

Shikhar: Sid! Kevin! Ah, this is my lucky day. I wanted to talk to both of you.

Sid: Hey man Fonsore. Have you heard the latest about our man Kevin?

Kevin: For the love of God and the fear of my fist, Sid …

Shikhar: Whatever, whatever. You know what they’re doing at Landmark this year?

Sid: Er… selling books, as always?

Kevin: I think he means the quiz. It’s tomorrow right?

Sid: You’ve never quizzed in your life Fonsore, why do you want to start now?

Shikhar: Because, my dear morons, this year they’re giving out certificates of merit to all the participants, not just the finalists.

Sid: So?

Shikhar: So you get a certificate of merit from Landmark for just putting in an appearance, talk about manna dropping from heaven.

Sid: I’ll pass

Kevin: Yeah, me too. Fonsore, did anyone ever tell you what a huge phony you are?

Shikhar: Yeah well, tell you what Kevin, I’ll take being me over reading soppy books and writing god-awful stream of consciousness blog posts angling for ego-massaging comments on blogspot any day. See you guys, got to run.

(Exit Shikhar stage left)

Kevin: What on earth was that supposed to mean? You dig, Sid?

(Enter Fudu stage left)

Fudu: Oh man! I’ve never been this embarrassed in my life, you guys. I swear I’m never going to a play with my Mum ever again.

Kevin: Let me guess, she dragged you to an uber-feminist club and made you watch something loosely based on Fountainhead, did she? You want us to witness your will?

Fudu: No man, it was this stupid slapstick comedy with all kinds of explicit sex jokes.

Sid: Oh mama!

Fudu: Jeez man. And not some subtle double entendre stuff you can pretend to not understand. It was stuff like, “Chinese men have small penis. Ha ha ha”.

Kevin: Brilliant. What did you do?

Fudu: I don’t know man, it was so embarrassing. I am sure she knew I understood everything that was going on. What was I supposed to do?

(Enter faceless person stage left)

FP: Excuse me, could you help me get where I want to go?

Kevin: First left, third right, look for a sign reading something I have no clue about.

FP: Thank you.

(Exit faceless person stage left)

Sid: Yeah man, that happens all the time when we have the TV on. I’ll be watching something on Discovery like a good boy and suddenly they’ll start talking about pheromones and intercourse and sexuality and all that jazz and I won’t know which way to look.

(Lights fade)

Kevin: All hail the mighty remote control.

Fudu: I swear man; I always wish people came with ON/OFF buttons.

END OF ACT I

ACT II

(Scene – Siddhartha’s college room. He is lying in bed reading a novel. Enter Qumran stage left, carrying a large piece of thermocol and a razor blade)

Qumran: Hey Sid! What’s up with you? Mind if I work in your room for a bit? LED is playing loud rock music next door to my room; I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing.

(Sits down and starts paring away the thermocol carefully)

Siddhartha: What are you doing, Saleem?

Qumran: It’s a very interesting thing you know, I drew up the blue-print last week. In a nutshell, I have to reduce the size of this thermocol piece by a factor of four, while retaining all its essential functions.

Sid: Er … What exactly are its essential functions?

Qumran: Well, imagine if you could talk to people and do all your email and surf the web and watch TV and porno movies all on a device no larger than your fist, what would you be like?

Sid: A rather myopic and perverse couch potato with a hyperactive thumb, I would suppose. So is this supposed to be a PDA?

Qumran: The very latest thing. And if I can pull off this particular miniaturization procedure, I am sure I’ll get a patent for it, at the very least.

Sid: I don’t know man. What’s the point of having a Personal Digital Assistant if you end up never wanting to do anything?

Qumran: Eh?

Sid: I mean, you need an assistant when you’re running out of time, right? What you are trying to do is to give people more time, right? You’re trying to make things work faster; you’re trying to make lives move faster. But what are you going to do with the time you save?

Qumran: Simple! I’ll miniaturize the PDA further, and further, till you get nano-PDAs that fit into your body cells and interact with each other and the old human dream of telepathy and telekinesis will be realized. Have you no romance, Sid?

Sid: Well, the way I see it, the only thing all these little ringing things we’ve started carrying around has done is devalue the ideals of conversation and intimacy. What happens when everyone has a cell phone and can talk to everyone else for free?

(Enter Fudu stage left)

Oh hi Fudu, what’s up man?

No man Qumran, the only difference your little toys are making is that they are helping people fool themselves into satisfied complacency better and quicker.

Fudu: Oh boy, has he gone on one of his anti-cell phone tirades again? Relax Sid; we know you’ve had a traumatic long-distance relationship. But you can’t get all of us to go back to making cave-paintings, can you?

Qumran: Exactly! We have to keep moving, we have to keep evolving.

Sid: You think a little box that plays Beethoven and Bach atrociously and distracts you at all the wrong times and places you at the service of every Tom, Dick and Harry every second of your life represents progress?

Fudu: Ok, Sid. Breathe! Face it; you are in cell phone withdrawal. Just don’t talk about it.

Qumran: I suppose that should do for now. I’ll catch you guys later, men. And Fudu is right, you know. Maybe you should join one of those ‘Art of Living with a cell phone and stress ulcers’ classes. I joined one last week so I can chat with my project guide.

Fudu: Why on earth would anyone want to associate with a project guide outside class?

Qumran: That’s how it works, I am told. Vijay who went to UIUC last year told me he did that and ‘put Sundays’ and got a ripping recommendation.

Sid: What’s he mean by ‘put Sundays’?

Abo! Qumran, you idiot! He must have said, ‘put fundaes’, you ass. He meant he went and sucked up to him.

Qumran: OOOH!

Ok, it’s not that funny, you guys. Yeah, fine, laugh all you will. I’m off. See you later.

(Exit Qumran stage left)

Fudu: Man! This beats everything. Actually, you know what, Sid. I think Qumran is onto something good here. My project guide goes to a yoga class. I think I’ll go and join him. At the least, he won’t razz me as badly if he remembers that we squirt water through the nose and do other weird stuff together.

Sid: Yeah right! I’ll go check if mine is into Russian ballet or tap-dancing, I guess. Man, I hate this recommendation hypocrisy on campus. I feel like talking to professors because they seem like interesting people and then stop myself, thinking they’ll think I’m angling for a reco. It’s positively sickening!

Fudu: Well, what if they think you’re angling for recos? You know you aren’t, right?

Sid: Yeah, but I’d hate to be thought of as a sycophant.

Fudu: Ok, whatever man. You’re the one who says he doesn’t care for what other people say, not me. Your trouble, Sid, is that you think too much. Try being superficial, like me.

Which reminds me, you went and scored grass from that Poonamallee place last weekend, didn’t you? You have any left?

Sid: Nah! I just got it for these guys. They’re too worried about that new ACP guy who’s cracking down on marijuana dealers, so Nishant and I went and got it for them. You know I don’t do pot any more man, I told you.

Fudu: Correction – you don’t do any pot until someone in the wing scores any. You did smoke up with Haddi and Srinath last weekend, didn’t you?

Sid: The weekend before the last, and that was in that whole post-GRE unhappiness week, so that doesn’t count.

Fudu: Ok anyway, anyway, anyway … the point is, either do it and be happy about it, or don’t do it and don’t think about it. But don’t do it and then moon about how you shouldn’t be doing it.

Sid: Yeah, I guess you’re right. But bottom line, I’m not doing any tonight.

Fudu: Why not man? It gets you high, no?

Sid: Doh, don’t give me that initiation speech. I’m sure I figure higher on the Dean’s dope list than you after all the pot we did last semester. And I know it hurts the body and mind about as much as watching a stupid movie.

Fudu: There you go, you said it. I don’t get why people are so paranoid about marijuana, you know.

Oooh! Marijuana is a D-R-U-G. Marijuana is B-A-D. Everyone who smokes pot is a danger to society. Man, all these people should go read some Huxley and listen to some Floyd.

Sid: Fudu man, the point isn’t that dope is bad. The point is that dope is pointless.

Fudu: So what is it that has a point then?

Sid: I don’t know. That’s the one thing I want to know – what is the point? If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask any more questions.

Fudu: So, since you aren’t sure you have a platform to stand on, you can’t really criticize my viewpoint, can you?

Sid: I don’t know about that. I think South Park put my theory in a nutshell when they get Stan to say, “The only bad thing about doing grass is that it makes you feel ok with being bored instead of trying to get rid of that boredom by learning stuff and being creative and all.” You remember that episode?

(Lights fade)

Fudu: Which one was it? Let me see …

Sid: My future self and me: sixth season I think.

Fudu: Oh, that, huh.

ACT II

SCENE TWO

(Scene – a bench in a park stage back center left, Sid is discovered lying on a mat under a tree with a book on his face, he appears to have nodded off)

(Enter Kevin stage left, he is dressed down and is reciting lines from the Rubaiyat)

Kevin: A book of verse beneath the bough

A loaf of bread, a flask of wine – and thou

Beside me singing in the wilderness

(Sid stirs, wakes up and watches the proceedings)

No, damn … she won’t like the reference to wine, and I hate drunks. And besides, they tell me her singing voice curdles milk. She’ll either think I’m being sarcastic, or she’ll get over-enthusiastic and end up singing ‘Hotel California’ and defiling my aesthetic sensibilities. Let’s think of something else … hmm, how does that Byron thing go?

She walks in beauty like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies

(Enter Amelie stage left; Kevin can’t see her for the nonce)

And all that’s good of dark or bright

Meet in her aspect and her nose

Oh heck! Why do I keep thinking about her nose?

Amelie: What about my nose?

Kevin: Oh not yours, I was thinking of Cyrano de Bergerac … no wait, I was thinking of …

Amelie: Doesn’t matter.

Kevin: But I was thinking of …

Amelie: Doesn’t matter.

Kevin: But…

Amelie: DOESN’T MATTER, you silly dolt!

(She sits beside him, he squirms and slides to the far side of the bench, then starts sidling closer)

And I have two assignments to submit tomorrow so I can’t stay too long. So, let’s talk.

Kevin: Oh yes, “A book of verse beneath the bough…”

Amelie: Kevin …

Kevin: Er, yes my love?

Amelie: Must you always say things you think I would like to hear? That is so very childish. Now, tell me how much you love me.

Kevin: I love you very much, my love

Amelie: Do you think I am very beautiful?

Kevin: Er, no my love.

Amelie: What! But yesterday you told me you thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Kevin: Yes, but today is Saturday and our “Art of Living with a cell phone and ulcers” teacher has assigned Saturday as the “I shall not tell lies today” day.

Amelie: Ok, that settles it; I shall not see you on Saturdays as long as you stick to your stupid class.

Kevin: I’ll make up for it by telling you tonight all the things that are absolutely true, what say?

But you have to stop being angry with me.

Amelie: Aw, my poor little Kevin-kins. There there …

(They embrace)

Kevin: I don’t think there is anything left for me to say.

Amelie: Tell me this will last forever.

Kevin: Ok, this will last forever.

Amelie: Tell me we shall never be apart, except now when I have my 9.4 grade point average to look after and later when I shall be a high-powered executive running my own software company with no time for the family and a bunch of affairs.

Kevin: We shall never be apart, except now when you have your 9.4 grade point average and later when you shall have your own software company and have no time for the family.

Amelie: Ah Kevin, I am so lucky. I never thought I’d step out of school and find the perfect man for myself at the very first try. It seems almost pre-destined.

Kevin: I should think so. The first guy you ever saw in your life is, without a doubt, perfect for you. Just as you are perfect for me, though I can’t for the love of God figure out why.

Amelie: Ah! This is the relationship I’ve been looking for all my life. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. What an overpowering sense of security!

Ah yes! This is love, the one and only love, without a shadow of doubt. Take me into your arms, Kevin … But wait, it’s 10 already, Sweatha is going to be extremely red in the face if I don’t get back and do our assignment. I must run, Kevin-kins, good night.

(Exit Amelie stage left, Kevin sinks back on seat, waits a bit impatiently then scrabbles about for his cell phone)

Kevin: (over the phone) Yes, it’s me, I wanted to ask you, er … have you eaten something, my love? Oh, you have? Then … er… have you enough clean bed-sheets? Oh, you do? Then …er…er… (Coughs and wheezes) I think I have a fever; I’ll get myself to bed. What? Oh no, I’m fine. No, no, I don’t need any medicines. No, I’m not getting any. You’re going to bring some down to me? Oh well, if you must. I’m waiting.

(Exults, exits stage left, Sid gets up and looks after him)

Sid: As Puck would say, “Lord what fools these mortals be.” But why do I have a hard-on?

(Boisterous entry stage right – marching band with tom-toms, cutting capers, bringing up the rear is Shikhar Fonsore, fiddling about with a pencil on a writing pad)

Sid: Who? What? Where?

Shikhar: Oh, hi Sid old man, would you mind moving a little to the left, I want these guys to get their parts pat. Move it people.

(Band starts marching in an Escher knot, Fonsore keeps fiddling with pen and paper)

Sid: But … but, who are these guys? And what are you trying to do?

Shikhar: Oh them … they are QMS coordinators and I’m trying to get ISO certification for our marching act.

Sid: What the … what on earth is a QMS coordinator? And why in heaven’s name would you want to get certification for something you’re doing for yourself?

Shikhar: They do it every year anyway, don’t they? Makes sense to do it properly, right?

Sid: But you do it to give people a chance to untangle their own Escher knots, right? Why do you need to go to all this bother to have some arbitrary auditors to come in and stick a stamp on a piece of paper and give it to you?

Shikhar: It’s about credibility, Sid. We have to appear competent, or else.

Sid: Or else what? We don’t get sponsorship? We don’t get money to do stupid things like build paper bridges that melt in the rain and weird towers that can’t stand up for themselves?

Shikhar: Hey Sid, you think you’ve got it all figured out because you read Nietzsche and all those other constipated old fogies. But what I am doing here is where the real world is at. And you have to get real at some point or the other, my idealistic young friend.

Sid: Not if that reality comprises of getting other people’s approval for doing things neither I nor they care about.

(Enter faceless person stage right)

FP: Excuse me, could you help me get to where I want to go?

Shikhar: Second right, first left, look for a big tree and turn right again beyond it.

FP: Thank you.

(Exit FP stage left)

Shikhar: You just don’t get it do you, Sid? Here I am, trying hard to get Six Sigma going on the ground, and all you do is sit in your room and listen to Floyd and read Kant and criticize people who are trying to be somebody.

Sid: You do know that Floyd moved on from Six Sigma, don’t you? By the way, what is this famous thing? I’ve always wanted to know.

(Sits on bench)

Shikhar: Ah, now you’re talking. It’s a beautiful concept. The fundamental objective of the Six Sigma methodology is the implementation of a measurement-based strategy that focuses on process improvement and variation reduction through the application of Six Sigma improvement projects. This is accomplished through the use of two Six Sigma sub-methodologies: DMAIC and DMADV…

(Sid falls asleep, lights fade)

… Gives us a standard to judge scope for initializing optimization procedures, which help … (voice fades)

END OF ACT II

ACT III

(Scene – a metaphorical setting. Qumran is sitting at a desk covered with thick dusty books and esoteric paraphernalia back left. On top of his books, he has a lantern burning. Kevin is sitting on the floor, front center, with a whisky flask and scribbling in a tattered little notebook. Fonsore is sitting at a table right back talking on a very small piece of thermocol and using it to do a lot of things; he keeps mouthing instructions to a lot of imaginary people. Fudu is dressed like a dandy and is sitting at a dinner table back center, starting from the outside and working his way in. Siddhartha is discovered roaming around with a pillow in his hand, impatiently looking for a place to sleep)

Siddhartha: Can’t find no peace, can’t find no peace …

(Goes to Qumran)

What can I do, Qumran? I just can’t find anywhere to lay my head down and find peace. Tell me, what must I do? Where can I go?

Qumran: I told you before, didn’t I, Sid? Focus, focus is the key. Look at me now; I have spent 27 years of my life designing hetero-junction bipolar transistors. This is living, my friend.

Sid: So, you’ve basically spent your life tinkering around with little boxes that fit into bigger boxes and you’re content with that?

Qumran: It isn’t what you do that matters, Sid. It’s what you feel doing it. I work all the time, look at this lamp burning midnight oil. We are both partners in our lonely toil late into the hours of the night.

Sid: You could be right, Qumran. But, if to burn the midnight oil in the bright light of the day, to lock oneself up in a gloomy attic forever and never see the beauty of the world is happiness, then I fear happiness is not for me.

(Walks off, finds Kevin)

Kevin! What are you doing, you nut! What are you doing sitting here on the street like that? Ugh! Your breath reeks of whisky. When did you take this up?

Kevin! Talk to me, man. What’s happened to you?

Kevin: Eh! Oh, it’s you Sid? Nothing’s wrong, I’m just a little bird, see me fly. Tweet, tweet.

Sid: Get a grip on yourself, dude. You can’t be drunk in such a clichéd way, boy!

Kevin: Drunk! Who’s drunk? I’m in love, Sid, I’m in love.

Sid: Who is it now? Don’t tell me you’re still mooning over that fickle wench! I told you those Saturday night OAT movies would dish you.

Kevin: How does it matter, man? You know what I’ve realized? To be in love, you don’t need to like other people, you know. You need to hate yourself and despise yourself so you feel like looking for approval from others. I can’t begin to tell you how much in love I am Sid, because I hate myself so much.

(Pulls out flask and takes a long swig)

You want some?

Sid: I wish I could, Kevin. Nothing in the world makes sense anyway, so why not knock oneself senseless with this thing that burns and quenches. But this is just another way of fooling myself, another way of trying to cheat Life. I guess I have to keep looking, Kevin, though that burns me even more.

(Walks off to Fudu’s table)

Fudu, old friend, you’re the one who always had all the answers. Tell me now, what do I do?

Fudu: Whoa Sid! If this is another one of your stupid women sob stories, I don’t want to hear it.

Sid: No man, I’m serious. I just don’t know what to do about anything. Nothing in my life makes sense; I can’t take it any more.

Fudu: Fisk fork for the fish, meat fork for the meat, salad fork for the salad, you’ve got to learn to play the game, Sid. It’s pointless and hypocritical if you are bright enough, but there’s no getting away from it, dude. Face it.

Sid: So are you happy playing around with forks and spoons and making after-dinner toasts. Is that all you ever wanted to accomplish in your life? Is that the best you can do with that sharp mind of yours? Be a droopy, moldy little sinecure?

Fudu: Yeah, a happy, contented moldy little sinecure

Sid: I wish I could believe you, Fudu. But if I did, where would that leave us? Would that mean that everyone bright enough to realize how superficial the natural human plane of existence is should become a little wallflower that sits around and looks pretty, and leave it to the idiots to decide how humanity evolves and progresses?

Fudu: That’s just your ego speaking, Sid. If you ask me, humanity is old enough to take care of itself. Be a capitalist, Sid – if you take care of yourself at the micro level, the big picture will take care of itself.

Sid: I don’t see that happening.

Fudu: That’s because your conceit won’t allow you to believe that the world is going to survive and flourish without your unique contribution. It doesn’t matter what you do or I do, Sid. We’ll all just jump around, by ourselves or through hoops and then die. How does it matter?

Sid: Then why not just die?

Fudu: You’re going to anyway, right? Since that is one thing that is sure to come to you, I’d say it makes more sense to try those things that you’re not sure about.

Sid: You scare me, Fudu, you really do. Some people have to raise their hands to be counted; some people have to believe that they can make a difference.

Fudu: Right. Why does it have to be you?

Sid: That is a choice I make.

Fudu: Then you have to live with it. But if you really want to make a difference, you’ll have to believe something material really matters a lot to you, and I don’t see that happening, Sid. I don’t see that happening, man.

Sid: I don’t see anything happening, and I’m waiting for something to happen and tell me which way I ought to go. I’m not walking; I’m just sitting by the road, waiting for a guide to come by.

(Moves to Fonsore’s table)

Fonsore, you always had the most happening around you always. You always had the most ideas and energy. Talk to me, I’m confused. I can’t see how I can …

Shikhar: I’d love to talk, Sid, but, as you can see, time is money here, and I can never get enough of either. You can take an appointment if you want me to be your mentor, if you like.

Sid: My mentor, eh? Oh well, I don’t really see why not. Here …

Shikhar: Please be seated. Good afternoon, my dear sir. I can see that you have come here through your feeling of ineffectuality and low self-worth. You feel that you are inadequate in fulfilling your organizational role and this causes you extreme anguish. Fear not, with my patented method, “The four secrets of successful sycophantic promotion tactics”, you will get ahead in less than three weeks or else you get your money back. Now as you will no doubt have noticed …

Sid: Er, Fonsore …

Shikhar: That the corporate hierarchy has a very predictable bureaucratic structure …

Sid: Fonsore!

Shikhar: And it shall be our objective to study its strengths and weaknesses …

Sid: Fonsore!

Shikhar: …and … Ouch! What?

Sid: You’re missing the point.

Shikhar: No, no, as my pamphlet on “Successful Logic Obfuscation” conclusively proves, the man in the three piece suit and top hat is always right. You’re missing the point.

Sid: You don’t have a top hat, and I don’t feel inadequate in what I want to do. I don’t have a reason to do anything. Why should I?

Shikhar: Is that a trick question, or what? To get ahead, obviously.

Sid: Get ahead of what? Get ahead of whom?

Shikhar: Other people, of course.

Sid: So, essentially, if you were the only person in the whole world, or if you were cast on a desert island with a volleyball, you wouldn’t do anything at all? Does all that you do depend on what other people’s priorities are?

Shikhar: Ah, Sid, philosophy is a hard addiction to break. When I am the only person in the world, I’ll think about it. Till then, I live in a society, and I will keep trying to survive by being the fittest in whichever game they care to play.

Look at it this way. I do what people expect me to do and get ahead. You don’t do what people expect you to do, and take that medallion of iconoclasm and parade it about for all to see. Don’t you see that you’re just as dependent on other people as I am?

(Sid staggers to front center)

Sid: Yes! Yes, I see what you mean. No, no I don’t see what you mean. Where have I gone wrong? Have I not denied myself the simple pleasures of life? Have I not tried to live by my ideals and looked in every arcane literary nook and cranny for wisdom to fill my head up with? Have I not tried? Have I not sacrificed? Why can’t I find my answers?

Why can’t I feel happy? How can people just choose a mask for themselves and call it a face and live with a smile on it the whole of their lives?

(Moves to Qumran’s table and trashes it as he speaks)

How can a man spend his life cooped up with instruments and gadgets in a dingy room, finding the meaning of his life in long rows of numbers that come and go, finding the purpose of his life in tinkering with soulless chunks of metal?

(Moves to Fudu’s table, repeat performance)

How can a man live for no purpose other than blending in and going with the flow? How can a person not use his mind to do anything other than find pleasure in the present for himself until he has no present? How can people keep toying with forks and spoons all their lives and never know what food is like or for?

(Moves to Fonsore’s table, repeat performance)

How can bits of paper mean more to a man than his body and mind? How can little bits of plastic and sand spin a person faster and faster like a top or a marionette until he finally falls? Why would a man ration his daily quota of peace and happiness if he doesn’t know if he will live the next instant or not?

(Moves to Kevin who’s lying on his side with the flask in his hands)

How long can a man run from himself, drown his shadow in pools of alcohol? How can anyone tie himself up in chains of bondage from head to toe, and feel light of heart and easy of mind? How can love be so beautiful in the soul and so pathetic in the mind?

(Drops to his knees)

And if everyone else can live in peace with their miserable deluded selves and still find happiness, why not me? Oh God, why not me?

(Enter faceless person, stage left)

FP: Excuse me, could you please direct me to where I want to go?

Sid: Directions? He asks me for directions? How can I help you, my friend? I don’t even know which way is up or down.

FP: That’s quite alright. I don’t mind going anywhere you tell me to, just tell me.

Sid: Why would you want to go anywhere if you’d go anywhere I’d tell you to go to?

FP: I don’t want to go anywhere.

Sid: Well, why do you then?

FP: Well, one always has to be going somewhere, right?

Sid: But what of everything you must leave behind every time?

FP: One leaves behind what one possesses, once you’ve left yourself behind, who is left to possess?

Sid: What should I do?

FP: Just stop asking that question.

Sid: Why?

FP: Because, you are the only one who knows

(Lights fade)

Voice (off):

As every flower fades and as all youth

Departs, so life at every stage,

So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,

Blooms in its day and may not last forever.

Since life may summon us at every age

Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,

Be ready bravely and without remorse

To find new light, that old ties cannot give.

In all beginnings dwells a magic force

for guarding us and helping us to live.

Serenely let us move to distant places

And let no sentiments of home detain us.

The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us

But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.

If we accept a home of our own making,

Familiar habit makes for indolence.

We must prepare for parting and leave-taking

Or else remain slaves of permanence.

Even the hour of our death may send

Us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,

And life may summon us to newer races.

So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.

CURTAIN