Bring It On!

It’s a rainy Tuesday morning. The world is one big, wet ball of gray. There’s water everywhere you look; fat drops falling from the sky, clammy mists swirling around, eddies gushing across the street, puddles lurking in corners. No matter how big an umbrella you’re under, it finds a way to get to you. It falls at an angle to drench your nether regions, it collects on the pavement to seep into your shoes, it splatters on you off the umbrellas of others, it gets splashed on you by inconsiderate drivers.

But this post is not about the rain. It’s about me.

And the fact that I’m not wet.

Yes, you heard that right… I’m dry! I’m brilliantly, gloriously, blessedly dry! :D

How, you ask? How on earth did even the lastknight, being strong of will and brave at heart, accomplish this seemingly impossible feat? Well, with a simple insight… No knight ever rode out to battle without his suit of armour! :P

Right, so it had been raining since yesterday afternoon. When I went to bed it was raining, and when I woke up in the morning, the first sound I heard was – surprise surprise – the sound of rain! And rather heavy rain it was too, by the sound of it.

The last couple of times I’d to go to work in the rain, I’d ended up pretty much soaked all through, which needless to say ensured a not-very-comfortable day at work. So this time, I was determined to leave no stone unturned in the quest for dryness in the teeth of the storm.

I rolled up my pants, put on a pair of floaters, put my shoes in my bag, put on my raincoat, and buttoned it right up to my chin. Then I wore my bag against my chest, so as to keep it from getting soaked. And finally I opened my trusty umbrella with a flourish, stepped out from under my building, and dared the rain to do its worst.

My flatmate The Questioner, no doubt encouraged by this display of fortitude, decided to do the same himself. Only his raincoat is an opaque navy blue, as opposed to my translucent green (hey, don’t knock it before you see it, it’s funky!), and he was carrying two bags, one against his chest, and the other on his back, so he ended up looking rather one of those black cat commandos setting off on some covert mission… apart from the fact that he was brandishing an umbrella rather than a rifle. :D Actually, we must both have looked like a couple of soldiers setting off to fight a battle, albeit one that was expected to be a trifle more wet than the average skirmish… :P

The first few steps after leaving the safety of my building were pure jubilation; I was dry, and staying that way! However, after about thirty seconds, a more sobering thought began to sink in; it was raining rather less heavily than I’d thought. No one else in sight was carrying or wearing anything more substantial than an umbrella, and they didn’t seem to be any worse the wear for it. Matter of fact, two girls walked past us, and as we approached each other, I heard what sounded like a very definite giggle. Ah well… I suppose there’s no harm in spreading a little cheer on a rainy gray morning! :P

Alright, so we may have a been a tad over-dressed for what turned out to be not as much of a torrential downpour as we'd thought, but we still ended up much drier after it all than we would have been otherwise... After all, even a light drizzle, if you're out in it long enough (even with an umbrella) , can soak you rather thoroughly. The rest of the story’s fairly uneventful… We had to wait for about fifteen minutes to find an auto, then we got to work. Getting out of the raincoat and floaters and into shoes and a tie immediately after reaching work did make the morning a tad more complicated than usual; but the thrill of discovering a dry, albeit slightly crushed shirt underneath more than made up for it! :-)

But the happy ending was not to be, matter of fact, it may have been happy, but it was no ending. As I write, it’s almost half past seven in the evening, and it’s been raining cats and dogs all day. It seems to have tapered off now, but how bad the scene outside will be when I leave is anyone’s guess…

One thing is for sure, though… This knight shall quail at the rains in Bombay no more; for with my trusty raincoat by my side (or around my front, back and both sides, rather :P), he shall brave downpours, puddles and the odd tidal wave without fear!! :D

"Do you want love?!"

This one's from the archives of my old blog... I was studying, or trying to, before yesterday's exam, when I suddenly remembered this incident. I'd forgotten all about it, but it's a nice story, so I thought I'd put it up here...

The original post was dated February 13th, 2008.


So there I was, in a busy market, heading towards a book shop. I'd parked rather far away from it, because I wanted to swing by a shoe shop on the other side of the market to check if they'd gotten these black sneakers in my size (they hadn't) . It hadn't been a very happy day, or a very happy week for that matter, so it was a rather ill-disposed lastknight who stalked the sidewalk, inclined to scowl darkly at the milling crowds who seemed to want nothing more than to merrily laze around getting in his way.

I looked up to chart a course around an island in the river of humanity, and spotted a bloke in what seemed to be a beige suit. Closer inspection revealed it to be a pair of beige cargos and a similarly-coloured beige corduroy jacket. I mentally commended the bloke on his outfit and had just passed by, when I heard a voice speak in a distinctly un-Indian accent, "Mujhe bahut bada stationery shop chahiye." Of course, what came out was more like, "Moo-jhay baa-hoot baa-dah stationery shop chaa-hee-yay." I turned around, and spotted a rather fair-skinned oldish bloke trying to communicate with two girls who seemed to be making a considerable effort to keep their faces straight.

I walked up to him, and asked him if I could help. He immediately looked relieved, and transferred his full attention to me. The girls looked rather relieved themselves, and I soon found out why. Up close, the bird grabbed me by the hand, and asked rather intently about the whereabouts of a stationary shop. However, knights being known for their iron nerves, this one held his ground, and further questioning revealed that the bloke had been going around the market for over an hour hunting for a purveyor of quills and such. He kept trying to talk to me in Hindi, though, upon which I had to interject and say that English was fine. :P I directed him to the nearest one, and pointed him in the general direction for good measure. As I walked him back to his rick, I noticed that the driver seemed to have steam coming out of his ears. He demanded money from the bloke, who responded with something like, "Money later! After trip! Not now!" Anyway, so he thanked me fervently, and they set off. Into the sunset and his happy ending, I thought, and smiled to myself. Little did I know that this tale was far from over.

I watched them go down the road - and turn right straight into the wrong lane. I stifled a curse and charged after them. When I got to the spot where they'd stopped, I found that the bloke had dived into a musty bookshop, and was about to follow him, when the rickshaw driver buttonholed me and started ranting about how he'd been driving around the bloke in circles for hours, in the promise of much gold, but had yet to get so much as a whiff of it. In the meantime, the bloke emerged from the shop, with an owner who looked like he'd seen too many winters, and a boy who certainly hadn't seen enough. The owner told the boy to accompany the bloke to a stationery shop, which I dutifully conveyed to him. He was appreciative, and also rather gratified about the fact that I'd followed them to try and correct their course. He was all set to charge off again, when the rickshaw driver announced his refusal to travel any further without being paid. The bloke told me about how he'd planned to give the rick driver a hundred bucks, so I convinced him to give him half then and the other half later. Driver suitably mollified, the bloke and the boy set off again. Oh, and I explained the way to the boy too, for good measure... again. There we go, I thought, that should be it. Only it wasn't.

I walked back to the main road, looked to my right, and saw the rickshaw emerge from a side lane and stop. The boy hopped out, looking bemused, and starting asking passers-by about the whereabouts of the stationery shop. I shook my head, took a deep breath, and charged towards them again. I got there, dismissed the kid, and told the bloke I'd go along with him. He grinned from ear to ear, thanked me a few more times, and we were off. Along the way, I learnt that his name was Ron, he was from New York, and he'd been coming to India every year since the 1980s to a spiritual guru, and then to his son, for a spot of meditation. He needed to find a stationery shop to buy markers, to write name-tags for some function to be held at the ashram he was staying at. He spoke of the peace and serenity he found in meditation, while I marvelled at the bloke's passion. He asked me if I'd ever tried it, to which I replied in the negative with a smile. He said something like, "Ah, but you're young..."

What followed next was the most interesting bit of the conversation, though...

Ron: "I'm so glad you're here. God sent you there to help me find my way!"
Me: "Ah well, just glad I could help..." (shrug and smile)
Ron: "You know, I could from your face that you would help me"
Me: "Really?" (incredulous)
Ron: "Oh, yes. God creates your face according to your karma. You can tell what a person is like by looking at their face. I looked at your face, and I knew you were a kind, intelligent student who would help me find my way..."

Whoa. Deep, what? Capable of being interpreted in a frightfully politically incorrect, maybe even morally incorrect way. But I don't think he was talking about looks in the conventional sense...

So we reached the stationery shop and bought four markers. Walked out in silent triumph. Ron then hit me with the line of the evening.

"Do you want love?"

Alright, so even an iron-nerved knight can falter.

I was in two minds whether to stay or flee, but he kept speaking, about how some people want money, and some want power, but only those who want to find love find true happiness. He wanted me to come to his ashram give meditation and all a shot, which was about when I started breathing again. :D However, by then I'd had enough of the spiritual talk, so I told him I was kinda busy. Anway, so we walked back to the rickshaw. The driver eagerly asked me if we'd found what we were looked for, and when I replied in the affirmative, he seemed to seriously consider the thought of doing cartwheels interspersed with the odd somersault or two. He decided against it though, much to my disappointment.

Ron then dropped me back at the market, and thanked me a few more times on the way (the lastknight's modest smile was experiencing rather heavy use that evening). I disembarked and saw off a rather happy pair - Ron, who'd successfully completed his mission, and a rickshaw driver who'd earned a lot more for a few hours' work than he normally did. Then I finally went to the bookshop, basking in the afterglow of a day's good deed done.

The entire episode had taken about forty minutes from start to finish. But the moment of the evening had occurred just after Ron and the kid set off from the musty bookshop - as the rickshaw drew away, Ron leaned out of the back of the rickshaw, beamed at me, and flashed a V-sign at me.

I swear, I hadn't grinned that broadly in the entire week before this episode.

Hm. Maybe I was meant to be there at that place and time. :)

Quotable Quotes From Sandman

I recently finished reading Sandman, by Neil Gaiman, a graphic novel. Actually, it's one of the graphic novels, unanimously acknowledged as one of those that define the genre. At this point, the question that's bound to pop up is, what really is a graphic novel? Well, it's a little hard to explain to someone who hasn't read one, but I'll give it a shot.

Firstly, no, graphic novels are not comic books. They may have their origins in the same seed, but comparing something like Sandman to Archie comics would be like comparing Shakespeare to John Grisham. Graphic novels usually deal with more adult themes and have more complex storylines. They also have more creative artwork, as well as deeper accompanying text and dialogues.

Sure, if you look at them in their most basic sense, they do tell stories by way of illustrated panels, like comics do. But it would be safe to say that while every graphic novel is a comic, not every comic is a graphic novel.

There's been much debate on the issue of graphic novels vs. comic books, in which many are of the view that the term 'graphic novel' is unnecessary, or just used to justify selling collected editions of a comic at higher prices, but the view of a graphic novel being a comic with a storyline more like that of a book than a comic is still widely accepted, (that sentence is really easy to understand, isn't it? :P) so I'm going to stick with calling Sandman a graphic novel, even though its author Neil Gaiman himself would rather refer to it as a comic book.

So now that we're clear on the terminology, (or so I hope) we can get right down to brass tacks. For anyone looking to get started with graphic novels, I'd recommend Sandman very highly. Actually, even for someone not interested in graphic novels, I'd still strongly recommend it. Anyone who has a little imagination, and the willingness to use it, would certainly enjoy this series. It made me feel, and it made me think, which is more I can say for many books I've read. Both these attributes aren't uncommon on their own, but it's a little harder to find them together in one literary work.

The artwork is downright beautiful, and has a variety which ensures that whether you like or dislike it, you won't get bored with it. The storylines are layered, multi-faceted and thoroughly engaging. And the dialogues are haunting, lyrical, some even bordering on the philosophical. The characters shown are a far cry from the usual stark shades of black and white usually encountered in comics, and illustrate the many different shades of grey encountered in the human species. All in all, Sandman is a thoroughly enthralling read. I found it rather addictive, personally... It was deuced hard to stop reading it, even when I was supposed to be studying for the CFA.

For those of you who haven't heard about this series at all, the Sandman is Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, and the central character in this story. Neil Gaiman himself once summarised the plot of the the series as "The Lord of Dreams learns that one must change or die, and makes his decision." Dream is one of the seven Endless, beings who are older and greater than gods, with the other six being Death, Destruction, Desire, Delerium, Despair and Desire.

But enough from me; I'll let a few quotes from the series do the rest of the talking.

(All quotes from The Quotable Sandman, by Neil Gaiman)

Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.

-Dream

Destinations are often a surprise to the destined.

-Thessaly

It's astonishing how much trouble one can get into, if one works at it.

-Destruction

It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak.

-Dream

Little one, I would like to see anyone - prophet, king or god - persuade a thousand cats to do anything at the same time.

-Orange Cat

But he did not understand the price. Mortals never do. They only see the prize, their heart's desire, their dream... But the price of getting what you want, is getting what you once wanted.

-Dream

We do what we do because of who we are. If we did otherwise, we would not be ourselves.

-Dream

Nah. He enjoys it. I mean, hell, it's a pose. Y'know? He spends a coupla months hanging out with a new broad. Then one day the magic's worn off, and he goes back to work, and she takes a hike. Phhht. Now, guys like me, ordinary Joes, we just shrug our shoulders, say, hey, that's life, flick it if you can't take a joke. Not him. Oh no. He's gotta be the tragic figure standing out in the rain, mourning the loss of his beloved. So down comes the rain, right on cue. In the meantime everybody gets dreams fulla existential angst and wakes up feeling like hell. And we all get wet.

-Mervyn Pumpkinhead

You got what anybody gets, Bernie. You got a lifetime.

-Death

It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the emperor has no clothes.

But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the emperor remains an emperor.

-Dream

A few words of explanation before the last one; the Library of Dreams exists in the Dreaming, Dream's realm. It contains all the books that were ever thought of, or dreamed, but not written. For instance, The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens can be found in the Library of Dreams. G.K. Chesterton wrote a book called The Man Who Was Thursday, arguably his best-known book (and on my to-read list). It has been described as "one of the hidden hinges of twentieth-century writing, the place where, before our eyes, the nonsense-fantastical tradition of Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear pivots and becomes the nightmare-fantastical tradition of Kafka and Borges."

Anyway, here we go. This one's my personal favourite:


October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or of shutting a book, did not end a tale.

Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: "It is simply a matter," he explained to April, "of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content."

-from The Man Who Was October by G.K. Chesterton/Library of Dreams

Grand Entrance

The corridor was empty. A balustrade ran the length of it, opening on to the backyard below. Once, footsteps had rung through the corridor, voices had gaily called out to each other, but now, the silence was absolute. The dustbin on the side was half-full, the empty plastic cups in it bearing testament to the people who had come and gone. Suddenly, the silence was broken. The sleepy air was disturbed by the sound of someone coming up the stairs. A young man appeared, walking quickly towards the room at the end of the corridor, covering the distance with long, loping strides. The casual slouch in his shoulders belied the steely intent in his eyes. He irritably brushed his hair out of his eyes. His entire being was focused on the deed he was about to carry out. He paused in front of the room, as if to compose himself before entering. Then he opened the door.

The scene that greeted his eyes was one of a professor writing on a blackboard, lecturing to a group of students. A perfectly ordinary college scene, but one that was different from the norm in one crucial respect; he was attempting the seemingly impossible, to enter a class that was more than half over.

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and strode in. Time seemed to suddenly slow down; it was as if he was seeing a movie frame by frame, each action of each actor happening at one-tenth its usual pace. As if in a dream, he saw himself glancing at the professor in a mute appeal to be granted entrance, but the professor was looking elsewhere. He looked ahead; five paces to the first row of seats. He moved soundlessly towards it, each step taking what seemed like an infinity to complete. One pace, two paces, the professor kept ignoring him... three paces, four paces, five. He broke through the ranks of the seats, his urgent footsteps creating ripples in the sea of students he was wading through, expanding circles of mirth and disbelief at this intrepid warrior who was doing the undoable. He threaded his way through to the back of the class, turning, side-stepping, spinning, each footstep bringing him closer to his goal of the last row. And then suddenly, just like that, he was ensconced in a seat at the back of the class, his backpack perched neatly on the chair next to him. He let out his breath in a long, soundless sigh of relief, winked at the girl sitting next to him, and flashed his sauciest smile at the gallery of students who were gawking at him in awe. He glanced at his watch, and thought to himself, "Hmmm. An hour and a half late for a two-hour class... That's got to be an unbreakable record!"

Testing...

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog