The Incessant Quest

The human mind is always game for a quest. Be it the quest for money, for fame, or dame. But if there is one quest that has ruled human psyche from times immemorial, it has to be the so called quest for the ‘Ultimate truth’ or the ‘Deeper truth’ or the ‘Greater truth’ as I prefer to call it. It has held man forever hostage, and he, dancing on its trails, has come from the primitive ape he was to the sophisticated one he is today.

So when did this whole thing begin? Perhaps when man got fed up of wondering about tangible things. Perhaps when he realized that a world comprising of only the things he saw and perceived was a terribly boring creation. Man must have been quite primitive then, but still it wasn’t in him to accept this and he set out in search of the ‘greater truth’. It was probably just one man’s eccentric thoughts that set things up. But he was the chosen one, the quest’s first victim.

And since then, the quest’s victims have been as variegated as they come. It is interesting that it was only the goal that made itself visible to each of them, while the path was for them to choose. Thus sprang the multiple disciplines of human knowledge – religion, science or philosophy, each having their respective fathers. Fathers, who were victims of their time but heroes when the new ‘truth’ they had propounded became mundane generalities, stuff to fill children’s textbooks. All these disciplines have a common thread running through them, a common source of energy, and mankind owes a lot to the energy that this quest generates. Generations of thinkers and writers have feasted on it. Then there are the people who have understood its power, who have used it to carry out their earthly motives. But it is not them that I wish to write about.

I come back to the question of why mankind finds solace in going after this quest. Every human being believes that there is a greater truth in some form or the other, a final answer. Allah, Christ or Brahma for some, the Theory of Everything for some and 42 for some. Even if a person does not go all the way to seek the truth, traces are present in every individual. The most common manifestation is the desire to escape from the trivialities that everyday life offers. It may be as simple as the drawing of a cartoon or jotting down one’s own incessant inner ramblings in a classroom. Intoxication and exotic tours are other examples. The desire to go up in smoke, to be on a higher plane, to have a panoramic view. Man finds solace that there is still something out there, something apart from the stuff he is aware of, that is responsible for things the way they are. It is argued that it is man’s inherent nature to seek the greater truth. But does he have a way out? Isn’t he running in a closed loop? For wherever he may reach, there is still a greater truth. The quest is self sustaining and recurring. There will be no Theory of Everything. There was once a time when people thought they were the ultimate truth and that the rest of the world revolved around them. The ‘truth’ has of course, progressed.

So does that mean there is no hope? No, it means that there will always be hope. I shudder to think of a world where man will know the answer to everything. It means that the creative energies that mankind depends on are here to stay for sure. There will always be a quest, a reason, a motive for our thoughts and actions.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

BAM!

Gunshot in his mind. He woke up with a start and walked to the lone window opposite his bed. Like he always did. The gunshot, like an erratic alarm, waking him up at some or the other time every night. Every night of his stay in this place. Every night of the year about to draw close.

Now as he walked up to the window, he realized that, for once, he had woken up at the right time. Outside, the city was all dressed up to welcome the new year. The guest who was somehow expected to make things better than they were. Illuminated skyscrapers and firecrackers sang welcome to the new year in their own way. For a moment he wondered whether it was the gunshot in his mind or the bursting crackers that woke him up. It really did not matter.

As his eyes scanned the city skyline, his thoughts traced the year gone by. Like his eyes which stopped at the highest point in the sky, his thoughts stopped on the same day last year. His face shaped up into an ironic smile when he thought how he was a part of the crowd then, dissolved in the lights of the city. Father and son, walking hand in hand, looking to buy the best cookies in town. The whole family, mother father and son, loved cookies. His thoughts wandered again, zoomed past memories of his wife, and went to the petrified faces of one Mr. Abhishek Mathur and her as he had burst into the wonderfully furnished hotel room. To disbelief and shock as they hurriedly tried to disentangle from each other. To the gunshot and the loud cry from his wife. To the courtroom – ‘The killing of business tycoon Mr. Abhishek Mathur’. To this lone window in his prison cell.

As he came back to his bed, he remembered the letter he had received earlier that day. It was from the lone member of the outside world he cared about, his son, aged 9 and studying in a boarding school. He had, for some reason, resolved to open the letter at midnight and not before that. It was quite heavy for a letter and had ‘Happy New Year’ written on the envelope in cute big letters. As he began to delicately open the envelope, careful not to tear it off, he felt like a little child about to open the biggest present of its life. Inside he found a neatly wrapped cookie and a tiny piece of paper. He took the cookie in one hand and reached for the paper with some curiosity.

Dear Daddy,.

Happy new year daddy. Its bad we cant meet Daddy. Are the prison people giving sweets for new year daddy? I miss the cookies you always gave me for new year. But you know whats the best thing daddy? They gave cookies to us here. To all of us. not just 1 cookie, but a full box, to eat from Merry Christmas to New year. I am sending my new year day cookie to you dad. Headmaster told that one Abhishek Mathur Memorial Trust had given the cookies to all of us.

His hands shook at the irony of things. The cookie fell down as he read the line again.

Isn’t it sweet of them dad?

The lights outside seemed to blur and unite into one whole illuminated mass.

Happy new year daddy!

Gunshot in his mind. Crackers outside.

The kleptomaniac article

"From deep within the psyche of a kleptomaniac" was one of the topics given for creative writing. wrote this short piece:-

From deep within the psyche of a kleptomaniac

I am a normal person. Except that I go to a different world more number of times than a normal person would do. A world in which it’s me and only me, no rules exist there. I am god; I conjure things in my hand as and when I think about them. I look deep into the things I conjure, and long, beckoning arms seem to come out of them. This looks abnormal, but before I can think, the arms are around me. I have tried struggling my way out of this strangulation, but it doesn’t work anymore. I let myself float, float into the world that opens up behind these things.

I feel that I am familiar with this new world now. Yes, I know this very well. I have been here before. Now I realize what’s happening. Each of these items signifies something special to me. A string of memories behind each, memories I cherish, memories I desperately want to relive, memories that refuse to leave me, memories that make me take refuge in my own little world. I burn when I see those things around me, I want to make them disappear, shut them away in a place where they won’t be seen. I take a step forward. And after that, I don’t remember what I do. Only that when I come back home, I find a whole lot of things in my bag, things that the bill doesn’t account for. Their sight baffles me; I wonder why I must have committed such an appalling act. Yet, there’s a feeling of satisfaction from deep within which scares me. I feel guilty. Like the amateur drinker who is flooded by a wave of guilt after drowning himself in alcohol.

The pile of my artifacts keeps on growing. Artifacts got from shops, or from the person sitting next in a bus. It’s a huge pile, but even with everything put together, it won’t add up to anything more than a petty sum. But they are invaluable to me; they provide a vent to my state of helplessness. They cry out for me. But who has an ear for the cries of common people? I am just another normal guy…

Total and absolute crap

For nearly 3 months now, I just couldn't get myself to write something for this space. Let alone writing something for this space, i wasn't even able to maintain my personal diary. Situations being like this, I was asked to write an article on "WHAT HAPPENS WHEN COCKROACHES F*** EACH OTHER AND ITS EFFECT ON THE INDIAN ECONOMY" by some seniors, since i mentioned that one of my hobbies is 'Creative writing'. How the senior came up with such a topic is beyond my comprehension, but anyway here's what i wrote. For those of you who go around saying 'I am allergic to bullshit', I am warning you that this may cause serious brain damage.
Others read on :-

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN COCKROACHES F*** EACH OTHER AND ITS EFFECT ON THE INDIAN ECONOMY

Surfing the net, I just found that the famed encyclopedia Wikipedia doesn’t contain any article on the subject ‘Cockroach sex’. You must be thinking that I am out of my mind to search such an obscure and inconsequential subject. Well, it will baffle you to know that cockroaches fucking each other is not only a beautiful, hair rising(and if you are a cockroach, rising some other organs too) procedure, but has a say in, among a variety of things, the Indian economy. Yea, you read it right, the Indian economy. Read on.

Before the actual fucking begins, the males have to compete with each other fiercely to get the juiciest female available. They do so by releasing certain chemicals that determine their supremacy. A very interesting thing happens here. The weaker males lie dormant for a while when this power struggle is going on. Sometimes, it so happens that the powerful ones under the urge to flaunt their chemicals use too much of it and run out of it. (Thankfully, there is no human analogy) This is when the weaker males grab their opportunity and they actually get to fuck the good ones. This strategy of power struggle, commonly known as the ‘Weak cockroach’ model in Indian Economics circles, has been the basis of Indian policy decisions for a long time now. ‘Wait and watch’ being our policy, we are sure the bigger powers will soon run out of their firepower. No idea when that will happen though, but it surely is a shame that we still consider cockroaches as household pests when they have bestowed us with such wisdom.

One more very interesting fact that’s come to light, thanks to some very serious research, is that the male transfers sperms to the female in a gift-wrapped package called the spermatophore. What’s more, this wrapper sometimes consists of proteins that the female eats to nourish the eggs and word is that the females find this very tasty. This has, lately caught the public eye, thanks mainly to a few celebrity couples using the ‘roach thing’ to spice up their sex lives. The trend has found takers in the Indian market too, with many males deciding to give fancy coatings to their ejaculations. But what’s worrying the trade pundits is that the Chinese have already perfected the art of manufacturing these special love wrappings. This will increase the influx of Chinese goods into our markets and further deteriorate the already skewed trade balance.

The average man is mostly sulking that the new trend will only dig a deeper hole in his pocket.

So, as it turns out that the average household pest does a little more than just moving in and out of crevices. Its high time someone added this little piece on Wikipedia, or rather on Uncyclopedia, you might say...

The many colours of politics

Its election time here in IIT-KGP, and i get to take a close look at the working of the 'wonderful' system called democracy. The election bug has bitten almost everyone, except perhaps the person living next door, who is immune to all these mundane affairs...

The politics sure seem dirty. Everyday we keep hearing about some new pact, new speculations, new proposals and what not. Every hall is trying its level best to make its candidate win. The campaigning is aggressive and caught in the middle are we poor first years, who have to endure people banging at our doors every other second. Wherever you go, you are sure to see one candi(which is IIT lingo for candidate) moving around in formals, and 'vote for me' seems written all over him.

Well, the elections have surely brought some interesting stories to tell. Here are some:-

• Just a few days back, Squid had an arguement with one of the candis in the mess. The issue- smoking in the mess. The candi just refused to put out his cigarette and our man also wasnt ready to bulge from his position.

Come campaigning day, and lo, what do we see? His entire group is there in our wing trying to convince Squid that they are actually a bunch of nice guys who had momentarily strayed off on the wrong path. Yeah, sounds very convincing indeed, especially when you say that with a cigar in your hand!

And just to mention, this guy is a 3 point someone. How can he think of standing for a post when he isnt even sure of himself being in the insti next year..?

• And oh, the Indo-Bangla cricket match..! What a surge of patriotism we saw that day..! Batches of seniors waving huge tricolours, shouting "Jeetega bhai jeetega" stuff. Even songs like 'Sare jahaan se achcha', 'hum honge kamayab' etc. etc. were sung in chorus. They looked more like rioters than IITians, and we were like staying inside the rooms, just hoping they dont find us.. And all this for what..? Just to woo us to come and watch the match being shown on big screens in their respective halls..A good campaigning technique indeed. Anything for votes, baby!

And to end it, we first years have come up with some good measures to avoid the campaigning. Moving around as if you are involved in some serious discussion with your mom on the phone works most of the times. You should learn to say 'maa' or 'amma' in a variety of tones to make it realistic. Or just dont open the door and let them bang it as much as they want. Or like Aniket would do, just say,"kiss my ass" and tell them to **** off.

And today, as a refreshing change to the hall politics, i actually met one guy who advised me not to vote for his hall's candidate! Keep guessing....

This is me..

Hi every mortal soul out there,

here is my intro, typical IIT style:

My name is Bharath P Bhat. I am a first year student of the department of mechanical engineering doing the four year B.Tech year course. I am from a place called Shimoga in Karnataka. My hobbies are reading novels, writing for fun and playing chess.

Ok. thats my formal intro as they call it in the institute i am studying. It is the Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur. A place to which i always dreamt of coming and now that i am here, want to get out as soon as i can... A lot of things look good only in dreams...

Apart from all that, i am an easy-going, tension-free guy. 'Careless and irresponsible' is the way my friends would put the qualities i just mentioned. Another quality of mine which i dont particularly like is that only very few things manage to make a real impact on my mind. I am kind of practical in my thoughts and hence come out as rather harsh in my words and actions..

Thats briefly the way my mind works. I have called my blog, "droplets from an ocean" - the ocean being my brain and the droplets the choosen thoughts that i decide to put up here...

Enjoy reading!