The Seed

A symbolic personification of the human life cycle with that of a tree, the trials and tribunals of an egoistic man aiming for the stars..

Do not blaspheme the bird for the place where it dropped the seed.
bloom where you are planted.
brown is the fallen branch
black are the rotting stumps
so very lucky is the tender green shoot
that it grew under the aegis of these
which through the rain and blazing sun
watched over the blessed thing


Flourish it did, in fine splendor
straight as an arrow,
to the stars and beyond did it seek
from its lowly tendrils
the fallen branch, the rotting stumps
looked on in tears of pride
at the beauty of life and God
in every sinew of the stalk
that now trembled with suppressed strength


Then one day when the red of the sky matched its fervor
the stalk thought its time had come
the branch implored to show restraint
the stump pleaded for more time
but when fire flows in the veins
and every bit of you strains with irrepressible energy
one knows more than all others
and steep did the stalk rise,
above the redwoods, the conifers and the pines
the sun at last shone in its face


The branch and the stump looked puny
their caution made the tree laugh
fear was such a sly adversary
you always have more of it
when you are past needing it
such was the day of the strangle-fig
the seed was now in high disdain
the strangle-fig was slowly taking root



The branch and the stump could not see
the slow death of which
the tree was now ignorant
its life blood was being sucked in red
the blackness was spreading upward
the shoot was grown too high
to see the loss of its origins
seldom is there a worse end
than one which you can not see



One day there was a downward glance
there was so much to remedy
the tree looked in disdain
at the thing that would be its end
and refused to mark out as its equal
with the simple confidence of futility
then one day the fear arrived
the sun was in the reeds by the lake
the air was full of malice
the birds were silent and cowering by the leaves
and the tree that once was a seed looked within
there was a blackness beyond redemption
nothing could describe the anguish in its silent cry
to the heavens did it keen
to the very stars that it had risen to meet
the day of reckoning had come to pass
and the core was eaten away in ignorance and piety



And thus ends the tale of the seed
which did bloom where it was planted
which was lovingly blossomed into life by two magical entities
that which rose to seek the stars and the sun
which was the tallest among the redwoods and the conifers
but the tree that was once a green shoot
forgot that the greatest weakness in life
was to not remember those who matter the most
and the strangle-fig did die with the tree which was once a shoot
since after all the blackness there is the white bliss of death
that the bird might have eaten the seed
were the things folklore is made up of.

All things silly...

"There is no higher silliness in this world than in the daily routines of men and women"
                                                                              - Rajiv Venkatasubramanian, circa 2010.

There is something so ironically strange about the way we live. There is no doubt, that mankind has evolved into a specimen of immense complexity over a period of three billion years, that over every million of these years there have been minute changes to the human edifice that was taking shape. The anthropologists only serve to reason out with astounding clarity of thought that we exist as we actually do precisely because we were made-to-order for the planet. They behave similar to movie critics who give reasons for the actions that the director elicited after watching the movie unfold before their own eyes.

If we, for the present, push aside all these complex and abstract sciences, what we have left on the table of life is a pyramid. This pyramid represents the entire life structure on earth with mankind on the top with a sort of a superior swagger to his expression. The very bottom is reserved for microbial stuff...

Man, the finest specimen of evolution (lets give the God issue some rest) in the known history of the universe, has been created as a program execution. He is an end result of a complex multilevel code embedded in the double helix that is the human genome. An incredibly complex and yet precise jumble of sugars and phospates make up the double helix, while the connectors are made of high molecular weight bases, adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytosine. These act as the binary numbers of computers, except in much more complex and mysterious ways than just state switching.


The human brain is indeed one of the most complex structures in the observable universe. I would say that if what I have just written is indeed true then I am the most inefficient combination of atoms anywhere in existence.
What have we done with the gift that has been bestowed on each and every one of us? Shouldn't our very existence define some higher purpose? should we not tirelessly train our living fiber to yearn, to require to know, to not rest until we unlock the secrets of our beginnings? Because therein lies the holy grail of humanity, to know where we came from must be a puzzle so important to everyone of us that we should burn with ignominy to be kept in the dark regarding something so essential to our self discovery.


Instead I find that we as a species are so reticent, so unbelievably slow, that the average man never uses more than a small fraction of his actual powers. 


The amount of work we can accomplish if we just let go, if we can reach out and shut down all our innate inhibitions to focus on the one thing that we should want above all will be magical. 


The fanatic in me aches as I gaze upon the stars in the sky billions of miles away, since I can not see for myself the cataclysmic fusion of hydrogen atoms into pure energy, since even after knowing so much regarding the process man is limited by the tiny constraints of space and time,  just like even knowing the exact sequence of the human genome we are nowhere near the day when we can alter a section of the code to make that a painless panacea for mankind's woes.


" Selective stupidity is essential, stupid selectivity is existential"
                                    - Rajiv Venkatasubramanian, circa 2010.

The Epitaph..

Fresh drops of dew hung provocatively off the blades of grass, reflecting the paleness of the crescent shaped moon which shone upon the desolation that was the Marthvode forest.

A lone man trudged on a winding path through the brambles and bluebell bushes. His rough beard was visible, by the flickering light of a burning torch, as the long locks of his unkempt hair parted to the sway of his stumbling gait. His slate gray eyes could be seen intermittently, eyes of steel, which mirrored only his resolution and not the sorrow and anguish he felt.

The coffin made deep troughs in the soft forest earth as he dragged it with the help of a fraying rope attached to a ring at the top of the lid. He was perspiring badly, rivulets of sweat flowed through his face, burning his eyes as he struggled up the unforgiving slope.

The cottage was visible now. He had made the trip without incident. This part of the forest was home to one of the most feared species of wolves mankind had ever known. They were known as the Mortesci. Their attacks were unparalleled in history for both speed and viciousness. They had a distinct way of attack. They usually come alone to the prey's lair and mauled it. Then they used a distinctive cry to call on the rest of the pack to finish it off. It was thought they considered it a sport to kill as they never consumed meat. The baying of the Mortesci was considered the last thing a man ever heard, as there was no one living who knew how it sounds.

He left the coffin at the foot of the rough wooden stairs leading to the door. Suddenly, he felt a cool draft of air at the back of his neck, a feeling of indescribable terror washed over him. He felt a creeping sense of uneasiness which he could not explain, He was alone here in this wilderness with .. with...

He looked down at the coffin. He could not stop the tears from running down his cold cheeks, his eyes closed involuntarily, only yesterday had he loved her, caressed her, ruffled her hair. Life wasn't fair, God did not exist, there was no greater trauma on earth than what he was going through right now. He threw his head up and cursed the heavens, somewhere, a bloodhound bayed.

The knob felt cold to the touch, he carried the rose wood coffin into the cottage and closed the door. The only light came from the torch he carried. He set it in a corner and looked at the room. There was a wooden table along the wall to his right, a window was set on one wall barred by a moth eaten curtain. He went up to the window, drew aside the curtain and pushed it open. It opened with a creak and a gust of cold wind gushed in extinguishing the torch.

The silence was absolute, the only light was the feeble rays of moonlight clawing through the treetops. His feeling of dread returned and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. His hands fumbled through his coat pockets for a match. He lit one and through its feeble light, he could see the coffin, as he had left it, at the foot of the door. He reignited the torch and closed the window. Then he carried the coffin to the table by the window placed it gingerly.

Slowly he opened it. He willed himself to look at her one last time. He had to. Their ancestral rituals demanded that before the burial two important sacraments had to be carried out. She was wearing a pale green gown encapsulated by a little white belt at her waist. She looked so serene even in death.

Carefully and with infinite tenderness, he lifted up both her hands and placed them on her waist just above the belt. He was now oblivious to the tears that dropped from his eyes onto the floor. He removed a soft white silk lace from a recess in his coat and delicately tied it around both of her hands so that they will not be separated easily. Next he started the second ritual, he slowly picked up a pinch of dust from the hard wood floor of the cottage and sprinkled it in the right corner of the coffin, near her left foot.

He had first heard the sound when closed the door to the cottage. He did not realize its significance then. He now heard it again. It was a low breathing sound, more like a rush of air through leaves. It was definitely not a human sound, it was unearthly, especially in the silence of the forest where even the smallest of sounds get magnified many times.

He silently walked to the wall that was furtherest to the coffin and took the shot gun that hung there. It was his fathers' gun. It was always kept here and kept loaded. He crept to the door and after a longing look at the coffin that held her, opened the door silently.

A sliver of moonlight fell over his forehead as he looked out cautiously, the forest was dark and silent. That in itself was a dangerous sign. The absence of the sounds of the crickets, moths and bats indicated the presence of a predator in the vicinity. He was torn between the necessity to go outside and the longing to stay with the coffin, protecting her.

He then saw it. The darkness at a point in front of the trees was a shade deeper than the background. The dark shape slinked away into the night probably aware that it was spotted. The forest suddenly came to life all around him, crickets, beetles and bugs started their low toned buzzing.

He again stood in front of the coffin, slowly reaching out to close the lid for the last time, when it attacked. He was shocked at the ferociousness of the aggression. The creature had thrown itself with tremendous force at the only window of the cottage, baring its teeth that made a dent on the wood causing it to splinter in many places. He wondered at the intelligence of the beast as it had the ability to choose the weakest point of the whole cottage. The door was made of sturdy oak and the walls were constructed with many layers of bamboo to withstand the cruel winters. The second charge of the animal broke the window in half. the cold breeze again wafted in through the cottage extinguishing the torch and engulfing the room in darkness for the second time that night.

The beast was inside. He could hear that same unearthly sound, feel it in his bones. He knew the legend of the Mortesci, and the blood chilling stories told of it. He also knew that he had foolishly left his shotgun resting against the wall near the door. In the darkness he was completely at a disadvantage, the Mortesci could see in the dark. He tried to creep towards the door when it rushed at him knocking him over. Suddenly he heard a new sound, a patting sound he never had heard before. The beast turned away from him and went towards the open window. He grabbed for the shotgun at the door in one swift lunge and tried to get into position to fire. But before he could loose a shot he was knocked off his feet by the beast with a speed beyond comprehension. He struck his head against the floor and lost orientation. Then something happened which he did not understand, he had fleeting images of the beast near the window, and again of , trying to charge him, when it paused and writhed in agony, he then blacked out with a final glimpse of it vaulting through the open window and running off into the night.

He staggered out of his stupor after a few moments, he was delirious with pain from a gash to his forehead. If folklore were true, he was the first man to have survived an encounter with the Mortesci. He relit the torch and approached the coffin.

She was lying just as peacefully as before, but her hands were free and the silk lace lay to one side as if it had been sliced through. Also there were a few strands of brown hair under her fingernails. Her face looked serene except for her mouth as teeth were clenched together and a clump of brown hair was visible between them....

Legend has it that the Mortesci were animals that roamed the jungles instilling fear, had long curved claws and furry brown hair....

Marinara sauce, Imacs and Knickerbockers...

The cashier at the 'off the by-lane' Domino's store was apologetic.

" I'm sorry sir, we don't stock tomato ketchups or sauces"

"Oh!, what am I to do now? " (did he really think the damn pizza's were that good to partake of without the magic slathering of tomato ketchup?).

" For an extra 50 cents you get a cup of Marinara dip"

I was dumbfounded/thunderstruck/shocked and so on to varying degree. and wanted to be sure I had heard right.

"Pardon" ( I would have tried "pardone monsieur" in France, "enti" in Paradise Pizza Den, "enna pa solra" at Domino's Chennai, and ... sheesh...why am I digressing so much.. )

The cashier, I think, was someone of a benevolent temperament

"For an extra 50 cents you get a cup of Marinara dip, Sir"

"Uh huh.. see.. look here .. we get only 1 medium size pizza with one topping for 6$? and nothing else???"

"Yes sir, would you be needing the dip as well?"

Now there was a definite glint in his eye, and a sarcastic (a.k.a scary) sneer at his upper lip that I did not want to prolong..

"Of course, Thank you" (If there was one thing I have learnt in the promised land then it is the prompt, almost subliminal utterance of the two magic words : Thank You)

"There will be a wait of about 15 to 20 minutes for your order sir"

The shop was empty, the hot afternoon sun slanted in through the glass paned front wall, and I knew better than to ask why the pizza should take so long to bake.

I drifted to a chair, rested my aching limbs, reclined luxuriously, and nodded off intermittently.

" Hey lets go down to the comp labs" (My, as usual, intense and excited baritone floated out to my group of friends at the place known as sigma sigma something.. )

" Let's " they chorused.

At the UCit lab in Steger or whatever building, we were all staring at the systems..

"hey that one is a plain core 2 duo sys with Vista running on it.. Yuck" one of my friends pouts..

"hey whats that white one??" asks another, pointing...

" Thats an Imac, I think"

" Looks Great" chimes in someone else and all eyes converge onto that white thing..

I, for my part, was charmed by the sleek lines and smart look more than anything else, I hadn't seen one except in photographs, and this was one of the things that looked way better in 3-D than in a Photo.

My stomach just then chose the time and place to remind me of a primal need and dutifully ...

" I'm hungry" I said

The cry was taken up many as well.. and we discussed places we could go eat....

"Subway".... "Pizza Den"... "that catskeller thingy".... " what is the place we get all that unlimited food called?.. market something??"... and so on..

And as one everyone miraculously agreed on pizza den, no idea why...

Anyways we then trooped off to the shop and started to place orders..

" I want a medium sized pizza"

wait haven't I already placed an order for pizza?............................................

I awaken from my torpor to realize that I had dozed off on the chair at Domino's and the proprietor saying something that sounded very much like..

"Your Order is ready, Sir"

I made the preliminary checks to confirm that I wasn't hallucinating and received a flat cardboard carton from him.

"Thank You"

"would you like napkins, sir?"

"yes, please" (What a question!, why don't I wipe my hand on your company logo covered tee?)

"Thank You"

"Have a nice day"

I trudge back home thinking if the whole thing was worth the time and expense, wouldn't it have been far more simple to have stayed back home in my knickerbockers and tossed up a pan of mixed vegetable curry?

I don't know

Maybe I never will.......