My Literary Indulgences...

'Tis undeniably agreed, logic and reason therein, Mercilessly extinguish, even the hope of paranormal; As a man devout to reason, I cannot help but acquiesce, Reluctantly, yes, and herein is borne the dichotomy within. Agreed many a fools are ignorant, of the harmony, In duality, which science affirms on numerous occasions; But similarities end there, for science heartlessly debunks, Of afterlife, anything beyond death, an essence of eternity. The calculative mind is at peace with this nothingness, Unperturbed at the sight of countless passing into the void; But the heart, ruled by emotions, broken by untimely loss, Clings on to hope, faith, for love, companionship, forgiveness. My heart, no different, broken by loss, racked with guilt, At leaving her side, when she needed it most, thus failing, In saving her from her dismal fate, weeps, woebegone, And clings to hope, against reason having a shield built. This dissonance within is revealed, at times of bliss, Wherein the mind woul

Their meeting was preordained, inasmuch as that of two future colleagues. But they were complete strangers then, and owing it to those quantum leaps in communication, they thought perhaps a warming up before the much later rendezvous was called for. Dear xxxxxx, Destined to work together as we are, It's our prerogative that we shatter The prover bial ice, and get familiar To each other, even though presently afar. Dear yyyyyy, Succinctly you've worded my sentiments, For I too believe, that in this life, friendship Is something you can never have enough of, And this is a neat solution to that predicament. Thus began their camaraderie, penned down word by word, from the seemingly inconsequential chatter, Dear xxxxxx, Curses be to you, who devours delicacies, While I battle to stomach this unpalatable, Mishmash of vegetables, ill treated at that, For god knows these cretins know no mercies. Dear yyyyyy, Curse your own judgement, dear friend, For it is yo

My dear dear friend, for once let go The subconscious urge to visualize, For those pesky caricatures may hinder, Sensations far too powerful, I surmise. 'Tis her scent which registers first, Like the aroma which heralds of first rain, Arresting, intoxicating, addictive, euphoric, Cleansing my being of long endured pains. The sound of her laughter, falls to my ears, For eons, they had longed for this music That clear strong voice of angels, slices Through the din, making my heart tick. Her touch, gentle, kind, compassionate, As if god draped her with the finest silk, No, even silk is morbidly cold, where she Is warm, firm, comforting, not deviously slick. But 'tis her mind and soul that I crave, That which makes her truly beautiful, That which makes her understand me, And my imperfections, yet love me plentiful. My dear dear friend, do not ask me how She looks, for I cannot justifiably describe. But I'm certain she surpasses your finest Imagination, sh

Spirit. There's nothing stronger, yet nothing more delicate than one's spirit. And his spirit, took a beating every single day. Every boundary that he failed to save, every goal that he could not block, every single ask where he could not deliver, brought along with it a torrential spout of bullying, followed by round after round of mocking, ridicule and shaming. Every evening he would return home, silent, sullen, with dark clouds over eyes that should have been sparkling with happiness. Every night he would console himself that tomorrow would be a different day. But as the sun came up over his school each day, his mishaps were never quite forgotten and were aggregated, laced with malice and flung at him from every corner. He wondered at how long he would have to keep up with it, terrified, alone. One evening as he came home dejected, he found his father who had his day off, enjoying a book aloud with his mother. The sound of their laughter drew him to them, and in their arms

She'd had crazy days in her office, but that day pushed the boundaries of crazy to the point of crumbling. Traffic on the way back, was never more than a minor annoyance to her usually, even in its worst form. But that day, it drove her to the edge, where hearing one more angry honk would cause an aneurysm in her brain, she feared. As she entered her apartment, exasperated, exhausted, clinging to the dregs of her furiously leaking patience, she went straight to the music dock, plonked down her cell and fired up some music. And one by one as the notes poured out, the lines disappeared from her forehead. However, not quite completely. For it was not the usual stressful day. Music had to be complemented by the next best weapon in her arsenal – wine. She poured out a glass and took one mighty swig. “That hit the spot”, she smiled to herself, as she started feeling the medley of wine and music working their charm on her. She plopped down on her favorite couch,

Recently while having a conversation on changing trends in hybrid applications development with a fellow geek, I heard this phrase from him - sunk cost fallacy. For the purposes of communication, I could extract its meaning from the context and thus carry on a stimulating discussion, a pleasant change from the mindless drivel we usually indulge in. However, for some reason, maybe because it struck me a little bit odd that he knew a phrase which I hadn't come across, given his disregard towards vocabulary building and language eloquence, that phrase stuck in my head. And now with a superabundance of leisure time on my hands, I looked it up and had quite an epiphany. Let's take it from the top. Sunk Cost in economics is a retrospective (past) cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. The argument which occurs over it is its effect on current actions and decision-making. According to traditional microeconomics theory, sunk costs should not affect a rational de

Luck, fate, destiny, life - however you see it, whatever you call it, it is the unknown variable in all your plans. You're expected to make room for it, adapt to it and make best of whatever it causes, somehow make it work as a part of your grand plan. That's how you get what you want, right? That's how you stay ahead in the game. But sometimes, this luck-fate-destiny-life plays a cruel joke on you. This variable goes insanely wild, stacks astronomical odds against your plan, and not just rains, but freaking cloudbursts on your parade. Having been at the butt end of such a joke, here's an account of those series of unfortunate events (good one Snicket! I know the feeling!). It all began a few months back, when after hours of reasoning, convincing and flat out emotional blackmailing, I finally got my best friend to come back with me to Mumbai for Diwali. I started looking forward to the trip and had high hopes from it; so did she. The need to make it special was felt e