Sunday, December 30, 2007

A Star in the East

I know I shouldn't be doing this, but can't help it. When one has finely colored pieces of block, options are either toy with them, or build with them. I toyed and I built around the familiar concepts to come up with this rough draft. I can hear someone snickering over there. Shush you! No, don't think about it, I'm far away from you, safe and sound, you can not shoot me. :-p


Summary: A fusion of myth and legend. Yet another Epiphany story. Characters: Radagast, Alatar and Pallando

Disclaimer: Uses the mythological characters created by Tolkien, the legend of magi / three wise kings from the east in the popular Christian belief and the Biblical characters Simeon and Joseph.

Warning: This is a first draft. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts.


A Star in the East


The Lost Ones

Ages had passed since they came, and the world had changed much. But still they plodded wearily, to redeem themselves. Pallando and Alatar had forgotten all they once were, till Radagast, the one with his staff unbroken found them. None of them could remember their days of glory in the West. They had forgotten all about the golden shores of Valinor and the fair songs of the nightingales of Lórien. Not even a single vision of glory of the West remained in their memory they could recollect.

The blue wizards, sent as emissaries of the West to unite the men of the South and the East against Sauron, had begun their work earnestly. But somewhere along the way, they lost track. Their magic guilds became places for necromancy where men offered human sacrifices. And their eyes were blinded by a greed for power, until a day came when their staffs were broken. They trudged in their separate ways for years, cursed by their eternal life. Many a thousand days passed when they wailed in their own disappointment of a lost dream, even when they couldn't remember that dream or their quest.

Radagast the brown, sent at the request of Yavanna, the friend of birds and beasts, trudged in the land of men as he tried to rejuvenate the land and its fruits. He could only play a little role in the defeat of Sauron, and that was an insufficient price for his return to West. Neither did he wish to return there, for he always thought it was never his home. He lost track of the days of his labor, as he trudged along drab and weary lands of the East, until by chance he met two strange yet ancient men at wayside.

Radagast had always worn drab robes, little had he changed over the years, although his hair had turned whiter and his back was bent quite unlike when he first came to Arda. He was on a journey to Babylon, and the sun was setting in the west, when he met a caravan on road, making their camp. He noticed a group of men sitting around a fire and warming themselves in the crisp, yet chilly spring night. As he stood a little away observing the men, a man turned around. He was in his mid twenties. The stranger addressed the Maia, “Master, it is a chilly night. Will you not join us at the fire and make yourself warm?” It was then he noticed that, he himself was shivering.

When he joined the fire, he noticed two men in particular. They were clad in faded blue robes. One was bald, the other had a few hairs left. Both were dark, and their face wrinkled as an evidence of their toils under the sun. Both were huddled close to fire. “Let me not interrupt your conversations,” Radagast kindly said as he joined them.

The Maia listened to the man who invited him to the fire. Radagast inferred from the talks that this man was from Saba, a region further south, but had spent some years in Taxila. Another man, who seemed to know his host well said, “We have been watching these signs of Great King for the past two years. Will you only consider him to be a solution for all our political problems?”

“Does the whole world under one ruler solve all our issues?” his host replied in an equal easy manner.

This sudden reply piqued Radagast's curiosity. “Who is this great King?”

“It has been foretold by Balaam, the son of Beor in ancient times that a star shall come forth out of Jacob and a scepter shall rise out of Israel, and he shall crush the foreheads of Moab and the skulls of all the sons of Sheth. We have been following his star to Jerusalem from Babylon,” his host replied.

“Isn't such a ruler with great power harmful to the nations?” Radagast inquired as he scanned the southern skies to spot any special star.

“But it is also written, all the nations shall be blessed through him. That is why we go to worship him,” a third man much older than the two who already spoke, replied to Radagast. For much of the evening, he contemplated in silence to piece together parts of a conundrum as his host and the group of men around fire continued their debate on a philosopher king and the Messiah of the Jews and his star.

Radagast was so deep in contemplation that he did not realize when all the men had left the fire leaving him alone with the two old men in blue.

Little acts of Kindness

“You must be on your way to Damascus. Where do you come from?” one of the men clad in blue asked.

“Indeed, I go to Damascus. I set sail from Cyprus, and came ashore Galilee and have been traveling hence northwards for the past nine days,” replied Radagast.

“And alone you travel?” the third man asked. “Indeed, we must all,” with a sigh he answered his rhetorical.

“Indeed,” concurred Radagast as he searched the downcast eyes of the two men seated before him. Recognition dawned on him. “Alatar, Pallando!”

“I have not been called that in a long time,” both of them started simultaneously in Valarin. It was obvious to Radagast, despite them sitting next to each other, the two old friends had not recognized as each of the Maiar examined one another. Their eyes sparkled with a renewed hope and anticipation, for it was by chance that Radagast came that night and recognized them; and if not for Radagast they would have never recognized each other.

“I joined this caravan only two days ago, when it set out from Damascus,” said Alatar in all haste eager to hear the stories of Pallando and Radagast. “I've been traveling with them from Babylon,” said Pallando turning to Radagast. “I already told you I were on my way to Damascus. Chance indeed has brought us together again,” Radagast replied to their inquiring gazes.

“What takes you to Jerusalem?” Radagast asked them. “Hope of men,” the minds of the blue wizards whispered. A gentle breeze blew from south, as the trio gazed at each of their eyes and spoke volumes unbeknown to the men who were getting ready to sleep. Shuffling sounds of a pair of feet brought the Maiar back to awareness of their surroundings. Radagast turned his head around and saw the young man who had invited him to the fire.

“Master, you do not seem to have a tent. Will you not join me in my tent and tell me of your tales?” the host said gazing at Radagast. The other two Maiar bid good night to Wadi and Radagast, to join their own hosts.

“Thank you, young master,” Radagast addressed his host.

“Call me Wadi. We are all travelers meeting at nick of time.”

They entered the well made tent, which spoke volumes on the wealth of the host. Eyes of the Maia scrutinized the contents of the temporary room and returned his gaze to its owner. The man answered with a smile to the unasked question, “My father was a merchant, I had traveled with him from Saba to Susa and Taxila and even as far as Luoyang, since I were a little boy.”

Wadi arranged an extra seat for his companion on the rugged floor by layering the animal skins as he spoke, and one of his man servants arrived at that moment with some bread and dried fruits as well as a small wine cask and couple of glasses.

“You can call me Radagast. I've been on my way to Damascus, until I met your traveling party.”

“Why, is it not so anymore?”

“If you will allow me to join you on your trip to see this Prince of Jews, I would also like to see him very much.”

“Indeed, you may. It is your choice, Master.”

Wadi took the offered platter from his servant, setting them on a rug and poured wine on to the proffered cups. He handed out one cup to Radagast and took the other for himself and gestured Radagast to be seated next to the platter.

“I have had my supper, but it seemed to me you have not, Master Radagast.”

“You are very generous, Master Wadi.”

“My father taught me so.”

“He taught you well,” Radagast smiled at the kind mortal.

“Where is your father, young master?”

“On our way from Taxila, he was taken ill at Babylon.”

“You have indeed come a long way to see this Prince.” However, Radagast did not venture into the topic of his father. Instead he broke the bread and took a bite.

“It was his wish to see the Messiah. Alas, he couldn't! Instead he made me promise to deliver the gift he specially made for the prince.”

“And that was his last wish,” Radagast completed the unsaid part of his host's words.

Wadi turned his face away as his eyes watered, to adjust the wick of a lantern that lit the tent. Radagast did not need to see the young man's face to comprehend his sorrow. He had walked the surface of earth for more than five hundred generations of men.

“Your father must have been a very good man, so as to have such a great desire to see a prince of a strange people, and to make you promise to give a gift that he made specially for an unknown man.”

“My father Kabir and his friends had formed a league of merchants to help each other when on road. It must have been a long time back. Artabanus of Susa and Aretas of Damascus have been his close friends, and they had traveled together a lot, while on road to India and Sinae. They often camped out at Taxila with Pariksit, a silk merchant, with whom they would discuss of many things.” There was a small smile on Wadi's face as he reminisced.

“It had not always been easy to be merchants on the road, with a hostile government and overzealous brigands.” Wadi chuckled humorlessly. “They had sworn to protect each other, and have been so all these years. When I started traveling with my father as a young boy, he made me take an oath of comradery and secrecy.” He paused as if in doubt.

“You can trust me, young Master. Not a single word of this shall be spilled from the mouth of this old man.”

“I somehow believe, I can trust you. Your eyes reflect wisdom of long journeys.”

“My father was my teacher. His friends also took their turn to coach me each of their little trade secrets. It wasn't so long ago when Aretas studied the scriptures along with my father. As a boy I used to run their errands, while they holed up. They had much interesting discussions when Artabanus visited them. They will study the night sky, drawing up charts, all while waiting for their goods and at times spending like three months in Susa or Taxilla. They taught me much.”

“It was not more than two years ago, when Pariksit sighted a special star in the Aquarius. Since then they had been diligently working to figure out what it meant. It was not more than six months ago, while we were in Babylon that we sighted the seal of Solomon. My father passed away not much after that.”

Wadi took a beautifully handcrafted box, and opened it for Radagast to see. Inside the box was a roll of purple thread.

“A very royal color.”

“My father dyed it himself.”

“The hour is getting late. I must allow you to rest for the night.” Wadi soon bid Radagast a fare night, and left him alone.

The Maia mulled over the conversations that he had heard that day, as he tried to rest his body. Sleep did not come to him. His mind wandered far and wide, as he laid over the rugs. He was up early and was standing by the edge of the camp scanning the southern sky, when Pallando found him.

'There you see the nova.' Pallando's mind-speech directed his attention back to the sky. 'Isn't the series of special celestial events amazing?'

'Indeed'

'I wonder what we'll find at the end of the journey.'

'I too wonder that.'

Wadi soon found the duo and invited them to break fast with him. Soon they all broke the camp to resume their southward journey, except for Radagast, who turned back from his path.

As their day's march progressed, sun scorched their paths, tiring them and blinding them with light reflected from the sea of sand surrounding them. Alatar slipped and almost fell on the near molten sand, but at the same moment Xia one of the lads who worked for Pariksit gave him a hand and nearly fell along with the Maia to the ground.

The kindness that these men showed their guests as well as the kindness that they showed each other, between masters and servants, as well as among friends, touched the hearts of the Maiar. To Radagast, they reminded him of the fellowship of the merry sylvan elves who were once his neighbors when he resided at Rhosgobel ages ago, as well as the kindness of the woodmen and the hospitality of Beornings, all at the same time. The spirits of the men and the Maiar rose as each day passed by, and they looked forward to their entry to Jerusalem.

The company traveled from water hole to water hole and each night one of the Maiar would regale the men with their tales from far away lands filling their listeners with amazement. The men revered the older men for their wisdom and knowledge, and the Maiar respected these men in return for their kindness and hospitality.

A Stranger

On the eleventh day, the company entered the outskirts of Jerusalem. It was time for the company to make inquiries about the young prince of Jews.

“Will not the Prince be found at the palace, after all Herod is the king of Judea?”, Wadi asked in all his ignorance.

“But we do not know he is of the line of David,” Artabanus replied.

“Why do we have to squabble among ourselves, when we can go to the palace and find out about Messiah ourselves? Aren't Jews supposed to be united, because of the Romans?” Aretas reasoned.

Pariksit agreed with Aretas to find their answers at the palace. Radagast took a minute to contemplate. He had not associated with men of power in a long time. He did not want to meet Herod, for he doubted the King's virtue. Alatar and Pallando silently agreed with him.

“We would like to see Jerusalem, before we see the Prince.” Radagast decided. “Send us word, if you find the baby at the palace, we will be at the outer court of the temple. We will also inquire about the Messiah with the learned men at the temple.”

The four men left rest of their men at the camp, when they headed for the palace. Alatar, having never seen the temple, didn't want to dawdle. So he along with Pallando went straight to the temple with no wayside distractions. However, Radagast's mind was at unrest. He dallied on his way, and rested near a well on one of the long cobbled paths that led to the temple.

A tall woman, clad in grey, came with an empty jar to the well. She drew up some water and asked Radagast, “Master, would you want some water?” He nodded positively and the woman poured water to his conjoined hands.

“You seem to be a foreigner. Do you come from far up north?”

“Aye, I do. You are unusually taller than the people here?” The woman smiled at the Maia. She reminded him of the elven folks that dwelt in the north-west ages ago. The woman didn't reply as she continued to fill her jar, instead she asked, “Would you like to sup with the family I assist?”

The stranger piqued the Maia's curiosity and he readily accepted the invitation. The Maia followed the woman up the narrow cobbled alley way. She stopped before a small house and knocked on the door loud. The woman opened the door and entered, and the Maia could hear the movements of a pair of feet from the other end of the house. “Halom, is that you?” voice of an aged woman called out from the back of the two roomed house. The woman went into a kitchen like room and set the jar out of the way. “I have brought you water, Anna”

The older woman made her way to the Maia and the woman. It seemed to the Maia that she was blind. “You have a guest, Anna,” the woman said as she brought out some bread that was kept on a shelf. She gave the bread to the older woman and helped her sit on a small stool. The woman brought out another stool and bid Radagast sit on that. Then she sat on the floor between the two, completing a triangle.

“Will you not speak, guest?” The older woman spoke out loudly. The woman must be slightly deaf, Radagast thought.

“You may call me Radagast. I come from far north to see Jerusalem. I met your friend near the well.”

“A strange name, but then you are from a strange people like Halom here.” The blind woman wondered aloud. “What brings you to Jerusalem?”

“The Messiah,” Anna smiled at that.

“There's a man called Simeon, whom you may meet him at the temple. It's said that he shall not pass without him seeing the hope of Israel.”

Anna broke the bread and passed out a piece to Radagast and another to Halom. Then she ate for herself a modest meal of bread and water. To add to the surprise of Radagast, he had never tasted a bread so good.

“I very much thank you for your hospitality.”

“Say not a word to me, for God provides. Give him your thanks.”

“Indeed.”

“I need to make my way to the temple.” Radagast rose from his stool paying his respect to the elderly woman.

“Halom can lead you to the temple.” Anna suggested.

“I will do as you wish.”, the woman answered. Halom's grey eyes twinkled in the torch light. As the woman rose from the floor Radagast noticed a shimmer of gold at the edge of woman's head scarf. When they both returned to the daylight in the alley, she led him northwards in the direction of the temple through the cobbled alley, and he decided that it was a silver shimmer that he saw. He paused, “You are of elven kin.”, thinking strange things were happening.

“Am I?” her eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Your eyes tell me of a different time.”

“Do they?”

“And you seek redemption,” the stranger stated blandly.

“Who doesn't?”

“You expect a solution.”

“I have no expectations. I have trudged long days, and I do not find an end to that any sooner. I know very well that I can not redeem myself from my failure, but neither have I found a redeemer.”

“Don't you have hope?”

“I came here with hope, to find the redeemer of men. Mayhap he can redeem me as well.” Radagast wishful answer brought a small smile to the stranger's face. “Indeed, I'm a fool to trust to that hope. I have been a fool in the past, and have been made one.” His eyes looked distant as he reminisced.

“Indeed, it is a fool's hope.” They entered the outer court of the temple. “Go to Bethlehem. There your eyes shall see the hope you seek.”

A very disappointed Alatar, came with Pallando to meet Radagast at the temple court. “I had expected a temple, but this is like a market. Besides gentiles are not even allowed in the inner court.”

“Do not be disappointed, Alatar. We will find what we seek in Bethlehem. Halom, here can lead us.” Radagast turned to introduce the stranger to the other Maiar, but she was gone. It was already dusk and many stars sparkled in the sky like tiny diamonds set on a dark veil. The Maiar left the temple. Very soon they found the star of Bethlehem, almost as if dangling over the small village.

Found and Claimed

The three Maiar found themselves walking again on a narrow path, that led them away from much of the population in Jerusalem. The night was cold, but bearable to their aged body. Soon they found themselves, looking on to an even narrower gravel path, that led them to pastures by the neighboring hill sides. They were now on a hill, and there were small caves on it's sides were cattle rested during cold nights. They passed through few such caves, when they finally came to a cave above which, the star they had followed seemed to be resting.

They peered inside and saw a woman and a child on her lap. Both were resting. A man was also there, arranging some hay, may be to make a bed for the mother. There were also some cattle in the cave, including a couple of sheep. The visitors were in confusion, unable to determine whether to intrude or not. But the man noticed them, before they turned back.

“Masters, can I help you?”

“We came to see, Emmanuel,” Alatar answered for all three of them.

“Come and see for yourselves,” Joseph invited them to the cave.

The mother and her child stirred as the trio entered the cave. The visitors walked silently and stopped, standing before the mother and the child. The mother seemed to be deep in contemplation where as the child seemed to be laughing when they looked upon them. The infant held each Maiar in his gaze for a while, and to each Maiar it seemed that he was looking into a pool of infinite depth. Thoughts fled them for that little while, and only peace remained.

Alatar stood there as if frozen like a statue, gazing at the humble family. Pallando had to mentally nudge Alatar to offer his gift to the King of all Kings. He kneeled down before the mother and the child, and offered a simple wooden level, and silently worshiped the creator of all. Pallando followed suit. He kneeled and bowed before the infant, laying down a tiny box full of polished gems. Radagast wondered at the silliness of giving a gift of the finest birds to the giver of life, yet he gave a pair of white doves as an offering to his redeemer. The child seemed to be laughing, as he made a gurgling noise. He reached out his hands as if to touch the wizened men, that brought smiles to their faces.

The visitors spent rest of the night at the cave entrance, where they made a small fire and talked about many things. When morning came they bid farewell to the family and made their way to the temple. Once they reached the temple court, they found a corner where they could rest for a while.

Wadi came to the court later that afternoon, looking for the three travelers. He found them huddled in a corner talking to some older men. Simeon was among them.

“He will be a light of revelation to the gentiles and the glory of the people of Israel.”

Wadi joined the discussion, “And where will he be found?”

“In Bethlehem,” mumbled Radagast as if he had grown senile in a day.

“Indeed, he may be, for there is no Prince born in the palace.”

“We found what we were looking for in Bethlehem,” whispered Alatar. “May be you shall also find what you seek in Bethlehem.”

“May be,” Wadi found himself doubting.

“It is indeed written, that Bethlehem is not least of all lands of Judah, for from her shall come forth a ruler that shall shepherd Israel.” Simeon smiled upon the young man.

“Masters, will you not join me at the camp and recount some of your tales?” Wadi tried to get the travelers back to the camp.

“Young man, we thank you for your kind invitation. But we are at our journey's end. We old men like to dawdle a bit more in this old city,” Radagast's eyes twinkled.

“I shall not steal your time then,” Wadi's face sank a bit, for he had indeed grown to love the company of these old men and their unusual tales. He bid them farewell, and as he left the court, he thought he heard someone whisper to him. It was Radagast's voice. The man turned back to look at the Maia. The Maia held his gaze. 'You have come a long way to fulfill a promise. Go to Bethlehem, for you shall find what you seek. Do not worry of us, for our journey has come to an end, but you still have miles to go.'

Wadi knew at that moment that he might be seeing them for the last time, but he simply nodded to the Maiar and made his way to outskirts of the city. The dusk came and somewhere within the walls of the city three Maiar huddled around a small fire. They were cold, and had lost awareness of reality, for the weight of the years they had passed were finally upon them. Someone came along and wrapped each of them in a blanket and made fire for them late in the night.

A stranger stood afar, watching them with a mysterious smile. 'Count three more to join the legion tonight,' the person whispered to someone mayhap invisible.

A peace they hadn't known in ages enveloped the Maiar, for they were found and claimed. And not much longer later when they were into their dreams, their spirits soared free, though they never returned West.

Ω


List of OCs: Wadi, son of Kabir of Saba/Sheba, Pariksit of Taxila, Aretas of Damascus, Artabanus of Susa, Xia, Pariksit's errand boy, Halom(Hebrew word for dream), Anna, the blind woman in Jerusalem



Now that I have bored you out of your mind, I can wish you very merrily(mind you, I'm very merry now) a very happy new year! May your dreams come true(and not any of that silly notions to conquer the world or something along that line).

Thursday, December 20, 2007

a face she can't forget

She tucked herself back on bed, and closed her eyes as if to sleep. Sleep visited her late, and with sleep came dreams with a face that haunted her. A face that she can never forget.

That was a face before she held herself proud, and always stayed far away for she feared their differences. A time came when she decided to subdue her fears and walk across the line of disparity, but the same time parted their ways. She hoped that chance may bring them again to the same crosswalks, and chance did bring them together, in dreams.

His face looked so forlorn, when she caught sight of him in the corridor, waiting for his turn. He looked straight at her, but she turned her face away from him, and blinked away the tears, that dared to slide out of her eyes.

Again she tossed in her bed, as if awake. But she was asleep and her eyes moved rapidly. and her face was wet from tears that slipped through the corners of her eyes.

She saw him again, this time sleeping in a bed clothed in a pale blue pajamas, and she stood there at the door watching him. There were dark circles around his eyes and a clear liquid dripped through the IV tube into his veins in the left arm. She slowly walked in and simply stood next to him. Her hands seemed to move on its own will to hold his right arm, but she saw the many needle marks and paused. She moved closer to him and brushed away the hair that fell carelessly on his face. She did not blink away the tears that threatened to fall. She let them flow, and a single drop fell on his cheek, making him open his eyes. His eyes focused on her face as he came to awareness and he whispered, "You came."


well, that was a bit of a writing exercise. not too bad i hope.

Monday, December 17, 2007

on ice storms, hoboes, uncle amos and other tales

last monday night, there was a nasty ice storm. though we had two outages on monday night, the power returned soon enough. but by the time i woke up on tuesday morning, there was no power. hoping that power would be back by end of day, almost everyone here in eastern kansas could've stayed home that day. the landscape looked lovely with trees bearing icicles and it was a winter wonder land, except considering the broken power lines, the damage to tree limbs and slick roads. it didn't take much for any of us to realize how much we depend on electricity. since the heating and cooking stove at the house were on electricity, we didn't have much options than to lit the candles, kerosene lamps, propane lamps and so for the lighting and bundle up. we had a charcoal grilled hamburger for dinner. rest of the evening, we sat around the living room with jack telling stories about his grandmother and hoboes.

jack being born in 1930s have very many interesting stories to share. he opened the narration with his grandmother. she was a very nice woman who used to feed hoboes(hoboes are professional tramps who travel from place to place by stealing rides on trains and beg for a living). jack's grandmother, as she served food would enquire about the hobo's family and so. then she would give him a free counsel, telling him why he should work instead of leading a tramp's life and share some verses from the bible. there also used to be people who would try to discourage this grandmother from her good will. the reason being, hoboes could be dangerous. but nothing could discourage her for one of her brother's was a hobo. this hobo was jack's great uncle amos.

uncle amos was a talented blacksmith and a violinist. after the time of jack's grandmother uncle amos used to live with jack's parents during winter. he would work during the winter and earn his bread. but when spring comes he would have that 'faraway' look on his face. before much long, he would leave home in his brand new clothes to lead a hobo's life. at the beginning of next winter he would return in raggedy rags.

i am not going to complete the rest of the late night tale what jack told that night, instead i'll tell you the tale of what i did after the ice storm. i slept that night in my sleeping bag. we all hoped that power will be back on by morning next day, but instead woke up to a 55˚ F morning weather in the house. spent rest of the day at school and had dinner with friends, camped out the night at friend's. the cycle repeated for next two days. each night, before i closed my eyes i wondered what it feels like to be a hobo. may be it's something like what i felt. to be with friends, but at the same time missing the warmth of one's own home?

i'm more like a hobo now. trying to hear the tales of other travelers rather than telling my own tale. storing up the tales in my head when they share, and being extremely reluctant to talk about my own home(having not seen my family in two years, being the reason for my own reluctance). the sad part is even if i am with my family, i no longer belong to them. i belong to nowhere, whether it be here or there. i wonder if i return to my family now, whether i will get that faraway look on my face like uncle amos within a fortnight.

after more than hundred hours of outage(house temperature was 41˚ F), the power lines were fixed. and i were back at my regular spot at the house by saturday evening. and what touched me the most in these four days without power, is the hospitality of friends and strangers, who became friends. i guess kansas will always have a special place in my heart.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

procrastinart

fractals are fun way to waste time! i played with gimp for nearly 2 hours today. the proof follows ;)


i really like the flame fractal and the super-nova lighting effect. :-) the next is also a flame fractal.


the next one doesn't have much of the fractal, but the flare light effect with the default parameters.


ok, said enough. now back to work. :-)


nb: i'm one of those many earnestly waiting for comet holmes to develop tail(likely not to happen). clear skies and a nice comet is a good enough excuse for a night ride, even when it's below freezing temperature.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

a story behind an alias

for a very long time my alias on the internet had been djinx. there's a story behind that. when i first created my email account at yahoo, my alias was simply my first name. but the law of entropy proved its mightiness pretty sooner than i expected, for the password to my account was soon forgotten(even these days when one has to use more than 20 passwords per day, remembering them can be tedious). for a long time (almost a month or so) i remained in oblivion of my account, and then one day i decided i'll start using yahoo account. by that time i had forgotten even about the email account. naturally, my first preferred alias was my first name. since it was already in use, i couldn't use it(trust me to remember that. even as i type this i'm distracted by the gentle snores of a cat. have you heard that ever before?). those days i didn't have the patience to type in a very long alias(first name+last name combination), as i have these days. so i just typed in djin('dj' being my nick given by my friends). yep, my alias became djin*. my friend anand then had to promptly remind me what a djinn/djinx means when i made my first post.

etymologically the roots of the word djini/djinni/djinn are from the semitic root "GNN" which means concealed. but most dictionaries give something synonymous to spirit because of the latin word "genius" and the arab word "genie"(an excerpt from the wikipedia about the etymological origins for the word djinn/djinni/djini is given toward the end of the post). eventually i hid behind that alias fulfilling its semitic root meaning. now that i sit back and think about it, i realize i don't really need to be concealed.

Arabia

Genie is the usual English translation of the Arabic term jinni, but it is not directly an Anglicized form of the Arabic word, as is commonly thought. The English word comes from French génie, which meant a spirit of any kind, which in turn came from Latin genius, which meant a sort of tutelary or guardian spirit thought to be assigned to each person at birth. The Latin word predates the Arabic word jinni in this context, and may have been introduced in the Arabian civilization through the Nabataeans. The root however, and its concept of being "hidden" or "concealed" still comes from the Semitic root "GNN", which is originally from Paleo-Hebrew, and from which the Greek word Genesis and the Arabic Jannah (garden or paradise) is derived.


Arabic lexicons, such as Taj-il Uroos, and William Lane's lexicon provide the rendered meaning of Jinn not only for spirits, but also for anything concealed through time, status and even physical darkness. A classical Arabic use of the term Jinn is as follows:

وَلا جِنَّ بِالْبَغْضَآءِ وَالنَّظَرِ الشَّزْرِ

And there is no concealment with vehement hatred and the looking with aversion.

English

The first recorded use of the word Genie in English was in 1655 as geny, with the Latin meaning. The French translators of The Book of One Thousand and One Nights later used the word génie as a translation of jinni because it was similar to the Arabic word both in sound and in meaning; this meaning was also picked up in English and has since become dominant. The plural, according to Sir Richard Francis Burton, is Jan.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Across oceans

Yet another stream of incoherent/coherent(take it the way you want) thoughts ...

at shores of time,
together they played
twisting the mantle of time.

vast was the pool
of the ocean blue,
that they tried to empty.

time stayed still
with their laughter-fill,
but then it came
with a warp
torn apart swiftly,
thrown into the mantle.

she laments still
at shores of time,
'O brother! O brother!
My friend of old'

across oceans
souls still search,
for their friend of old,
yet unbeknown.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Strange dreams

Once again I fell asleep on the couch, in my desperate effort(which later turned out to be not so desperate) to fall asleep. It was pretty cold, but still I managed to sleep without a blanket. That's the only reason I could think of, for the strange phenomenon of remembering a dream (people don't normally remember their dreams). But there was one line, which I said to myself that I remember in particular about the dream with a sheet of paper in hands, 'Hey, this is too funny. I should take a blank sheet of paper and write about it'. And I believe that's what I am precisely doing now, though technically it's just typing.

Osama Bin Laden and the pressure cooker

Yes, that's the title of the story inspired by my dream. It's alright, you can laugh. Part one of the story goes like this ....

'It's so unusually cold', I said to myself as I tossed and turned in my bed at my home in the tropics, unable to sleep and disgruntled, complaining to myself.

'Ding dong', there rings the door bell. 'Oh well, that gives me a reason to get up, this early', I said to myself staring at the wall clock. The clock hands showed the time to be precisely 6:15 . 'Whoever is at the front door, has great timing', I went on rambling to myself as I dressed. And being my usual self, I dashed down the stairs to get to the door.


That's the way I normally get to 'the door' from my upstairs room, back at home. O, I miss this!

Without doing any harm to myself I stood at the landing of the stairs, staring at the ornate doors still pondering, 'Who could be the bugger on the other side of the door?' I moved to the door, unbolted and unlocked it, opening the heavy door slowly to the visitor. Wolla, there stood my younger cousin who had just finished high-school that spring, and his band of brothers.

Even with my natural quality of precarious lacking in observational skills, I still managed to see their disarray of clothes. 'Well. come on in', even as I said it my cousin Tom looked a tad embarrassed and I continued in my most amicable tone(mimicking after my father), 'What are you waiting for, another grant invitation?'

The three teenagers filed in through the front door with my cousin trying to give a logical explanation to their ramshackled appearance after a night out. 'We missed the last bus home, after the cinemas yesterday night. But then as we wondered what we'll do, we saw the bus here and boarded it', said Tom.

'And you boys spent the night in the bus?', I replied, rolling my eyes.

'No', he lied through his teeth. From the expression on their faces, it was evident that those gangly boys had done something close to that. 'We slept on the porch', he said nervously eying outside.

'Oh, then you must have seen my ma and pa, leaving early', I said still observing the nervous train wrecks before me, 'Why didn't they let you inside?'

'Hmm, well, we went to grab a cup of tea from the store. So we missed them', Ayaz helped on his faithful friend.

'There is no point in getting them to contradict themselves this early during the day. I can catch them at it later. Besides they look exhausted', so thinking I inquired, 'Why don't you be seated? I'll get you some breakfast.'

As I was about to steer myself to the kitchen, George asked, 'Can I have some milk, please? If possible warm?'

I gave an apologetic look at the boys who were huddled on the sofa, rubbing their hands together, 'You must be cold. Let me get you some blankets.' After bundling the boys in light blankets I inquired, 'Would you boys like to have cocoa in your milk?' With their mute nodes, I left for the kitchen to make some breakfast of pancakes and toast and tea and hot cocoa.
This is a most unlikely thing to happen when I were at home.

While serving the breakfast I gently prodded them with light questions as to why they were really at my home. I glued together, the few bits of clues that they accidentally dropped through their answers and found that my prodigious brother is going to give my family a surprise visit that day. Still with what little the teens said, there wasn't a definite answer to where they spent the night. And Tom did not trust me with secrets as much as he trusted my brother, for I was plain outrageous to him, simply because I shared the necessary facts with the older generation. For this reason alone, the boys in the family like to keep their sisters in the dark.

Well, there is some truth in this part.

To be continued ...

Friday, September 21, 2007

Mysteries of cathood

The feline creatures, that walks the earth, what mysteries do they have to reveal? The scientists over years have observed and recorded the behavior of these creatures in their natural habitat. From big cats that walk the jungles of Africa and Asia to bobcats and lynx that prowl the Midwest to the mischievous feline pets that adorns our homes, what do they have in common beside being in the same family and have similar survival extincts?

These days I am learning much from the resident feline of Stroade residence, the cat who talks back. The cat named meow-meow was so called because whenever she hears a human saying meow, she meows back. A very social animal that seeks attention and company, can often be annoying when she jumps over or onto someone when he/she is amidst a nap. Meow-meow and me are no exceptions to this phenomenon. She comes and curls up next to me late in the night, while I am sleeping, at times preventing me from turning around in sleep.

Pesky, purring cat!
She beats with her tail,
And how fair is that?

And that is, what happens during the day between the cat and me. To avoid this pesky situation, I made up my mind to play with Toby, Jeri's resident dog. The first day was a success. The cat didn't approach me. Second day, she seemed to keep her distance a bit, but within half an hour she changed her mind. As usual, she was curling up next to me, while I am working. Later I decided on a different strategy, to let her sniff on my hands after I petted Toby. She seemed to be not so keen, to come and crawl on me, but rather contented to be sleeping on the couch next to me.

My experiments are still evolving. Still I wonder whatever made Robert Heinlein say, 'Women and cats do as they please; and men and dogs should relax and get used to this idea.'

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

birthdays or begetting days?

I do not know, which one to celebrate. Honestly the thought of celebrating makes me homesick! Besides there is that feeling of loss of childhood, and emotions run high.

I was one of those kids who remained shut in a room on their birthday, lamenting the loss of another year of life, and the approach of adulthood. Now I realize why I did so. There is a tendency in us to prevail in the present and resist changes. The degree of it varies from the conservatism to fundamentalism. The forms of conservatism vary from that old lady who tries to appear young, to the person who practices and preaches radical religious ideas. This tendency to resist change are seen at places where it is required to revert to old agrarian way and at places where the change influxed by western ideas in the oriental societies are met with resistance. Have anyone wondered the reasons for that? Although I mention only two ends of a spectrum, the human tendency to resist change is universal. The reasons need to be investigated further.

Now coming back to the point, I have got rid of the habit of moping by myself. And I am debating on whether I should or shouldn't celebrate my begetting day next year. That is my not so formulated plan for some embarrassing conversations with my parents ;)

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Pieces of moon

It was 2 in the morning, yet she was not able to sleep. She tossed and turned, as she tugged her sheets. When she realized there was no point in remaining on the bed, she got up and walked to the table where she had started to work on another jigsaw puzzle, a picture of a moonlit night. She looked at the printed image on the box, and decided she wanted to put together the pieces of moon. She kept on searching among more than 900 pieces, where most of them were itty bitty pieces of clouds and moonlit surfs. As she kept on meticulously searching for those pieces, she wondered, "How ridiculous! Why am I trying to find pieces of moon among the clouds?"

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

The Carver by The Lake

It was not beginning, yet it was time, the time for the beginning of His children. And He was by the Lake none beside Him except His most precious thought, His Wisdom. She alone watched Him as He carved and none besides her saw Him as He labored. While He carved, she brought Him more clay. [1]

“When they awake, they will be awestruck at the sight of stars.”
“Indeed.”
“Varda has done her task well. But will You not reveal Your Grace to them?”
“All in time. They have a journey to make.”
“You will let them stumble, won't you?”
“They have a choice to make. That is why I kindled them.”[2]

She sighed and went on to weave about Eruhíni a shelter from the extremities of Arda. [3]

Knowing His thought, He said, “You remember Melkor's hunt for you, don't you?”
She once again sighed, “How can I forget! When he should have looked within himself, he searched in the void.”
“You know, he will search for Your children to quench their Flames.”
“Indeed.”
“Will you not guide them, when they seek it?”
“You are there.”
“I can not help them once they are corrupted, unless they turn to You.”
“I know.” [4]

Once again, He resumed His work. As He looked at the sleeping forms of His children, He smiled and the Love that shone in His eyes surprised her.

“You know well that You never cease to amaze me.”
“I like surprises, and I never cease to surprise.”

Wisdom laughed gaily at Her Sire's remark, and her laughter echoed throughout Eä; and the children smiled even while they were sleeping. She caressed their dark and fair heads as she moved about them.[5]

She once again looked at Her Sire.
“You have more thoughts?”
“You do favor some of them above others, don't You?”
“I do and do not favor one above the other.”
“Then why do I get this feeling that You like Your second born better?”
“They will have to toil harder against the one on whom I bestowed more favor than others.”
“You know he was the first to decline me. I will not be surprised if more of Your children follow.”
“You still love them, even if you call them fools.”
“What a paradox! You kindle them with me, but still make them reject me with that same flame.”
“I do not make them, but it is their choice.” [6]

She once again resumed her silence as she continued her work. While He gave the last touches to His work, He sighed. “They will all come to me. All in Time.” Once again He turned His thoughts to His Wisdom. “You will guide them.”
As My Sire asks whatever of me, I shall do. You know well, I can not aid those without a pure heart. It has already been an agony to see Your children suffer in their own folly. Time and time again it will come, when they forget me. Still I shall keep my ever vigilance for those who seek me.”[7]


Interpretation

He and His thought Wisdom are one and the same, the one and only Eru. This is not a schizophrenic depiction of Eru's mind, but rather one of my ways of telling His thoughts in a poem/story/essay. His Wisdom is depicted as a she, just to show that Eru being the supreme, is complete.

[1] The reference to clay indicates hroa of children are made from materials of Eä. This is a mythological world and here there is no scope for evolution. :D

[2] When elves awoke by the Lake, they were mesmerized by Varda's stars. Glory of Varda's handiwork or all of the Eä together is nothing compared to Eru Himself. And Eru has a desire to reveal His Glory and shower His Grace to His children whom he kindled with flame imperishable. (I also interpret flame imperishable as the aspect of Eru which gives free will and life to the beings He created.) His Children did stumble in their voyage, both elder and younger ones. Eru chose not to intervene in Eä, so as to have His children exercise their free will.

[3] I do not think Eru clothed the children while they slept. When they awoke they were like new born, but he had to protect them from the extremities of the world while they slept.

[4] Melkor's hunt refers to his vain search for Flame imperishable which was set at the heart of the world. What is at the heart of the world? What is the hardest thing to understand? I think, it is one's own being and the supreme being. The heart of Tolkien's mythology is Eru creating His children, both First born and Second born. It is from there on, that his saga truly begins. So in a way one can think of life as heart of the world. In order to understand flame imperishable one has to truly understand oneself, and then only one can truly understand the supreme being. But in this effort, there is always that inner voice who offers the guidance.

[5] The selfless love of a Father to His children is indescribable. His joy in seeing his children sleep echoes throughout all Eä.

[6] Eru does not favor one above the other, but still it looks like He favors some. This is a paradox, just like the paradox that He gives life to His children, but let them give the choice to reject or accept Him. Melkor was given the most number of gifts when compared to other Valar, but he was also the first to deny His wisdom and fall into folly of pride and arrogance. When Melkor looked upon Eruhíni, he was clouded with jealousy. He saw them as his enemies and sought their annihilation, when he should have seen them as younger siblings and loved them. Both elves and men had to fight against Melkor for their survival. But it is the second born who has to live in Morgoth's ring till the end of time. In a way, for their suffering Eru seemed to have favored second born as they were given the gift of death to leave the circles of Eä to return to Him.

[7] The last act of giving the commission to guide His children is to be looked as a promise to His children that He makes. And in time or rather say at ending of time, all His children will be singing to Him again. Though fate of the elves are unknown, I do not think they will be left out from His Grace.


Monday, August 06, 2007

Guess what?

I am too lazy to write my own story, after building a world of its own. So what, I am making an effort to express. This is the latest thing I wrote other than corrections to my thesis:) It is set in Tolkien's mythological world, and is about the progression of life. This is just the beginning of a poem and the title is The Carver by the Lake. The lines, which you might think are in a strange language are simply the translation in Sindarin, an imaginary language by Tolkien. :D
So whatever you think, feel free to comment.


The Carver by the Lake


Epë i Nothril istas,
(Even) before the Weaver(Vairë) knew,

Io ennas, i Daerceredir nef i ael !
There once was, The
Carver by the Lake!

Sui Mudas, ara forvo În
As He carved,
by His side was

Angol În, cened sai pain!
His Wisdom,
witnessing it all!!



“Dîno a lasto!
Be Still and
Hark!

Sui iChwest thuia thar lhorn!
As The gentle wind
breathes over still waters!

Tira i vîw rhinc, a rincir!..”
See the little ripples, and they stir!..


Rest of the poem will be posted once I finish it. Hmm, when will that be?

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Creative writing

I am not particularly enthusiastic about sharing this piece. I think I had always wanted to be a writer since my earliest days, I suppose. I had been living in oblivion of this secret goal of mine for so long. I remembered of this interest, while listening to a particular talk at Perspectives I think, when Mr McCarthy was casually talking about "talents". I am now wondering how did I forget about myself. Ever since my junior year in high school, I have sincerely pursued my interest in maths and science and totally ignored the artistic side of me. May be that's the way I continued all through out my days in engineering school. Well that makes me think, 'O, I did have amnesia.'
This is an excellent example in which one can illustrate how our outward goals subdues our inner person. I think quality writing where we purge our souls innermost thoughts is a really daunting task. Once you write, it not only aids in identifying your thoughts with clarity, but also in embracing your values without hesitation. Just like speech, written word is powerful enough to move nations and people group. (O, I am just repeating what several people have said before. May be an adage like 'Pen is mightier than sword.')
So coming to the point, what made me write this far. I am an aspiring writer. Alright, there I said/typed it. (Ai! This is like a 'coming out'.)

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Down the memory lane

I am trying to recollect some of my earliest memories, to be exact I want to know how much I can remember of my escapades when I was less than 5. I assume that the events I can recollect are most likely to be remembered by my parents better. I remember that I used to play with my brother, making up tales of a character named appachi-kuchi. Although I don't remember it's role that well, the character was from a far far away place, and most likely it had received all our abuses, since it was played by a dumb doll and our(my brother and I) own differences how the tale should proceed were not easily resolved. As I am writing this I did an isearch to find out that Kuchi is actually a pashtun tribe in Afghanistan. I still can't figure out how we came with that name? May be my brother and I should have been so creative or we already had some Afghan influence.

I must confess at this point that Kabuliwalah(Fruit seller from Kabul) by Tagore is one of my favorite short stories of all times. That reminds me another of my memories, when I used to make my mom mildly to wildly enraged. There used to be this old fellow, a total drunkard who used to clean municipal canals( rather say drainage), and disowned by his family. He used to visit my family occasionally, normally at the end of day, I don't exactly remember the frequency though, but it adds to my oddity that he was one of my favorite visitors other than, may be my grandfather and my cousins. May be it's because this fellow Krishan used to tell me stories. I can't think of any other reason, he totally stank of dirt. At the end of day when he come to our home, I will run to him most likely in my clean clothes just after the shower to the utter disgust of my mother. (Poor her, she must have had a hard time to keep me in clean clothes :)) That's not all, just like Kabuliwalah, Krishnan used to bring me snacks. I think it is a part of our culture for older people to bring their favorite kids some sweets when they visit them ;), although I can't think of a time when pazham pori was my favorite. Still I used to eat them, after having it from his dirty hands. I must add this too, my mom was a bit afraid of Krishnan, thinking that he might kidnap me(shouldn't all moms be like that?). I think I liked that idea, not the part of being kidnapped but mom being scared. In those days, when I get pretty good scoldings from my mom, I would wail out loudly saying that I will report her to Gurkha(whatever gave me that strange idea?). Gurkhas used to be the local watch, kind of like the friendly campus police. There used to be some Gurkha around my neighborhood in those days. I don't remember me wailing that frequently though, may be once.

Now you must be wondering, I must have been a very naughty child. I must say I was a very descent kid, not doing anything that leads to trouble, most of the time. Still what do my parents retell, my little mischievous acts, but only when asked specifically about that phase of life, so that I can remember myself as a very naughty kid. I don't know why is it a part of human nature to recollect all the negatives before positives about fellow human beings. May be if said all nice things about everyone around us, life won't be very interesting.

To conclude this note and to remove confusions, whether Gurkahs are still around guarding Indian neighborhoods, I have no idea, as there are no statistics available at this present time. About Krishnan, he died on some roadside pavement, forlorn :( a few years ago. The rumor was that he was high on alcohol and drugs. There are a lot of such social outcast living among us. hmmm..