Aham Brahmasmi

Every morning, when my eyes open for the first time, when my brain wakes up to the inescapable reality of the today, when my lungs tell me that they’ve kept up the tiring work of keeping me alive, when the tips of my fingers are still tingling with the evanescence of dreams I had subconsciously reached out for, my heart goes thump-thump-thump, screaming into my ears that without you, every waking up is an exercise in predestined futility. And every night, just before my eyes close for the last time, when the gap between my toes has accumulated the imperceptible dust of the shattered day, when the waves of deliverance have touched the roots of my hair for the briefest of seconds, when the riotous desires from the omnipresent halls of collective humanity have lived and died in my sweat and blood, my heart goes thump-thump-thump, whispering into my disintegrating cognizance that without you, every going to sleep is a scream into the nothingness of oblivion.

“ Appearances to the mind are of four kinds. Things either are what they appear to be; or they neither are, nor appear to be; or they are, and do not appear to be; or they are not, and yet appear to be. ” – Epictetus Joydeep Ray-Bhattacharya’s The Storyteller of Marrakesh  begins with the proposition that there is no truth, only opinions and their diversity. Hassan, the story-teller and the first person in his narrative, states as much when he ploclaims – “ Truth is that which inevitably contradicts itself. Perhaps that is what is borne out by my story in the end. That might explain why, instead of the truth, I offer you a greater consolation: a dream. ” This Hassan is more than a mere narrator – he is a guide, a witness, a showman, a chronicler of Moroccan legend and folklore. His stage is the central square of Marrakesh, Djemaa el Fna, where the myriad wonders of this great city surround and inspire him. “ All around me the city spreads out its wares — its many nar...

If you’re in love with BBC’s jetsetting series Sherlock primarily because of its state-of-the-art adaptation and set design, or Benedict Cumberbatch for that matter, perhaps this movie may not be for you. But if you’re willing to be taken back to the Holmes’ heydays, the days of yore complete with breathtaking shots of the countryside, this movie is for you. Watson may have embellished his accomplishments, but this elderly Sherlock is as adorable as he is accomplished. Flawless acting from the ageless Ian McKellen and a refreshingly different modus operandi of storytelling, this movie is one for keeps.

I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. I understand that you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. And if our paths cross, let’s hope I can bring a smile and you can bring a tear. After all, what’s life without a dose of nostalgia?

It is a very nice feeling to be alive on a Sunday that has Roger Federer featuring in another Grand Slam final. Even better when it is a Wimbledon final. After last year, like many of us, I too believed that the Swiss magician ’ s last chance at Slam glory was well and truly gone. This year, with the calmness of a Zen master and serves laced with generous amounts of mesmerizing beauty and asphyxiating  venom, he has been a study in old-school magnificence. This Wimbledon, he has rolled back the years. This Wimbledon, he has made us dream again. Regardless of who wins today, Roger Federer has given me yet another Wimbledon to remember him by. All men must worship him. Valar Federeris.

When a client keeps me waiting for what seems like an eternity – and then walks in pretending as if nothing is wrong – I just want to go “ Tumhaare liye maine chhe minute rakkhe theh – teen minute tumhaare bolne k liye, teen minute mere bolne k liyein. Tum apna teen minute gawa chukein ho. Ab sirf suno! ”

Memory, you cursed fool! You bring a slow smile to my face only to follow it up with a lightning stab of sorrow, you appear as an oasis on the horizon of my mind's desert only to entice me into chasing a fugitive mirage, you waltz in light all that once was and dangle in shadow all that could-have-been, you make me live a hundred blessed lives only to die a thousand haunted deaths. Memory, you inseparable and indomitable, you doom and deliverance, you cursed fool!