I dunno about you. But, it did come to my notice that I have not been blogging for a while. This is what happened:

Well, there was a crushing failure. Then there was a period of wallowing in self-pity. I remember traveling and spending time with friends. Then a pathetic whinging and thinking-about-life phase. Finally some action followed by a closing phase where I get out of my lair with a huge and difficult, possibly life-changing decision.

I know..the usual hiatus story. Problem of the matter is, when these things happen, I go back to the very fundamentals of life and start questioning everything. I mean EVERYTHING! Including, but not limited to, the point of this blog. And I am heartened to say that the blog lives!

So I get back here with some simple old-fashioned water color. It’s nothing much, but a simple measure of mental health.


Dream job!

Maybe bankers are rewarded just for that  -choosing reality over dreams.

A Nice Cup of Tea!

Sometimes, when things move too fast..

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..and everything is a blur

I put a full stop and leave my desk

..to make some tea

to get myself out of those gray cold glass chambers..

…to see the colors outside

for that whiff of fresh air..

..and the glorious evening sunlight

to look at the really long shadows..

…and little things on the floor

For the world out there..

..with people not too different

to watch the never ending traffic..

..which I could do forever

If only my cup was that tall..

This post is a response to “this


Here’s a quote from an essay, which I think is a must-read for all tea lovers.

First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays–it’s economical, and one can drink it without milk–but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase ‘a nice cup of tea’ invariably means Indian tea.

– George Orwell, A Nice Cup of Tea(1946)


No. That’s not the same as ‘I hate anything Chinese’.

Self effacing worship, watercolor, A1

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So it was a Saturday afternoon and I was alone in my apartment. I could have gone out and met some friends. Should have gone to my cousins place to see his new baby. I really could have finished some of that work which is going to kill me in a week. Or I could have gone for voluntary work. I could have been to the club and played Tennis. On my way back I could have got my cycle repaired. And once back, I could have done my laundry. At least  I could have finished that book I was reading for over three weeks now…

The list of productive things I could have done on that afternoon that would make my life (or anyone else for that matter) better is endless. I knew this all along and yet I sit down to make this painting. It is not as if the painting is for sale or for any exhibition. Only people who would actually see this painting are my roommate, I and a few random visitors to our apartment. Nobody’s life gets any better or worse because of this painting. Absolutely nothing in the world changes because of it. It is as useless as anything can get. And yet, I make this painting and go to sleep happy and contented.

Why this obsessive compulsive painting? Why such blind love? This self-effacing worship!

I am actually asking. To be clear, I am looking for an evolutionary psychology answer.


P.S: To be fair, painting is far better than sitting idle – at least from a mental health perspective. Last time I was alone and did nothing, I was so bored, lonesome and depressed that I ended up painting on my face. Ironically, the situation was comical enough to set my mood right 🙂

Für Elise

Fur Elise, Oil Painting, A2


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Für Elise” is one of Beethoven’s most popular tunes and I recently learnt that it was dedicated to his then love named Elise. One version of the story goes on to say that she dumped him eventually, making this rather beautiful composition quite pointless. But I don’t suppose he meant it to have a point anyway.


Here’s one rendition of Für Elise that I fell in love with, for only how much the Pianist enjoys herself playing it.



So what does all that have got to do with the painting?

Nothing, really.

It was just what came to my mind while playing the tune in a loop somewhat obsessively.


My Experiments with Truth!

I mean My Experiments with Truth!

Lie to me, please.

But don’t fucking bother, if you are planning on telling the truth later.

Or worse, letting me find it out by myself.

This is what I want to tell all those people who made me, as a kid, to believe in all those impossibly awesome phantasmagoric supercalifragilisticexpialidocious stuff that aren’t real. God is just one among many. Here’s a touching quote from Karen Armstrong‘s,  A History of God in the Chapter Death of God.

One day the Gestapo hanged a child. Even the SS were disturbed by the prospect of hanging a young boy in front of thousands of spectators. The child who, Wiesel* recalled, had the face of a ‘sad-eyed angel’, was silent, lividly pale and almost calm as he ascended the gallows. Behind Wiesel, one of the other prisoners asked: ‘Where is God? Where is He?’ It took the child half an hour to die, while the prisoners were forced to look him in the face. The same man asked again: ‘Where is God now?’ And Wiesel heard a voice within him make this answer:’Where is He? Here He is – He is hanging here on this gallows.’

But then, I guess as you grow up, there is always a point when your God dies or at least stop existing in the same way you thought it did as a kid. And finally when you’re working in a city with days that just don’t end, all you are left with is some form of classification of good and bad things in life. Maybe I can still call the set of all good things God. But, what’s the point.

*Elie Wiesel, Nobel Prize winner

Lifey #4

Life, when I am bored, scares the shit out of me!
Now here’s a funny line. (Thank Ninoy for the link).

The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you’re too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating…

…and you finish off as an orgasm.

                                                                                – George Carlin