Last week I finished reading A Beautiful Mind. It is a biography of John Nash written by Sylvia Nasar. John Nash was a mathematician who made fundamental contributions to several fields of mathematics. His work in game theory has had a tremendous impact in economics. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Economics in 1994.… Continue reading A Beautiful Mind – Not A Book Review
To The River And The Mountains
We are immersed deep into the quiet now — the quiet of the gurgling river and the humming crickets of the night, the moonlight dancing peacefully as silver varak on the water as it navigates the rocks and pebbles, the mountains rising high in the backdrop, black in the night, but not pitch black.
The Joy Of Work Well-done
A piece of work well-done, boulders and roadblocks broken down (technical roadblocks, in my case), is reason for much joy. If I was working from home I would have stepped out of my room and gone and hugged mom. Since I am working from a co-working space right now, this post is the alternative. But… Continue reading The Joy Of Work Well-done
threesome
One night You had encircled me.
No, that night You sandwiched me.
From one side You came as You
From one side You came as Him.
Then I remained just as a mite
…
Waterfall
I want to feel this body
rub against Your body.
I want to feel this breast
pressed against Your mouth
…
The Gift Of The Night
Now that the day is done
There is only You and me.
The night is precious
For it brings
You and You and only You
…
From a wordless place
Sometimes it is good to go to a wordless place, i.e. to not write prose or poetry. So here is a digital art instead that got made recently, during a no-objective-other-than-to-have-fun time. What does it signify to you? What does it evoke in you? Does it evoke anything at all? Tell me. Then I will… Continue reading From a wordless place
The Place and The Moment
You are the place
and the moment
where
everything comes
to a pause
for a moment.
…
Fiction continued: The Wise Wild Woman
As the morning opened into its full light, she saw a mud hut with colourful paintings on its walls. A short wooden pole had a wooden board nailed to it, which said in rough carving – “Wise Wild Woman”.
A gentle voice was singing inside to the strumming of a string instrument. She bent down to enter through the low door, propelled more by curiosity than anything else. Sitting at a low wooden table, a young girl, seeming sixteen years or so, was singing to her heart’s content, strumming on an Ektaaraa. Somewhat paler than the people of this region, she wore shorts and a loose cotton top with short sleeves. Her short hair was tied up into a bobbing pony-tail.
Fiction continued: Seeking A Wise Wild Woman
The days were getting warmer. Three weeks had passed, she hadn’t gone to office. Her backyard had burst into purple flowers, and she would spend hours sitting at her backdoor …