Theory of Media

Ganesha said, 'You must narrate without a pause.' This would ensure that what Vyasa dictated was not adulterated by human prejudice.

'I will,' said Vyasa, 'provided you write nothing unless it makes sense to you.' This ensured that all that was written appealed to the divine.

Page xii

... Unfortunately, by the time Jaimini found Markandeya, the sage had renounced speech as a part of his decision to renounce the world.

Page xiii

Source: Pattnaik, Devdutt. 'Jaya - An illustrated retelling of the Mahabharata', Penguin books, New Delhi, 2010.

The world that is

poem by Nida Fazli

दुनिया जिसे कहते हैं जादू का ख़िलौना हैं

मिल जाये तो मिट्टी हैं खो जाये तो सोना है

अच्छा सा कोई मौसम तनहा सा कोई आलम

हर वक़्त आये रोना तो बेकार का रोना हैं

बरसात का बादल तो दिवाना हैं क्या जाने

किस राह से बचना हैं किस छत को भिगौना हैं

ग़म हो कि ख़ुशी दोनो कुछ देर के साथी हैं

फिर रास्ता ही रास्ता हैं हंसना हैं रोना हैं

Duniya jise kehte hain jadoo ka khilona hai
Mil jaye to mitti hai kho jaye to sona hai

Accha sa koi mausam tanaha sa koi aalam
Har waqt aaye rona to bekar ka rona hai

Barsat ka badal to divana hai kya jane
Kis rah se bachana hai kis chat ko bhigona hai

Gham ho ki khushi donon kuch der ke sathi hai
Phir rasta hi rasta hai hansana hai na rona hai

English Translation (a poor attempt)

This thing called the world - is a magical toy

Mere claydust when you have it, is gold when lost

Some(where) a fine season, a solitary world

If melancholy all the time, then wailing is pointless.

That rainbearing cloud is crazy, doesn't know

Which street to save from, and which terrace to dampen

Sorrow and happyness both, are after all together only for a while

And a continuous path ahead, no highs, no lows...

Forecast

The weather this morning was rather strange. The sky was meekly overcast with light grey clouds. Not full enough to saturate they confused whether to wet the space or not. They wept without conviction dampening the already humid space. Bulky with water, the air trapped within the earth and the clouds wouldn't move unless you did. The trees were still. Noises on the street dampened. A stable body perspired, a moving body felt cold. The sun was present in the evaporating heat and fuzzy light. The holes from the clouds framed the remains of a clear sky.

The roads were unusually choked for the morning. The air filled with cement dust of the ongoing metro construction settled slowly on the bathed pores of the body sitting against the bus window producing a surface of irritation. The bus felt full inspite of a handful passengers. One felt constricted inspite of being in release. A strange weariness crept in discouraging the promise of the day ahead.

Unclear of intent, an uneasiness began to carve space by involuntarily clearing people on the way. A sharp annoyance made way through a body coated with the confused condition of the weather. Nothing spoken, yet everything expressed and subject to a universal space that perhaps accommodated so many more morning irritations. The sky continues to be daubed by grey clouds. Trees droop in still air. We all wait for movement.