The Voice Within

Reflecting on Revelations

2012-01-19T22:18:00.001Z

Inspired by Revelations 22:20 , I weilded my brush again, albeit briefly.

He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.”

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Penned at the YWAM conference -Bethnal Green

2011-11-29T00:00:00.000Z

Those words were unlike any other I had received
In a letter
It washed an overwhelming wave
Into the depths of my heart
It was a warm wave
Of love
The only true kind
That cannot be drowned by many waters
Perfect love
Conveyed through words
Conveyed through the Spirit
Conveyed through a covenant friend
Who read them out
As I shut my eyes and cried
This is love
That you laid down your life for me
To buy me life:
Life to the fullest, life eternal
Ears listen, faith grows
Knees fall to the ground
This love
Makes me worship
Makes me whole

Creative stop mo animation with paper

2011-08-28T23:52:00.000+01:00

Things I need to write about soon

2011-07-21T12:13:00.000+01:00

Radical by David Platt
John Lennox's appearance on Q & A

Unearthed from 2006!

2011-07-14T07:36:00.000+01:00

Theology matters-video

2011-07-10T02:14:00.002+01:00

How wonderful it is that we can KNOW our mighty God personally.

Cycling by the coast

2011-07-02T22:53:00.007+01:00

Vanina, Silja and Marc Olivier-somewhere on our Brighton-Seaford cycle ride

I'm cycling by the coast

Beside me the noisy road

Beyond me the rising sea

'To Seaford!' you say
Although its seaward we are tossed
In the gale carrying our laughter

King's Cross

2011-06-09T23:14:00.006+01:00

An escape

wedged between Income Tax and Angel Islington

On monopoly boards where a single entity dominates

Station

where colored lines five intersect on a tube map

Maroon, Pink, Yellow, Black and Blue

What hue was your face

As you lay bleeding, a King on a cross?

The dice fall from the hands of children hoping

For a number that can take them to Mayfair

To purchase the land priced most

How strange that the fingers

Through which the dice slipped onto Calvary's rocks

To divide the cloth that robed the tortured man

Were the same that lifted up soured wine

To the lips of a king on a cross

Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum (INRI)

Inscribed on wood in languages three

This was a game that was not to be lost in translation

King's Cross

Where the winning move was made

As he breathed his last.

All shadows of doubt left the barren earth

As the sun hid, the curtain tore

And He lay underground only three days

It's not just under London

That Victor(y)ia and Jubilee triumphantly intersect

But in every heart that runs

Across the game board

To surrender all

At the King's cross.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taryn's fantastic album is out!

2011-06-09T17:55:00.003+01:00

http://tarynleiaprescott.com/

Uber excited that Tazzie's album's come out!

Daisuki na ongakku!

2011-05-25T16:41:00.001+01:00

http://joshgarrels.bandcamp.com/

Muryo desu yo!

Lakeland sights

2011-04-13T23:13:00.004+01:00

Creation rings with the beauty of our King!

The Prescotts not just invited me to join them on a beautiful retreat in the Lake Destrict....but by kingdom economy standards (it is more blessed to give), they treated me to it! God bless you Taryn and Peter!

I praise God for the opportunity to see the daffodils dance, stand (literally) breathless after our hikes and for the fantastic prayer night we had in the hills. How blessed I am to know you and be encouraged to greater fruitfulness through fellowship with you!

Spring night
In a cottage by the hills.
When hearts sprung-
In song,
In shouts,
In tears,
In prayer-
In tune-
To the spirit who lead us
And the strumming
Of a friend's guitar.

2011-04-04T01:50:00.001+01:00

My eyes yearn to behold my heavenly father
Who has been with me through it all

Who is just to condemn my unfaithful heart but rather
Laid down your life for me, shattering every wall

That kept me from tasting living water
Rejoice! for clothed are ye in righteousness and lifted is your pall

On the discovery of Herbert's works

2011-04-02T13:53:00.000+01:00

Holding a warm polyetheline coated cup of lemon tea to my cheek, I was strolling through the avenues of cyberspace when, voila! I read a poem by George Herbert! What joy fills my heart to see the praise of my LORD and saviour Jesus to be penned into poetry by this welshman who embraced the use of literary 'conceit' that was later upheld by the metaphysical school. I can't wait to read more of Herbert but, alas, the present time beckons me to ponder over theories of symbolic interactionism to build a framework for my social psychology paper. After that is handed in, though, I shall lunch with Laura, read Herbert and pack my bags for a much anticipated journey to the Lake district, that was home to many a writer and thinker. I shall worship god amidst the mountains and enjoy sweet fellowship with my lovely friends Taryn and Peter. All thanks to my father above who does not change like shifting lights, and from whom every good thing comes (James 1:17).

LOVE by Herbert

2011-04-02T13:39:00.001+01:00

LOVE
by: George Herbert (1593-1632)

OVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.

"We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters." (1 John 3:16)

2011-04-02T13:25:00.001+01:00

日本のために祈り(A prayer for Japan)

2011-03-30T22:47:00.001+01:00

Wave after wave washes

Over fallen houses built on sand

Sorrow upon sorrow surges

Into salty tears that join the sea

Comfort, comfort your people father,

As a tsunami of prayer moves eastward

Strength upon strength, let this nation rise,

Rebuilt on the rock of Christ.

----------------------------------------

"Though the  mountains be shaken and the hills be removed,

 yet my unfailing love for  you will not be shaken nor my covenant

of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you." (Isaiah 54:10)

2011-03-29T16:09:00.001+01:00

The sound of a pencil moving smoothly on paper

Punctuates the noise of frantic fingers

Moving across keyboards

Fashioning essays on Verdi or mediation

The wind howls outside

Inviting the readers within this marble library

To look up from their books and take a quick glimpse

Of the white window

That frames the warm march sunshine

"Grace upon grace"!

2011-03-26T12:57:00.002Z

"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. ... And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace." (John 1:14.16)

I've been reading this verse over and over again...and rejoicing in the truth that it imparts. Chapter one of the book of John is breathtakingly poetic.

I shall venture to rearrange it as I like to read it. The block letters are for special emphasis. What a wonderful verse of scripture!

And the Word
became flesh

and dwelt
among us,

And we have

seen his glory,
glory as of the

only Son

from the Father, full

of grace and truth.

And from his fullness

we have
all received,

grace

upon grace!

מרנא תא maranâ' thâ'

2011-03-26T12:21:00.008Z

An August morning in Kuala Belait captured by mon frere

Redeemed,

Your beloved waits

For your triumphal advent.

If the entrance of the sun
Shattering dismal skies

Can inspire profound awe in us,

How much more grand
and terrifying would be

The return of
The Son of the Most High!
O LORD, for that day
to dawn sooner,

When you come
to embrace your own!

" ...we wait for the blessed hope -- the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager
to do what is good" Titus 2:13-14

図書館, 22.40 hours

2011-03-24T22:41:00.002Z

Build in me faith like a fire, father

To engulf in flames my fragile heart

To reduce to embers the fears and fetters

And then let it rain in my heart LORD,

Rain as you reign

Supremely above all sinful devotions

Till I am compassionate and wise

Made new

through you

A hymn much loved

2011-03-17T17:57:00.000Z

Voice of Truth

2011-03-09T19:49:00.000Z

Train my ears Father

To hear your voice in every weather

There are too many voices in my head

But it is by yours I want to be led

SMART by Igniter Media

2011-02-20T13:14:00.002Z

I love Igniter Media's work! The other one that is
really creative and witty is their video titled 'Social Network Christmas'.

Shedding new light on Bare tree limbs

2011-02-12T21:33:00.001Z

Worthy of Worship

2011-02-05T23:31:00.001Z

Worthy of worship is Jesus my Lord
Who whilst I was the wandering sheep,
Wooed me away from this withering world
Which writhes in darkness deep.

Wept I when he showed me my rebellion deep red
Wither I had disobeyed and from his way fled
Woke I to see that he is the life giving bread
When wiped he my tears and to grace I was led

Wages of my transgressions were paid
When wrath of the father on him was laid
“Walk away no more, child of mine” he said,
“Willingly on that wooden cross I bled”

Waves of mercy fell from over high
Washing me white that day;
Words of truth dispelled every lie,
While my sins at his feet I lay

Winter to spring quick did turn
When he welcomed me in my weakness
Wait now I shall for my king’s return
Whose might was revealed through his meekness.

(January 2011)

Desktop thoughts

2011-02-03T20:25:00.001Z

London, December 2010

2010-12-24T05:55:00.000Z

On a cold winter night like this
A promise was fulfilled

When beneath the stars
Lay shining a light brighter

Born in a manger
To die on a cross

He redeems the sinner
He rescues the lost

The light of men is he
Who conquered sin for you and me

Ode to a day that could not be

2010-10-12T03:21:00.000+01:00

When the task was announced by Prof. Livingstone
The difficulty of it was not unbeknown

Try the challenge I did
To spend a day in which media I would forbid

I decided to take a walk
To avoid media's loud talk

But just when I thought I had escaped
The call of the typed and the taped

Buses passed me by draped in advertisement,
and 'Barclays' announced bikes ready for rent

Next I met a letter in my post box
and restaurant flyers from nearby blocks

Moodle and email I could not let go
All this just went on to show

How woven in I am into the media network
This is a truth I cannot shirk

But, oh! how I wish I could say I survived
A day last week, media deprived!
----------

My 'Audience study' class was given a media deprivation exercise by our HOD, Prof Sonia Livingstone. She asked us to stay away from all types of media for a day and then post our experiences on the university's web forum (Moodle). The above was my entry..the exercise revealed how media saturated the world we live in is.

Luke 9:51

2010-09-05T21:55:00.000+01:00

Seeds

2010-08-13T21:55:00.000+01:00

Seeds
Sown in the dark
Of the good news
Of thy forgiving heart

Lord impress upon their souls
Thy promise of eternity
That you so loved them
That you died to set them free

O Holy Spirit break the bonds
That anchor them to lies
Into their parched hearts
Pour water that truly satisfies

Redeemed may they stand
To give thee glory
Renewed may they walk
Into thy magnificent story

Triumph may they taste
Against the enemy
Whom you crushed
One day on Calvary

Amazed may they live
Forever worshiping thee
Forever in awe that the God of the Universe
Would love rebellious man so deeply

Seeds
Breathe as they rest
Waiting to be watered
by the Lord of the harvest.

-------
"neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. " 1 Corinthians 3:6-7

2010-08-10T07:27:00.000+01:00

I have a friend, her name is Taryno
Honesty with God and piping Chai she is unwilling to forgo.
Inoubliable times in college to her I owe
Oh! the antics we did as Spaz and co.

Lately, she has been weary because of a blow
These have been testing times, even so
In your weakness, our Saviour's strength will overflow
He is with you no matter where you go
He is at the mountain top and in the plateau
When in doubt look at the sparrow,
How it is fed, cared for and made to grow

Our Father's command now is to live here like a U.F.O
But, remember, he is making all things nouveau
And we'll be home before you know.

My dearest Taryno, I also want you to know
That though we dont live at a pebbles throw
My lowe for you, I will not outgrow.

P.s- when you're is done reading this, I hope your face is aglow!

To my lovely Prinks as she sets out to Delhi

2010-05-08T00:44:00.000+01:00

P.T dear, run to Jesus our refuge and rampart
Securely from there every lie you can thwart
He is able to accomplish infinitely more
Wait on him and like an eagle you will soar

Modernism, Romanticism, Indian Literature
And every word that tries to paint an impressionist picture
You will grasp even without a Roy or Geeti lecture
For you have the Lord beside you dear sister

With Shakespeare, Conrad and DH Lawrence
You may have been to England, Congo and Florence
But when that Air India flight in Delhi will be landing
Trust in the LORD and not on your understanding

Thank you for asking Taz and me to pray
Your requests we shall at our father's feet lay
In our prayers which shall like fragrance rise
First list and single room we shall emphasize

Even as we wait to see God's plan
In the life of this CS Lewis fan
Of this I can boldly assure
No lie can this truth obscure-

The world will see more of him through you
Amidst the plentiful harvest and laborers few.
Every cloud of doubt like vapor will vanish
And the work he has begun in you will be finished.

Love you Prinks (*V*)

Subway Scene, Osaka

2010-05-03T17:50:00.002+01:00

2010-04-01T13:29:00.000+01:00

The Heaven's declaring God's glory in the Land of the Rising Sun

2010-01-10T00:24:00.000Z

The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes

2009-11-11T16:03:00.001Z

As a 9th grader, Noyes's Highwayman was my favorite poem from my English textbook. Although it was the longest poem I had to study at the time, verses from it have vividly settled into my gray cells as I loved reading it aloud. The steady rhythm and dramatic tone convey the story of a romantic tragedy.
"Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me be the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
Are the words of the Highwayman to Bess, his lover.
But, my very favourite bit is the opening stanza-
"THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."
This setting of the moon tossed upon like a galleon on cloudy seas is reflected so strikingly by Van Gogh in his magnum opus, Starry Night. I wonder whether this Dutchman drew his inspiration from it.

2009-07-09T23:50:00.000+01:00

Wind borne,the slender tamarind leaf falls

On the open page

Quivering,it lies on the straight lines and scribbled words

Yellow and crisp,staring at the branch it left naked.

2009-05-09T19:22:00.000+01:00

The Silent summer day simmers on
As I squirrel away from the foaming spray
Avoiding thoughts of you.

A Drop Of White Paint

2009-02-28T18:56:00.000Z

First,A languorous slide off the tip of the paint brush
And then a fall into my glass.
Now it uncoils itself
To writhe down the clear water

Unable to stand the slow descent,
I pull the glass closer
Thoughts unstirred dissolve with the drop
In liquid clouds that rise
Till the bottom of the glass
Is curtained by a mellow whiteness.

(written in 2007)

http://englishliterarysocietyssc.blogspot.com/2008/10/drop-of-white-paint.html

On a pair of boots found lying in my kitchen

2008-12-13T04:23:00.001Z

Perchance they have walked in from misty curtains of rain,

From tea plantations or cherry orchards.

Did they tread on ant lines and dry leaves?

Or pause to hear the silence wail from atop a mountain?

Surely, they have seen more than cobbled paths and gravel banks?

Would they have darted away at the break of a twig

To run after a friend or the foaming spray?

They may have inched away from an excited dog.

They may have tap danced all evening!

They may have felt my eyes on them.

They may be tired after the cobbler stitched a new soul on

But then again, they may have stood all day in fields of asphodel.

Upon Watching a Peepul tree shed its leaves at 7/6 Roop Nagar

2008-08-27T18:58:00.000+01:00

The leaves leave the Peepul tree.

Baring the branches to the summer heat, the leaves leave.

The few that still cling on, seem to fan the trees’ limbs when the wind whisks through .

When I ride my bicycle back from college, I can hear the wheels turning in rhythm to a yellow crunch.

If you were here, I would first show you the tree from my window. You will have to gaze, like I am doing right now, through the grey wire work , wishing you had blinkers on to block out the dusty water cooler that covers most of the window. You would also perchance yearn for a window sill to rest your elbows on as your eyes ease into that faraway look.

In activities such as these(watching leaves fall), it is inevitable that you turn your thoughts inward, and depending on the memories you choose to wade through, you invite either a restful or a restless expression to stroll into the furrows of your face. Then again, you may not be silently thoughtful, you could be speculating aloud about leaves, trees, seasons or the creator himself!

And your words shall drop to the tarred road below, as we stand hands placed on the paint worn black railing of the balcony, watching the tree strewing its leaves on our conversation.

It is customary that I ask: “Do you like imagining the descent of the leaves in slow motion, like in the movies?” If you have ever played the air guitar at a rock concert, you will join me now as I conduct the leaves with an air baton to perform a flip in the air and float in tune to greensleeves or the blue danube.

The leaves are falling faster now.

I imagine O. Henry being inspired to write 'The Last Leaf' by a maple tree one fall
which makes me wonder…why are these leaves falling at the onset of summer?

2008-08-25T02:49:00.000+01:00

Sinking, slow sinking, into friendly conversations, into cotton candy,into a cloud,into rhythm.
Sinking ,slow sinking into the grass and morning dew,into floral breaths,into silence.
Sinking. slow sinking into questions,into hopes,into twangs of the guitar.
Sinking. slow sinking into laughter and into the light.

(Oh! what fond memories of chasing the cotton candy man with T)

Chapel Lawns

2008-07-29T15:08:00.000+01:00

Sitting with my back to a tree,
I look at the birds playing hopscotch
In the patterns formed by water running out of a hose pipe.

First Impressions Of Brunei

2008-07-10T01:15:00.000+01:00

I said “Brunei, The Sultanate of Brunei…”

To my surprise, she replied “I am asking you the name of the country.”

This time the answer left my lips slowly, and I was careful to enunciate; I also added “It’s in South East Asia. Near the Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak”.

She nodded disapprovingly when I showed her my visa letter. I sensed soon enough that she had never heard of this country. A phrase I had heard on Discovery channel swam into my head. According to them the island of Borneo is “one of Asia’s best kept secrets”.

While I stood there, amused at the immigration officer’s ignorance, I also felt truly blessed to be able to travel to one of the worlds least travelled to destinations. Soon enough the officer returned from a room she had briefly retired to and ushered me on, apologising for the delay.

Earlier, Passport and boarding pass in hand, travel magazines under my arm, I had approached the Bangalore International airport wearing a warm smile. Fresh out of school, I was thrilled at the prospect of visiting my parents who had moved from a verdant hill station in India to the Sultanate of Brunei.

Boarding the plane to Singapore, I couldn’t help but wonder whether my parents had gone through a similar experience with the airport officials before they left to Brunei. However, these thoughts were soon replaced by the excitement of travelling to the land of rainforests and palaces and in a few hours, I walked out of the Brunei airport and into the warmth of the tropical sunlight.

Little did I know that travelling in the clean highways teeming with a variety of new cars (which I had previously seen only on the Need for Speed games) was only the beginning of a volley of new experiences that awaited me.

However, to a seventeen year old brimming with wanderlust, the poor connectivity of the public transport was a letdown. The taxis were too expensive and the purple public buses were a rare sight. As I was determined not to let the geographically small country swell in my mind into a place too large to explore, I tried to hire a bicycle. Upon realising soon that those efforts were futile, I decided to start exploring the country by walking around Bandar.

The scarce pedestrian population in the country’s capital city came as a shock after being used to jostling through heavy traffic to cross roads in India. The friendliness of the locals permeated through their dashboards every time they stopped to let me cross the road accompanied by a grin and a wave. Also, the roads seemed strangely quiet even during rush hours. Soon I realised that unlike in India where every driver has one finger over the car’s horn, here, no one was honking to bully their way through the traffic.

Even before I finished exploring Bandar, the women in the country struck me as industrious and independent. After all, I saw them driving cars, working at the airport, the immigration building, the post office, the supermarkets, and even on the purple public buses.

Another detail that soon caught my attention was that I never heard raised voices whether I was strolling through the wooden walkways of Kampong Ayer or the narrow spaces between the buildings in Bandar. Often the soft tones of the people forced me to ask them to repeat the price of a certain dish or directions to a building.

That’s when I thought to myself- the mellow tones of Bruneians match so perfectly with the manner in which they give directions-always using the thumb finger instead of the index finger to point. The tranquillity one experiences in this country is not disturbed even when one pours over local newspapers. Whether the stories featured international tensions or local car accidents, natural disasters or murder, never did I have stare into gruesome photographs of blood and gore or read articles that made my insides churn.

Walking through the wooden walkways of the water village (Kampong Ayer) is a truly unique experience. While exploring this close knit community I learned to my surprise that residents of this sprawling village enjoy all modern amenities. Often I saw air conditioners and television antennae peeping out of these houses. What appears to be an area of derelict houses when viewed from the Yaya Sen mall, is in fact interspersed with schools, mosques, shops, health clinics and even a fire station all built on wooden or concrete stilts over the winding Brunei river.

It was during one of those reflective summer evenings that I walked out of the public library (glad that the afternoon rain had stopped) to behold two rainbows shimmering above Jubilee hotel. This breathtaking sight made me realise that one of the reasons I began looking forward to my daily strolls was the simple joy of seeing the colours of the sky and myriad cloud formations wherever I was. After all, this was the first city that did not make me feel as though I was trapped in a concrete jungle. Bright light and air flood everywhere as the buildings are not so tall that they cut out the sky.

As the days rolled into the month of July, I began to sense an air or festivity dawning. Soon pasar malams (food stalls) were sprouting on the roads and coloured lights sequenced the highways. The photographs of the face I saw in every office and shop soon emerged, life size on the streets. The country was celebrating the Sultan’s birthday. This benevolent king is seen leading walkathons, paying surprise visits to his subjects and personally involving himself with the affairs of his land and people.

The men and women who I usually saw retreating to the comfort of their houses every evening, began appearing on the streets in colourful garbs. I witnessed the warm greetings they exchanged by lightly touching each other s hands and bringing the hand back to their chests.

Unfortunately I was leaving Brunei on the birthday of the much loved and revered monarch.However, I celebrated it by choosing Nasi Lemak over continental cuisine for lunch aboard Silk Air.

The Heart of Borneo

2008-06-22T18:47:00.001+01:00

June 22, 2008

That summer day, when I boarded the plane, little did I know that I would be swept off to the surreal landscapes of a fairytale sultanate. Brimming with wanderlust, I was out to explore a land I knew of only as a bounty of black gold ruled by the wor ld’s richest monarch.

As I looked out of a bus window the next day, my eyes fell upon the golden domes and vaulting roofs of the Istana (His Majesty’s palace) which were etched against a cloudless summer sky. I was on my way to Bandar Seri Begawan to stroll around the very streets that shall witness a royal parade in a couple of days. The oppressive tropical heat could not becloud the atmosphere of excitement and revelry. Every shop, office, hotel and lamppost was adorned with resplendent banners and national flags.
Gold and glittering

Before you read any further, let me assure you that this is not a mere reverie that features sultans, palaces and pristine rainforests. This is the nation of Brunei Darussalam (situated at the northern cusp of the Borneo island in South East Asia) abuzz with activity at the joyous occasion of their Sultans 61st birthday.
Walking out of the bus terminal, I was soon facing ubiquitous minarets of the Omar Ali Saiffudein mosque that proclaim an Islamic nation as indeed it is with 66 per cent of Muslim population. Islam was adopted here in the 15th Century when a Malay Muslim became the Sultan and his is the longest unbroken dynasty in the world. Resting beside a lagoon, this mosque which dominates the capital’s skyline is made of Italian marble, Shanghai granite and gold mosaic. The interiors are adorned with British chandeliers, stained glass windows and carpets from Saudi Arabia and Belgium.
Most buildings in this city have escaped the drift towards homogenisation and each is allegorical of a distinct architectural style. Long and upturned roof ends are symbolic of Chinese influence and the Islamic influence is evident in the shape of the porches and windows while most of the friezes bear characteristics of Malay architecture. The buildings themselves depict the ethnic diversity of Brunei’s residents. Besides the dominant Malay and Chinese population, there are also Koreans, Philippinoes, Australians, and Indians in this Sultanate. Though Malay is the official national language, English is widely spoken and understood.
Eager to experience what it really is like to ‘live life king size’ I headed next to the Royal Regalia museum. Soon enough I felt as though I had just entered the glorious confines of a palace. The displays inside include chariots, ceremonial armoury, and jewel encrusted coronation crowns.
This museum has a replica of a few rooms of the sultan’s palace. I soon learnt that the Istana Nurul Iman is the largest residential palace in the world boasting of 1,788 rooms (564 chandeliers, 18 lifts, 51,000 light bulbs, 44 stairwells, mosque for 1,500 people, and a banquet hall for 4000 guests.) The current Sultan His Royal Highness Hajji Hassanal Bolkiah is also famous for his vast automobile collection. According to the Guinness Book of World Records he owns the largest number of Rolls Royce’s. If you spend a few minutes on any highway in Brunei it won’t take you long to digest the fact that this country has one of the world’s highest car populations. Statistics reveal that the car-human population here is one and a half cars to each individual!
Venice of the East

Within the confines of the capital I had time only to drink in the opulence and splendour of the sultanate. Or so I thought till I stepped onto a narrow wooden walkway that leads to the Kampong Ayer (water village) where one fourth of the capital’s population resides. Here, wooden houses built on stilts hover over the Brunei River in sharp contrast with the super markets and multi-storied buildings on the bank. Long wooden speed boats popularly known as ‘water taxis’ sway gently to the rhythm of the river under the houses. The Kampong Ayer is the world’s largest water village and was named the ‘Venice of the East’ by early European travellers. Families living in the capacious houses here enjoy all modern amenities. Interspersed among rows of houses, are health clinics, schools, shops, mosques and even a fire station.
The day’s discoveries had whetted my appetite to learn more about this tiny sultanate and the vast forest cover that I could not tear my eyes away from when I was flying over Brunei kept beckoning. Finally surrendering to the call of the green yonder, I searched the map for forest reserves and sanctuaries I should visit. It was only then that it occurred to me why Brunei is evocatively called ‘The green heart of Borneo’ with 70 per cent of its land area covered with virgin rainforests. Ironically, the reason for the preservation of rain forests here is oil which brings in the extraordinary wealth. So people here didn’t have to exploit the forests.
Unblemished beauty

The thickest rainforests are in the Temburong district which is separated from the rest of Brunei by the Malaysian territory of Sarawak and the Brunei bay. I was overwhelmed by the unblemished beauty of the verdant hills as I headed towards the Ulu Temburong National Park on a temuai (boat).The Iban tribesman whose boat I was on knew exactly how to navigate through the labyrinth of muddy jungle waterways. The mist-shrouded trees slowly cleared to reveal the canopy walkway whose steel structures rise some 50 meters from the forest floor.
It was not just the exhausting climb up the scaffolding that left me breathless but also the view of the luxuriant forest cover from the top. Though I did not encounter the long nosed Proboscis monkey which is endemic to Borneo, I did see two rare species — the Rajah Brooke’s Birdwing (a species of butterfly named after the ‘White Rajah’ James Brooke who ruled Sarawak) and the carnivorous pitcher plant.
Brunei also has a plethora of idyllic beaches where most people spend their weekends. The clean coastline caressed by the South China Sea is ideal for windsurfing, jet skiing, kayaking and power boat racing.
The rich marine life and vast coral reefs allures snorkelling and diving enthusiasts all around the year.
Ruled by a benevolent monarch, Brunei is a tax free country and education and health facilities are free for all citizens. On discovering that the history of this nation has been scarred neither by any major natural disaster nor by human strife, I realised how appropriate its official name – Negara Brunei Darussalam (translates as ‘Abode of Peace’) is.
The days I spent in this kingdom seem certainly like pages from a fairytale one is fond of — tranquil and timeless.

Published in The Hindu http://www.hindu.com/mp/2007/07/16/stories/2007071651110200.htm

The Three Oddest Words

2008-03-09T22:22:00.000Z

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.

Wislawa Szymborska

(one of my favourite poets! thank you Sid for reading Szymborska to us as we sat with steaming cups of coffee on the mud floor of your home during lit block)

Bird's eye view of the Istana

2008-03-09T17:29:00.000Z

2008-03-06T22:20:00.001Z

Piet Hein

2008-03-05T00:15:00.000Z

Ambi, thank you for introducing me to Grook's by Piet Hein!

http://chat.carleton.ca/~tcstewar/grooks/

Il Pleut

2008-03-01T18:40:00.000Z

It has been raining for hours now.
As I gaze at the only window in the room without curtains, I see myself.

Did you think I was dropping a philosophical firework that is going to whizz and sputter through the rest of this post musing about how window panes when raised to a metaphorical plane can reflect the inner me?

why ! of course not!

All I am asking you to imagine is that its 12.21 am,(palindromic time !) the rain is pouring into the pitch blackness outside. Try as I may, I cannot see the drops of water as the tube light in the room creates a reflection of me and the room on the window pane.

2007-12-13T22:59:00.001Z

2007-08-14T11:11:00.001+01:00

The White Dark

2007-08-10T05:46:00.000+01:00

Behind me,

A candle sinks

Into a pool of wax.

Beyond me,

The moon rises.

Above black mountains-

Carboard cutouts

propped against a grey expanse.

And the moonlight,

Bathes me in pure white.

I yearn to sit here,

To stop the sand slip through my fingers.

But you turn and whisper-

"Can you not hear the silence wail?"

I feel the darkness once more.

Mud hut near Art centre, Rishi Valley School

2007-08-05T02:46:00.006+01:00

The Nine Muses

2007-06-29T16:07:00.000+01:00

"In Greek mythology, the Muses (Greek Μοῦσαι, Mousai: perhaps from the Proto-Indo-European root *men- "think") are a sisterhood of goddesses or spirits, their number set at nine by Classical times, who embody the arts and inspire the creation process with their graces through remembered and improvised song and stage, writing, traditional music and dance. They were water nymphs, associated with the springs of Helicon and with Pieris, from which they are sometimes called the Pierides. The Olympian system set Apollo as their leader, Apollon Mousagetes. Not only are the Muses explicitly used in modern English to refer to an inspiration, as when one cites his/her own artistic muse, but they are also implicit in the words "amuse" or "musing upon".

they are the daughters of Zeus, king of the gods, and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. For Alcman and Mimnermus, they were even more primordial, springing from Uranus and Gaia. Pausanias records a tradition of two generations of Muses; the first being daughters of Uranus and Gaia, the second of Zeus and Mnemosyne. Another, rarer genealogy is that they are daughters of Harmonia (the daughter of Aphrodite and Ares) which contradicts the myth in which they were dancing at the wedding of Harmonia and Cadmus."

In south East ASia

2007-06-19T05:21:00.000+01:00

well, this small country(Negara Brunei Darussalam) clenched like a jade jewel by the malaysian states of sabah and sarawak is mostly famous for its bounty of black gold...and its rich sultan...but truly this is one of asia's best kept secrets.Do u know what the best thing i discovered about this country is?it has 70% of its land covered with virgin rainforests!!!....giving in to the call of the green yonder,i recently walked right into those untrammeled jungles.

Nietzsche

2007-06-19T04:41:00.000+01:00

"A good writer possesses not only his own spirit but also the spirit of his friends"

"At bottom every man knows well enough that he is a unique being, only once on this earth; and by no extraordinary chance will such a marvelously picturesque piece of diversity in unity as he is, ever be put together a second time"

"Madness is rare in individuals - but in groups, parties, nations, and ages it is the rule"

"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star"

"Many a man fails as an original thinker simply because his memory is too good"

"Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woeto the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him"

Dough the musical

2007-06-19T03:18:00.000+01:00

A short and humorous musical by Adam Stein ('on the lot' contestant)

summer time

2007-05-08T16:22:00.000+01:00

summer's finally here!!!
its time again for chocolate milk,calvin and hobbes,siestas in the sun,frequent trips to the refrigerator(for chocolate milk of course),...blissful days soaked in langour, reverie and words.....

2007-04-14T11:10:00.001+01:00

RV, 2005

2007-04-13T22:42:00.003+01:00

Sunday humour.

2007-04-01T08:01:00.000+01:00

2007-03-26T17:34:00.000+01:00

One of my favourite Plath poems:

The Moon And The Yew Tree

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary

The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.

Separated from my house by a row of headstones.

I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door.
It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky --
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness -
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering

Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.

The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence.

To Clouds (on March 19,2007)

2007-03-20T04:00:00.001Z

You've seen me here before

Behind the black window grill

On the third storey

You've seen me here before

Drowning in the choked air and ceaseless noise

That walks in,uninvited

You've seen me here before

But today,silent and stolid faced

You treat me like a stranger.

---------

ps-i wrote this poem on a day the skies were really cloudy and seemed like it was going to rain but it did not-all day...but after i wrote this poem,the very next day,it POURED!

sculpturesque!

2007-03-06T15:38:00.000Z

"Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature, That fashions all her works in high relief, And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth, Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire; Men, women, and all animals that breathe Are statues, and not paintings. " H.W Longfellow

Dont miss it!

2007-03-06T14:36:00.000Z

'Crazy' by Gnarls Barkeley-introduced by Taz

The voice Within...

2007-02-23T04:02:00.001Z

Have you felt this feeling that rises in the walls of your stomach?

Have you felt it rise and fill your body in a tickle?

Have you closed your eyelids tight and concentrated on this feeling?

This ink and paper cannot capture it enough.

These curves and dots,even these fingers shall forget.

Why then do I continue to pollute this white sheet, you say?

You would know if you could feel that trickle

Which ,in a moment can gush and hit the walls of your inside

like a powerful wave

Before you know it,it has lifted a pen into your hands.

And when you rest what you wield,

You sense that the waters are calm.

.....................

(This poem has recieved a couple of hilarious responses.My friend A on reading the poem thought that the 'feeling' in the poem referred to my digestive fluids as i refer later to 'the walls of my stomach'!!!and the second response came from D who thought that I had set out to portray Exam tension as that was the only feeling she associated with 'rising in the stomach'.)

36,chowringhee lane

2007-02-22T21:21:00.001Z

The much awaited Cine club fest-'Moving Pictures' is finally on. Today, I could not resist joining the poster making competition though I had not wielded a paint brush for several months....!

2.35 pm

I have completed the sketch. Mariam and I stop Priya as she walked by to pen a French phrase for our poster.I feel curiously lethargic as mottled shapes slowly appear on the white sheet before me.

3.30 pm

I walk across the scr lawns towards the AV room. I am proud!not of the poster that I had just completed (and am carrying),but the collage of colours that has appeared on my fingers...the last time I had dabs of paint on my hands was after art block in school.

3.45 pm

I am comfortably sitting beside Obs in the AV room though the air-conditioning inside feels strange..afterall the winter here has not completely faded away and the air outside is still chilly.Impish actually-teasing you at times to wear just a T-shirt while at other times -leaving you puzzling over why you wore no sweater.

4.00pm

36,Chowringhee lane is being screened.Alls well when Miss.Stoneham speaks in her crisp english accent.However,as bengali dialogues creep into the movie with the entry of Nandita and Samaresh,I am straining to read the subtitles over peoples heads.Before long, Lama leans closer and begins to translate the dialogues.Thanks to him I am saved from peering at the subtitles every now and then.

4.37pm

I am thouroughly swept by certain elements in the movie-the surreal sepia toned sequences,the montage effect that emerges when english classical music flows into indian instrumental,and most of all the acting of the lady who plays Miss.Stoneham.

5.15 pm

Shakespearan Lines are introduced into the final shot of the movie.Miss.Stoneham takes solace by reciting the words of another old person(King Lear), who was lonely and foolish in believing others. Pray, do not mock me; I am a very foolish fond old man,Fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less,And, to deal plainly,I fear I am not in my perfect mind. --(King Lear, Act IV, Scene VII)And Lear's last words to Cordelia:
Come, let's away to prison;

We two alone will sing like birds in the cage:

When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,

And ask of thee forgiveness; so we'll live,

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh

At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues

Talk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too.

Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;

And take upon the mystery of things . . . --(King Lear, Act V, Scene III)

5.30 pm

Vinski and I stroll outside for a while.WE both have curfew timings set by our hostels that restrict our movement to the outside world(yes its a dungeon inside believe me!)after 7.00 pm.

" are you staying back to watch Reservoir dogs?"quoth she

I reply"Wish I could!I hate leaving movies midway.So,I'll probably leave now so that I reach the dungeon on time.SIGH!'

;)

6.35 pm

I am 'signing in' to the dungeon.Here begins the prison spell that shall extend the night.

.....Fast forward to the present time......

3.51 am!!!!

Gosh!you better catch some sleep before tomorrow's seminar!Girl you've been awake for too long!...am going to sleep before i morph into some nocturnal creature.

22nd feb

2007-02-22T21:10:00.000Z

"How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!

The world forgetting, by the world forgot

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd."

From Eloisa to Abelard Alexander Pope

scribble poetry

2007-02-13T12:30:00.000Z

As I walked down the silent street,

My footsteps left behind only echoes.

My head hung low,

My eyes were fixed on the cobbled path.

...and all the while my thoughts wandered far.

the enveloping darkness helped me dissolve time.

Impulse lifted my gaze to an unlit lantern

that dangled precariously on an iron stump.

the sight that arrested my eyes was that of a wooden ladder

that rose above the wall it was leaning on.

Stretching,straining its frail self...

only to rest its limbs on the cloudy skies.

2007-02-07T16:22:00.000Z

A Beginning is
Spinning,
Ringing,
Singing,
Inviting,
me.