the aRt of InDeciSiOn

On pain.

2012-01-17T11:02:00.001+08:00

How do you take yourself to a 'bright place' in your mind when pain pierces your body?
Th

Does your threshold for pain change when you know what to expect? Is it more when you don't know what's coming?

DNA lights

2011-04-29T11:20:00.001+08:00

The Helix Bridge by night with the Marina Bay Sands in the backgroud.

Singapore.

from flickr

Tatooine?

2011-04-20T15:58:00.001+08:00

at Tabo Monastery, founded 996 AD.

Tabo, Spiti, India.

from flickr

anti cool

2011-04-05T23:21:00.001+08:00

wall philosophy in Venice, Italy.

from flickr

sacred tangle

2011-04-01T15:22:00.001+08:00

Praise of the Hindu god Ram, on a wall above the back lanes.

Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India.

from flickr

Looking to Mohali

2011-03-28T17:06:00.003+08:00

Ok. It’s a World Cup semi final against Pakistan. It’s not f’n war! It’s not about history or Prime Ministers or soldiers or bureaucrats.

Having said that, it’s a WORLD CUP SEMI FINAL. Against PAKISTAN.

Some points that I don’t quite know why I am trying to make:

To self: it’s going to be tense. Deal with it.

To team and fate: PLEASE, please bat first.

Talk rationally. Or emotionally. Or both. But don’t joke. Nothing’s funny on Wednesday, I can tell you that right now. No, not even Munaf Patel.

I understand that booing is part of sport. I don’t agree with it but I accept it. I cringed a few times when Ponting was booed. But that was Ricky. To Mohali: Please don’t boo the Big Green Men on Wednesday. That will not be cool.

I can’t watch it in a pub. Scars from 2003 remain. Also, I don’t want to watch it in a pub.

Don’t expect ANY work to get done.

I am struggling to think about the match. What is at stake and potential after-effects derail any normal thought processes that begin.

To Mohali: back the team. Cheer when it’s tough, not only for runs and wickets. Focus on the game.

Don’t. Give Up.

To everyone: Don’t get tense. Ignore me in point #1.

Indiaaaaah, Indiaa!

2011-03-27T01:28:00.003+08:00

Just got back from a live cricket game. That's right, not just any live game.

I'm still a bit spaced.

showcased

2011-03-22T00:11:00.002+08:00

A sort of live display at the Mehrangarh fort : charming but also a bit sad. On display is a hookah and also the apparatus used to consume opium.

Jodhpur, India.

from flickr

thirsty traveller

2011-01-10T22:44:00.001+08:00

a stop, a sip.

Kunzum La Pass, leaving the Spiti Valley.

Himachal Pradesh, Indiaa stop, a sip.

Kunzum La Pass, leaving the Spiti Valley.

from flickr

Plugged

2010-10-08T23:40:00.000+08:00

We all turn our headphones on to each other. It's like we want silence in the proximity, to be disconnected while still mainstream, here but trying to be elsewhere, pushing out and hoping to reach in, plugged in and plugged out.

locked away

2010-09-05T11:06:00.000+08:00

A very old, beautiful lock at the Ki monastery in Spiti.

Light

2010-08-27T00:30:00.001+08:00

I have seen sunshine on gold that enters my inner self, I have have seen dark golden rays that cover my head in primeval beauty, I have seen the flash of momentary brilliance, I have seen cold blue light that glows in the dark and warms me with its untouchable purity…

I have been touched by the light of her smile, the joy it contains, the warmth it brings, the unknowable beauty it hints at at.

And I know nothing can be like it.

setting out

2010-08-25T23:04:00.001+08:00

Kibber, Spiti, India

pouring

2010-08-20T23:29:00.004+08:00

you know how it is sometimes when you open a bottle of whisky, and then when you pour your drink into the glass ... instead of seeing the dark gold splash onto the glass, you see it gush into a big cylindrical puddle...because you didn’t realise there wasn't a tap on the damn bottle.

Then, because its your third drink and you couldnt be bothered with getting another glass and making things more sane, you just add your soda and drink it anyway, you wonder if it might symbolise something a little bigger. Like letting go even though you don’t want to, or venting what’s inside unwittingly, or your madness spurting out, or splurging when you shouldnt, or something bigger like letting life take its course without being too controlling, letting things happen of their own accord without being worried about them being part of the norm...Or how this whole thought process coupled with (sparked by) a physical/spirit gush would make for an interesting scene in a movie...

Then , the next thing you know, that drink is half over and you have already typed out words in much the same way that whisky gushed out.

* Chivas you stupid shit of a premium whisky, get a tap!
** This belongs here but it also belongs here, so I feel bad I am not posting there; but neither do I want to make a habit of cross-posting (habit and 'posting' in the same sentence, ha!), so I just thought I would mention it...

"oh, that's so..."

2010-08-15T23:17:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I think that, at some level, we're all snobs.

Confucious say:

2010-08-02T12:30:00.002+08:00

If you don't know where you're going, any road will do.

12000km

2010-08-02T00:08:00.001+08:00

Oh, Motorcycle Diaries, why did we wait so long?

Ledger

2010-07-29T00:18:00.001+08:00

A couple of days ago, my bank balance was around the lowest it has been in the last 5 years or so.

Ah, well.

Drifting In

2010-07-26T12:41:00.001+08:00

I am back in the real world. Or is this the simulated fabric that envelops me, and is what I just returned from the real world? Out there on its own, not needing me, nor reaching out to me till I reach out to it?

I am back in this life, my life. It has taken me in again rather gently, I have to admit. A day and two nights to soften the blow of being back in office, yes. But the 'rude shock' has lasted a few days now. In Delhi, the traffic and the noise and the honking and the people were a jarring difference from where I had been. My mind largely zoned through my day in Delhi, smiling and talking my way through. The flight was neutral, like many flights turn out to be. Especially return flights. They are a non-space, neither here nor there- literally, and in the head. Neutral territories with movies and books and warm foil-covered food. Saturday evening was all silent and alone at home. I unpacked promptly and quickly (surprisingly). I vegetated. I can't seem to remember what I watched on TV though...

Sunday was more a 'real' day. D returned, filling the day with smiles. Then later, in the evening I was taken aback at how much of a jolt it was to step out of the house. The faces on the road seemed harsh and too many. I averted my eyes. The mall, its lights and stores and glitz seemed alien and unwelcoming. I picked up the shopping basket with a sigh. When I lifted a milk carton off the shelf, my shoulders sagged and I closed my eyes for a moment, the full import of reality and life bearing down on me.

Now I am at work. I am not spaced out, but I am drifting in a clear but viscous mass of normalcy.

Unknown Ahoy

2010-07-12T21:39:00.000+08:00

I just walked out of home with a backpack on my, er, back; and a day backpack on my,um, front. I'm off for about 10days. It's the kind of trip some have assumed I have done before, just not for some time. Others are surprised-at times happily, at times befuddled- that I am doing it at all.
And all it is, is a trip alone.

I have a flight out to Delhi late at night. After some more woozy and erratic sleep (the world cup is over but normal sleep remains elusive) I shall be on a bus tomorrow evening. Overnight and in about 16 hours, it shall get me to Manali.
I have never been to Manali, nor to Spiti that I plan to go on to from there.

Old country, new places; familiar approach, unfamiliar companion.

See you on the other side.

Crises of Capitalism

2010-07-11T11:58:00.002+08:00

A great way to explain something relatively dreary & boring. More importantly for me at least, nice visuals.

chance

2010-07-01T01:58:00.001+08:00

A beautiful short film :

Whiff

2010-06-26T10:57:00.001+08:00

Do women have an obligation to smell nice?

Ko Lanta

2010-06-19T16:24:00.012+08:00

Quick thoughts on a quick getaway to Ko Lanta.

When: May 19-23, 2010.
Highlight: getting back on a scooter with D and rising around an island, stopping at beaches and bars and shops and massages. I felt free.

Flew into Phuket late night on Wednesday, stayed at Casa Brazil on Karon beach. We stayed here in 2008 as well for a couple of nights, and found it cute, cosy, clean, quiet and and inviting. Ok, no more alliteration.

We met a friend at 11pm, just as we got in. He rode from Phuket town where he stays to say Hi. We shared a few drinks, there were no places open for dinner anymore. The beginning of off season and the Bangkok troubles meant it was all pretty quiet. The same places we had seen alive and buzzing in December 2008 were shut now. Sang Soms done, we went back to our room for more chat.

Early morning we are picked up to go to Rasada Pier. Our journey to Ko Lanta is not going to be short.

The ferry sets off at 8.30, and we are at Phi Phi by 10.30. We must change ferries here, but there is a one hour wait. We pay the 20B each for the Phi Phi Island entry and say hello to it again. We had stayed here for a few days the previous trip. Its quieter, its hot, but the water is still as stunning. Mango shake, anyone?

on the ferry

Ko Lanta taken another hour from here, and our pickup has not arrived at the pier. A Thai couple who D asks about a public phone just make the call from the cell phone from us. A little while later we are on a make shift tuk tuk with two chatty young men. They drop us off at Nautilus, where we discover we are the only 2 people staying! I can’t see how thats a negative, especially considering we the get the best room, the one closest to the beach.

tuk tuk in ko lanta

our little corner of the island

Joom, the only one running the place right now, says its low season and they had a whole Danish group cancel on them because of the Bangkok trouble. Their cafe is shut so they wont serve us food, but luckily the place next door (about 15 steps from our room) is open. Its a family who runs its, husband, wife, mom, (young sister?). The first look at the sea, the first sight as I stretch my legs to ward the blue, the first sip of holiday beer...and I, predictably say, “This is the life.”

Killer spicy salad

at Kantiang Bay

We spend till Sunday in Ko Lanta. We rent a scooter, ride around, consume pleasant materials, eat absurdly spicy food and get absurd chilli rushes, drink some beer and SangSom, swim, read, talk, fool around, chill, get massages, meet an interesting French couple and their kid whose bar/cafe we spend time in, see some incredible sunsets, an approaching storm, a police ‘raid’ on a small local restaurant we are eating at, buy chappals....did I mention eat, consume, swim and get massaged?

afternoon storm

sunset at Phra Ae beach

the good ol' Sang Som bucket

Nui beach, which was all ours

more practical details on the trip here

Lanta Trip details

2010-06-19T16:16:00.003+08:00

Some details & costs from our trip to Lanta last month. More about the trip and a few photos in this post.

PHUKET

Stay at Casa Brazil, Karon beach / 650B/night, no breakfast http://phukethomestay.com/
Taxi from Airport to Karon : 550B
Taxi from Karon to airport (pre booked) : 700B
Rent a scooter : 200B (leave your passport and sign a form)
Ferry Phuket_Ko Lanta return fare : 1600B/person
(includes pickup from Phuket hotel and drop to Lanta hotel, as well as drop off to phuket hotel on the return)

KO LANTA
Stay at Nautilus Resort, Pra Ae (Long Beach) / 700B/night, no breakfast http://www.nautilusresort.net/Home.html
Free pickup from Pier
Scooter rent (no passport, forms or anything!) : 200B/24hr
Big Chang beer bottle: 70B-100B
Small Chang beer bottle in 7-11: 30B
Green/Red Curry etc : 90-150B

Beaches visited :
Long Beach (where we stayed) : nice beach, quiet, not great for swimming (rocky)
Kantiang Bay : A british paper once called it the best beach in Thailand. Thats quite a claim, and I find it to be an overstatement. Small, cosy, peaceful. The water is not as stunning as other places in Thailand though.
Nui beach: 10min hike down the hill after parking your scooter. Isolated, no shacks, hotels or shops, no nothing. After two local finished their fishing in one corner of the beach and left, it was just the two of us. Sweeeet-uh.
Klong Nin Beach. A bit of a Goa vibe, fair few bars with the reggae or Jack Johnson vibe, cushions and beer and a ‘come, lie here and do nothing’ feel. Would think of staying here if I went back?

Tonight

2010-06-09T11:59:00.000+08:00

Tonight, young one
you walk these fields again
expectant and wide eyed.
You wait,
looking toward the rain
and the thrill by your side.
You quiver
with the thrill of possibility,
excitement your bride.

Tonight, the air,
it sizzles with chance
that has pulsed all day.
This smile
at what has been, what is
all that yet may.
Tonight, is nothing
and everything,
its anything you say.

Tonight is tomorrow,
Tonight is now
Tonight is yesterday.

Miss, Please Can I Go To The Toilet?

2010-03-25T00:24:00.003+08:00

Here's an intimate little piece on Dibakar Bannerjee waiting to see how the Big People With Cinematic Scissors would react to his film.

The regional chief of the Censor Board was ready to see the director and the producer. Banerjee walked up the building staircase to a charming screening room of horrors. The chief sat in the middle seat on the top row. His Censor Board colleagues included a lady in a burkha and a man in a grey-brown safari suit. Banerjee and his producer walked halfway down, between the seats, and turned to face him, like subjects would face a king.

The amazing thing is, that a filmmaker has to ask for concessions even to get his film rated 'A'. How unbelievable is that- someone has to regulate what even people who are adults can or cannot watch? I could own a farmhouse, guzzle scotch, buy tickets to watch cheerleaders shake their thang, produce frickin' babies for heavens sake. Think about it- its ok (even bloody recommended) for me to create life and be responsible for it. But I still can't decide if I want watch a movie that might be opinionated or have nudity.

Go screw yourself.

hat tip: IC

Muse

2010-03-24T19:22:00.000+08:00

There is a reason why women invariably make the best muses.

No, I don't know it.

An Encounter

2010-03-17T16:00:00.002+08:00

I was losing the fight.
She was a formidable adversary, her physical prowess matched by a razor-sharp intellect and an intimidating presence. We sparred with verve and vigour, new players playing an old game. She foresaw almost every move of mine- every calculated feint, every jaded step. I could almost step out of myself and see how predictable I was. But it was not entirely one-sided. Fleetingly, I would detect indecision in her body language, uncertainty in her eyes, the occasional cliché in her moves. I could sense that I had on my side one weapon, and one weapon only.
If only I knew what it was.

Her grip was surprisingly strong, her attacks ferocious. We tumbled to the ground- grunting like warriors now, then silent like chess players. Locked together like lovers, eyes burning through each other, both strong...but one surer than the other. Through the exhiliration, and despite the faith without which this battle would have been over long ago, I knew I was a lost cause. Every time I was pressed down, paralysed by her skill and her eyes, I would kick her. Sometimes it seemed like she would roll away just so she could overwhelm me again. Yet after every kick, I wouldn't, couldnt, turn tail and scamper away. I wanted to clash again though it was obvious I ought not to have.

We grappled, as much as with each other’s minds as our limbs. Both minds were in the same playing field, but looked on it differently. I knew it was merely a game, but sometimes my head took it way beyond. I knew that to get the advantage I had to treat it with almost juvenile frivolity, I had to fool my body into thinking this was easy, even inconsequential. Then my mind would be freed, not weighed down by expectation. In that freedom lay my escape, in the lack of hope lay my hope.

previously on Vague Wonder & The Princess of Trouble

Vague Wonder & The Princess of Trouble

2010-03-15T13:03:00.000+08:00

When I woke it was raining. I half-opened my eyes and sensed a vague but insistent downpour. It fell upon the trees outside with a gentle, even loving, force. I lay there with my body still, my mind wading through a crush of burning love. Lashing out at me from the recesses of a fickle heart, caressing despite a violent force- keeping me from sleep and keeping me from waking. I was slowly lulled by a dark spell, embracing me in its thrilling folds, pushing me into a dreamy sleep.

Thunder rumbled. Had it been a few moments, or an hour? The rain was relentless. That dark place had not let go of me. Even now, I stood at its threshold- looking out from within, as if I might fall out. Fall out into a light that hurt my eyes. But I wanted to go back to that pitch black, where I couldn't see myself. To slip back into that ill-advised enchantment. I turned from one to the other, standing on that precipice, but I couldn't tell if the abyss lay before me or behind me. It didn't matter, the choice was not mine.

The constant pitter-patter was a rough lullaby, but the cackling bursts and their hideous beauty kept me awake. I could see her beckoning visage, but I didn't know if she was in the flashes of light outside, or in the soft darkness beside me. I didn't know if she was calling out to me plaintively from the shadows, or softly whispering from the blinding glare. Were her pleas real, or her demands?
Was the rain still falling, or was I dreaming again? I tossed and turned between light and dark; seeing her first in one, then the other. Did I sleep, or am I still trying to? Can I wake, or am I just going to drift away?

I am awake, the rain has stopped. The storm has passed, but the grey remains. The spell still hovers, I am still groggy, she awaits in the shadows.
It is a new day, but nothing has changed, really.

Blink

2010-03-12T16:56:00.000+08:00

There was once this man called Me
Who, everyday, would have coffee
But whatever he’d do,
And whichever the brew,
He’d just blink, and remain sleepy.

insight

2010-03-12T00:51:00.000+08:00

While drinking with an American friend one recent evening, I spewed this loud wisdom, "One of the most important things for cultural understanding is the ability to laugh at ourselves."
He heartily agreed, so we high-fived like school kids and ordered more shots.

Istanbul

2010-03-11T00:27:00.001+08:00

Lonely Planet has a twitter thingy it calls 'twities', in which you are asked to write about/describe a city in less than 140 characters- one tweet. 'Istanbul' this week meant I told myself I must, random though it all is. When I did end up doing it, (just a while back) it was hurried- with much less effort and love than I would have liked to.

Whatever. Here they are. Read them and weep.

1.
Istanbul, you straddle
so much more than
water.
The past, minarets,
kebabs, cigarettes.
The me that was
he who you shaped,
history itself.

2.
tower and bridge,
spark and flame,
meat and smoke,
names in a name.
smiles and swirls,
ancient and divine,
spice and twirls;
yours, his, mine.

3.
How does your skyline soar
with buildings so low?
Your seductive past
as if alive,
Just as your heart opens
to embrace me so?

Expect the expected

2010-03-05T10:50:00.000+08:00

When you plan and think so much, that unplanned thing you want, isn't going to happen. Nor that unthinkable one you are waiting for.

Yet the mind plots and schemes, oblivious that it is trying to con fate into a surprise that isn't. In fact, all your mind is doing is swindling you- short changing both your wish and your reality.

But the thoughts, the possibilities- how sweet they are. So perfectly random, so ideally unexpected, so joyfully spontaneous.
It's a pity you thought them, though... for that's all they will remain.

Small

2010-02-24T12:33:00.001+08:00

The haze lifts, the petty intensity wanes, the viscious silence starts to let go.

Forever

2010-02-19T12:09:00.002+08:00

The other day I thought saw the future.

There will be peace. A jilted peace, its premise rejected by society and shunned by prudence. It will also be a naive peace, sadly vulnerable.
There will be a certain softness. Of body and mind. Of touch and feel and smell. A softness tempered by cold, often hard reality.
There will be a sense of exploration. A stimulating newness, frenzied despite its impending age.
There will be love. A twisted love that ignores its foundations. A volatile, burning love, doomed to incandescent glory and eventual ashes.

But these were flashes, mere glimpses. They served only to tell me that I couldn't know; my vision could be prophecy or fantasy, and there is no way I can be sure. But I don't mind that. Is it indifference, or am I charged by the unpredictability? Or am I so swept up by the promise, that its mere possibility is enough? If they come to be, what of the inherent contradictions in them? Will all-consuming passions be consumed by their apparent irrationality? If they light up life itself, does it matter? Is longevity necessary to justify exhiliration?

Is forever overrated?

Flat

2010-02-17T19:00:00.000+08:00

Do long weekends recharge or discharge?

Depths

2010-02-17T15:16:00.000+08:00

She spends her days meandering. Her helpless cynicism perceives almost everything around her as inane. Conversations and opinions, ideas and laughter, all seem unappealing. Then a time comes, as she is sighing through another banal, oppressive day, when a flurry of thoughts flit by her. The next thing she knows, she has declared them all inane. Her own thoughts, the very threads of sanity and stimulation that have strangely held her together, helped her stay afloat in this bubbling, vacuous existence; she now thinks them inane as well!
She held her step. The pit and the stair, both lay before her now.

Abandon

2010-02-12T13:17:00.000+08:00

Hope!
Take your filthy promises,
wrench your lusty kisses
Go, go... begone.
Fake is your glowing path,
insidious is your wrath.
Leave me alone.

Desire!
You slimy vengeful cur,
my shameful black slur,
don't please me.
Take away your dark heart,
and let our ways here part,
just release me.

Delusion!
Take these visions, so rich.
Oh, my beautiful witch,
forgive your prey.
Cast not your spell,
mask not this hell.
I beg, fly away.

Go, leave, please, release, away.
Lest this momentary clarity
loses to familiar insanity,
which seduces me with all of you
reduces me with all of you,
so I believe I grow.
While I grieve, I know
at my ignorance.

The Good Man

2010-02-11T15:42:00.002+08:00

"I want to be the good man", he said.
"I want to be the true man, who did what he ought to have. I see before me the path of the righteous and I wish to take it, though I am no 'religious' man. I wish to walk on it with unshakeable will in the face of overpowering temptation. "
"For someone who just claimed not to be, your words sure point to a religious nature", I told him.
"That lies in your narrow perception, not my fear of the divine", he snapped back.

"I feel like I stand at an abyss, a churning chasm of moral turpitude beckons me. My instinct baulks at such social judgement, for I don't see the black of 'wrong acts' in the deep; I embracingly believe in the grey in life. But that is only part of me. Its the part that would quietly and recklessly take that step forward and plunge in."

The ice clinked in the whisky as he raised it to his lips.

"But there is another part of me. Yes, another part that looks about him before that fateful step. And what does he see? He sees the hesitant minds and bodies that stand beside him. He looks deep into eyes that are overwhelmed with the alluring depths. He knows he will drag them with him- not kicking and screaming, no. Of their own free will, even. Neither they nor he will bother with the clamouring voices in an imaginary world, screaming vile judgement. But he knows what they will find- together and alone, or just together . A murky and fearsome darkness awaits, with tingling nerves to be followed inevitably by....by...".

He turned to me- searching, desperate. I felt a lump in my throat; his helplessness was palpable, his struggle intense.

Then, a sudden and unexpected finality, and an overwhelming sense of defeat. "I wish only to be noble", he grandly sighed.

'Guts'

2010-02-11T11:12:00.008+08:00

Stumbled upon this short piece: Guts by Chuck Palahniuk. Its not for the faint hearted or squeamish, but its sickly brilliant. Sample this, though I am being kind with the extract. You have been warned.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the
last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their
folks would find them, a towel twisted around the kid's neck, the towel tied to
the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course
the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look…
better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad, teen suicide.

update : Palahniuk personally knows of 67 people who have fainted during readings of this story. I think a reading might be a very different thing to handle than reading it yourself. Not necessarily tougher, but quite different in how intense it might be. Last night, I read this on my iPhone in bed. I thought I was starting a very short piece that would last till my eyes shut. Minutes later I was riveted. Some time more, and I realised I was reading it with my eyes wide open in absorbed disgust and amazement.

Twilight

2010-02-09T19:46:00.001+08:00

The sun dithered, neither here nor gone; pretending to be uncertain about the one thing certain in our lives.
The light dimmed. My eyes, heavy with sleep and dullness, gave up. My head fell to one aside, me strangely aware of this.

The phone beeped, my head jerked, the heart followed- racing while my body extricated itself from the drowsy depths.

My mind smiled through the veils of nothingness around it. The sun had gone. The night was here. My night, empty and inviting and unknown.

Crushed

2010-02-04T12:51:00.001+08:00

Do you know that feeling when you see or hear a beautiful creation? The very depths of you touched by someone’s vision or desire or passion or hate or madness, or love? It feels so pure, so true, so powerful.

Yet it sometimes also feels so belittling. The power of the art towers above you, speaking for no one but itself, yet speaking to so many. And you look up, dwarfed by its existence, crushed by your own. Enamoured by its reason, disenchanted by your own. Swept away by its truth, swept aside by your lie.

QSS

2010-02-04T01:55:00.001+08:00

When you plan, chart out a course, draw a map... that's precisely when life wakes- just to show you exactly who's in charge.
In case you're wondering, it isn't you.

Q&A

2010-01-28T17:07:00.001+08:00

What is it that you want?

Shaken by the madness, stirred by the rush, bitten by the high, you look for a normalcy that just chugs you along. Yet, consumed by the memory, you crave for the crazy. You want the usual to be locked away, for at least a while.

You suspect that to deal with this you dont so much want the normal to be, but the abnormal to thrive. Every little thing that signals the usual, every little nudge that pushes you to sanity seems to you like a step toward the mundane. And you want the buzz of the different.

You look back on that trip- for that is what it was, wasn't it? You look back on it and wonder if it's worth it, worth the emptiness of the crash that inevitably follows. And your churning insides reply, "I don't care".

"Today I don't want to think about tomorrow. I want to live, feel, do... now. I don't want normalcy. Bring me that madness, and I will gladly and foolishly accept it."

Does that answer your question?

Obscured by Clouds

2010-01-26T10:48:00.001+08:00

"Obscured by clouds." Instinctively, I thought it was apt. It suited a foggy mind and uncertain thought. Then I paused and saw it again. "Clouds! That explains it."

Grey, looming clouds weighing down on me; but their sense is not of impending doom. They hang immensely in that gentle and brooding way of theirs- making everything only about them, and you can't help but be charmed. Seduced, even, by the lure of their deep and intense grey. Have you looked out from your window or balcony ever, to see storm clouds approach? An expanse of green, looking up uncertainly at the approaching darkness. Trees blowing in the wind, crowned by imperious shapes that excite and unnerve, all at once. In the midst of all this, whither clear thought?

Smiling, white cotton framed against an azure sky. These are clouds, too. They are happy, cheery, and no less powerful. They hang wispily over lush green and streaks of yellow and splashes of blue. A gentle breeze comes along; it strokes your heart as the leaves flutter. You lie back in the grass, looking up at the soothing blue and white, your limbs relaxing, your heart filling, your mind letting go. Little white strands float above, taking your thoughts with them, leading them into quiet nothingness. It is all serene and beautiful and meaningless, all at once. In this gentle pointlessness, whither focus?

They are magnificent and powerful, alluring and misleading; they gently whisper yet brook no argument; I am seduced and I am haunted; I am calmed, and I am left shaken. I am just here, obscured by clouds.

After hours

2010-01-26T00:23:00.001+08:00

They sit there, those men;
those ambitious men with
their steely gazes and
cold beers, their studied mirth.

Can you feel it? Can you let
them see their glory shine?
Pretend to be the mirror: no
blemishes, no limits, no lines.

Clink glasses in their cheer
see the glint in their eyes
Detect no fear, mask disdain
Smile sagely, into their very lies.

Waiting

2010-01-23T11:40:00.001+08:00

You wait for the beep of thrill, the tone of desire, the reminder of hope. Your fingers tingle. They feel like they are delicate, shaking. They aren't. But they seem they are, the frisson of excitement has them bound; the tingle of memory and expectation courses through you.

The little sound will not be for you. Indeed, none of this is for you. Yet you want it to be. You want to be part of it. How easy it is, to see what you desire looming in front of you... while it hesitantly hovers for another.

Hope, though, is a strange thing. Enticing and powerful and exhilirating and fickle. Utterly deceptive.

Or is it just you? Just you being gullible? Choosing the transient buzz of possibility over the cool silence of improbability?

Yes, silence is all there is.

Flip

2010-01-23T02:52:00.000+08:00

Have you ever thought about how insanity is so attractive to the insane?

Stretches

2010-01-21T13:33:00.001+08:00

The hours, they drag. They stretch, though they can't; but my mind wallows in every moment, gazing at it, dully seeing it stare back. No expression, no spark, nor any intensity. Unless intense nothingness counts.

The days, they segue. One touches the other in a lazy relay of inconsequence, passing the minimal light of continuity out of some ancient sense of duty. Or some mechanical process of biology and nature.

I eat. I eat till I feel I could burst. I enjoy the eating, but I perversely enjoy the idea of stuffing myself. It is a dull sort of perversion, not the tingling rush of twisted enjoyment.

I blink but my gaze at life feels unblinking. The sameness, the immovable horizon that isn't even there, the monotone road that stretches toward it.

Alive

2010-01-20T13:55:00.001+08:00

It starts to drizzle. Little drops of madness. The gentle pitter-patter of wanting. The breeze, content to play a bit-part thus far, fans the fires. His heart skips a beat, but the music matters little. The rhythm is altogether different, it comes from the drumming of impending doom. The beautiful, mesmerising kind of inevitability. This is the precarious yet terribly easy task of letting go. He doesn't resist, and realises he probably never meant to. This giving in, this delicious craziness, this thrill of succumbing... it feels alive.

And he likes feeling life thus.

Parallel

2010-01-20T10:44:00.000+08:00

"His only wish was escape, his only reality chains."

Same

2010-01-13T18:38:00.000+08:00

It's nice to keep seeing different colours; but what if you notice that they are, after all, all just colours?

- Posted from le iPhone

Arts

2010-01-08T10:36:00.000+08:00

If I didn't like the name of this blog so much, it would have been also apt to change it to The Art of Indiscipline.

- Posted from le iPhone

Whither context

2010-01-07T12:18:00.001+08:00

I read, enjoyed and shared on FB a wonderful piece (http://www.cricinfo.com/decadereview2009/content/story/439734.html) looking back at a decade in cricket. Rather personal, parts of it; and much I identified with. I ended spewing some more thoughts on it. Here goes.

I have very little against T20. I might not like it too much given the sheer quantity I am already faced with, but I know that
a) it’s the way the game has evolved, and we cant cling on to romantic ideals of cricket, and
b) it can actually be a fantastically absorbing game- its not as often a dumbing down of the game as a crunching up of the skills into a shorter time frame; with the requirement to hit the ground running, display your skills faster and more intensely. None of these are bad things per se.
Anyway, this is not so much about critiquing T20.

Good Test cricket is a wonderful thing to follow, of course. But for increasingly fewer people, backed by fewer boards (namely not our own), shown by broadcasters struggling to sustain it, sponsored by companies increasingly reluctant to do so. The crucial factor here is the importance given to it by the people who run the game. The number of Tests India has been playing is nothing short of absurd. Test cricket has much the better chance of showcasing two teams fighting for the upper hand, but the chance for it to do so is frighteningly under threat.

I expect to see a more than reasonable contest between two sides/ two players and that is perfectly justifiable demand. What is most unfortunate today is that I can’t expect to see a reasonable contest between bat & ball.

And lastly, what is the most relevant thing for me here (which connects with the title of the article as well) is the utter lack of context. One series segues into the next, bilateral gives way to tri series gives way to T20 gives way to domestic…oh, look there’s a Test match round the corner!
This is the crux of the matter- how much appetite for cricket am I expected to have? How many matches am I expected to watch without having the results and performances blur in my head? And how many fours and sixes and DLF maximums before they become meaningless?
(The answer my friend, is blowin’ in the wind).

Actually at one level I *hope* they become meaningless. I hope people tire of 400 runs in T20 games and 700 in ODIs. I hope people couldn’t be bothered. Maybe that will lead to some sort of shakedown.

But who am I kidding.

Going where you can't

2010-01-07T00:44:00.000+08:00

Saw an LP article link on a list of places one would like to go to...places that don't exist. Before clicking through I jotted a few of mine that came to mind...

The Shire
Myst
Pandora
Gondolin
Lothlorien
Killimooin

Now, on to that link:
http://lonelyplanet.com/travel-tips-and-articles/42/28288

- Posted from le iPhone

2010-01-05T01:03:00.001+08:00

Happy 2010.

Disbelieve.

2009-12-27T13:33:00.000+08:00

Disbelieve Life. It will surely betray you.
The trick is to understand that's not necessarily a bad thing.

- Posted from le iPhone

Warmth

2009-12-24T22:53:00.001+08:00

Seeing the love around you for that which you love is wonderful.

A trifle

2009-12-24T01:01:00.001+08:00

I realise I have spent the better part of my life saying troofle not
truhffle, for truffle.
Hmmm.

Twisted Verve

2009-12-22T12:58:00.000+08:00

The flashes, they swarm
poking here, biting there-
teasing,
taunting,
like street thugs with flair.

They smoulder, 'tis appealing;
yet they seem to burn me-
reaching,
clawing ,
like desire you want to flee.

I wander, search, grope,
my mind is stuck, slow-
wallowing,
waiting,
to embrace; to let go.

I am enjoying this; this
twisted thrill of the unknown
sizzling,
unnerving,
this morally mad zone.

madness & immortality

2009-12-04T11:41:00.000+08:00

In less than an hour that batting freak from Delhi will walk onto the pitch at the CCI again. He will have the comfort, and weight, of 284 runs behind him. Predictably, fans and observers have gone a bit mental since yesterday evening. The burning question has already become, “Can he break Lara’s record?”. Impossible as it may sound, it is well within the realm of possibility.

About as possible as Sehwag finishing this innings on 284. Or 285. Or 295 (going for a six?). This is someone who might well have inspired the cliché about living, dying and a sharp warrior instrument, had it not existed already. His audacity and our incredulity go hand in hand. With that lies the distinct possibility of his madness leading the way for our disappointment.

In just a little while he will walk on to the field in the hot Mumbai sun to huge expectation, a loving cheer and impending records that could make him almost immortal in cricket lore. At one level, one’s expectation tingles; at another one realizes that what happens almost doesn’t matter. The thing is, he is already unforgettable to history.

Stillwater

2009-10-29T15:01:00.002+08:00

He reached out for the cup of coffee, sipping it without pause. He glanced at it as he put it back on the messily anonymous table. It looked the same as it did everyday. It tasted the same. Today felt the same as yesterday, as the day before- one day was segueing into the other this week.
He paused, recognizing in this observation both pitfalls, and potential. Where was this mundanness going? [ Why was it mundane-ness? Mundanity sounds so much better. As good or not as wastefulness and laze and lack of discipline, he dryly thought.]

There was that germ of a great idea he could revisit, the promise of that piece he could finish. The pondering of a future with a reasonable amount of reality or resoluteness, that was an option. Every reasonable, or reasonably interesting, thought he had thought in the last 10 days, it waited to be spoken to, caressed, expressed. But they needn’t have held their breath.

He reached out for the coffee. It would get cold soon.

A Nation of Nowhere

2009-10-29T14:05:00.002+08:00

“There are people everywhere who form a Fourth World, or a diaspora of their own. They are the lordly ones! They come in all colors. They can be Christians or Hindus or Muslims or Jews or pagans or athiests. They can be young or old, men or women, soldiers or pacifists, rich or poor. They may be patriots, but they are never chauvinists. They share with each other, across all the nations, common values of humor and understanding. When you are among them you know you will not be mocked or resented, because they will not care about your race, your faith, your sex or your nationality, and they suffer fools if not gladly, at least sympathetically. They laugh easily. They are easily grateful. They are never mean. They are not inhibited by fashion, public opinion, or political correctness. They are exiles in their own communities, because they are always in a minority, but they form a mighty nation, if they only knew it. It is the nation of nowhere.”

Jan Morris's wonderful words form the epigraph for Tales From Nowhere.

a state of english

2009-10-19T17:04:00.002+08:00

On a slow day at the office, I happened upon this essay by George Orwell. Apart from the general thrust of the piece which is the role of language in political writing, I was struck by how the opening paragraph sounded so 'current'. Hardly something that has come from the first half of the previous century.

Most people who bother with the matter at all would admit that the English language is in a bad way, but it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it. Our civilization is decadent and our language -- so the argument runs -- must inevitably share in the general collapse. It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to aeroplanes.

dickshit

2009-10-15T12:27:00.002+08:00

no bullshit here :
(note the headline!)

from here (the article has since been fixed, so good I took the screenshot)

30.09

2009-10-04T03:32:00.001+08:00

A few days ago I was:
the blink in the sleep, the spark in the joy, the dark in the grey, the hush in the quiet, the everything in the nothing.

the sieve

2009-09-27T14:57:00.000+08:00

Many thoughts, many ideas, much flitting, no action.

symphony 92.4

2009-08-29T04:16:00.003+08:00

For the last two weeks, when I get in to bed, I have been listening to classical music on the radio as I read, and then drop off to sleep.

black & white

2009-08-22T18:45:00.006+08:00

The first of a fair few Tudor-style houses I saw in England. I find them striking, and very charming. Some were just facades but in Oxford we saw a couple that were real Tudor buildings, all creaky looking and leaning.

days that weren't

2009-08-22T14:55:00.002+08:00

Beautiful, heartbreaking, but maybe even uplifting. These are things on the mad internet worth sharing. Go to it with a few minutes of time.

Days with my Father

shells & whisky

2009-08-20T12:14:00.002+08:00

I’m early. They’re running late. The peanut shells have already formed a small pile in front of me, as if by themselves. I have not yet thrown any down. Its unlike me. Here, I usually begin dropping the shells on the floor almost immediately. Its like a sign that yes, I am here; or I have settled in. I must be careful, they get eaten at amazing speeds. Even faster than the drinks on happy hours. Mine has just arrived.
The guy tells me they have been to Bangkok, the entire staff of these bars on Emerald Hill. They were taken on a trip, partied hard, drank lots. It shows, he looks exhausted. But that’s great, isn’t it? That they were taken out, and the bars were all shut for a couple of days. I did not know that all these places were owned by the same person.
The whisky is tasty. And generous, as always. Later, maybe, a classic margherita pizza awaits- with that thin, thin crust and flavourful tomatoes. I have a feeling this pile will look embarrassingly big soon. Maybe I will slow down, or maybe I will scatter them all over the floor.

a swiss gerbera

2009-08-15T13:24:00.001+08:00

At the table; a wedding recption in Sion, Switzerland.

from flickr

Picking a read

2009-07-31T00:00:00.002+08:00

Books I will have to pick to read in the next couple of days, when I am done with this.

Abandon - Pico Iyer
Kafka On The Shore - Murakami
Confessions of a Yakuza - Junichi Saga
Delhi: Adventures in a Mega City - Sam Miller
300 - Frank Miller
The Adventures of Amir Hamza
Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said - Philip K Dick

That's six, but who's to say I wonn't end up with a seventh?

an ominous grey

2009-07-28T00:19:00.001+08:00

A glorius summer day turned into a dramatically grey afternoon.

The London summer was all it was supposed to be, but also all I had wanted it to be. Sunny, warm, bright, clear; yet a few times it was chilly and grey and stark and imposing.

from flickr

Back

2009-07-14T17:56:00.000+08:00

I’m back here now; but my mind is somewhere in transit, my heart is sloshing in memories that were the present just a few days ago, my body is sleepwalking in the present; this life is lost in time and space.

Summer '09

2009-06-09T01:50:00.001+08:00

Average temperatures....
London, in June: Max 21C, Min 13C
Edinburgh, in June: Max 16C, Min 8C
Geneva, in July: Max 24C, Min 14C
Milan, in July: Max 30C, Min 19C
Venice, in July: Max 28C, Min 19C

thoughts on wheels

2009-06-05T11:47:00.003+08:00

Inanities in a car. They bounce off each other. They pry and prod and sprinkle and hang.

Look at me, I’m so funny. I even laugh the loudest at my jokes. It doesn’t bother me that he is sitting there, smiling blandly, look at him.

Look at me. I’m smirking confidently. I can be a part of this car, I can talk anything, and be at ease. I know enough and understand enough and can say enough. Not like him, squeezed and confused in the middle, in more ways than one. At least that other guy is quiet and cool because he is driving. He is meant to focus on other things. But maybe that’s just his excuse.

Look at them, exchanging their opinions for free. Everyone wants to be at ease doing it though everyone is forced together by circumstance and space. Forced natural smiles, contrived spontaneity, cultivated laughter. Look at me, thinking I am different from them, or worse still, above it all. Look at me, my words colliding in my head, reveling in their depth.

All the while, just inanities in a car.

getting the rap

2009-06-05T11:45:00.000+08:00

I think rap music has a lot to do with it. It makes it sound cool not to conform, and to be violent

Andrew Flintoff, sounding suspiciously like a retired colonel from Tunbridge Wells, on the breakdown of British society

Seriously, Freddie?

look up!

2009-05-28T17:10:00.001+08:00

I really appreciate the effort, but there is a slight problem. You can’t quite string up a knife in the air and then say I don’t have to worry about a sword hanging over my head. No, tell me, really. Makes sense? Not? Huh?

sty

2009-05-25T18:37:00.001+08:00

I have a sty in my eye
An ache in my head
A laze in my brain
“Oh, sigh”, he said.

Blink, wince, droop
Ho, hum, ooh, aah.
Stroke, clutch, leak
Push, pull, poke, ah.

I have a sty in my eye
I’m too tired to write
I have an excuse now
But I still type this shite

curiosity

2009-05-19T23:13:00.001+08:00

A beautiful little girl in Chiang Mai, Thailand.

from flickr

resistance

2009-05-18T18:40:00.001+08:00

In the long watches of the day, his body tensed with lethargy.

Vagabond

2009-05-12T18:00:00.002+08:00

His feet ache. They are heavy, weary from inaction. His mind tires, reeling from the stimulation that comes from prospects, and possibilities. His feet itch to tire of walking, his mind yearns for the energy of reality. He reaches out, for he knows not how possible these endless possibilities are. He slumps in the chair, tired from the dreams and questions and unknown paths.
Yet, he is wistful and happy.

distance

2009-05-08T13:51:00.001+08:00

Where their bodies once lay, were now just the stains of disuse, and coldness, and memory.

an IPL list...

2009-05-07T00:27:00.001+08:00

no, not mine, but Dileep Premachandran's. Is a good read, this, with some pertinent and some random observations. Mine, as usual, are a work in progress. Or no-gress, as the case may be.

bamboo tattoo, anyone?

2009-05-04T23:33:00.003+08:00

street wall outside a bamboo tattoo shop. This little street had art work on walls either side.

Phi Phi Island, Thailand.

View On Black

gorilla cricket

2009-05-04T23:27:00.000+08:00

time for some monkeying around.

this and only this, is it

2009-04-28T21:05:00.002+08:00

Some people just believe that all they know and all they understand and all the world they live in, is the centre of the universe.

into the distance

2009-04-24T17:12:00.003+08:00

sun. sea. blue. silence. peace. immense. endless.

much better viewed here

from flickr

Lub-d

2009-04-24T15:35:00.002+08:00

How's this for a cool looking hostel? Its a bit pricey for a Thai hostel (2 years ago we paid 500B for a very basic but clean room with airconditioning and a private bathrom) , but its funky and makes me want to try it.
But heck, what in the a name?

srt

2009-04-24T13:00:00.001+08:00

Happy Birthday, o wonderful one.

Gmail's Multiple Inboxes

2009-04-23T12:51:00.004+08:00

Sometime back Gmail introduced a Labs feature called Multiple Inboxes. Its sounds far more promising than it is. Earlier one always had the option of getting all of one's mail from elsewhere forwarded to the primary Gmail inbox, have them filtered and automatically labelled as required, and then search/sort/read them accordingly. It was a clumsy workaround (because it cluttered my inbox), and I never really used it to pull email from other accounts.

With this feature enabled (and following the basic tips on the linked post), I can now have another window staring at my face with email from any seacrh parameter (in this case, the label that a separate email account has). Its handy, but still essentially just a couple of search panes.

I have wondered why we don't have genuine centralised accounts, that manage many email accounts. Multiple IDs is something a lot of people have now, for some purpose or the other. Why can't I just have a Google account that gives me tabs on top, each clicking through to a different Inbox? Even if this was limited to just Gmail IDs, it would be a great help.
In fact, if even this current search pane setup had the ability to be moved into a tab or have its window resized, I could streamline the look of my Inbox.

And oh, whats the point of being able to send emails 'as if from one of your other accounts' if the recepient reads that its from your main account "on behalf of the other account". Rubbish.

Brant over.

cricket porn

2009-04-22T15:07:00.002+08:00

This, in an unexpected context, is worth a read in itself:

In most places an ODI pitch looks and behaves much the same as another: it gives up runs as easily as do porn stars their clothes.

Its so true though. All this standardizing of pitches is flattening the variety curve in cricket. It lead a frothing-at-the-mouth Jeremy Coney to recently say- during Sky’s coverage of India’s tour of Kiwi land- that the BCCI was telling all other boards in no uncertain terms to “give us the pitches we like or face the consequences, we will not tour your country!” I recall this, I must admit, only partly accurately, but the tone was at least as agitated and accusatory.

This also reminds me of the time when Indian cricket claimed that in order for it to be competitive at the international level, it needed more pitches at home that encouraged fast bowlers. Sure, but not when those pitches are used for an international game against a country that has come to India dreading those ‘sub-continental dustbowls where the ball turns square!”. I see no reason why the odd pitch in India should not be spitefully spinning, just as the odd pitch in South Africa can menacingly swing (Durban in ’96 anyone?), or the select pitch in Australia is fearfully bouncy. All of these are increasingly unlikely to be found, and it’s a darned pity.

At any rate, the pitches in india are getting frighteningly dead now, with plenty for the batsmen, sometimes a teeny bit for the fast bowlers and often nothing for the spinners; but in too many instances, boredom for the fan.

exploitainment

2009-04-21T12:06:00.002+08:00

More on some of what I said in my previous post here:

He also said that, in the future, even the tactical breaks will have a title sponsor of their own. "Just like 'Citi Moment of Success', and 'DLF Maximum Sixes', we plan to introduce sponsored events such as 'TVS Tactical Break', 'Reebok Run-Chase', and 'Dominos Dot-Ball'", said Mr Modi to a stunned audience. When a reporter asked if this didn't amount to rampant commercial exploitation, Mr Modi shot back "You mean 'Coca-cola commercial exploitation'. If you fail to mention the sponsor's name, I will hit you with a 'Lays Lawsuit'".

I like.

Inevitable initial IPL ramble-1

2009-04-20T17:18:00.002+08:00

Some disparate ramblings on the IPL. These could or could not continue through the tournament :

I loved Day 1. All the brash, confident, super talented young cricketers were shown a lesson or two by the oldies. The lessons were in many things, ranging from simplicity, technique and focus to style, class and sheer genius. Here’s to more of all of that!

Shane Warne. Thank you. It was so worth staying up. Virat Kohli, you cocky little twat.

I just wish they could show me more of Lalit Modi. After all, the brilliant businessman has transformed cricket and given me so much to look (forward) to. I should get to see more of him before the match, at the toss, in between overs, everywhere. Please?

Its been 2 days and I already am sick of the DLF Maximums and the Citi Moments of Success(es?). Some of the commentators are falling over themselves to make sure they say it immediately after a six or wicket, often needing to overlap their colleague's reactions in order to do so. I have already heard “that’s a Citi moment of success if ever there was one” at least three times. I have also heard Ravi Shastri (oh where would we be without him) inadvertently call a DLF Maximum (a six) a Citi Moment of Success instead. There is no success in six, Ravi.

They’re picking a shortlist of 50 young things to be Miss Bollywood South Africa or something (the winner will have a "shot at Bollywood"). But hey, there's no reality show around this?! No heart breaking back stories, touching dreams, tearful exits and loving parents? Bah, you guys, you missed a trick there! I thought you knew all there is to know about milking cricket.

Sitting here I wish I could see Mandira Bedi & Co. Am missing out, I am.

the dark side

2009-04-17T19:03:00.001+08:00

If you know anything about Dubai, or nothing at all, this will make for a long but absorbing, even engrossing read. It peels off layers from Dubai’s shiny veneer of beauty and comfort; and what it reveals is in equal parts despicable, interesting and, even, sadly unsurprising.

On the other hand, I can’t help but feel it is at least a little one sided- whether this is driven by an agenda or just is, I couldn’t say. It has a fair few insensitive, selfish, self absorbed people; I just wish it would have also told me about the open minded, responsible, aware global citizens I know live there. It would be unfortunate (and a tad surprising) if the writer did not meet any of these; and downright irresponsible if he did and chose not to represent their thoughts.

Nevertheless, none of that can make lies of some of the truths. There is more than enough in there that is serious main course for thought and discussion; and much to leave one a bit uncomfortable.

this or that

2009-04-16T12:57:00.001+08:00

Would you prefer some utterly rude and surly efficiency or polite and amiable service that is lacking?

tomorrow, today

2009-04-16T12:54:00.001+08:00

The other day, for the umpteenth time in recent months, I watched as Skype ran. My mum-in-law spoke to her grand daughter. The little one watched her Dadi coo, her Dadi blew kisses and laughed. It was not too many years ago when we saw video phones in sci-fi movies and wondered if we would see such marvels in our lifetime, or if they were specks in an uncertain future.

But that future is already here.

Drakul

2009-04-14T14:18:00.004+08:00

A wonderful piece on a subject that has fascinated me for many years now- Dracula.
Its a longish read, spanning themes in Bram Stoker's book, and also the proliferation (continued) of annotated editions, that shows no signs of slowing down.

Naturally, it also refers to the fascinating (and largely wishful) theory of Stoker basing his villain on an actual, historical, character.

...“The Essential Dracula,” edited by Raymond T. McNally and Radu Florescu, had its own originality... They had a sexy new theory: that Stoker based the character of Dracula on a historical personage, Vlad Dracula- also known as Vlad Tepes- a fifteenth-century Walachian prince who, in defending his homeland against the Turks, acquired a reputation for cruelty unusual even among warriors of that period.

This theory formed the basis of the Dracula part of Elizabeth Kostova's absorbing, atmospheric and thoroughly enjoyable novel from a few years back, The Historian. It prompted a few days' worth of Google and wiki work on my part, burrowing through the innumerable vampire legends that inevitably left me submerged and hapless.

But, enough on that. Its a good read, this, if you are at all interested in the myth or have ever been sucked in by Bram Stoker's novel.