some will yet take the challenge.

A lush green meadow caught my mind. A hillock boasted to a decapitated mountain plateau about how the thrilled trekkers would come together at the base camp, to GARNER courage before attempting to climb the daunting crag. The last evening would be spent around a campfire, with the leader making an INCENDIARY speech about the challenges of such an adventure. After he has satisfied himself about the fiery friction between caution and courage, the audience would precipitate into a cheerful and enthusiastic response. However as the night grew deeper, the wishful meadow would cast a spell of ASTRINGENT dreams, honouring life on the green home and giving every reason against a perilous advance. And in the morning, the visual beauty of the surrounding landscape would have the UNIQUE effect of further discouraging most of the members from taking to climbing. They would enjoy life as it is. Yet a few would opt for the alternative choice and proceed to face the uncompromising difficulties of the climb wishing only to see the beautiful meadow on the plateau.

Just a scribble-
' ... We AGGREGATED the cards on the table. They were stacked high, each one having been worked upon for years. They were the result of backbreaking research with various animal species, making a gradual ascent towards homosapiens. So what could be at stake? A dark cloud often betokens a storm, so does a meeting of contrarian thoughts BETOKEN a tumultuous argument, especially if it concerns rigorous science with ethical dilemma. Unfeigned efforts on both sides tend to stretch the cord to breaking points. And at such sunder verge, the stakes could be very high, enough to generate serious antagonism, breaking the barriers of veneration. For the crestfallen pole, it interprets doom. Such are the turbulence of rigorous scientific test of present day. These displeasures cannot be displayed ostensibly among the commons. And such hummocks are treaded every day by scientist working on the frontline with no space for COMMISERATION. Many are lost to oblivion, some revive, few thrive, and very few make it to the millions. This was one of those congregations where we lie between abject and appreciation. The brains pride was at stake....'

From my scribble Think Oblique 2018

8/07/2018
On the streets of Mumbai - a memoir.

These streets are too many, treaded too often. Connected to each other and yet in a maze-like manner, it probably takes a lifetime to realize that they all lie in continuity. I use to walk the trail from Chatrapati Shivaji terminus to Jahangir art gallery with intent to CONTEMPLATE art thought to be an aggregate impression of the contemporary youth. As soon as I would exit the railway station, I would experience a qualm amongst the dense crowd unique to Mumbai. The streets would at once widen into the crossroads and then converge into a constricted pedestrian pathway. It was the dubious life on the narrow gangway which possibly attracted me the most. It used to be a showcase of virtue and vices. It was from such insensitive, moot, unscrupulous and reprehensible vendors that I bought books like the biography of Einstein and novels by Hermann Hesse and at the same time peeked at the cover packs of imported condoms and pheromones. Neither was the ear spared with incendiary invectives being deposited every now and then. Since they followed so frequently, none appeared to last long to parse and contemplate. It became imperative to quicken my steps in such situations, suspecting subterfuge with every pair of eyes fixed on me. I was taught that such shall betoken incendiary outcome too fictitious for the kind of politeness inculcated in me by my family. With such thoughts above and painful feet due to the dilapidated pebbled path beneath was an experience which would create exhaustion and exaltation. On reaching the street gallery, I would quickly glance at the many oil and water coloured paintings with a certain hubris or confidence about the contextual association with efforts at intellectualization. I still remember my prefatory enthusiasm experience an acerbic disappointment at the soporific and uninflected themes. The pain in my feet would revolt and sunder my intentions to enter the gallery. I have often spent time sitting on the stairs leading to the main display and rarely the exhibition inside. Or maybe my mind was more interested in leaving the gallery and walking on the streets of Mumbai, in its derelict and seemingly endless curiosity.

Pratyush