Works of RK

I was trying to make sense of the thousands of lines of code before me. They wanted me to figure out why it was sluggish.   Over the years, so many programmers had worked on this. There were so many patches and upgrades that the brilliance of the master coder had stopped shining through. There was only this much overwriting that it could accept before it turned into a zombie. I looked at the Client Account Manager. All she wanted was for the application to work. Make it work...she said. I looked at the lines, it were like stories of many characters crisscrossing through time. It was too complex and opaque. As if the meanings of these lines were now lost in time .  Allow it to die....I said. She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Let it be, it cannot be worked upon anymore. It is asking for redemption. Tell the client it's over, I said. She started crying. I could see similar tears bleeding through the lines on my screen.  No difference!

I look back and I cannot see beyond a couple of days of the time that has passed by. A good memory here, a bad one there. A moment of shame, some moments of sorrow and many moments of love. If I were to count all the moments that I remember, It will still not fill the 48 years I have lived. Where did all that time go? Is it hiding in secret places in me. Are there memories in me that have stolen time from me and are now themselves lost to me? Time, so much time, and I cannot figure out where it all went! I now think I know more closely what Einstein meant when he said that time is a human experience. It is an illusion of our befuddled minds to make sense of the chaos of everyday life. When I stare at the crumpled paper on which the innings of my life is written, I see how the dots on the last line converge with the white spaces on the first line. All that is past and all that is yet to come is all enmeshed into one tapestry of intricate stories, mostly out of sequence, but ...

On a video call with Mom, I told her that I am making Sambhar, something that never really turns out the way I wish it would. I am accustomed to having Mom's version of the Sambhar since childhood. It's taste is imprinted in places where I have no access to. The tongue knows when something is off. Sambhar is a complex dish. It is not like a plum cake or a bread, or even Avial, where, eventually, the grated coconut and coconut oil evens out all the other tastes and brings them to a consensus. Sambhar is complex. The ladies fingers have to be slightly sauteed, else they disintegrate into the ocean that is Sambhar, and you can see that they existed once in the little seeds twinkling here and there. The Drum Sticks have to be just right, else they stand out. Drum sticks have to bend to the will of the greater cause that is Sambhar, but not break. Then there is the coriander powder and the Fenugreek Powder, and the asafoetida chunks that should melt entirely, else they raise hell in...

A thought that died in you Died in me too Only, Separated in time It took much longer For mine to die. 

All this time  That has now gone by Is all in here All at once Together   Einstein says That time lives on Eternally in the present Scattered about Across a universe of memories We We are not meant to live in the shadows We are Stardust We burn bright as Stars And then we are dust ...

I caught up with another one of her hairs while sweeping today.  It has been a month since she was last here And here she was again As if she was always right here Living with me In fractal moments Of mesmerizing memories. ( Image )

There are experiences that get encoded into your being. Later,  much later,  when it is time for one last curtain call,  I will look at the faces of nameless strangers in my audience,  and smile as I bow for one last time. credits I know that I will not find you in the crowd.  I know that I will not be looking for you outside of me anymore. I will smile in the fond memory of your lips on mine.  I will tear up with the lingering warmth of your breasts on my being. I will,  for one last time,  run my hands on my body,  and try to redraw the maps you drew on me once. I will look at myself reflected on these screens for one last time,  and find you smiling through the twinkle in my eyes. Out of the multitude of ships at sea, one,  for a little longitude in the time,  sailed so lovingly close to me.