something nothings


something nothings, originally uploaded by s t e r n f a h r e r.

As a kid you don’t know Louis Vuitton from Armani, Zegna from Gucci, Dolce from Calvin Klein. You do know that the kid blowing bubbles outside the park probably has the best job ever. You don’t know that he’s never going to get every toy Toys ‘r’ Us ever sold. You don’t know he won’t get to go to high school and prep school and get the best education there is.But looking at him, then and there, you imagine he’s got the best job in the World. No beginnings or ends or morals to this story. Like most, it just is.

waiting for the sun


waiting for the sun, originally uploaded by s t e r n f a h r e r.

When Zarathustra had said these words he became silent, like one who has not yet said his last word; long he weighed his staff in his hand, lost in doubt. At last he spoke thus, and the tone of his voice had changed.Now I go alone, my disciples. You too go now, alone. Thus I want it. Verily, I counsel you: go away from me and resist Zarathustra! And even better: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he deceived you.One repays a teacher badly if one always remains nothing but a pupil. You revere me; but what if your reverence tumbles one day? Beware, lest a statue slay you.You say you believe in Zarathustra? But what matters Zarathustra? You are my believers – but what matter all believers? You had not yet sought yourselves: and you found me. Thus do all believers; therefore all faith amounts to so little.Now I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when you have all denied me will I return to you. Verily, my brothers, with different eyes shall I then seek my lost ones; with a different love shall I then love you.And once again you shall become my friends and the children of a single hope – and then shall I be with you the third time, that I may celebrate the great noon with you.And that is the great noon when man stands in the middle of his way between beast and the overman, and celebrates his way to the evening as his highest hope for it is the way to a new morning.Then will he who goes under bless himself for being the one who goes over and beyond; and the sun of his knowledge will stand at high noon for him.‘Dead are all gods: now we want the overman to live!’ – on that great noon, let this be our last will.Thus spoke Zarathustra.– Also sprach Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche

separating man from myth

“One man caught on a barbed wire fenceOne man he resistOne man washed up on an empty beachOne man betrayed with a kissIn the name of loveWhat more in the name of love”– Pride, U2–sometimes I wonder. Separating the divinity from the man, Jesus Christ still remains an extraordinary figure in history. And I always stop at the crucifixion. Why did he allow himself to be in that position? Surely he could have done more good alive rather than dead? Was he liberating mankind or placing a terrible burden on it?Did he believe in earnest that, if always responding to hate and suffering with absolute and unconditional love, that they would not crucify him, that they would come to their senses? Did he ask the father to forgive them, when he realized that, in their murderous frenzy, their hatred, they saw nothing of the love or suffering, only their false rage?Did he forsee that the symbol of his crucifixion would become a burden of guilt on all to follow? To remember when you felt rage, that rage had already been felt. When you felt hate, that hate had already been felt and dealt with, with love and forgiveness?But here we are today, still not free from that hate or suffering that led to the crucifixion. Repeating mistakes over and over. Was it all futile? Which way is forward?–better larger, on black

on the rise of the void towards the periphery

“Structure.Sign,and Play.Exit.No Exit.This Way >< That WayUp ^Down VBehind you Every path you walk …Every road you make _Every choice you tread . . . Every hope you breathe ^VRiddled in doubt ~Lost in time *Lost in space ( )Lost in spacetime ( * )Lost in timespace *()*Where am I?Who are you?What are we?OneA r e w e t h e r e y e t?Are we there yet?Arewethereyet?”

Mumbai 3rd December


Mumbai 3rd December, originally uploaded by Sahirr.

I’m still undecided on the response to terrorism; but I can’t help thinking it’s not protests and marches and stuff like this.

To protest is to give equality, credibility to terrorists; and to extremists in general.

If protest is what it’s about, then protest about faux government expenditure and corruption — and do something — file a PIL, publicly humiliate the incompetent politicians with RTI and other tools, don’t give them room to hide.

Like “Zero tolerance to terrorism”. Terrorism is by definition zero tolerance. Zero tolerance meeting zero tolerance implies escalation, not solution. Wiping out each and every terrorist is not an option, there’s always more where they came from, if we don’t get to the root causes of terrorism. Lack of education, lack of prospects, lack of reasoned oversight and guidance by the elders of a community.

Escalation implies acknowledgment that these terrorists, abject failures of human beings as they are, have a hold over our lives; asking for “our city back” implies that the terrorists have a hold over a lives.

We need to ask for a better equipped police force, better equipped politicians, and demand it. We need to get the Election Commission, the judiciary, and the CBI and police to help decriminalize politics and systematic bureaucracy within the country. That’s where all our troubles start, and that’s where our troubles will stay, if we can’t get this done now.

Zero tolerance to terrorism? Don’t know if that will happen, or how we can make it happen, if at all. Zero tolerance to corruption? That’s doable. Let’s get moving on that one, shall we?

silent . observer


silent . observer, originally uploaded by s t e r n f a h r e r.

“In a morbid condition of the brain, dreams often have a singular actuality, vividness, and extraordinary semblance of reality. At times monstrous images are created, but the setting and the whole picture are so truth-like and filled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly, but so artistically consistent, that the dreamer, were he an artist like Pushkin or Turgenev even, could never have invented them in the waking state. Such sick dreams always remain long in the memory and make a powerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system.”

– Fyodor Dostoevsky