Friday, December 29, 2006

Poesy...The Beginning of an Epic

Poesy, my deepest and truest love
My ardent passion that I place above
Every thing else of my mortal life!!
Wish I could probably make you my wife
If you were a lady, I would love and wed.
Decorate on every night my cozy bed
With flowers and light candles around it
To cause your white body's every bit
Shine with more lustre than that Sun.
"If ever, by God, I truly loved someone
'Tis no other woman, nymph, belle or dame",
Thus I would swear by the holiest name
Of Apollo the nurturer of the Muses nine,
"It is but you, for me the most divine."

Siddartha Pamulaparty
December 29, 2006.


in awe i sing of that great kingdom
where the mighty Atlas had reigned
the home of mighty peaks and hills
the home of placid lakes and noisy rivulets.
perhaps the island of that older times
where temples, gods and heroes lived
is the best example of true love
that the august Poseidon garnered
for the mere mortal lady Cleito
and in that love was born the harmony
of the whole humankind of today's world.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
December 29, 2006.

Dream Lover

dreams of my lover
i dream in every dream
and like a sunflower
i wake to the solar beam
the sun is just as bright
as is my lover's radiance
perhaps a little less in light
than her solemn lustrous glance

dreams of my lover
i dream in every dream
in shame my face i cover
(very strange as it may seem)
when some one knowing her or not
call out her sweetest name
and hence i become caught
in the midst of a feeling of shame

dreams of my lover
i dream in every dream
and crazily i tend to hover
in her thoughts, a perennial stream
i perhaps cannot ever come back
to my natural disposition
and wonder what does my own love lack
that my lover has become an apparition.

dreams of my lover
i will always dream
and sing of her forever
and her sweet names i scream
dreams of my lover
forever i will dream
though she did never
of me had seen a dream.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
December 29, 2006.

Why Still?

why still my heart keeps beating for you?
why still my restless eyes search for you?
why, again, I think of you inside myself
and wonder who wrote this plot so cruel?
aren't there better works for me to do
than to contemplate upon my crazy past?
had i wanted to cry, i could not do so
had i screamed as i wanted very desperately to
no matter what i do or think of doing
its the same image of yours becoming
the sole object of my concern every day
and every night, though i tried hard as i may
to accept the fact that you do not love me
but, think and feel, to my own self I say
that as much true that you do not love me
does equally hold true, my own love for you
which does not die by the ending days or the nights
not even by the ever changing seasons of the Sun
and in despair, i cry out that for whom i care:
you were, you are and you will be the one.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
December 29, 2006.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Poe's Puzzle

I had read about Poe earlier that he used to write many things in puzzles. He was a great cryptographer I think. I stumbled across one of his "puzzling" poem. And based on the same puzzle, I wrote my own poem. Of course I could not reproduce the genius of Poe here.
Here is the original link of Poe's "The Valentine".

And here is mine.

So thought I that we will be together;
Have done I what pray ask me not
Captive in golden cage of your love
I can not tell now what went further
(Even against my own self I fought).

I felt vulnerable like the petals of a rose:
Did not again, I tell you oh dear one
That forsaken I, my own pride for you?
Did I not say while we walked on the road,
Strange language I spoke about love (was it sweet to hear?)
As your eyes twinkled like the Sirius in the sky that night.

May be I could perhaps dream of you forever

Thus reasoned aptly I, when we had parted.
Yet each time I, enamored with your memories,
Sing this tunes idolizing your very being.
And if you think this song, is without any rhymes
In this puzzle, I bet that you can instead, find all your names.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dec 21 2006.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Art, Philosophy and Life- Part 1 Art

The three things that are extremely difficult to define yet so obvious. I believe not many really know the meaning of any of these. I, myself, am not sure either... But if one observes with some pondering and a little contemplation, one will know that these are everywhere around us, and we come across them almost at every moment. While a profound thinker might give some complex definitions of them, a true analysis will show how simple these may seem to be. Let me scribble here what I feel about each of these and try to collate the basic essence of these three things and investigate the connections amongst them.
Many people have defined art in many different ways. The term "artist" has itself been defined in many funny ways. According to the ancient wisdom of my country, there are 64 kinds of arts. In general circulation of the civilization, the perception of art is that of a medium of expression, imagination and creation. In an earlier essay of mine, I wrote about what Socrates says about art and how he speaks about it being a "whole" in itself. I am tempted to concur with him (seldom did I contradict him though). The entire process of producing something out of a deep inspiring tale, a consequence of an enchanting experience or merely a simple thought, is in itself a completeness, a destination. The product being a piece of art and the process being the art. Perhaps to the humankind, the greatest gift God had given was the capability to observe, think, comprehend and act. The greater the effort to perform these, the more affective it is. And when things come to a finer level, takes birth the art. Any fineness that could be depicted in any form is art. Every man who does a conscious attempt to make the world around him appear finer, better and more than what it seems at first glance is an artist. It could be a carpenter who shapes the wood to fine furniture. It could be a sweeper, who cleans the floor. But, before I dilute the concept of art into diurnal activities and tend to reflect the thought that art is a cliche, let me check my premises by being a little more clearer of my undestanding by introducing the "degree of fineness". The degree of fineness draws about a line between the obvious things people do and what an artist does. Without appreciating this degree of fineness it is not possible to know the difference between a Sonnet and a rubbish piece of write up. Apart from this degree of fineness, the perfection of art and the artist also depends on the solemn passion that in itself manifests in the form of the product of the art. For instance, a passion to describe an object in words, dictates the beauty and the profound elegance of a poem.
I myself have written for over 80 poems, of them, some lines are so inspired and possessed by the objects, and this I gladly attribute to the passion behind them when I wrote them. There are some really stupid and banal lines, obviously lacking the vivid ardour, and were written uninspired and unpossessed.

Once in an artist's life, there comes a moment, when he is extremely inspired, when his soul in unison with the Nature and the creator, when the whole universe for him is a minute particle smaller than a quark, then with all the divinity enchanting him, he profusely produces the best of his life, that which is called the MAGNUM OPUS. And for every artist, in his line of art, there will be one and only one Magnum Opus, only one greatest product. We have seen many who have tried to simulate and re-attain the feat after their best works, and seemed to have failed, with a bitter sense in the minds of even the greatest admirers of their works.

To me, by my own observation of self and a little study of people I have appreciated since long, there is something beyond the usual capabilities of an artist, the human, which he employs in his diurnal activities, which causes the metamorphosis, of the transformation of artist-the human to artist-the Divine, when all energies in the world converge in the tips of his fist and make him manufacture the invaluable treasure of his own world.

And I trust every art is associated with a certain philosophy or a multitude of philosophies that the artist is naturally inclined to. I shall continue the essay in the next part, the Philosophy.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

a different stroke

i will wait here for a little longer
till this feeling grows more stronger

till these meadows filled up with snow
wear back their garments much so greener
till these dry trees, strained in the cold winter
clad again the graceful flowers in their bosoms
till the golden rays of the valorous Sun
reach every corner of this murky world
till the autumn no more fells the woods
till the spring brings back everything to life
whence the cascades of pure water flow
into the rivers and finally consummate
in the mighty ocean which reflects peace.

i will wait here for a little longer
till this feeling grows more stronger

till the world before me is no more scarce
of happiness and love and truth
till the brothers in the neighborhood
have mirth and heed for their fellow youths
till the men and women i see around me
progress toward the enlightenment
seeking no greedy wealth or evil sins
instead walking for causes noble
of spreading love and brotherhood amongst us
no matter what's the color of our skin
no matter what's the tongue we speak.

i will wait here for a little longer
till this feeling grows more stronger

till my every nerve drains of blood
till all my organs are strong and bold
when i can see a total different world
than what my fathers have been seeing since
the time the first of battles were fought
filling the soil with carnage and flesh
rather a place where in the air that we breath
we can sense how beautiful life can be
i will wait, no matter what it takes
to see another dawning of a twilight
to hear another singing of the linnets.

i will wait here for a little longer
till this feeling grows more stronger.

i will wait, i will wait.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dt 14 Dec 2006.

Friday, December 08, 2006

the After song

there's a pain
inside my heart
i think again
what was wrong on my part

there's an ache
inside my chest
i need a break
i am tired, always giving my best

time and time the tides have come
to shake my faith and take my home
time and time the tides have come
to shake my faith and take my home
no matter how real hard they try
i am a man, and i don't cry.....
i am a man, and i don't cry.....

there's a cut
inside my flesh
i am fainting but,
in my mind those memories are still fresh

there's a hurt
inside my nerves
finding it so curt
the way my life is on the downward curves

time and time the tides have come
to shake my faith and take my home
time and time the tides have come
to shake my faith and take my home
no matter how real hard they try
i am a man, and i don't cry....
i am a man, and i don't cry.....

i don't cry, i don't cry
even if i lost my lover
i don't cry, i don't cry
though i know i am a wilted flower
i don't cry, i don't cry
if you lied or hated or cheated me
i don't cry, i don't cry
if you're afraid that you would love me
i don't cry, i don't cry
if i'm understood or misunderstood
when i wake up from the sleep feeling choked
when my love was shown the door
when my pride was thrown on the floor
pain or ache or cut or a hurt
a golden life or a death in the dirt
i don't cry.............

no matter how real hard i try
i can't cry, i can't cry...
i am a man and i don't cry!!!!
i am a man and i don't cry!!!!

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dt: December 8th 2006.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Chicago Streets

As I walk past the Michigan Avenue
I still can't stop thinking of you
Here and there a pretty face I see
But I know that thing is not for me
I hear some Blues when I cross the road
A different tune, while I am feeling bored
When I start to believe there's so much to explore here
A breaking voice inside me begins to interfere:

Chicago streets, I sing while I walk, girl
Chicago streets, where my eyes search for you........................

The great sky-scrapers touching the Heavens
The busy folks talking into their cell phones
The lady staring me past the glass door of the Fish Bar
Amidst the stranded traffic, the loud honking of the car.....
When I start to believe there's so much to excite me
A cracking sound croons like the waves in a sea:

Chicago streets, I sing while I walk, girl
Chicago streets, where my eyes search for you........................

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

woman in kullu cap

throw not that smirk of indolence
on my poverty, o Princess
give me a crescent smile instead
whence I can see a dream fulfilled

Siddartha Pamulaparty.
Nov 24, 2006.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006


what am i but a fallen leaf
lone petal of a wilted rose
blown away by the streams of breeze-
my life is like a yellow sheaf.
dry and worn out in summer's heat!

44˚ 30΄N 18˚ 60΄E


England 18 Two Halves

Monday, November 20, 2006

Song...Too Bad

'Tis a very bad song I know, but I felt like writing it and wrote it!!!

here you go, this is my favourite song
come with me and won't you sing along
everybody knows it there's nothing wrong

i'm glad, i'm sad, i'm crazy and mad
i was a nice guy then, now i am really bad
i have ditched all the friends i ever had

and its all because i fell in love
i was on cloud nine in the sky above

if she'll ever...think of me.....
never know what it might about be....
what's in her mind
i will never find
my eyes can't see, i'm blind
more than life, i trust now death is more kind!!!!!!!!
if she'll ever...think of me................
if she'll ever think...of me..............
if she'll ever think of me................

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Nov 19 2006

A Word about Words

Words seem to play their way into colorful feelings of people around us. But the essence of each and every word that is spoken is not perceived in the level at which it must be. They say, speech is silver and silence is gold. I don’t believe it. Silence can be more agonizing than harsh words, at times. So possibly, ‘euphemistic speech is far greater than caustic silence.’ If not speech, at least distinct words have the magic.So, words have a very significant role in conveying the truth in one’s cogitating zone to another’s. Words can be powerful tools in empathizing, soothing, placating a torn-individual. Words can be highly contemptuous in representing dislike, hatred. But the most important advantage of words is their power in expressing love, affection, trust and more importantly the Truth. Words of love don’t come as easily, when there is no honesty in the very process of producing them. On the other hand, when love is entrusted with confidence and reliability, then words keep pouring like fine drops of monsoon rains. And if the meaning of these words is appreciated by perceiving each of them at a deeper level, then the amour will reach eternity in time and space. And perhaps, the world will then be Eden and the people, Angels themselves.
-Siddartha Pamulaparty.
Long Ago in 2002/03.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Socrates and me Part II (Plato and my Grandfather)

I had recently been thinking about getting back to Plato (read Socrates) but I hadn't had a chance to. Last week (October 19th, 2006) there was a solicitation to my late grandfather in my home town. As a part of this, I had learnt a lot about him. One of such discoveries was that he had translated a book in English titled "Theory of Knowledge" into Telugu. On further enquiry, I found that
this version in English by Cronford was in turn a translation of Plato's work. This part of "theory of knowledge" was associated with a story that Socrates
narrates in "The Republic", book 7. This story is very popular as the 'Analogy of the Cave". I had read this analogy about 3 years back when I was crazily
trying to write a thesis on "Theory of Analogy". Of course, I had lost the Abstract as it was lying on my hard disk which got corrupted. Anyway, coming back
to the actual discussion, I wanted to kind of get back to "Socrates and Me" series I had started last year.
I first read the "Analogy of the Cave", in a book on Western Philosophy, I do not remember the author name now. The story is about how the process of
perception of Truth to a mind that is illusive. In short it takes up a scenario of Enlightenment of an individual and the consequences he would bear in his
society which is still in dark. I think I would not re-write the story because there are numerous accounts of it everywhere in the world. I would rather do
an analysis of my own understanding of the theory and my own remarks.
According to my understanding of the story, Plato tried to depict how people tend to condemn the Truth, whilst believing the illusory preconceptions in their
minds. Many times in History, we have seen the beliefs of people so strong, but limited to just what is passed on over generations, ignorant of the actual
truth. The best examples would be of course, Science itself, and the foremost I can think of in this regard is that between Galileo and the Church.
Galileo when discoverd that Earth is revolving around the Sun, contrary to the then belief that Earth was the centre of the Solar System, the Church did not
just not believe him, but fanatically prosecuted him. I read somewhere that finally Church accepted Galileo's discovery in 1992, several hundreds of years
after his death. A more complicated story is with Einstein's Theory of Relativity.If we go beyond science into philosophy, of course we come back to Socrates. I suppose you know what happened about his prosecution.
Anyway, Plato was trying to explain a certain concept, deriving conclusions from this allegory. The theory popularly called "Forms". The concept of Forms in
simple words is, like various classes. For example, Form of Dogs, Form of Horse, Form of Humans. Again there is enough literature available solemn
commentaries on this Theory of Forms. During my first read of these forms, I was also learning the Object oriented concepts. I found striking similarity
between the two. I was so tempted to write a paper on the comparison of both, with a title "Object Oriented Programming and Plato's Theory of Forms". Of
course it never went of, because while I was doing a small research on the same, I already found a paper. Eventually discovered that there are many who went
through this already. So, as I always was, just left it there, trying to get into something which no one did before.
In a single statement, it can be said that the "classes" in OOPS are equivalent to the "Forms". And the "instance of a class, an object" is like the object, a specific set that belongs to a Form. There are enough papers now explaning the Abstraction, Encapsulation and Inheritance as compared to the Theory of Forms. So thats all with the comparison here.
I would have to spend some quality time in understanding this theory of knowledge and if possible grab a copy of grandfather's translation into Telugu to put together bits and pieces of my own conclusions. It would be particularly interesting because my grandfather being a Marxist and an equally great scholar in Hindu philosophy, would have contribute in his own way to the Gyana Siddhantam.
One thing I always end up is on the analogy between the great Greek thought and the ancient Hindu philosophy. I was less certain earlier, but my feeling now grows that all of the current knowledge, scientific or philosophical originated from my home land, Bharatha Varsha and from the religion that the humankind ideally belongs to, the "Sanatana Dharma".
I shall come back on more as now I am really ignorant of many things which I wish to say. So long now.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Oct/Nov 2006

Friday, November 17, 2006

Sonnet to the Bard

It is strange that I had taken a long time to write something for someone who inspired me in discovering the beautiful art of writing Sonnets. While there are many who wrote sonnets, Shakespearean sonnets seem like the embodiment of the perfection in poetry...and I began investing my energy on producing sonnets. Of course I tend to make mistakes and some time may write really stupid and meaningless verses...nevertheless, I believe, "when you gotta write, you gotta write".

Here we go then:

How love makes its way into a man's life?
And how a man loves a woman in truth?
It had always been a matter of strife
To my crazy mind while I was a youth.
Then came upon it, one wild breezy storm
On a graceful day, I remember still
An angel of fire in a human form
Stroke it hard with a wand against my will;
I fainted awhile into deep slumber
Woke up in the arms of an unknown God
Counting syllables ten, the strange number
In each of fourteen lines He wrote, aloud.
'Twas Sonnet one one six in His orchard
A bliss on me of the great English Bard.
Siddartha Pamulaparty
Nov 17 2006.
In His own words......

Sonnet # 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Singing America

Up in the morning
'Tis still so dark outside
I think I hear the door-bell ring
And for a minute I try to hide
Then I remember....
This is America, here I don't 've to wait for none
This is America, where I 've gotta wake up the Sun!!!

This ain't my home
This ain't that Holy Land.
This certainly ain't Rome
There ain't no Gold in this Sand
But I wonder.....
This is America, here I feel I can reach up so high
This is America, where I 've gotta touch the sky!!

What about friends?
I have the one closest to my heart
Who's gonna be with me till my life ends
Who's been with me right from the start
It does matter...
This is America, here my solitude and I are in love
This is America, where I can kiss the Heavens above!!!

This is America
This is America
Where I sing my own Song
This is America
This is America
It seems to me I 've been here since so long

This is America
This is America
Here I see a brand new dream
This is America
This is America
Where I gained back my lost self-esteem.

This is America
This is America
Yeah here I wake up the Sun
This is America
This is America
But No, This ain't my home

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dt 15 Nov 2006

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Sonnet to Solitude

Heavily my heart, heavily again,
Beat to the melodies of those wild bells-
Relentlessly ringing, singing of pain,
Fueling this burning that in my heart dwells.
Happily my heart, happily with joy
Dance to the music of that insane song
Which I wrote when I was a very young boy
Yelling innocently,something was wrong.
Wake up my heart, wake up every dark night
Amid those purple dreams which were not real
Wake up to see again infinite Light
That taught me the Truth of what I should feel.
And when Heavens with my fate interlude,
Rest in the arms of my sweet solitude.

Probably I can improvise on this. I got the idea this morning. I was not able to sleep, contemplating on the climax of this one. Now before I rest for the day, let me put my heart to rest in the arms of my solitude, which has always been with me, when I am alone or otherwise.
Siddartha Pamulaparty
12 Nov 2006.

Friday, November 10, 2006


This is a poem which I wrote for a certain special someone during back in my college....
Perhaps this will be true for every new crush I have, especially my latest one...this is for you!

(Qui aime bien, tard oublie)

She is my Heaven,
She is my Hell,
She is every word-
In the ode that I tell.
She is my hope,
She is my dismay.
She brings in the light
As the sunshine of my day.
She is my fate,
She is my bliss.
She is the only one-
I ever wished to kiss.
She is my Heart,
She is my Soul.
By being in my thoughts-
She makes me whole.

Siddartha Pamulaparty
Date written: May 2002
Date Valid: Forever.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Silence of the Woman I Loved (Stanzas)

A li'l bit of Whitman, Frost.... completed in a hurry, because did not want to spend much time on it...

"Seems like the things that you can't have are the things you want the most".
- Song: East Side Story
Album: Room Service
Artist: Bryan Adams (THE GOD).

In vain I grab my pen again
To write what I have always wrote
Of love and its consequence- pain
And lives ending on tragic note.

It was a foolish disaster
That I happened to fall in love.
Those vivid dreams I saw of her
Were from my small world, way above.

What I never knew was her plan:
That someone else was on her mind;
That she did love another man-
I could not in my musings find.

In every instance of my breath
I feel I myself cheated me;
By losing life and winning death
My tortured soul would be set free.

A solemn dream I thought was real
Made me think she was my beloved-
The reason which made me so feel
Is silence of the girl I loved.

-Siddartha Pamulaparty
Dt: Nov 08 2006
(esp after the last night's torture)

Monday, November 06, 2006

Here I Come, America

Sometimes with one I love
I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse unreturn'd love,
But now I think there is no unreturn'd
the pay is certain one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
Since I arrived here, I thought I would start reading the American poets in more detail. And on the initial research, found Whitman, who had inspired me some time earlier.

About four years back, I read in a book on American Literature, a certain poem by Whitman called "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed", published in his infamous "Leaves of grass". In that poem, there were certain lines on death he wrote. I thought it was amazing. It went like:

Come, lovely and soothing Death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate Death.

Prais’d be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love—But praise! praise! praise!
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.

Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant it for thee—I glorify thee above all;
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

Approach, strong Deliveress!
When it is so—when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee,
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death.

From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee—adornments and feastings for thee;
And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

The night, in silence, under many a star;
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know;
And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil’d Death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!
Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide;
Over the dense-pack’d cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!

I got inspired by these and wrote my own poem called Great Death on August 13, 2002. Here goes my poem:

With sorrow, pain and grieving rain
Bringing fear now and again
Sweeping up through the unkempt woods
Shaded beneath the serpent-hoods
Dancing wildly with a passion to win
Causing a shiver to the ghosts of sin
Fueling the burning fires of chaste
Charring the wealths of greed to waste
Treating dreams and nightmares alike
Propping the poor to impel their strike
Leaving no traces of bodies and bloods
Washing the dirt of carnage in floods
Thwarting the lights of ephemeral sanctity
With the pervading clouds of timeless blankity
Hollowing the heads of unrefined brains
Sinking impiety and calumny in drains
Welcome the one, whose wrath escapes none
Welcome the one, who has always won
Dark death, dear death, you are welcome
Great Death take us back to our real home.

Other American Poets I am looking forward to read are E.A.Poe and Robert Frost.

Poe's poem "To My Mother" (1894) has some beautiful lines, I keep repeating to myself often:

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"

The rest of the poem, for some reason I am not fond of. But these four lines, I will never forget.
I become emotional.

And of course, speaking of Robert Frost, the more I speak would be less. His verse, his rhyme, his metre are just so impeccable. I almost recite his "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening". In fact there is more music in his poems than literature. The last four lines of this poem are awesome:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Simple, yet deep.

And Frost's "Road Not Taken" and other poems are just genius. One of his funny I remember and keep reading to friends is 'Forgive, O Lord":

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I'll forgive Thy great big one on me.

Way to go!!

I am currently writing some stanzas, again, probably taking inspiration from Whitman.

Thanks for reading thru.

Siddartha Pamulaparty

06 Nov 2006.

Haiku...Is there an answer?

have travelled across

seven seas, countries many

but from here to where?

06 Nov 2006

Thursday, November 02, 2006

my Sonnet to America

Thank you America for being too kind
Towards the confused,miserable me
While I was trying very hard to find
A candid place where I can myself be
Away from those things that attempt to bind
And give me a sense that I can't be free-
Corrupting my thoughts, weakening my mind!!
But now by the grace of the Almighty
Here I am as my eager eyes unblind
To see that ahead lies the great glory:
At this land of opportunity are lined
Promises treasured, which I could not see
Before I set my feet on these New soils-
As I stand now, my blood once again boils!

Siddartha Pamulaparty.
Dt: 2 Nov 2006

What am I going through?

The height of being:


Friday, October 13, 2006

"UnderScore" (OR) "One More Big Day In My Life"

I will tell you why I chose “UnderScore” for this piece of writing later. Right now, I am very excited to write about a certain day in my life, which might perhaps a couple of years ago was every thing I wanted. I have this habit of being modest, so as usual I do not want to admit that it indeed was an exciting day.

Well, this is the 11th day of October in the year 2006. So what’s so special about this day, huh? There are many things: it is the 64th Birthday of Indian Cinema’s Superstar, my favorite actor Amitabh Bacchan. It is the day the company I work declared its Q2 results and reported huge profits. And above all, today is the day an avenue opened for me to provide a possible journey to the land of liberty and a land that was oft quoted as the New Land of Opportunity. Yes, it is the day I got my Visa approved to travel to the Uncle Sam.

Three years ago, I had a similat opportunity which I missed by being so unprepared and doing all the wrong things. My F-1 was rejected on the reason that I could not afford my University fee. Well, then lets check out how things went this time.

October 11, 2006, Chennai: I woke up at 5.30 am perhaps after what seems to be a decade since I last saw the early morn. Shaking of the lethargy from my anatomy and the cobwebs from my eyes, I had a quick shower. When the leather strapped fancy Fossil wrist watch of mine was shouting out the time as 6:00 am, I called the cab guy Mutthu Kumar who picked me up from the Kamaraj airport yesterday evening. It was a funny episode in itself the way it went yesterday.

My flight, Kingfisher IT 2473 was running late by about half hour. I really got bored waiting to board the flight. Finally after getting into the flight, I was not disappointed as was my impression, the air hostesses were pretty and good looking. Since it was a small flight the crew had just two of them. I opened the leaflet to watch out for the vegetarian menu: Paneer Tikka, Rumali Mixed Rolls, Hara Bhara Kabab and Gulab Jamun. Sounded yummy. When it arrived it tasted yummy too. Well then, here I am at the Chennai airport at about 09:00 pm. When I came out to look, there were about 50 cardboard signs. Some of them included those of a company I earlier had a small brawl and stiff with. I wanted to get out of there asap. My fellow was behind these masses of men all dressed in white safaris, holding a paper on which was printed my name. I signaled him that I am Siddartha Pamulaparty he was waiting for. He asked me to wait on the right side so he could bring the car from the parking lot. I was fancying if the car would be an Indica or at least an old 800 CC. However it was a royal Ambassador. I got into the cab and started trying to communicate to him where he needed to drop me: Egmore. I forgot to note the address of the Hotel in which my accommodation was booked. I called up a friend to get the address: it was Hotel Vestin Park, 39, Montieth Road, Egmore. I passed on the address to the chauffer, and he called up his friend to find the exact location of the same. Finally I reached the Hotel and checked in. I was given a two bed cozy room. After some paper work and TV watching I rested for the day, of course after a “curd rice” for dinner.

Well that was pretty much the yesterday. Presently my cab had arrived. Mutthu Kumar dropped me at the bus stop a little short of the Consul Office. I asked him to come back to the Hotel in the evening to drop me back at the Kamaraj Airport for my return flight. He surprisingly wished me luck before leaving. I wanted to start counting how many of my friends had really wished me for this. I was happy that the count covered almost everyone but a few, leaving me a little disappointed. I then went on to join the queue at the Oxford Publishing Press. My friend (since graduation) Satish came to give the documents I missed to print and then left for the present.

After the usual procedure for about an hour and a half, I finally went to the Consul Officer. I have been observing the officer for some time while on wait in the queue. The officer was a male White Caucasian of about 35 years. There was a patch of bald on his head. He had a hefty personality with broad shoulders and thick fingers. I had a feeling his name would have to be “Andy”. I got almost tempted to ask, but managed to refrain from being inappropriate. Okay here goes the one-minute interview:

I produced my BEP file and he threw back on my face all the documents except my passport, and the application form.

Andy: “Please swipe your left index finger”
I did.
Andy: “Your right please”.
I did and removed it from the scanner. Asked him was it okay. He asked me to do it once again.
Andy: “Alright, who is the client you’ll be working for?”
I: “USB Investment Bank”
Andy repeated: “USB Investment Bank”
I: “….sorry UBS Investment Bank”. I thought I had sinned again.
Andy, not bothered about the mistake: “Single or Married?”
I: ‘Single’
Andy, the man, typed into the system and discovered that I had applied for an F1 before.. He asked the same and I confirmed the same. He said: “Tell ya what, you got the Visa this time. Go home now, we will send you the passport by courier in three working days”.
With all gratitude I said, “Thank you have a nice day”.

I stormed out of the interior of the building humming one of the Bryan Adams’ numbers. Once outside, I walked for sometime looking for a pan shop. After a little saunter I found one. Asked for a Goldflake Kings’ pack and a match box. Puffing up the cigarette in the shade of the walls surrounding the small street, I took an auto-rickshaw back to my Montieth road. I asked this guy, the driver, “Spencer la shops enni mannikki open?” recollecting the little bits of Tamil I managed to learn. He said 10 o’clock. Do not why, but he asked me if I was from Hyderabad.

Back in suit 401, I called my parents to share the joy I was in. They were happy and much relieved. Asked my dad if I could get something for him from Chennai, and as I expected, he asked me to go the Higginbotham’s opposite to the LIC building on the Anna Salai and get some Jeeves series of P.G.Wodehouse. That got me into some funny and crazy memories of certain something in the near past. Well, after some more calls to my friends by about 10:00 am, I started towards the book store. I asked Satish to join me there.

I bought the books and met Satish at the Higginbothams. We then spent some time at the Spencer’s. By about 11:30 am, we called Deepak and asked him to get to his home soon so we can meet for lunch.

After a coffee at the Qwicky counter in the Pizza Hut , we purchased a box of sweets at the famous Krishna Sweets. Satish talked to an auto to take us to Velachery and managed to bargain him for 110 bucks.

Back in Velachery, when I entered Satish’s room, my nostrils were filled with the familiar smell that I was used to two years earlier. The smell is unique to any bachelors’ room in Chennai. It is perhaps the smell of the clothes drenched in sweat, thanks to the humid climate here.

After about half hour we went to Deepak’s home. It was around 8 months since Deepak got married. But this was the first time I met the couple after their marriage. In fact I could not even attend their wedding. Bhabhi had cooked a delicious meal and we ate like gluttons. After a heavy lunch, and couple of hours of talks, I took leave from them.

On the auto back to Egmore, this guy was insane. He did not know the Montieth road so he assumed I needed to go to a Hotel near Egmore railway station and made about three or four roundabouts before coming to the Montieth road. I got irritated with this stiff and I went to have a cup of tea on a roadside tea stall, lighting up another King’s.

Back in my room, I checked my watch, it was 4.00 pm. I had 2 hours to rest. I switched on the TV and browsed the 72 odd channels and fell asleep. When I woke up it was 5.30 pm. I had a strained neck and thought I would nauseate.

By around 6.00 pm I was ready with my bags packed and started on the TV again. There was this song by Lionel Richie on the channel V. I liked the song immediately. The lyrics went on something like this….

Baby, I Don't Know What Love Is Maybe I'm A Fool I Just Know What I'm Feeling And It's All Because Of You Don't Tell Me I Don't Know I Want The Truth Cuz They Call It We Call It You Call It I Call It Love

This reminded of something and I found my lips singing the same lines above. Even before the song got over my cab had arrived. I quickly checked out and there I go back to the Kamaraj airport.

In an hour or so I arrived at the airport. I gave the remaining cigarettes to the cab driver as I did not want to carry them on my way back on the plane. I checked in to the Kingfisher airlines.

I had about 1 hour of time. I opened up the “Right Ho, Jeeves” of Wodehouse and started reading through. Surprisingly I began to enjoy it. Earlier I could not have read through even one page of it and presently I am already into the 45th page.

There was an announcement calling passengers to board the plane. The mini-bus carried us to the aircraft. IT 2474 Chennai to Hyderabad was on time to depart.

I kept reading the book all through my flight. When I landed back in Hyderabad it was about 10.40 pm. My cab picked me up and in about half hour I was back at my room in Mehdipatnam.

Well, that’s the story as it went.

Wait a minute!! I didn’t tell you why I called this story “UnderScore”. Because everytime I went to Chennai, I thought I would never return back. So I kind of tried to sink myself low whenever I had to be there. That’s why an “_”. And by the way, when I was listening to that song by Lionel Ritchie back in my Egmore hotel room from the toilet, I said to my self: “This is the last time I am going to piss in Chennai”. J

13 October 2006.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Upcoming Stuff

Hi audiences of my blog!! (hullo, anyone there?) is a quick list of some upcoming matter from my idiotic brain:

1) "UnderScore" or "One More Big Day In My Life"---regarding my recent business trip to chennai.
2) "Help!! Jeeves"- While traveling today, I was reading this book 'Right Ho, Jeeves" by P.G.Wodehouse (I bought a set of 3 of the Jeeves series which my father asked) and had this funny idea of applying analogy and write a comic imitation of the characters plotted into a typical IT project environment: imagine Bertie as a project manager and Jeeves as the developer...doesn't it sound funny? For the first time ever in my life....I would be attempting to imitate some author !!! Wish me luck!!
3) "A critical essay on the positive thinkers"--Had a glance on a billboard which was endorsing some kind of positive message from a great figure..and felt skeptic about it and thought of trying a hand at some cynical critcism.
4) The tale that was pre-determined, plotted and ended as expected---a story I have been longing to write. I have the object, image and creative ideas of it all, only need some leisure time to produce it...keep waiting, I am yet to decide the title of the story...
5) Ofcourse my essay that's on draft: Art, Philosophy and Life.

So long now.
Sid@kaivalya signing off...

Monday, October 09, 2006

A Song

I wanna love you like a lover
Wanna treat you like a Dream
I wanna hold you like a flower
Gonna let you never scream

And when you look at me and I look into your eyes
I see them shining like those stars in the skies

I wanna love you like a lover
Wanna treat you like a Dream
I wanna hold you like a flower
Gonna let you never scream

And when I am feeling down; feel that I am a loser
You lift me up and put the broken me together

I wanna love you like a lover
Wanna treat you like a Dream
I wanna hold you like a flower
Gonna let you never scream

And when I held your little hand when we departed
I knew that it was over before it even started!!!!

Yeah Yeah Yeah!!!

I wanna love you like a lover
Wanna treat you like a Dream
I wanna hold you like a flower
Gonna let you never scream!

Wanna treat you like a Dream, Yeah!!
Wanna treat you like a Dream!!

Gonna let you never scream, girl!!
Wanna treat you like a Dream!!

Never let you gonna scream
Never let you gonna scream
Gonna let you never scream, girl
Wanna treat you like a Dream...............................

09 October 2006.

Monday, September 04, 2006

What was the question?

"Are you okay?"

If that's your question....then my answer is No.

Absolutely No.

I am feeling fully disgusted. I am miserable and full of guilt.
I am sick of things and sick of being myself.

I can't help questioning myself what's wrong with me?

And answer myself again: everything.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Sonnet to the Dream

Shall I wait till the day of Valentine-
Or confess right away my love for you?
For, always be alike feelings of mine-
In dry mornings or evenings of dew;
In the shimmering hot sun of summer
Or in the killing chill of winter's cold!
Brand new seasons or those memories old;
I ever in silence like a hummer
Sing the same lyrics I wrote of my love-
My sweet love, that I never spoke about
Yet had not allowed to establish doubt
Of my admiration that stands above
The Heavens that are seen only in dream:
A dream that you are or your name a dream!!


Wednesday, May 17, 2006


"Was that the sound of gentle streams
That on this rocks are falling to?"

"No, my Love! it is in your dreams
That my dry lips are calling you!"

"Was that the voice of that great bard,
Who grew so wise and died too young?"

"No my darling! it is not hard
To hear my heart humming your song!"


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Where are they?

There are those who have an ambition
There are those who have a solemn dream;
And those with strong determination
That flow in wild woods like a graceful stream.

Where are they?



Blind was I
Couldn't see
While you were in
Front of my eyes.

Mad am I
Can't forget when
You are away
From my arms.


Life and Soccer

A strange thing, I don't like soccer...but i wrote something on that too!!!

What with life?
I ask myself.
And often find
Some strange answers.

Says one voice
It's a soccer game
In which you win
On scoring goals.

Yells another
It's a soccer ball
You get kicked
By unknown feet.

One more shouts
It's a soccer net
You catch and hold
When a good one comes.

What about
This soccer thing?
I sometimes ask and
Answer myself.

For some this
Soccer is but life;
And for some this
Life is soccer.

16 May 2006.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Some random thoughts

These are some of my random thoughts, which I fear may be lost with time!! So, as Thoreau said: "Write while the heat is in you. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience".

I do not want to have my iron cold, whilst I attempt to drill a hole in to the massive rocks, hoping to see a ray of light that perchance could make me Enlightened.

Following are some of thoughts I would like to record for the time being, and somewhere in eternity revisit them and keep my promises!!

To begin with a few lines that I am really proud of to have written recently:

This thought in mind of you alone,
Turned me into human from stone!

Perhaps, this is one of the best couplets I loved to create. And may be if there is enough inspiration, I could build this up to a good set of stanzas.

Then again there are some less inspired but nevertheless worth recording:

I know what I am
I am a loser big time!!

This could perhaps become a song.

Some more lyrics, that are incomplete are:

I sleep because I like to dream
In dream I see a beautiful face.
The face begins to smile at me
With certain smirk and some grace.

And one more:

On a day this fine
My bread is the Sun.
Water is my wine
And the wind my woman.

Apart from these I am working on a something, I am considering which could be an epic poem.
I call it DREAM.

And there's a story, partly facts, partly fiction which will come out very soon!!

Love you my blog, see you soon!!!
As of now, adios!!

Sunday, April 23, 2006

dream... interrupted

As always, a dream that's interrupted, a song that's forgotten, a story that's never happened....

I had a dream over last night
A dream so vivid and so real.
I had this strange kind of feel-
As my mind and soul had begun to fight.

Said my mind, "Forget it fool-
This fleeting thought that you have.
You're not made for this thing called love."
As if imposing on me a rule.

Said my soul, "Come on! Come on!
Welcome to this dark world of lust-
Where your desire and your wish come first."
As if singing me an old tune.

When I woke up on the daybreak
A fresh breeze of smile flew up my lips.
As I walked past and climbed down the steps
Right inside my chest started this ache.

My heart! I knew, it was my heart!!
Poor my heart was throbbing too hard.
I felt I must borrow a few lines from the bard
And express my grief, through the graceful art.

Until I saw her face again
(Or was it her body first I saw?)
I writhed and whined in an attempt to withdraw
From this forlorn moment of pain.

Greed came upon me once in a whole
Invading from my grimaced brow
And spreading into all contortions in slow
It reached my mouth- an infinite hole.

I noticed not when she turned
To show upon her radiant face
A li'l naughty and more full of grace
Reminding the fire that left me burned.

I kept my eyes for some while
On her bosom that looked so firm
My hands wanted to hold them and squirm-
My hands so trembling yet so agile.

Deftly around her waist I went
And held her in my strong grip
With burning passion kissed on her lip
And slowly savored her like a serpent.

I found a sweet surprise, o sweet delight
When I at her collar began to scout:
Her neck was more whiter than I thought!!
Whiter than the snow or the moon at night!

While I undid her garments inner
She wringed in hurt and moaned my name;
She shook with disgust or some kind of shame
As devoured her I, like a delicious dinner.

Now she lay in the dark without a dress
Her bodice I threw-off and her corset I tore-
Her naked breasts as high as the Alps did glore;
In no time her feminity was under my caress.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Socrates and Me Part-1

Socrates said that ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ He actually, implemented this principle and not just lived for it, but even died for the same. This is what I gathered, amongst many curious facts about Socrates from a neat book on the Western Philosophy. At this juncture, I thought I should contemplate once again on my stand in defending my own theory and philosophy.

Well, on the periphery, my judgment of Socrates, his life and thoughts are pretty simple, he was closest to what I comprehend as Perfection. Although many of his thoughts as the present day books suggest look amazingly familiar to a student of ancient Hindu scriptures, I have a doubt whether a character called Socrates did really exist or was it a profound imagination of Plato of a perfect human being.

In this essay, I would like to emphasize on what my thoughts are in relation with what I know of the Socratic thought. I must admit and forewarn that I am still studying Socrates through Plato’s dialogues.

I met Socrates first during high school. In the English course, there was a lesson on him. In fact it was a short account of what Socrates’ life was. I was quite attracted to the philosopher then. And perhaps in my subconscious it cast a deep impression. A desire to learn him more, listen to what he said and think about it.

In “Apology”, Socrates gives an interesting account of the Oracle at the Apollo’s Delphi temple. A friend of Socrates asks the Oracle who was the wisest of men in Athens and the Oracle names Socrates. Socrates is surprised by this and began enquiring all the great poets, scholars and philosophers in Athens. After his interactions with all these people he understood why the Oracle said that he was the wisest of men in Athens. His conclusion is that all the poets and the scholars do not know that they do not know some things. Where as Socrates was aware that he did not know of what he did not really know. He considered himself wiser like “A one-eyed amidst the blind”. I often think about this and keep narrating the same to my friends. In deed it is important for us to know that we do not know. If we merely think that we know everything, it is the most foolish thing in the world and often very dangerous. We should be clear of what we really know and what we do not and admit it, accept it. If possible, try to know what you do not know.

Earlier I stated that Socratic thought is strikingly similar to some of the Hindu philosophical teachings. In the same dialogue “Apology”, Socrates says to the Athenians that “do not worry about your bodies or monies, but worry about your soul.” Well then, he focused that self-knowledge is the most important thing for a human being. I am sure he understood the importance of soul as much as the ancient scholarly seers of India did. I have a fantasy to make a comparative analysis of Socrates as a Yogi. The whole lifestyle of Socrates was similar to that of a Yogi…a Dhyana Yogi, perhaps who forsakes his materialistic pursuits for the knowledge of immortal self. I read somewhere that Socrates roamed in the streets of Athens under the hot sun in bare foot without any trouble. This is possible only through control of senses through control of mind, which is yoga.
In the “Republic”, the discussion on ideal state has the sectarian approach, the classes like the Guardians, the Auxiliaries and the Artisans is somewhat similar to the sectarian classification (Varnadharma) of the Laws of Manu. This is another instance where I felt I should consider an analogy between Socratic thought in the form of Plato’s dialogue and the ancient Hindu Scriptures. I might even speculate that since ancient Greeks were known to travel, Socrates himself or someone close to Socrates might have traveled to India and thus some knowledge got transferred from the Hindu thought. But it seems there is no sign of Socrates having traveled anywhere far from Athens. But Pre-Socratic philosophers like Pythagoras have surely traveled to India. There are many accounts of Pythagoras’ connections to Indian university of Taxila.

In another dialogue “Ion”, Socrates speaks about something most important to me, the art of poetry. He says that “art as a whole” is different from what people perceive it to be. He distinguishes art from the divine inspiration. To quote him: “For all good poets, epic as well as lyric, compose their beautiful poems not by art, but because they are inspired and possessed.” And again: “…and that the poets are only the interpreters of the Gods by whom they are severally possessed”. When I first read this, I had a feeling of nostalgia. When I wrote some of poems, some of the best lines seemed to come only when I felt highly inspired or possessed by the objects of my poems. Assuming that all the objects that I perceive are created by God, I was in a way possessed and inspired by God. Yet, I would want myself to be called an artist, even though Socrates wouldn’t agree. He would say that if I was good at writing poems in English and not in my mother-tongue then he would say that my writing of poems is not an art, for if it to be an art and myself to be an artist, I must be able to write the poems in my mother-tongue too. Because art is a whole and has no language, I should be equally good in all the languages I know. I shall continue to examine this debate between Socrates and me during the rest of my life while I study him in more detail.

December 2005.