By-Two Kaapi in an oilfield

The weblog of Abhilash Ravishankar, India.

Here I blog about my personal experiences [posting rarely]

At my tumblelog Intoxicated by possibility I blog about my opinions/likes/dislikes [posting heavily]

To love a woman

Lilian Rearden in Atlas Shrugged:

If you tell a beautiful woman that she is beautiful, what have you given her? It's no more than a fact and it has cost you nothing.But if you tell an ugly woman that she is beautiful, you offer her the great homage of corrupting the concept of beauty. To love a woman for her virtues is meaningless. She's earned it, it's a payment, not a gift. But to love her for her vices is a real gift, unearned and undeserved. To love her for her vices is to defile all virtue for her sake -- and that is a real tribute of love, because you sacrifice your conscience, your reason, your integrity and your invaluable self-esteem.

Abhilash in Alien Ponderings:
To love a woman is to lose everything. But, that's the real tribute I wouldn't mind giving to that woman.

The Smell of Intellect

Hah! The ultimate joy you can give to a man is to show him a mind that is better than his. And if that does not excite a man, but instead makes him green; then that man is the most depraved of all creatures on the planet.

Picture this.
A portigo, with no pillars.
4 cane chairs with maroon comfy cushions surrounding a cane table topped with glass.
Copies of the latest 'hot' research papers published in international journals/conferences on the table.
Two young men sitting on the chairs.
One holding a notepad with differential equations and a couple of diagrams scribbled on it, and explaining that to the other person.
The other person, with a hard intent in his eyes, staring at the notepad.
Staring, and listening.
To a possible breakthrough in science.
And two cups of freshly brewed coffee losing their heat on the table. As if it were paying its respect to that piece of paper on the notepad.

Now, that's the smell of intellect.

PS. A picture I shall treasure. Caught at the cafetaria of the Astrophysics Lab at the Raman Research Institute, Bangalore, India.

One wreck of a depraved idiot

Remember when you were young,
You shone like the Sun!

He wondered why it always struck a chord. The two lines that Roger Waters wrote, always made him feel an unwarranted pain in the guts. He heard the jarring sound of the telephone ringing. He wished not to pick it up. He pulled the cord out of the socket.

...the depths of depravity that a man can sink to...

Out of nowhere Ayn Rand's words flashed in his mind. Triggering off a chain of incidents of the recent past. 'What is depravity?' he thought. 'Depravity of the body? the mind? the soul? Is it just a moral corruption? Nay. Depravity has to be a corruption of the human spirit. The spirit to conquer, to rise above everything else, everyone else.' He stared at the fire at his finger tips, marvelled at him able to control it, took a puff and resumed thinking. 'I missed the starting gun. I lost myself in the woods. Everybody else - every fucking person - ran away. And there I was marvelling at the beauty of fire. Is this the greatest depth of depravity that one can sink to? Lose the spirit to win and try to justify it?'

Everyone called him one wreck of a depraved idiot.


The chit lay somewhere on the table.
Amidst a pile of newspapers, magazines and dust.
He rummaged through them to find the chit.
Scribbled was a 10-digit number.
Frantically, he punched them in his cell phone.
The voice on the other end said a hollow 'Hello'.
It was a female voice.
'I need Acid' he said.
'Sorry, We've run out of it'.
'I've got the money. Give it to me.'
'Dude! We don't have any'
'Fuck you! I need it.I've got the fucking money'
'Fuck you too'.
And he heard the tone of a hung-up phone.
This was the only place where he could get acid.
He needed acid.
Needed it badly.
His stomach churned with pain.
His head reeled, vision blurred.
The thought of not getting it - he couldn't digest it.

Addiction is beautiful. When you get what you want, you are on an unimaginable high. Something that you dont ever want to come down from. At the darker moments, when you don't get it, the pain is equally bad. I presume though, that the pain is worse. A pain that can ruin your life so badly that you will feel like taking it off.

Addiction makes you a damned invalid. Coz at the end, you are just leading a fucking painful life. Why does one want to feel pain everyday just for those two hours of ecstasy? Maybe we lack the will - the will - to conquer the senses.

Pay no mind to the distant thunder

Wonder why we get pissed at others for reasons galore.

Getting pissed at -
The instructor for not giving 4 more marks
The chat stall owner for not extending credit
A classmate for maxing a test and increasing the class average
A friend for refusing to come to a party
Some jerk for trying to hit upon some friends

Am just pondering over the arguement that I shouldn't get pissed at these.
The reason being that

At all times, every man acts according to his priorities and for his rational self-interest. So, what is wrong in any of his actions due to which you get pissed ?!

If objectivism is the way to be, then my friend did not want to come to the party because of his/her priorities and rational self-interest. So, why on sweet Earth should I be mad at him/her? Ergo, there is no point in me being pissed at either my instructor or the chat stall owner or that jerk. It's just about accepting people the way they are and living life on your terms.

Whatever! Guess, I shall ponder over Ayn Rand's quote:
I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine

Wearing the Inside Out

With a carefree look in his eyes, he shot back 'Do I Look Like I Give A Shit?' - his trademark line.
His contempt towards a mediocre world, was written all over his gait.
Many even perceived this contempt as arrogance.
And yes, he was arrogant, in his own way.
He did things he wanted to, not the ones he was supposed to.
And he dreamed.
Of Success.

It never came.

It is said there is a thin line between genius and insanity.
He dissolved the line.
And so, none could figure him out.

To this day, he still throws his trademark line at every other gathering.
Only to see people mock at him within themselves.
They say he has changed - for the worse.

But, only he knew that he was meant to be like this.
Knew that inside the hard exterior, was a man crying with pain.
The pain of defeat. Of succumbing to the burns of mediocrity.
Knew that he could hardly listen to his own voice.
Knew that he was wearing inside out.

PS. Here's to Syd Barrett. Shine on!


This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own and not those of the people, institutions or organizations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.


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