5 Things You Didn't Know about the Summer in the Middle East

So you have heard that the temperature soars to 50 degrees in the noon time in the Middle East.. but did you know:

1. You can find burst car tyres on the roads. Something as small as a rock can do it cuz the roads are so hot and when the rubber hits the road in this weather, even a teeny tiny rock can have catastrophic consequences.

2. No one is smelly - Perfumes are sold in the truck load. The nationals here use Itr which is a concentrated version of perfume and as they walk by, you will only get hints of lemon, musk and Frankincense

3. This one is for my fellow ladies. Its wise to hestitate before you use the jet spray and taps in the bathrooms. The water here is so hot that I actually scalded my fingers today while trying to foam the face wash. You can imagine the rest of the 'challenges' on this one.

4. They wear a burqa for a reason. In the day time, it is criminal to subject your skin to those harsh rays. I once went out wearing shorts, thinking I need a 'cool look' for a hot day. I came back red and blistered. The clothing just protects you from the harsh sun.

5. Never leave your sunglasses in the car. Neil tried doing this once. And he's still applying aloe vera to the spot where the glasses sat on his face.

The Bottle That Travelled


Those who know me know that I come from a cross cultural background. My dad’s a rajput from Himachal and my mom’s a mallu. I speak a smattering of Malayalam, accented in all the wrong places and am mostly confused for a Bengali than, well, a mallu-rajput.

A day ago, my dad landed in Muscat Oman and brought with him a bottle of oil (?!) as a present for me. Which brings me to the subject of this story.

It all started when my mother visiting my house many months earlier made a heartbreaking observation. My hair wasn’t as lovely as it used to be. Now you have already been introduced to the fact that she is from Kerala. Add to this the revelation that ‘Leela aunty’ (pronounced Leela aundy) was in Chingoli, Kerala on one of her ayurvedic treatment trips and lo and behold, my mother had found a solution to all of my woes. A call was made at precisely 8pm Muscat time and Leela aunty was briefed.

2 days later 3 bottles wrapped in the local newspapers and restrained in a million rubber bands was handed over to Leela aunty. Leela aunty then handed them over to my uncle Joy (cuz only names in Kerala can be so vibrant) in his town of Chenngannur. The bottles were then handed over to his daughter who was visiting from Delhi, Shiny Chaychi (Malayalam for sister, she’s my cousin). Shiny Chaychi brought the bottles to Delhi and handed them over to someone in my dad’s church. On the next Sunday, after service, the bottles were handed over to my dad. My dad tied a few more rubber bands and cello taped it till a drop didn’t dare slither away. He boarded the flight to Muscat and arrived a day ago. Bottles in tow.

It took me a total of 30 minutes to unwrap one of these bottles. It had been mummified to the point that when the bottle actually revealed itself, it was a David of the Goliath of the layers of paper and cellophane that its personality once exuded. On the label, a scribbling of Malayalam.

For the sake of the travel its endured and the hands its changed, I hope my hair will be shiny once again.

Being 29. For a Day.

As I write this note, I am just a few hours away from turning 3 decades old.


30.

Most women would refrain from publishing their age stats on any kind of medium so I guess one thing age has made me is brave. I have spent the first hour today thinking about how I would like to spend the last day of my twenties something. Movie, shopping, friends? I have finally zeroed it down to not rushing, but enjoying the day - as it comes.


They say that in your 30s you come 'into' your own. I look back at the last 9 years - college, my first job, falling in love, getting married, making friends, making enemies!, late nights at work, my terrible back injury in 2005, job interviews, driving to work - there are so many memories. Each of which have helped me become a more 'settled' person.

So as personal achievements Before my 30th birthday, Ive debuted as an author, learned to pick myself up from my injuries, become a better professional, friend, daughter, aunt, sister.

And as my good friend Khalil Gibran puts it "Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens.”

A day away from 30 actually feels really good.

Down the Road : My Debut as an Author!

A bunch of friends gathered around the top of a lounge bar on the evening of the farewell of the 3 Musketeers, Manu, Sneh and Pranav. Bosses say kind words, friends wish us luck.


And then one word sticks – Sneh, write, this may be the chance for you to become author.

Several months pass, blogs written, short stories in Oman – and then I meet the folks at Grey Oak, a publishing house who innocently ask – Would you be interested to write?

Hop. Skip. Jump.
Hop Again.

Months later, here’s Down the Road – an anthology of campus stories that remind you of those “good ol days” when Maggie constituted for breakfast, lunch and sometimes dinner; Professors took interesting names such as “Mendakk”; and romance was about “liking” someone. In this upcoming release you will find in print 2 of my stories written after much reminiscing and coffee.(Hop. Skip. Jump)

Coming to bookstores across India, Landmark/Crosswords/Reliance with the launch dated from first week of April at various cities : Delhi, Mumbai, Pune, Bangalore, Chennai, Hyderabad.


Watch this space for more!

Short Stories in Oman : I lash out




It must be the moon.
It makes me feel different each time.
Out beyond, I see you - you with your family telling your kids to be safe
You with the lover, holding hands and watching the sunset
You with the lonely gaze, standing there watching your footprints disappear
I reach out to the shore, only to drift back again
I want to be a part of your memories, but I have to return home
There is a stirring deep within me
But I must always be lonely, this is my destiny
I must always be a wave, a ripple, a river, a stream.

I must always be alone.

For I am the sea.

(Written at Qantab Beach in Oman where the waves lash out at your feet, almost wanting to drag you away with it)

Short Stories in Oman : A Morsel full of compassion
As the smell of fried chicken wafts into her living room, Shanta Sunderaman realises it is too late. It had become her daily 10am ritual to run to the windows and seal them shut to avoid the smell of non vegetarian cooking from floating into her impeccable maintained Brahmin house. But alas, she would have to do her "dhoop batti" puja and chants again to purify her space.

For months after moving into her little apartment across her husband's office in Muscat's business district, Ruwi, she had complained about how difficult it was to follow their age old traditions. "But this not India, Shanta.." her husband had refrained.."we must adjust". So now Shanta did all she could to stay true to her gods.



But today she had had enough, "atleast she can close her window!!" she thought to herself as she marched to drape a yellow dupatta over her new suit, saris are so much easier but "One must adjust!". She avoids the lift and walks down a flight of steps and rings on the doorbell of Flat 14.



Almost instantly the door opens revealing a sweaty faced woman in a Hijab* (*A scarf wrapped around a woman's face). "OH!! its not the delivery man!" exclaims Miriam and smiles. "I am Miriam and you must be the new Indian family upstairs, come sister, don't be shy" and she opens her door to reveal an array of trays laid out on the floor and tables.


Shanta opens her mouth to say something but decides against it and walks in precariously.

Miriam rattles away "You see, I am a single mother and I make non vegetarian lunch meals for working Indians in these offices. The money is not very good but it helps me get by and I was waiting for my delivery man who is late AGAIN today!"


"And how rude of me - I didn't even ask your name!, Anything I can do to help you my sister?"


Shanta puts down her dupatta on a sofa close by "I am Shanta, Can I help you chop those vegetables - you look like you could use some help.." She smiles and rolls up her sleeves.

Short Stories in Oman : On a Zephyr



The sun streamed into the room lazily through the mosaic tiled windows. Rafeeq rubs his eyes and leaps out of his bed. He goes over to his new spider man bag, bought after much pestering and then many thank yous "Shukran abba Shukran" to his father. His new books with the gleaming brown paper covering are lined neatly inside. He bends over and takes a deep whiff which tranforms into a smile on his face.


"Yalla !!" - his mother yells from the kitchen, hands smeared in the lunch she is packing for him. "You don't want me to come there! Get ready!" Rafeeq quickly runs to the bath, half mindedly washes his face and brushes. Its his first day of school and he dreams of running around the playground, kicking ball and scoring goals over dust clouds kicked up by his opponents on the other team.


********


"Yalla Badar!" Rafeeq's mom yells again. "You will be late for your first day at school". Badar clumsily picks up his new spiderman bag and heads towards the door where his father waits. "Atleast say bye to your brother!", Badar throws a glance at Rafeeq who is now attached to more tubes than he can count.


I would say bye to him, but can he even hear me..he thinks.

Dev D !!

Dev D has done it. A modern twist to the weepy saga of a love struck maniacal romeo who turns self destructive. Abhay Deol plays the role of a new age (and very hunky) Devdas who loses his true love Paro (played by Mahe Gill) by trusting a scheming third party. Mahe Gill plays role of a small town girl who is (secretly) sexually liberated and not afraid to express her true feelings for Dev.
The plot and screen play is beautifully adapted to show modern issues and the relevance of a classic tale like Devdas in a modern world. Whether it is the long distance love between Dev and Paro and internet exchange of mails and nude pics(!) or the planning of their little tryst in the fields; both Abhay Deol and Mahe Gill play their roles to the T.
I was slightly disappointed by the casting of the lady who played Chanda ( Chandramukhi) in the film, but the character was meaty enough to hide any big flaws. Abhay Deol too has shown that he can pick films that showcase his talent whether it was Oye lucky or DevD.
The real winner is whoever did the camera work on the film – Dev’s drunkenness is captured magically with high speed visuals and interesting angles. The background score is to die for – Emotional Aatyachar this one is not!

Hamlet - The Clown Prince

Over the last weekend visit to Mumbai, I had the good fortune to watch a play at the Prithvi theatre. The play titled “Hamlet, The clown prince” has been running to rave reviews and packed houses for days and so it was only proper to drag myself out of a nice Saturday slumber.

Hamlet, the great Shakespearean tragedy, vividly charts the course of real and feigned madness—from overwhelming grief to seething rage—and explores themes of treachery, revenge, incest, and moral corruption.

This play however, was an interpretation from the eyes of 6 clowns. The tone of dialogue delivery is a “French English” where repertoire of dialogue is played out with a French accent.

The play begins with the protagonist, a soulful yet sad clown doing somewhat of a high speed summary of the plays great moments. What is commendable is the way the actor was able to spin out such a realistic “fast forward” of the storyline. One would imagine a play of the nature that is Hamlet to be a serious and text book version of the great play written by Shakespeare. But it is the playwright’s ingenuity with which this tragedy has been transformed into a witty, humorous screen play.

The actors on stage – many of whom I regret not to know the names of – were remarkable in the way every actor on stage should be. The dialogue perfect, the timing was spot on. What was interesting to note was the quick wit displayed by them while interacting with the audience. Prithvi is quite an intimate theatre and so the laughter shared seemed like that amongst good friends. I would like to see how this translates in a theatre like the NCPA with its capacity for larger crowds.

And if this wasn’t enough- the play goes straight on for 2 hours(or was it more.. can’t tell… was having such a great time), no breaks.

For those of you who haven’t caught this yet- please do yourself a favour and put this on your to do list for this month.

Wet Sand

My next couple of blogs will be on the greatest written love songs in the world of rock and alternative music. It is in music that I found great insight and meaning into the world of love and the emotions it brings out.

While this is not necessarily the best of all love songs- In “Wet Sand” I found a melancholy feeling in its melody and the lyrics. Here’s my interpretation of this song. The song begins with the protagonist talking about his shadow side being amplified.. meaning all he feels next to him is his shadow when he wants this loved one to be there. But in the presence of his shadow he feels dissatisfied and alone. Its all very “elementary” and obvious to him.. but its also frustrating. In his innocent love affair with everywhere he talks about the wanderlust he has been a part of but that it means nothing. He knows that this person “is the best I know” and the line seems deeper that it appears.

In the agony of being apart from the one he truly loves, he feels his “sunny side has up and dried”. He knows that with every collision or argument his universe shifts into a new low. He realizes that what he did not recognize his true feelings for this person and he them for a momentary high of power in the relationship. (“The travesties that we have seen, Are treating me like Benzedrine”)

He goes on to dream of being with this person.. walking in the sun.. getting to know her and saying that he’d really try. He wants to make her his bride and leaves the thought hanging of who its for the better for.

The second part of the song goes on about how Norma Jean’s despair (Marilyn Monroe) is nothing compared to what she seems to be going through. He’s thought about it now and he has no doubt.. perhaps this is after he seems to have lost this love.

The last part of this song is the part which blows me over. The lyrics could mean a million things for each time it is sung. It has this strange quality of sounding different and possibly meaning all of the different things each time its sung out-
“You don’t form in the Wet Sand” – He knows now that she is divine and of an angelic quality and so she does not form in the wet sand.
“You don’t form in the Wet Sand” – When he walks he sees his footprints and not hers and he wishes for a second chance.
“You don’t form in the Wet Sand” – He is with this person but every time he wants to hold on to her, she washes away like the wet sand.
“You don’t form in the Wet Sand” – He finds her temperamental and does not know if he has her or she even exists or if it’s just a part of an illusion.

The song has a quality of going back and forth in time periods, sometimes reminiscing and sometimes talking about a moment in the present. Its lyrical genius makes it impossible for a reader to understand whether the protagonist is talking about the now or the past.

And for those of you who haven’t heard or paid attention to the lyrics, here it is:

Wet Sand - Red Hot Chilli Peppers
My shadow side, so amplified,
Keeps coming back dissatisfied
Elementary son but it's so...
My love affair with everywhere was innocent,
Why do you care?
Someone start the car time to go...
You're the best I know

My sunny side has up and died,
I'm betting that when we collide
The universe will shift into a low
The travesties that we have seen
Are treating me like Benzedrine
Automatic laughter from a pro

My, what a good day for a walk outside
I'd like to get to know you a little better, baby,
God knows that I really tried

My, what a good day for a take out bride
I'd like to say we did it for the better of

I saw you there, so unaware,
Those hummingbirds all in your hair
Elementary son but it's so...
The disrepair of Norma Jean
Could not compare to your routine
Balarama beauty going toe-to-toe

My, what a good day for a... let it slide
I'd like to say we did it for the better of

I thought about it, and I brought it out
I'm motivated by the lack of doubt
I'm consecrated, but I'm not devout
The mother, the father, the daughter, yeah

Right on the verge, just one more dose
I'm traveling from coast-to-coast
My theory isn't perfect, but it's close
I'm almost there, why should I care?
My heart is hurting when I share
Someone open up and let it show

My, what a good day for a walk outside
I'd like to think we did it for the better of

I thought about it, and I brought it out
I'm motivated by the lack of doubt
I'm consecrated, but I'm not devout
The mother, the father, the daughter, ohhhhh

You don't form in the wet sand,
You don't form at all
You don't form in the wet sand.

My Kryptonite

I have returned to these pages after a long time. It is said that writing is to the soul what flying is to a bird.. No, don’t judge me just yet. I have always found myself in these pages...

The last week I was reading “Unaccustomed Earth” by Jhumpa Lahiri for a book club when an interesting discussion emanated. Are there certain patterns that we crave for in our life? Is it true that our habits rule our world? Are we “accustomed” to certain things to make us feel more alive?

This brought me to an interesting song by a band called 3 Doors Down called “My Kryptonite”. A refresher for those of you are not familiar with this term - Kryptonite is a mineral from the Superman mythos, originating in the Superman radio show series.

The material is usually shown as having been created from the remains of Superman's native planet of Krypton, and generally has detrimental effects on Superman and other Kryptonians.

The word Kryptonite is also used in speech as a synonym for Achilles' heel, the one weakness of an otherwise invulnerable hero.

So here’s my question- do we all have our own kryptonite- the one weakness that we can never overcome or the one weakness which will always leave us aching, vulnerable.

I find that in life we can always govern our choices. We can choose.. no matter what on the way we approach situations, complexities. It could range from choosing not to honk your horn at the slow moving car in front of you to choosing to act in a particular fashion when it all seems too hard. While I know of my own “Kryptonite”- I believe as humans we are the rare species that are blessed by the oh-so-powerful word – “Choice”.

Integrity at the moment of choice.. Isn’t that what makes us who we truly are?

I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore
Before you take a swing
I wonder What are we fighting for?

When I say out loud
I want to get out of this
I wonder...Is there anything I'm going to miss?
I wonder.. How it's going to be
When you don't know me
How's it going to be
When you're sure I'm not there

How's it going to be
When there is no one to talk to, between you and me
How's it going to be

Where we used to laugh
There's a shouting match
Sharp as a thumbnail scratch
A silence
I can't ignore

I wonder how's it going to be when it goes down
Hows it going to be when your not around
Hows it going to be
When you found out there was nothing between you and me
How's it going to be.

Hows it going to be
When you don't know me any more
And how's it going to be?

Want to get myself back in again
The soft dive of oblivian
Wanna taste the soul of your skin
The soft dive of oblivian

How's it going to be When you don't know me any more
How's it going to be?

A Thousand Miles from Nowhere

There is something in the air tonight
I look ahead, beams of light

What was it that touched your soul
Made you feel, Made you whole

Driving by, whizzing streets
City lights, trick a treat

I’ve come too far
To now turn back
No more light
Moments of black

I follow each turn
Each curve of the road
It will lead me there
Or so I’m told

The scent of spring
In the air
A falling teardrop
A breeze through my hair

My journey may not be at end
I’ll turn back over the next bend

Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember and remember more than I have seen.

Its 4 am as I gaze out at the misty sunrise. Dawn is breaking and the sea beyond calls out. Few mornings start out so beautiful, but as they say – with great beauty comes great pain, which we were about to realize in the next 12 hours.

Hongkong Calling read the note from our VP which brought us to the land where strangely to us, everyone looks the same. This is not a bad thing considering the people in Hong Kong look fabulous. The fashion capital of Asia some call it and not word is more true. From the moment we landed, the feeling of being the podgy, ugly duckling invaded our very being. "Look at those piglets."

Yeh Shaadi.. HOGI!!

Okay so this is it. 10 days before the wedding and nerves are at an all time high. I have been intending to write on this thing called "wedding" or "marriage" for a while now.

First Rule of Weddings : It is not about you

Screw what they told you in the movies, church, while you were growing up. The wedding is NOT about you. No I am not saying that you're presence is not essential or that your views won't count. Its just that weddings become about families getting together and more often than not, there are people with every different personalities who are now put into a social situation.

Second Rule of Weddings: You will fall out of love

Because of rule one, you will have increased fights with your would be.. Yes the love that you once knew will seem distant and you will have the largest doubts. Nevertheless, you will move on- whacking one problem after another as best as you can.

Third Rule : As hard as it may seem - This too shall pass

Forget the dreamy version of your wedding that you had in mind.. you have to learn to make the best of what you have. Yes there will be disappointing, nerve racking days. But in the end - it should seem worth it.
Or so I Hope.

Num3ers

It was once said that music and math can alone be 2 cosmic languages.
Music I know but to relate math to history is easy too..

Numbers. They are what make the world go round.

The are what etch events in your memory.

The time on the clock when you’ve been waiting for someone to turn up at Kins.
The phone number you have been aching to call at Tata International.
The number of ex girlfriends who were silly and complicated.

The number of times you’ve met before you fell in love
The number of cakes you cut on a single birthday party at Sams.
The number of room mates at the flat in Indore.
2 - The second letter of the band whose song became your anthem “With or without you”

The number of tequila and rum mixes before you passed out at Sayaji
The number of steps someone had to climb to get you home safe.
The number of times you were reminded of this incident.

1 jump is all it took for it to happen
2- the number of vertebrae in your back which went haywire post that
3 job changes looking for your dreams


A1/11 – Your piece of heaven away from the world.
12 Lord Palace Orchard –Your own slice of paradise.

45 days- Little angel Max Morrison’s age
45 x infinity – The number of poops he brought along with him

6 – the ideal figure salary
6 – the number of times you’d fight each day
But most of all -
6 the number of years gone by.

Thank you for everything.

Should I .. Should I not?

I have often told you stories
About the way I lived the life of a drifter
Waiting for the day
When Id take your hand
And sing you songs
Then maybe you would say
Come lay with me love me
And I would surely stay

But I feel Im growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance
Like the sound
Of a windmill goin round
I guess Ill always be
A soldier of fortune

Many times Ive been a traveller
I looked for something new
In days of old
When nights were cold
I wandered without you
But those days I thought my eyes
Had seen you standing near
Though blindness is confusing
It shows that youre not here

Now I feel Im growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance

Rest my friend
Its time to sleep

Save your tears
No more .. don’t weep

He says he loves you
It must be true
But then why does my heart
Feel so blue

Why is my heart consumed by fear
I think I’ve lost him
Even when he’s near

She must be shiny
Twinkle in your eye
Why would you else
Let memory die

Smooth as honey
White as snow
You hand me seconds
Yes
It is a blow

Is it not fair
To expect the world
From those you hold
When all seems blurred

The master puppet retires
Can’t draw those strings
Should destiny love me
His return, she’ll bring

Don’t be mad
At a broken heart
Blood shed streets
Lovers part

I’ve loved you
Through the years
Someday on a winding road
You’ll find me..
Still standing there.

The Last Farewell

Ash to Ash
Dust to Dust
All things come to an End



Singing on my window sill
Staring at the pelting rain
I bid you farewell
My Only friend



Over the long and winding road
And over the river bend

I shall find your memories
The things you've said



But tomorrow's another day
..there are things I still must say

Forsake the bleeding heart
To the Unfaithful.. Depart

The Greater Good

Stemming from a discussion on the 11th floor, I revisit my old friend Ayn:

"Thousands of years ago, the first man discovered how to make fire. He was probably burned at the stake he had taught his brothers to light. He was considered an evildoer who had dealt with a demon mankind dreaded. But thereafter men had fire to keep them warm, to cook their food, to light their caves. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had lifted dardness off the earth. Centuries later, the first man invented the wheel. He was probably torn on the rack he had taught his brothers to build. He was considered a transgressor who ventured into forbidden terrritory. But thereafter, men could travel past any horizon. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had opened the roads of the world.
"That man, the unsubmissive and first, stands in the opening chapter of every legend mankind has recorded about its beginning. Prometheus was chained to a rock and torn by vultures—because he had stolen the fire of the gods. Adam was condemned to suffer—because he had eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Whatever the legend, somewhere in the shadows of its memory mankind knew that its glory began with one and that that one paid for his courage.
"Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision. Their goals differed, but they all had this in common: that the step was first, the road new, the vision unborrowed, and the response they received—hatred. The great creators—the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors—stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won.
"No creator was prompted by a desire to serve his brothers, for his brothers rejected the gift he offered and that gift destroyed the slothful routine of their lives. His truth was his only motive. His own truth, and his own work to achieve it in his own way. A symphony, a book, an engine, a philosophy, an airplane or a building—that was his goal and his life. Not those who heard, read, operated, believed, flew or inhabited the thing he had created. The creation, not its users. The creation, not the benefits others derived from it. The creation which gave form to his truth. He held his truth above all things and against all men.
"His vision, his strength, his courage came from his own spirit. A man's spirit, however, is his self. That entity which is his consciousness. To think, to feel, to judge, to act are functions of the ego.
"The creators were not selfless. It is the whole secret of their power—that it was self-sufficient, self-motivated, self-generated. A first cause, a fount of energy, a life force, a Prime Mover. The creator served nothing and no one. He lived for himself.
"And only by living for himself was he able to achieve the things which are the glory of mankind. Such is the nature of achievement.
"Man cannot survive except through his mind. He comes on earth unarmed. His brain is his only weapon. Animals obtain food by force. Man has no claws, no fangs, no horns, no great strength of muscle. He must plant his food or hunt it. To plant, he needs a process of thought. To hunt, he needs weapons, and to make weapons—a process of thought. From this simplest necessity to the highest religious abstraction, from the wheel to the skyscraper, everything we are and everything we have comes from a single attribute of man—the function of his reasoning mind.
"But the mind is an attribute of the individual. There is no such thing as a collective brain. There is no such thing as a collective thought. An agreement reached by a group of men is only a compromise or an average drawn upon many individual thoughts. It is a secondary consequence. The primary act—the process of reason—must be performed by each man alone. We can divide a meal among many men. We cannot digest it in a collective stomach. No man can use his lungs to breathe for another man. No man can use his brain to think for another. All the functions of body and spirit are private. They cannot be shared or transferred.
"We inherit the products of the thought of other men. We inherit the wheel. We make a cart. The cart becomes an automobile. The automobile becomes an airplane. But all through the process what we receive from others is only the end product of their thinking. The moving force is the creative faculty which takes this product as material, uses it and originates the next step. This creative faculty cannot be given or received, shared or borrowed. It belongs to single, individual men. That which it creates is the property of the creator. Men learn from one another. But all learning is only the exchange of material. No man can give another the capacity to think. Yet that capacity is our only means of survival.
"Nothing is given to man on earth. Everything he needs has to be produced. And here man faces his basic alternative: he can survive in only one of two ways—by the independent work of his own mind or as a parasite fed by the minds of others. The creator originates. The parasite borrows. The creator faces nature alone. The parasite faces nature through an intermediary.
"The creator’s concern is the conquest of nature. The parasite’s concern is the conquest of men.
"The creator lives for his work. He needs no other men. His primary goal is within himself. The parasite lives second-hand. He needs others. Others become his prime motive.
"The basic need of the creator is independence. The reasoning mind cannot work under any form of compulsion. It cannot be curbed, sacrificed or subordinated to any consideration whatsoever. It demands total independence in function and in motive. To a creator, all relations with men are secondary.
"The basic need of the second-hander is to secure his ties with men in order to be fed. He places relations first. He declares that man exists in order to serve others. He preaches altruism.
"Altruism is the doctrine which demands that man live for others and place others above self.
"No man can live for another. He cannot share his spirit just as he cannot share his body. But the second-hander has used altruism as a weapon of expoloitation and reversed the base of mankind’s moral principles. Men have been taught every precept that destroys the creator. Men have been taught dependence as a virtue.
"The man who attemps to live for others is a dependent. He is a parasite in motive and makes parasites of those he serves. The relationship produces nothing but mutual corruption. It is impossible in concept. The nearest approach to it in reality—the man who lives to serve others—is the slave. If physical slavery is repulsive, how much more repulsive is the concept of servility of the spirit? The conquered slave has a vestige of honor. He has the merit of having resisted and of considering his condition evil. But the man who enslaves himself voluntarily in the name of love is the basest of creatures. He degrades the dignity of man and he degrades the conception of love. But this is the essence of altruism.
"Men have been taught that the highest virtue is not to achieve, but to give. Yet one cannot give that which has not been created. Creation comes before distribution—or there will be nothing to distribute. The need of the creator comes before the need of any possible beneficiary. Yet we are taught to admire the second-hander who dispenses gifts he has not produced above the man who made the gifts possible. We praise an act of charity. We shrug at an act of achievement.
"Men have been taught that their first concern is to relieve the sufferings of others. But suffering is a disease. Should one come upon it, one tries to give relief and assistance. To make that the highest test of virtue is to make suffering the most important part of life. Then man must wish to see others suffer—in order that he may be virtuous. Such is the nature of altruism. The creator is not concerned with disease, but with life. Yet the work of the creators has eliminated one form of disease after another, in man’s body and spirit, and brought more relief from suffering than any altruist could ever conceive.
"Men have been taught that it is a virtue to agree with others. But the creator is the man who disagrees. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to swim with the current. But the creator is the man who goes against the current. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to stand together. But the creator is the man who stands alone.
"Men have been taught that the ego is the synonym of evil, and selflessness the ideal of virtue. But the creator is the egotist in the absolute sense, and the selfless man is the one who does not think, feel, judge or act. These are functions of the self.
"Here the basic reversal is most deadly. The issue has been perverted and man has been left no alternative—and no freedom. As poles of good and evil, he was offered two conceptions: egotism and altruism. Egotism was held to mean the sacrifice of others to self. Altruism—the sacrifice of self to others. This tied man irrevocably to other men and left him nothing but a choice of pain: his own pain borne for the sake of others or pain inflicted upon others for the sake of self. When it was added that man must find joy in self-immolation, the trap was closed. Man was forced to accept masochism as his ideal—under the threat that sadism was his only alternative. This was the greatest fraud ever perpetrated on mankind.
"This was the device by which dependence and suffering were perpetuated as fundamentals of life.
"The choice is not self-sacrifice or domination. The choice is independence or dependence. The code of the creator or the code of the second-hander. This is the basic issue. It rests upon the alternative of life or death. The code of the creator is built on the needs of the reasoning mind which allows man to survive. The code of the second-hander is built on the needs of a mind incapable of survival. All that which proceeds from man’s independent ego is good. All that which proceeds from man’s dependence upon men is evil.
"The egotist is the absolute sense is not the man who sacrifices others. He is the man who stands above the need of using others in any manner. He does not function through them. He is not concerned with them in any primary matter. Not in his aim, not in his motive, not in his thinking, not in his desires, not in the source of his energy. He does not exist for any other man—and he asks no other man to exist for him. This is the only form of brotherhood and mutual respect possible between men.
"Degrees of ability vary, but the basic principle remains the same: the degree of a man’s independence, initiative and personal love for his work determines his talent as a worker and his worth as a man. Independence is the only gauge of human virtue and value. What a man is and makes of himself; not what he has or hasn’t done for others. There is no substitute for personal dignity. There is no standard of personal dignity except independence.
"In all proper relationships there is no sacrifice of anyone to anyone. An architect needs clients, but he does not subordinate his work to their wishes. They need him, but they do not order a house just to give him a commission. Men exchange their work by free, mutual consent to mutual advantage when their personal interests agree and they both desire the exchange. If they do not desire it, they are not forced to deal with each other. They seek further. This is the only possible form of relationship between equals. Anything else is a relation of slave to master, or victim to executioner.
"No work is ever done collectively, by a majority decision. Every creative job is achieved under the guidance of a single individual thought. An architect requires a great many men to erect his building. But he does not ask them to vote on his design. They work together by free agreement and each is free in his proper function. An architect uses steel, glass, concrete, produced by others. But the materials remain just so much steel, glass and concrete until he touches them. What he does with them is his individual product and his individual property. This is the only pattern for proper co-operation among men.
"The first right on earth is the right of the ego. Man’s first duty is to himself. His moral law is never to place his prime goal within the persons of others. His moral obligation is to do what he wishes, provided his wish does not depend primarily upon other men. This includes the whole sphere of his creative faculty, his thinking, his work. But it does not include the sphere of the gangster, the altruist and the dictator.
"A man thinks and works alone. A man cannot rob, exploit or rule—alone. Robbery, exploitation and ruling presuppose victims. They imply dependence. They are the province of the second-hander.
"Rulers of men are not egotists. They create nothing. They exist entirely through the persons of others. Their goal is in their subjects, in the activity of enslaving. They are as dependent as the beggar, the social worker and the bandit. The form of dependence does not matter.
"But men were taught to regard second-handers—tyrants, emperors, dictators—as exponents of egotism. By this fraud they were made to destroy the ego, themselves and others. The purpose of the fraud was to destroy the creators. Or to harness them. Which is a synonym.
"From the beginning of history, the two antagonists have stood face to face: the creator and the second-hander. When the first creator invented the wheel, the first second-hander responded. He invented altruism.
"The creator—denied, opposed, persecuted, exploited—went on, moved forward and carried all humanity along on his energy. The second-hander contributed nothing to the process except the impediments. The contest has another name: the individual against the collective.
"The ‘common good’ of a collective—a race, a class, a state—was the claim and justification of every tyranny ever established over men. Every major horror of history was committed in the name of an altruistic motive. Has any act of selfishness ever equaled the carnage perpetrated by disciples of altruism? Does the fault lie in men’s hypocrisy or in the nature of the principle? The most dreadful butchers were the most sincere. They believed in the perfect society reached through the guillotine and the firing squad. Nobody questioned their right to murder since they were murdering for an altruistic purpose. It was accepted that man must be sacrificed for other men. Actors change, but the course of the tragedy remains the same. A humanitarian who starts with declarations of love for mankind and ends with a sea of blood. It goes on and will go on so long as men believe that an action is good if it is unselfish. That permits the altruist to act and forces his victims to bear it. The leaders of collectivist movements ask nothing for themselves. But observe the results.
"The only good which men can do to one another and the only statement of their proper relationship is—Hands off!
"Now observe the results of a society built on the principle of individualism. This, our country. The noblest country in the history of men. The country of greatest achievement, greatest prosperity, greatest freedom. This country was not based on selfless service, sacrifice, renunciation or any precept of altruism. It was based on a man’s right to the pursuit of happiness. His own happiness. Not anyone else’s. A private, personal, selfish motive. Look at the results. Look into your own conscience.
"It is an ancient conflict. Men have come close to the truth, but it was destroyed each time and one civilization fell after another. Civilization is the progress toward a society of privacy. The savage’s whole existence is public, ruled by the laws of his tribe. Civilization is the process of setting man free from men.
"Now, in our age, collectivism, the rule of the second-hander and second-rater, the ancient monster, has broken loose and is running amuck. It has brought men to a level of intellectual indecency never equaled on earth. It has reached a scale of horror without precedent. It has poisoned every mind. It has swallowed most of Europe. It is engulfing our country.
"I am an architect. I know what is to come by the principle on which it is built. We are approaching a world in which I cannot permit myself to live.
"Now you know why I dynamited Cortlandt.
"I designed Cortlandt. I gave it to you. I destroyed it.
"I destroyed it because I did not choose to let it exist. It was a double monster. In form and in implication. I had to blast both. The form was mutilated by two second-handers who assumed the right to improve upon that which they had not made and could not equal. They were permitted to do it by the general implication that the altruistic purpose of the building superseded all rights and that I had no claim to stand against it.
"I agreed to design Cortlandt for the purpose of seeing it erected as I dedigned it and for no other reason. That was the price I set for my work. I was not paid.
"I do not blame Peter Keating. He was helpless. He had a contract with his employers. It was ignored. He had a promise that the structure he offered would be built as designed. The promise was broken. The love of a man for the integrity of his work and his right to preserve it are now considered a vague intangible and an inessential. You have heard the prosecutor say that. Why was the building disfigured? For no reason. Such acts never have any reason, unless it’s the vanity of some second-handers who feel they have a right to anyone’s property, spiritual or material. Who permitted them to do it? No particular man among the dozens in authority. No one cared to permit it or to stop it. No one was responsible. No one can be held to account. Such is the nature of all collective action.
"I did not receive the payment I asked. But the owners of Cortlandt got what they needed from me. They wanted a scheme devised to build a structure as cheaply as possible. They found no one else who could do it to their satisfaction. I could and did. They took the benefit of my work and made me contribute it as a gift. But I am not an altruist. I do not contribute gifts of this nature.
"It is said that I have destroyed the home of the destitute. It is forgotten that but for me the destitute could not have had this particular home. Those who were concerned with the poor had to come to me, who have never been concerned, in order to help the poor. It is believed that the poverty of the future tenants gave them the right to my work. That their need constituted a claim on my life. That it was my duty to contribute anything demanded of me. This is the second-hander’s credo now swallowing the world.
"I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone’s right to one minute of my life. Nor to any part of my energy. Nor to any achievement of mine. No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need.
"I wished to come here and say that I am a man who does not exist for others.
"It had to be said. The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing.
"I wished to come here and say that the integrity of a man’s creative work is of greater importance than any charitable endeavor. Those of you who do not understand this are the men who’re destroying the world.
"I wished to come here and state my terms. I do not care to exist on any others.
"I recognize no obligations toward men except one: to respect their freedom and to take no part in a slave society. To my country, I wish to give the ten years which I will spend in jail if my country exists no longer. I will spend them in memory and in gratitude for what my country has been. It will be my act of loyalty, my refusal to live or work in what has taken its place.
"My act of loyalty to every creator who ever lived and was made to suffer by the force responsible for the Cortlandt I dynamited. To every tortured hour of loneliness, denial, frustration, abuse he was made to spend—and to the battles he won. To every creator whose name is known—and to every creator who lived, struggled and perished unrecognized before he could achieve. To every creator who was destroyed in body or in spirit. To Henry Cameron. To Steven Mallory. To a man who doesn’t want to be named, but who is sitting in this courtroom and knows that I am speaking of him."