Think Probabilistic

A hymn that amplifies one’s petition to the Maker. In times of change and tumult, and opportunities alike, I need his guidance.

Make me a channel of your peace
Where there is hatred let me bring your love
Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord
And where there’s doubt, true faith in you

Oh, Master, grant that I may never seek
So much to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand
To be loved, as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace
Where there’s despair in life let me bring hope;
Where the is darkness, only light;
And where there’s sadness, ever joy

Make me a channel of your peace
It is pardoning that we are pardoned
In giving to all men that we receive;
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.…

The days have been flying at pace faster than the wink of an eye. Much has happened over the course of the past three years. In fact, quite a lot. There have been many happy moments. Occasions when I’ve been thoroughly satisfied and pleased. Yet there has been a flicker of a thought that says I can and should be doing much better. I’ve always been conscious of this thought. The very fact that it has lingered so long is proof that it has burrowed itself in the deep recesses of my mind.

It was a foolish blunder on my part not to have studied hard and to have made my way into one of the IIT’s.…

In the quiet ambience of a chamber, lies the Hobbit. Everything in the chamber is in kilter. The pervading calmly atmosphere within its walls hides that which cannot be seen. The Hobbit mills around steadily, careful to keep himself composed but alert. Composed so that he can muster all the energy that he can, alert so that he can channel it to a cause that comes calling.

A spirit of fire blazes within the Hobbit, who has prepared for the task before him. War is looming. This is a war unlike any other, for there are no enemies to slay. The real foe lies within.…

I dont remember the first time that I heard of Pope John Paul II. Must have been in standard seven. That seems such a long time ago if truth be told. Time, as always, just keeps flying and we amble along, unable to slow matters.

Born in the Polish town of Krakov, this humble soul has touched lives like no one else in that capacity, in a papacy that lasted for almost twenty seven years.

My trysts with destiny brought me close to my grandparents. I have seen my grandmother and grandfather in their last years, and by so doing, I’ve been lucky to perceive and witness the thought, temper and innocence of old age.…

Written by Muthaiyah Bhagavathar- the asthana vidhan of the Mysore Kingdom, Mathey is a classical carnatic song which inspires the mind, soothes senses and celebrates the greatness of the ultimate giver of life.

Mathe Malaya dhwaja pandya samjathe mathanga vadana guha(4)
Mathe Malaya dhwaja pandya samjathe mathanga vadana guha(21)
Sakodari sankari Chamundeswari chandrakaladari thaye gouri(5)
DADA nidadani dadanida danipama
DADA nirisani sadanisa dapapama
DADA nigarini risanida panidama
DADA magamapa mapa dada nini dama
DADA risanida ni da da madanima ni
DADA sasapada ni da da magarisa ni
DADA pa DA da ni DA da saDA
niDA magari sani da nisanini dada pama Data
sakala kala nipuna chathura Data vividha matha samaya samarasa Data sulabha hrudaya madhura vachana Data sarasa ruchira tara swaralaya Geetha sukada nija bhava rasikavara dhata Mahisha suranada nalmadi srikrishna rajendra nadaya Sada pore mahitha harikesa manohare sadaya Mathe Malaya dhwaja pandya samjathe mathanga vadana guha (11/2) Shyame sakala bhuvana sarva bhoume sasi mandala madhyaga (5)
1.MA,MA,…

Another month draws to a close. I’ve just finished taking my second internals. I’ve done well. So it is that time again when the mind is free to think and reflect on the direction that life is heading towards.

I had planned a lot for this month. I may not have done all the things that I would have liked to have done, but it’s been a satisfying month nonetheless.

There were a lot of bottlenecks and hurdles this month. Most of it created by an over-sensitive mind, but some borne out of the recklessness of others.

My goals thus far are evidently clear.…

One great work of literature often conspires with another to proclaim the same set of ideas. Ideas that have inspired great thinkers for generations, ideas that have remained in place since the inception of mankind. Being as they are, in existence for countless centuries without the slightest of changes, they are no longer mere ideas. They are the fundamental truths that drive the immaterial essence of individual life – that which fuel the part of the soul which directs the individual in his life.

When I first read Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, I didn’t have the foggiest of clues about the sheer power of the book.…

Time makes haste. Years have seen their share of joy, interleaved with stretches of emptiness and pain, yet bearing the stamp of inspiration. The eye is now fixed on the future. Will the future be the past, or will it bring a new lease of power and vigour? The eye focuses with rapt attention, whilst the mind delves into the realm of the uncharted – flashes of the past, some things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass.

Planet earth likens itself with a burning furnace. The cast iron now emerges, after dwelling twenty years in the furnace.…

The concept of gender equality happens to be one of the most alluring ideologies of our times. So much as it bandied about all around these days, it has been used far too easily as a power tool for the fairer sex. It is, in today’s cosmopolitan world a concept that has deviated a bit far from its noble, original ideas.

Women are undoubtedly the casualties of a male dominated society. That violence and oppression hinders women all around the world is a fact that besmirches all humanity. The inalienable rights of women to lead an independent, full life is in tune with the universal sense of justice.…

John Keats – To Hope

When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!…