25 Utterly Useless Details About Me

Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

1. I love talking about myself. So while I may roll my eyes at ‘yet another tag’, I quite enjoy it.

2. When I was really young, I thought the world was actually black and white in the 50s, and that it was filled with colour much later.

3. As a kid, I used to watch this cartoon about a guy, who used to raise one arm towards the sky, yell ‘Shazam!’ and turn into a superhero called, naturally, Shazam. I went out on my lawn one night, raised one arm and yelled ‘Shazam!’, hoping for superpowers. I believe that was the first KLPD of my life.

4. I never saw Star Wars as a kid, and it didn’t really interest me when I grew up. So yes, I haven’t seen a single Star Wars movie and I think it’s a perfectly acceptable way of life. You can put down your tubelights…sorry, lightsabers now.

5. I cannot stand it when ‘ppl typ lik dis n tink itz kewl’. It brings about a physical sense of revulsion, followed by an urge to break things. Also, what the fuck is ‘lolzzz’? Does it mean you were laughing out loud and suddenly started snoring?

6. For the longest time, I thought that the lyrics in the Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan song, ‘Afreen Afreen’ were ‘uske Nana ki tareef mumkin nahin.’ (Translation: It is not possible to completely praise her maternal grandfather.) I always wondered why, when talking about a beautiful woman, someone would think about praising her grandfather. (Maybe he passed on exceptionally good genes?) It made sense when I learnt that the actual lyrics were ‘Husn-e-janaa ki taareef mumkin nahin’ (Translation: It is not possible to completely praise the beauty of the beloved.)

7. I have a freakishly strong memory when it comes to recalling names, faces, dates, phone numbers, license plate numbers and other absolutely useless details. I sometimes freak people out by telling them things like what they were wearing at a birthday party 14 years ago. I get a nervous laugh in return, followed by a restraining order.

8. If I were ever a superhero or an action movie character, I’d be called The Procrastinator (Tagline: I’ll be back…tomorrow.) Seriously, I’ve spent hours just *looking* at two pages of a textbook.

9. While growing up, I found it silly that adults expressed surprise at how much I’d grown, as if I was supposed to shrink with age. I now find myself expressing the same surprise at my younger cousins and nephews.

10. I don’t understand how people can read on the crapper. It’s something I never do, although I do spend hours daydreaming there. And when I say hours, I really do mean hours.

11. I’m not vain about too many things, but I absolutely love my hair. I think it is bloody awesome and will really miss it when it’s gone.

12. I hate musicals. I cannot watch stuff like Chicago, Moulin Rouge or Sweeney Todd. I. just. can’t.

13. There are days when I think I’m the greatest writer in the world, and that I deserve to be borne aloft on a winged chariot helmed by nymphs wearing nothing but shimmering gold dust, as the world looks skywards and worships my genius. And then there are days when I look at my work and it makes me want to jump off a building, land headfirst and have a road roller flatten whatever is left. Mostly though, I’m somewhere in between, tending towards the positive side.

14. In Class XII, I once memorised the entire periodic table, including the Lanthanide and Actinide series, just to see if I could. This really helped with my study of inorganic chemistry, but it didn’t do too much for my social life.

15. I regret not being able enough to join the armed forces. I think a compulsory, short stint in the military will do our pussy generation a world of good, and that no matter how rich or intelligent you are, a soldier owns your pansy ass.

16. I love first dates. The nervous anticipation, the last minute check in the mirror, cologne, mint, random conversations, laughter and the voice in my head reminding me to look at the girl’s face – I love it all.

17. I feel I need to earn my vacations and leisure time. If I’ve had a particularly unproductive stint at work, it bothers me, and while a quiet drink or two is fine, I can’t really get into a party mood when this happens.

18. I have to watch a movie on the day of its release, i.e mostly a late night show on Friday. There’s something very comforting about settling into plush, multiplex seats and kicking off the weekend with a movie. It irks me if I cannot make it on a Friday, and if, for some reason, I fail to catch it over the weekend, I will pester all and sundry until somebody agrees to watch it with me on a weekday.

19. Like any self-respecting kid who grew up in the 90s, I love The Wonder Years. I have all the episodes on my comp, and have seen them multiple times, except for the last episode, which I’ve seen only once when it aired on TV. I simply can’t bring myself to watch it again, because I’m afraid it will me break down and sob like a little bitch.

20. The longest continuous stretch I’ve watched a TV show for is 12 hours (6 p.m to 6 a.m). This was for Prison Break: Season 1. Also, after back to back viewings of Dexter: Seasons 1 and 2, I spent at least two days living with a dispassionate voiceover in my head.

21. I always feel hungry after watching the opening sequence of Dexter.

22. I go for the crazy chicks. I like the normal ones, everyone does, but there is some twisted pleasure in chasing a woman who you know will rip your heart out and spear it with her stiletto.

23. I’m a big fan of toilet humour. Also, I think the word ‘chuddies’ is extremely funny.

24. As a boyfriend, I’m quite the romantic. (Ok you can stop laughing now) Random roses, a dash of poetry (including dirty limericks) and other such schmaltzy nonsense – I’ve done it all and thoroughly enjoyed it.

25. ‘Written by Ashish Shakya’. I think those words would look great on a book jacket and film and television credits.

BONUS: Told you I liked talking about myself.

26. I cannot imagine ever being married. Then again, I can’t imagine being alone either. I think if it has to work, I need to be really good friends with the woman crazy enough to say yes to me. To quote the wise philosopher Shahrukh Khan, ‘pyaar dosti hai.’ *waves multi-coloured friendship band*

27. I want to meet Dave Barry once before he goes to the Big Writer’s Office In The Sky.

28. I believe religion was born out of ignorance and later manifested into a form of mind-control. It is a game of Chinese Whispers gone horribly wrong and I do not see the merit in following arbitrary “laws” that were created for a different time and place.

A Knight’s Tale

I saw ‘The Dark Knight’ yesterday for the second time, despite the notion that a repeat viewing would kill the awe inspired by the first. I shouldn’t have feared though – after all, the film is one of the most satisfying experiences one can have in a dark room. Real and reel unite in an almost perverse manner, as you watch a dead man devour scene after scene in a role that, in some small measure, led to his death. The film, which may seem like The Joker’s story with Bat-whatshisname relegated to the shadows, is by far the most complete and complex superhero film ever made.

Didactic marries dynamite in a furious narrative that’s forever slashing away at the faces we’d like the mirror to show us every morning. Virtuous, moral, with hair neatly parted to the side – that’s what your mommy wanted you to be, that’s what society expects of you and that’s probably what you pretend to be. But under that presentable face lies a scarred, perhaps grotesque visage – maybe you believe in its existence, maybe you don’t – but in Gotham City, it doesn’t matter, because The Joker believes in it and gleefully conducts a grand symphony of mayhem in anticipation of its unveiling. Gatecrashing the performance of course is Batman, along with Gotham’s latest hope for redemption, District Attorney Harvey Dent.

Batman versus The Joker is like matter versus anti-matter, yin versus yang – this dependency expressed wickedly with a line from Jerry Maguire. What starts off with a bank heist, turns into a frenzied, almost-biblical battle between two absolutes – the righteous superhero and the Devil incarnate in a purple suit – with Harvey Dent at the centre of it all. Gunfire rents the air, engines roar, hospitals explode, trucks perform ‘perfect 10′ flips and the Joker, practically dancing around the bonfire that is Gotham City, hits you with questions – who are you really rooting for? The ‘freak’ who contends that morality is a sham and humans are a degenerate, hypocritical bunch of sheep, or the superhero who exists only because morality is a sham and yet, chooses to place his faith in something as idealistic as a white knight? Also, what can you take away from a man who has nothing to lose?

Don’t look at me for the answers. All I know is that from now on, I’ll find myself wincing every time I come across the phrase ‘smiling from ear to ear.’

This Makes Perfect Sense At 3:00 a.m

“Hey whaddup?”

“Nothing except…well..we broke up…again!”

“Haha! Fuck what is this..the 15th time you’ve broken up with the same girl?”

“15th..20th..fuck knows…”

“When did it happen?”

“Just a couple of hours ago…”

“What happened this time?”

“Usual shit…distance and all that crap…dimaag bhosada ho gaya benchod!”

“Arre chhod na..you’ll be back together in 2-3 days..you always get back together. Chutia ek saal se tera yeh natak dekh raha hoon!”

“No man..not this time. The break-up was different this time.”

“Different how? Like ‘her-body-is-in-the-boot-of-my-car’ different?”

“Very funny (thinks) Waise which car would be the best in that case..Skoda I guess, no? It’s got one of the biggest boots.”

“Maybe..but fucken’ Skoda handles like a truck man…you’ll yourself die driving it.”

“What? I thought you enjoyed driving the Skoda…1.9 litre na, turbocharged and all?”

“Yeah..ripping it is fun, but it’s fucken diesel na, so it’s like a truck only. Full sardar log ka gaadi hai benchod…just like Tata.”

“Yeah, but Skoda’s expensive…it’s for the sophisticated sardar…Tata is for the common ones..”

“Hehe..yeah. (Pause) So what were you saying?”

“About what?”

“Wohi..break-up and all?”

“Haan…wohi it was just different this time. Like I’ve heard it from her before y’know – ‘I can’t do this anymore, you’re never there, I need you to be physically present all the time’ blah blah blah. Fucken’ how can I be there ALL the time? So anyway, everytime she says stuff like this and insists on a break-up y’know, because that’s her thing..that’s what she does..she runs away. And I can understand why..I mean I know the reason she behaves like this. Not many people know her like I do..”

“Dude, you can’t help it. All chicks have issues. Especially the pretty ones. In fact, they’re the loneliest of the lot.”

“Yeah I know but what’s the need to panic? I’m not running away anywhere…chill na thoda!”

“Ladki hai yaar..what’d you expect?”

“I know..so everytime she wants to break up, I convince her otherwise…but this time, it was so mindfucking..ek toh she’s acting all detached..and things are more stressful now…

“Uh huh..”

” So anyway we fought about that, shit happened, she asks if I wanna break up and I’m like ‘Ok. Just take care of yourself’. I didn’t even feel like convincing her otherwise…quite a weird break-up it was.”

“What do you mean…weird?”

“Well there was no screaming, no anger…I just wished her luck and genuinely meant it. I want her to be happy. I mean she of all people, deserves to be happy. I don’t even hate her…and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Hmmm. Waise it’s not just the chicks…we’re also retarded in a way. We only fall for the crazy ones don’t we?”

“Yeah true…the normal ones are too boring. Don’t last more than a month. And even that’s too much. (Pause) And plus I’m not saying that the break-up is entirely her fault y’know? If I could do this again, I’d do it better. But I don’t think she’s gonna change…”

“And let’s face it…neither can we. We’ll be back to our usual haraampanti in days.”

“Heh! Yeah maybe…but fucken chicks are *never* happy. At least we’re not going crazy thinking about the future and fucking up our present y’know?”

“True, that.”

“It’s like I can see God sitting up there. He’s probably looking down at the world He created, full of fucked up people like us, and He’s sitting there thinking ‘Ok so I messed up a bit, but hey..just because I’m God doesn’t mean I’m perfect.’ And He’s saying to Himself ‘I’ve got like till Eternity to sort this mess out, so I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need a beer.’ And He’s sitting there chilling, sipping Corona – obviously heaven is full of Corona – and fucken Mrs. God walks in, looks at the world He’s created and fuckin flips. And now She’s giving him The Look. You know…the raised eyebrow look..the look that says ‘Saala you’ve been hammering away in the garage for thousands of years now and THIS is what you’ve come up with?’ And then She shows Him the parallel universe that She created, and it’s fucking nice and clean, and smells like flowers, and She’s all nonchalant like ‘Oh I did this in like 20 minutes, while waiting for the cooker whistle to blow.’”

“Fuck..I can totally see that happening.”

“Totally. (Pause) I mean you do all you can and it lasts more than a year, which is a fuckin long time for people like me and her – not that I’m saying I did everything right, but still, I, or rather, we, me and her, we made it last this long – and then it just died out. And why? Because of the fuckin’distance! Because it takes 1.5 hours to drive from my place to hers. It ended because of logistical issues. Sheh! What kind of an end is that?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that when we were together, and weren’t fighting, fuck…it was such a headrush! She’s smart, hot, fuckin’ talented…every day was like an adventure. The flirting, the randomness and the fuckin’ speed at which we moved…leaving the entire world behind, it was…magical. And something surreal like that just fizzled away…turned into flat beer. A love
story like this deserves a cool end…cool doesn’t mean tragic – like fuckin devdas and suicide and all – but something consistent with the whole initial magical phase y’know?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno…she could’ve been a spy on a covert mission..like Mata Hari…she was thinner and hotter than Mata Hari of course. Fuckin that Mata Hari was fat..dunno why those guys found her hot. Plus I’d never be able to fuck someone called Mata..that’s just plain weird. Or maybe an alien..like a human female, but from a parallel universe, so technically she’d be an alien.

“Ohkay…”

“Think about it man…how many guys have made love to an alien? That’d be a love story I’d fucken write a book about, sell the movie rights for it, write the fuckin screenplay and also bloody claim royalty on the action figures…whatsay?”

“Dude..nobody’s gonna buy an action figure of you. Action figures aren’t supposed to have beer bellies you know..”

“Fuck you.”

“Hehe.”

“Hey you know what would be even better…she could’ve been a bisexual alien. Or at least a straight alien who liked to experiment. And of course she’d have hot, curious, morally-impaired friends. Fuck, now THAT would be an epic love story.”

“Yeah…instead of Romeo and Juliet, they’d fuckin teach schoolkids about you..the alienfucker.”

“Heh..yeah. But fuck that…all I get is an ordinary end, no aliens and all. How the fuck am I supposed to write about it?”

“I dunno..I guess you’ll think of something.”

“Yeah I guess I will. Anyway, let’s meet up tomorrow evening. I need to get drunk.”

“Yep sure.”
————————————————————————————————-

Disclaimer:
The conversation is inspired from real life and is part-truth, part-fiction. Resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely intentional. And yeah, it won’t kill you to leave a comment.

The Deep End

I was three years old when my father almost drowned me. I don’t really remember the details, but I’ve heard about it often enough to tell you the story.

My father was an officer in the Indian Navy at the time, and much like subsidized Old Monk and clubs that forbade entry for those wearing chappals, swimming pools were an integral part of naval life. Not that I complained – I loved splashing around. In the shallow end, that is. I was chickenshit about venturing into the deep end, and one day, my father, understanding Dr. Phil- kind-of-man that he was, grabbed me by the arms and hurled me into the deep end.

And the rest as they say, is history.

I grew up to be the proud owner of 5 Olympic Golds, and a foot size of 17. No wait..that’s Ian Thorpe. But I did take to the deep end like Harry Potter to a broom. And before you could say “Aquaman”, I was busy perfecting cannonball dives and hunting bad guys within the dark, chlorinated depths of the pool. I grew up to master a series of painful stomach-landings, which later developed into bastard forms of The Backflip and The Somersault.

Looking back at my fear, I realise I was never in any real danger of drowning. The pool was full of professional deep-sea divers, and I was skilled enough to stay afloat. And of course, my own Superman, the man who I thought could do nothing wrong, the man who’d flung me into the deep end, was always by my side.

He hadn’t “almost drowned” me. He’d taught me to swim.

I’m not three anymore, and Superman has assumed a fallible, more human form. But there still remains the small matter of crossing the raging cesspool that calls itself The Real World.

*takes a deep breath*

Here goes nothing.

Random Page from a Random Life

Silhouettes danced against the dusk-hued backdrop of his mind, their contortions tempered by the need to cocoon himself in stillness. The shadows fought back of course, spurred by the rhythm of his vicissitudes. The opera swirled up to a crescendo before slinking back into peace, and rearing up all over again, as if reborn. Daylight was its death, and daylight would
not come. So they danced, till the reds bled deeper, obscuring the yellows in a wave of contempt.

And then, he awoke.

—————————-

Reality gifts you with a certain degree of control, that the mind robs when you’re asleep. Dreams, at least in my case, offer different, often wilder and deeper perspectives. Which is why I love to sleep. The fact that I can justify sloth with pseudo-excuses like the one above, just adds to the fun.

—————————-

What I learnt (and re-learnt) in the past six months:

1) I’m good. I’m bloody damn good.

2) The day I refuse to see beyond the above statement, is the day I die.

3) Letting one’s guard down is scary. Which is why I’m glad I did it.

4) The rat race is for real. This realisation is the first step towards staying out of it (or so I hope).

5) Never, ever stop giving a fuck.

And on that note, I shall sign out. Till we meet again – so long and thanks for all the pageviews.

A Broken Silence?

I can deal with solitude – it’s the silences I can’t stand.

And yet, I seem to have sold myself to Silence, in return for a new-and-improved ‘Defence Mechanism’ ( Benefits may vary from user to user).

Don’t get me wrong – it’s served me well all these years. But sometimes, just sometimes, the armour needs to be discarded. Not without reason, but for none in particular, this is one of those times. And the virtual world is as far as I dare go with words unsaid, for people who might not even read this…

1) I wish you’d talk to me. I can’t do this without you. Or maybe I can, and end up like an
unfinished sculpture – a masterpiece framed by emptiness that shouldn’t be.

2) Maybe someday I’ll tell you what I really think of you. Or maybe you already know.

Naaah…you couldn’t possibly know everything

Anyway, have a great life.

3) I missed all that old shit today. I never thought I would – I guess I overestimated myself.

4) I’m really curious to see where this goes. The trail seems worth following.

5) I did what needed to be done. Don’t lose too much of your old self because of it.

6) So…how you doin’ stranger?

7) You know how people lose touch without ever meaning to?

Yeah well…let that not happen to us.

That’s it for now. And extra-analytical-types, don’t stress yourselves too much – you don’t (and can’t) know everything.

*looks around*

Dude…where’s my raksha-kavach?

Guess who’s back!

It's been almost five months since I updated.

Five. Bloody. Months.

A lot can happen in five months. Empires can rise and fall, orgasms can claim to be half-human and Britney Spears can get married AND divorced about 60 times.

If you know me, then you also know that I haven't been responsible for any of the above. However, I did manage to complete my engineering, which is orgasmic, albeit in a different way...

Think Shawshank Redemption.

Andy Dufresne.

Struggling out of the sewage pipe, raising his arms in elation, Jesus-like, as the thunderstorm washes over him. Imagine that kind of elation. Raised to a power of 896978534.

So yes, I'm happy about that. And I guess I'm filmy too. But I'm not out of order...you're out of order...this whole COURTROOM'S OUT OF ORDER!!!

*composes himself*

I finally got my 'markshit' and assorted documents from college today. The place, by the way, is still full of cuntpappus. But the sane, reasonable man that I am, I'll make my peace with it soon enough. Right after it's carpet bombed or something.

I also got a job as a feature writer with JAM. Which means that I get paid to write, and poor sods pay to read what I write. Some of you, of course, have fallen victim to my scintillescent literary endeavours for free. I shall be sending you a bill soon.

It's funny how people sometimes mistake you for one of those intellectual types - the ones who climax everytime someone utters a 15-letter Russian name. You realise this when your ruminations on "Debi Does Dallas: Part 2" are interrupted with a query about the Middle Eastern crisis:

" It's terrible what's going on there. It's all a manifestation of capitalist greed, juxtaposed upon a highly misunderstood region. And the media is blind. Do they even know about Sheba Farms and the AFP reports about what actually happened? What about Hezbollah's geopolitical history? Grrr..it makes me so mad. What do you think?"

"Ummm...yes..Lebanese women are hot."

Local trains throw up a multitude of contradictions. You can feel alone in the middle of a crowd. By 'crowd' I mean 'clinging-for-dear-life-in-a-cesspool-of-humanity' kinda crowd. And by 'alone' I mean a hollow, dull loneliness that hits you suddenly like a cold gale. Conversely, you're completely at peace, leaning out precariously, as a creek whizzes away below and the crowd jostles for mere inches of space.

' But I'm here in my mind

I am here in my mind

But I'm a million different people

from one day to the next'

- Bittersweet Symphony, The Verve

It's fun building a career that textbooks and teachers haven't defined for you. Instinct is my weapon of choice - it's not the only one.

It's good to be back in the blogosphere. Word limits and content constraints are like the points on 'Whose Line is it anyway' - irrelevant. And their absence is liberating.

How about taking this further - like say a Bombay Blogspot meet? It's an idea that suffers from lack of participation (including my own) but would be fun if we pulled it off. Think about it.

Over and out.

21

I graduate in two months.

Jobless.

Standing alone at a crossroad…and someone’s stolen the bloody signpost.

Maybe there wasn’t supposed to be a signpost.

What the…hey who the fuck are you? And how did you get in my head?

I’m you.

Yeah? So tell me, who am I then?

“I’m the ghost in the machine/I’m the genius in the gene/I’m the…”

Shut up, will ya? I’m not in the mood for music.

Why not?

I can’t connect to it the way I used to.It doesn’t inspire me or move me so that my goosebumps get goosebumps.It doesn’t bring to mind a montage of my life,the past,present or future.It doesn’t bring a smile to my face,a spring to my step or a lump to my throat.Lately music just seems like a bunch of dicordant harmonics, digitally processed and packaged , for my listening displeasure.

Wake up and smell the rot,boss.It’s music-not magic.It won’t move you until you move off your lazy butt and do what needs to be done.It won’t put a smile on your face or lump in your throat if you shut out the world behind a blanket of Numb.And it most certainly won’t put a spring in your step, if all you do is walk from Cynicism to Sloth and back.Look at you…if self-pity were mud,you’d be a water buffalo.

ME?? Listen to you…what are you – Sidhu’s love child ?? This isn’t what I need! There’s nothing wrong with me..

Denial is the most predictable of all human responses.

Yeah, so The Matrix Reloaded was on HBO last night.Big fuckin’ genius you are..

You’re doing it again.Shielding yourself with words.You’re good with words – I’ll give you that.But if you look hard enough,you see they’re nothing more than a hollow defence.And there really is no point shielding yourself from the truth.

Which is?

It begins with you.It may or may not end with you.There’s no way of getting around it.Deal with it.Alone, if you have to.

What does?What begins with me?

Change.

---

Happy Birthday.
Grow up.

With best wishes
You.

Aye Saala!

I saw,no,experienced ‘Rang De Basanti’ a few days ago and have been trying to come up with a post that would do justice to it.Disjointed thoughts,however, refuse to surrender to coherence.The movie thrusts a mirror at you and then coaxes you,like a friend would, into looking in.Beyond the cynicism and past the indifference.Deeper and further,till it pushes you out of your comfort zone,whatever that may be – your college campus, a cushy job or anything else that prevents reality from getting its filthy but strong grip on you.

It’s not the first time I’ve looked inwards.I still don’t like what I see.

And that’s where I think the genius of the movie lies.In inspiring thought.

The story touched me on a personal level as opposed to an all-encompassing patriotic one.The irreverent madness,fiercely loyal friendships,the fear behind the nonchalance,the need to find a passion – all of these and more juxtapose to create a collage that bears a striking resemblance to my life.The movie may shout out ‘Lose Control’ but to me it says ‘Find Yourself’.And someday,when I look at that mirror,I might just be happy with what I see.

Coming Back To Life…

A blank page waits to be defaced by my thoughts,its barrenness, a resilient foe that sweeps in across my defences,even after being vanquished several times.It expects death with honour, to be lacerated by jagged wit, or ambushed with brutal prose and relegated to oblivion as the words, victorious, dance around its funeral pyre and fall into place as the final sweet insult, a mocking epitaph.

Not this time.
Not when the void is filled up with a dull,aching silence that fails to provide the cushion solitude usually does.

Fear incapacitates you in ways more than one.Not only does it clip your wings when you want to fly, it also plants a seed of thought in your mind.Seemingly innocuous,the seed takes root in your insecurities and strengthens them, while clinging like a parasite to your will – the same will that led you to victory all these years.You stare your enemy in the face and fight it.A small victory here, a glimmer of hope there…

And then you take the easy way out.Fall into mediocrity as Fear holds you close and shows you a more palatable version of Hell.It’s like the Stockholm Syndrome, with love being substituted by a numb indifference.And there’s no SWAT team waiting to get you back to safety.

Cynicism in command, every extra ounce of energy spent is an aberration.You’ve fallen pretty deep into the trap, the irony being it doesn’t feel like a trap until,of course,reality rages in,ripping away the blinds to leave you face to face with a reality that only moments ago, seemed like a distant mirage.

That dull,aching silence again…

And then, a voice you had long given up for dead,asserts itself:

“Dust thou art, to dust returneth
Was not spoken of the Soul”