Walter White’s Tryst with Taxes

Lex Sorted

Hooked to Breaking Bad and often find yourself gushing at the locations of the same? We have some news for you! While the city of Albuquerque might look all tailor made for this cult series, it wasn’t always decidedly so.

As time progressed, this Mexican city acquired a persona of its own in the series. It was something the audience has not seen before, a far cry from the picturesque locales of Versailles or the bling of NYC. Albuquerque has a sense of mystery about itself. The cast speaks fondly about the clouds in Albuquerque. Aaron Paul even has a residential property in the city. The cast connects with Albuquerque. So does every spectator!

With panegyrics being heaped upon this Mexican city from the cast and the spectators of the series, let us provide you with a piece of information. Breaking Bad was originally set in Riverside, California. Why was…

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Ckicken, egg and time travel

For a long time I’ve been intrigued by these ideas: our present is a consequence of our past and the effect foreknowledge has on our future. And this other concept that what we do or what happens to us is entirely independent of our past actions or our knowledge of things prior to their occurrence is also something that I have been lately thinking about.

I was at Sirifort Auditorium (Delhi) last night, watching ‘What is Done is Done!’ an adaptation of Macbeth, which has a great deal of premonition thing going on in it. However, that didn’t get me thinking about these concepts. What did or at least what started the train of thoughts was the conclusion one of the clowns in the play arrived at – that God is a chicken (so bye-bye KFC was an immediate reality for millions, god-fearing or not). How does it matter if it was said in a play, you say. Well, to that I’d say, do not underestimate the power of fiction, not when you know some of these have divided humanity along really absurd lines – such as one man’s food is another man’s god. O but I digress!

So today, on Easter, I woke up with a deep craving for egg. And as if on cue, last night’s observation rushed up my throat and I burped, ‘I know who lays Easter eggs!’ What an epiphany! Now let’s go back to the matter at hand. Past. Present. Future. What have eggs and chickens got to do with philosophical ramblings about time? Well, they certainly exist in time for one and one of the oldest riddles about evolution involves an egg and a chicken.

All that aside, I have just this bit of confusion: if someone at a table is enjoying his/her tandoori chicken and another person (out of spite or just with a weird sense of humour, like mine) travels back in time and makes an omelette of the egg whence came the aforementioned chicken, would the piece of mouth-watering tandoori vanish from the plate or would both the omelette and the tandoori chicken make both the individuals happy in different timelines? Someone build me a time machine, please!

PS. While am at it, I might also go ahead and destroy Skynet and thereby Genisys. You can thank me later humankind and James Cameron.

 

 

Are we not to blame?

whistles and howls, predatory prowls;
what beasts roam the night (for it is a metaphor
that extends quite aptly to any time of the day,
in the light of the incidents)? What evil
bares its claws groping, tugging, raping?
Mocking the law, the state and its people, or is it
a barely-hidden wink of appreciation at
our complicity? A complicity sealed in silence;
bonded over nods at the patriarch’s parable
on the importance of modest attire;
justified by assigning gender roles;
brandished as our right to be the allocator,
the defender (to incite whom were devised,
if you’d just give it a thought, curses relating
his female kin, and others that somehow
threatens emasculation, even if verbally); shared
in sexist circles of guffawing colleagues, friends,
random strangers; bargained over rape videos
at the bloody groceries!

Are we not to blame? Are we not that beast, that evil?

Late by 12 hours

[Presently on a train to Sealdah from New Delhi]

Like countless compartments

of a train

Time drags on,

as if bogged down

by the cumulative two-minute

desires of the souls it carries.

 

Time, however, on this train

I am travelling in

is governed by completely different

principles. One of those principles,

had been licking

the glass-sealed windows unabashedly,

since I opened my eyes this morning;

its menace in swathes of white

gobbling the black dots of hope.