sparkymat

As the bus gathered speed and sped into the long, dark highway, I sat quiet, lost in disturbing thoughts. I was leaving home from college for the last time. Four years of fun filled days spent in the company of loving friends has come to an end and travelling back alone almost felt symbolic. My uneasiness kept me from falling asleep despite a tiring day of tear-filled farewells. Lines from a popular farewell song kept coming up in my thoughts and I kept pushing them back. Time sped by as I sat lost to the world around me. Memories of places and faces flashed by in front of my eyes and I felt my eyes moisten up.

The bus came to a halt and my mind snapped back to the present. The driver was yelling at us to be back in half an hour. I get out of the bus and look around. It’s the same “drive-in” restaurant they always stop at. With a deep sigh, I walk in, occupy an empty table and place my order. While waiting for the food, I scan the room for familiar faces. A quiet face sitting alone at a table at the other end of the room catches my attention. I rack my brains trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. Was it someone I’ve met in college? Or some distant relative whose name has slipped my mind? Suddenly, with a start, I recognize him. The memories start flooding in - painful memories. Alagappa. A name that I have not been able to forget for so many years.

It was eleven years ago. I had just come back from summer vacation and all geared up for the academic year. That year I had shifted from the school bus to a private tempo service. One day, this strange looking guy comes up to me and starts talking to me like he knows me. Bewildered, I ask him who he is and when he reaches out to touch my arm, I panic and push him away. With a hurt look on his face, he walks away. For several days after that, I was disturbed by the memories of this incident. Who was this guy and why did he behave like that? After a while, I figure out how he knows me and the realization startles me. I had met him a month before the summer vacation. He was in the school bus with me and with a couple of days, we had become good friends. He was a year senior to me and he loved me like his brother. I too liked him and we used to go home together. Then came the two month long summer vacation and over these two months, I had forgotten a dear friend. The very thought of it made me sick and suddenly the reason for the hurt in his face became apparent. I had forgotten him but he hadn’t forgotten me. His face kept haunting me ever since, but I, somehow, lacked the courage to go out and make up with him. A few weeks later, during the morning assembly, the principal announced that Alagappa would be reciting a poem that day. Hearing the unusual name, many of the students giggle, till the principal’s stern voice quitens them. Trembling and clearly nervous, Alagappa comes to the mike and in a shaking voice recites the poem. After the poem was done, Alagappa quickly steps away from the mike. No one shows any signs of appreciation and soon Alagappa and his poem are forgotten. Soon I stop seeing him around the campus. On enquiring I find out that he had transferred to another school. And no one knew why. Was he unable to adjust to the school and the people here? Or did his parents have to move somewhere and he had to leave too? I guess I will never know.

The guilt of treating a friend the way I did, of jilting someone who had loved me, haunts me to this day. And now, Providence has given me another chance. Another chance to quiet the ghosts that haunt me. Here he was, sitting in the same room as I was. He had noticed me looking at him but obviously hadn’t recognized me. With trembling hands, I stand up and slowly approach him. I knew I wanted to apologize to him for how I treated him but I had no idea how to start. Even before I could figure out where to start, I ran out of time as I had reached his table. He looks at me with a puzzled expression on his face. I ask, ‘Alagappa?’. For a moment he is silent. Then he says, ‘No. Maybe you have mistaken me for someone you know?’. I shake my head and walk back to my seat quickly. Was I wrong? The face was exactly how I remembered. Was it a look-alike? Or was that really the Alagappa I knew? If so, why did he deny it? Had he recognized me and pretended to be someone else? Or had he changed his name for ‘Alagappa’ had evoked much ridicule, and had decided to let go of the past? My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the food. I slowly chew on my food, hardly enjoying it. I look up to see his face again, and it’s gone. He was gone. I look around but see no sign of him. I get and run outside but there was no one there. I ask the man at the counter and he remembers someone matching the description leaving a short while ago. I walk back in, only to be reminded by the impatient blowing of the bus horn, that my thirty minutes were up. Quickly washing my hands, I board the bus. As the bus pulls away from the restaurant, I look once more at place where I had seen him, hoping that somehow, magically, he would return. But the seat remained empty.

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“There are no rights and wrongs. Only power…”

Sarkar touches heights of brilliance that few Indian cinema have managed to attain. With a stunning cast, brilliant music and excellent camera work, RGV has managed to elevate his directorial skills to deliver one of the most captivating movies I have ever seen. Both Bachans scintillate but its Bachan Jr who stood out, giving an almost perfect performance. I especially loved his last line, the “that’s what i want too..” one. Also commendable is the performance of Ravi Kale as the Sarkar’s lieutenant, Chander. The scene in which he and his goons beat up the college guy in the beginning of the movie, totally took my breath away. The flow of the movie was also good, not once boring the audience and yet without falling into any cliches. The realism with which the entire movie is potrayed is highly praiseworthy and takes the viewer on an emotional roller coaster ride, as we see the fall and the subsequent rise of Sarkar (oops! spoiler!).

This movie is a major achievement for RGV and the Indian movie industry as a whole and proves that we do have good movies among the Veer Zaras and Kya Kool Hai Hums.

[This is a text version of Amazing Spiderman v2 #36. This is in memorial of the 9/11 incident, an incident that destroyed the lives of countless many and forever scarred many more. Let us take a moment to honour those brave people who stood up in this moment of adversity, stood up for themselves and for others, stood up to show that you can crush monuments but you can't crush the human spirit. This story is narrated from Spiderman's point of view, who arrives on the scene after the incident has occurred.]

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you the following Special Bulletin.

I follow the sound of sirens and reach the towers. Or where the towers used to be. I was not prepared for the sight that confronted me. Words fail me, for some things are beyond words, beyond comprehension, beyond forgiveness.

“Where were you?! How could you let this happen?“

“I…“

How do you say we didn’t know? We couldn’t know. We couldn’t imagine. Only madmen could contain the thought, execute the act, fly the planes. The sane world will always be vulnerable to madmen, because we cannot go where they go to conceive of such things. We could not see it coming. We could not be here before it happened. We could not stop it.

But we are here now.

You cannot see us for the dust, but we are here. You cannot hear us for the cries, but we are here. Even those we thought our enemies are here. Because some things surpass rivalries and borders. Because the story of humanity is written not in towers but in tears. In the common coin of blood and bone. In the voice that speaks within even the worst of us, and says This is not right. Because even the worst of us, however scarred, are still human. Still feel. Still mourn the random death of innocents. We are here.

But with our costumes and our powers, we are writ small by the true heroes. Those who face fire without fear or armor. Those who step into the darkness without assurances of ever walking out again, because they know there are others waiting in the dark. Awaiting salvation. Awaiting word. Awaiting justice. Ordinary men. Ordinary women. Made extraordinary by acts of compassion. And courage. And terrible sacrifice.

“We’ve voted and we’re going to try to take the plane. It’s the only way to to stop them hitting Washington. I love you.“

“I love you..“

Ordinary men. Ordinary women. Refusing to surrender. Ordinary men. Ordinary women. Refusing to accept the self-serving proclamations of holy warriors of every stripe, who announce that somehow we had this coming.

“..probably what we deserve.. All of them who have tried to secularize America.. the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians and the aclu..“
“I point the finger in their face and I say, “You helped this happen“.“

“.. it is God’s will that America should fall through their iniquity and their sin..“

We reject them both in the knowledge that our tragedy is greater than the sum of our transgressions.

Bodies in freefall on the evening news. Madness in mosques, shouting down fourteen centuries of earnest prayers, forgetting the lessons of crusades past, that the most harmed are the least deserving.

I see a kid sitting by a car, among the rubble.

“Hi.. Listen, you shouldn’t be here. This isn’t a good place for you to..“

“My… my dad went in there to get something. He said just a minute..“

“You shouldn’t..“

“.. and if I wait and stay and I don’t leave he’ll be okay, because I’ll do what he told me, and …“

As if on cue, two firefighters come out of the building carrying a grown up’s body on the stretcher.

“.. and .. “

“DADDYYYYY!“

There are no words. There are no words.

The death of innocents and the death of innocence. Rage compounded upon rage. Rage enough to blot out the sun. And the air is filled with questions.

“Is it going to happen again? What do I tell my children? Why did this happen?“

They ask the question. Why? Why? My God, why?

I have seen other worlds. Other spaces. I have walked with gods and wept with angels. But to my shame, I have no answers.

Steve stands ahead, his face grim and fists clenched. He’s the only one who could know. Because he’s been here before. I wish I had not lived to see this once. I can’t imagine what it is to see this twice. I just can’t imagine.

What do we tell the children?
Do we tell them evil is a foreign face?
No. The evil is the thought behind the face, and it can look just like yours.
Do we tell them evil is tangible , with defined borders and names and geometries and destinies?
No. They will have nightmares enough.

Perhaps we tell them that we are sorry. Sorry that we were not able to deliver unto them the world we wished them to have. That our eagerness to shout is not the equal of our willingness to listen. That the burdens of distant people are the responsibility of all men and women of conscience, or their burdens will one day become our tragedy.

Or perhaps, we simply tell them that we love them, and that we will protect them. That we would give our lives for theirs and do it gladly, so great is the burden of our love. In a universe of Gameboys and VCRs, it is, perhaps, an insubstantial gift. But it is the only one that will wash away the tears and knit the wounds and make the world a sane place to live in.

We could not see it coming. No one could. We could not stop it. No one could. But we are here. Now. With you. Today. Tomorrow. And the day after. We live in each blow you strike for infinite justice, but always in the hope of infinite wisdom. Because we live as well in the quiet turning of your considered conscience. The voice that says All wars have innocents. The voice that says You are a kind and a merciful people. The voice that says Do not do as they do, or the war is lost before it is even begun. Do not let that knowledge be washed away in blood.

When you move, we will move with you. Where you go, we will go with you. Where you are, we are in you. Because the future belongs to ordinary men and ordinary women, and that future must be built free of such acts as these, must be fought for and renewed like fresh water. Because a message must be sent to those who mistake compassion for weakness. A message sent across six thousand years of recorded blood and struggle. And the message is this:

Whatever our history, whatever the root of our surnames, we remain a good and decent people, and we do not bow down and we do not give up. The fire of the human spirit cannot be quenched by bomb blasts or body counts. Cannot be intimidated forever into silence or drowned in tears. We have endured worse before; we will bear this burden and all that come hereafter, because that’s what ordinary men and women do. No matter what. This has not weakened us. It has only made us stronger.

In recent years, we as a people have been tribalized and factionalized by a thousand casual unkindness. But in this we are one. Flags sprout in uncommon places, the ground made fertile by tears and shared resolve. We have become one in our grief. We are now one in our determination. One as we recover. One as we rebuild.

You wanted to send a message, and in so doing you awakened us from our self-involvement.

Message recieved.

Look for your reply in the thunder.

In such days as these are heroes born. Not heroes such as ourselves. The true heroes of the twenty-first century. You, the human being singular. You, who are nobler than you know and stronger than you think. You, the heroes of this moment chosen out of history. We stand blinded by the light of your unbroken will. Before that light, no darkness can prevail. They knocked down two tall towers. In their memory, draft a covenant with your conscience that we will create a world in which such things need not occur. A world which will not require apologies to children, but also a world whose roads are not paved with the husks of their inalienable rights. They knocked down two tall towers. Graft now their echo onto your spine. Become girders and glass, stone and steel, so that when the world sees you, it sees them.

And stand tall.

Stand tall.

Stand tall.

[Many thanks to the Marvel group for bringing out this fine and touching book.]

‘I’m telling ya.. Giambi’s gonna be the man.’

‘What’re you, nuts?’

The silence is broken by another argument from the poker table. I lazily mix another batch of cocktails while listening to them argue. Most days go by peacefully with the guys arguing about something silly, over a harmless game of poker. A few of the big guys too drop by once in a while, usually staying in a corner, keeping to themselves. Many just come by to have a moment of peace in their violent lives. A moment to live like a normal human being, to socialize like a normal human being, to argue like a normal human being, without any bloodshed. Today the argument seemed to be about baseball.

‘Yeah, kid. I mean, Giambi’s good, but better than the Iron Horse? Fugedaboutit!’

‘Baseball ain’t your thing, kid. Stick to what you know.. .. nothing!’

Apparently the new kid was getting heat from others, for a radically different opinion on who’s the best in the game. I smile to myself, understanding very well how the kid feels, for, once I too was a hot-blooded youngster who thought he knew the world better than the older senile generation. I take the cocktails over to the poker table. One of the patrons requests for yet another cup of coffee. I nod and head back to the counter. Meanwhile, at the poker table, the argument continues.

‘Laugh all you want, but remember you guys heard it here first .. When all’s said and done, Jason Giambi’s gonna be the greatest first baseman the Yanks ever had.’

Suddenly an old timer from across the room joins in the argument,

‘You’re just saying that ’cause he’s italian. Nobody who actually seen Gehrig play would say that. Listen to your uncle on this one.’

‘Oh I forgot.. everything was better “back then”, right? Ballplayers were better, groceries were cheaper, the sky was bluer. Five cents got you three hot dogs and a hooker, right?’

‘I repeat: Nobody who actually saw the man play.. and not on this fancy-schmancy SportsCenter B.S., either.. but actually saw him in the flesh, standing twenty feet away from you.. would ever say that Gehrig wasn’t the best first baseman they ever saw.. period.. ‘

‘.. who the @*&$# is this guy?’

All our heads turn towards the direction of his pointed finger. A stranger is sitting at one of the tables. How come I never saw him enter? None of us saw him enter. He was sitting at the table near the cappuccino machine, sipping on a cup of coffee. It was amazing that none of us heard him come in. There was something sinister about him. My thoughts were interrupted by a shuffling all around the room. All the patrons scramble to their feet, pulling out their guns.

‘How’d he get in here? Anybody see him come in?’

They walk upto him, guns covering his every moment. He, however, seems to be least bothered and continues to sip on his coffee nonchalantly. One of the big guys goes up to him.

‘What.. you “no speaka da English”? Who are you and how the hell you get in here?’

The stranger continues sipping on his coffee.

‘Okay, I’ll explain it so even you can understand, ya friggin’ green-horn: This is a private club. That means somebody can’t come in here unless we invite ‘em.’

The stranger doesn’t even bother to look up. Enraged, Big Al swats away his coffee.

‘That also means we can.. ‘.

He never gets to complete his sentence as a foot long knife shoots out from the stanger’s knuckle, impaling his palm. The stranger gets up with a devilish grin.

‘I was drinkin’ that’.

A deadly silence falls in the room. For a long moment, no one moves.

What happened next can only be described as a massacre. While scrambling for my gun, brief glances tell me that the stranger was fighting like one possessed. He was taking on everyone at once, butchering them with what looked like knifes protruding from his knuckles. Some tried shooting him but he seemed inhumanly oblivious to the gunshot wounds. At the sight of this, I stand confused whether to run and hide or to shoot this monster who seemed like the devil incarnate. I cower behind the counter, trying to keep myself invisible. The inside of the hall looked like a blood bath with red everywhere and bodies littered all over. Some even went out the window.

Minutes later, the stranger alone was left standing, his hands and “claws” soaked in blood. With a grim face, he walks up to the old timer.

‘Nineteen thirty-nine. The house that Ruth built.’

‘D-dont come any closer! I’m an old man for $%^ sakes!’

‘”Today I am the luckiest man on the face a’ the earth.”‘

‘An old man, ya ^&%^$%!’

‘Cripes, what a speech. Not a dry eye in the house. Hell.. even I got a little choked up.’

The stranger picks up the old timer’s coffee and slowly sips it. He then looks up.

‘Lou Gehrig was the best first baseman who ever lived’.

His eyes twinkled.

‘Anybody who actually saw the man play would know that..’

N.B: This is not an original composition. This is a narration of the events in the comic Wolverine v2 #183.

I pretend to sip my drink and eye the crowd around me. The dim lighting hampered visibility but what I could see was definitely not the best of humanity. A crude and violent kind of people. Some sort of organized fight was happening in a corner and much gambling was going on. I take a quick inventory of the people gathered around the ring. Most were drunk and senselessly gambling away thier money. Apart from the gamblers, there were a few mean looking guys who were probably looking to making some money in the ring. Most of the patrons were trying to catch a glimpse of the action from their seats but not successfully so. A short chap was sitting at a table sipping his beer, with a hat covering most of his face. At a nearby table sat a particularly large man with long blonde hair. Something about his face would send a shiver down many spines. Maybe it’s the smile, the smile of a lion who has cornered its prey. And when he smiled, I was almost certain I saw fangs. Or was it those eyes, like a predator looking for some foolish prey to fall into it’s grasp. In all probability, this might be the one I am looking for. The guy who gutted Selina. Left her to bleed to death. Had it not been for the communicator I gave her, she would’ve never survived. My heart had stopped when I heard her cry over the phone. The mad rush to get to her. I close my eyes and try to push the memories away. Have to concentrate on the task at hand. Have to push back the rage. I grit my teeth and manage to subdue my anger.

Aloof from the crowd there stood a tall and majestic throne on which sat a tall lady. Dressed in less, it was pretty evident that she owned the place and probably half the town. On either side of her, stood tall, hired muscle. Whether the loyalty was towards her or to her money, it was evident that any who was foolish enough to cross her would be dealt with swiftly and very painfully. A sudden cry of pain brings my attention back to the ring. As I turn, I see a man large as a house smash his opponent into the floor. His bruised and bloodied body, obviously bereft of life, is soon dragged away. The large man shouts out many challenges. The size of the guy itself intimidates many and there are no takers for the offer. The guy with the blonde hair smiles and stands up. I realize that he just found his prey. Curious to know how this would turn out, I get up and push my way to the front of the audience. The man giant was still in the ring shouting out challenges and swearing at some unknown foe. The blonde guy walks up to the ring and jumps in with a grace that is suprising for someone so large. The two come up face to face. Tall as the blonde guy is, he is dwarfed by the living mountain in front of him.Bets are soon made with incredibly high odds against the blonde guy. I notice the tension in the ring and sense that both were waiting for the other to make the first move. Probably tired of waiting, the giant rushes only to connect with air as the blonde guy sidesteps him with ridiculous ease. Enraged, the giant starts swinging wildly at his opponent. Each blow looks powerful enough to bring down a building and yet none of them connect. All the while, the blonde guy keeps grinning and dodging his opponent with ease. And then suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he ceases dodging and takes a punch.The crows gasps, for the punch is powerful enough to throw the guy backwards. One would expect him to get up hopping mad and fight like hell but he just stands up with that evil grin on his face, as if he was just testing his opponent’s power. He takes a few more punches without hitting back as if silently taunting his opponent to try and hurt him. The giant starts bellowing and was very evidently losing control as the punches became more and more random and undirected. As if this was precisely what he was waiting for, the blonde guy lunges at the giant, moving almost faster than eye could see. My quick eye notices a flash of metal and moments later, the giant is on his back, bleeding. No one cries foul. Not a single sound is heard from the bar which was all too noisy just a moment ago. Even the toughened patrons stare in horror at the spectacle in front of them. The blonde guy’s hands, covered in blood, have metallic nails protruding from his fingers. He crouches there like some beast from a monster movie, with bloodshot eyes and a snarl on his lips.In mere moments, the beast within had been unleashed and had satisfied it’s bloodlust. I realize with dawning horror that here was confirmation that this was indeed the person I was looking for. For Selina’s belly was gutted much in the same way. As if some beast had attacked her. Though she was too delirious to remember details, she was sure it was a man. The man beast standing in front of me. I quietly take off my shirt and step into the ring.

There is a gasp from the audience. To them, it made no sense. Here was this beast in humaniform, having just felled a guy as large as a house, in one shot. And this normal looking guy was going in to fight him. All the patrons in the bar start to gather around the ring.
The blond guy looks at me with that evil grin of his and slowly licks his bloodied fingers. My rage doesn’t let me feel fear. I force my mind to relax and convince myself that I can do this. Both of us circle each other like two wolves gearing up for battle. I know that he will wait for me to make the first move. So I fake a lunge at him and catch him with a left hook. Caught off guard, he snarls and attacks back. I easily sidestep him for he was clearly enraged and thankfully wasn’t fighting like he could’ve. Another lunge, and my side-step attempt is interrupted by his claws tearing through the flesh in my arm. I grit my teeth and channel my mind away to ignore the pain. I keep my eyes on his hands only to be kneed in during the next encounter. More attacks are met either with powerful blocks, or even more painfully, with savage counter-attacks. Slowly, it dawns on me that the claws were not his only weapons. He obviously has had a lot of training in hand-to-hand combat, as my mastery of multiple forms of martial arts weren’t exactly helping me against this monster. I try to push back my emotions and fight this logically but Selina’s face fills my memories and this moster’s evil looks weren’t helping with the fear either. I parry some more, with neither of us landing any major hits. Suddenly, I realize that I am weakening, having lost a lot of blood from multiple wounds. He smiles as if he read my thoughts. His cockiness returns and once again, he’s the lion circling in for the kill. Rage blinds my senses, and I leap out in a savage kick that would’ve felled any other lion I’ve known. But it hardly fazed this one. I started feeling like I was losing my senses for I could no longer see any bruises on him. He seemed to be healing right before my eyes. Knowing that this could very well be my last stand, I attack him savagely with hardly any regard to stance or method. He just swaps me away like a fly. Darkness starts falling and I struggle to stay concious. A sharp pain in my abdomen tells me that he has just gutted me. As I crumble to the floor, I vaguely see his figure looming over me, preparing for the finishing blow. From somewhere in the distance, a voice calls out, ‘That will be enough, Creed’. I fight against the enclosing darkness and regain enough vision to see the short guy from the table, talk to the monster called Creed. Some incomprehensible words are exchanged and I see metal flash and soon Creed joins me in a pool of blood. This new short monster has foot long metal claws protruding from his knuckles. My sanity stretched to its limits, i pass out.

I wake up in a strange hospital with no familiar faces around. It takes me a while to come to realize that I am back in Gotham. I seemed to have been out for several days on end. I looked around, still dazed from the terrible ordeal. On seeing me awake, the nurse brings me an envelope.I tear it open. Inside is a hand-written note. “Creed has paid for what he did to your woman. Go in peace. A friend.”

Still dizzy from the teleportation, I step away from the portal just in time as it fades away from sight. I take a moment to check my belongings - travel rations, canteen, spare clothes, my lucky amulet…. Well, looks like everything made it through the portal. Now, that’s surprising. Usually you lose a thing or two. Guess I just got lucky. I smile and turn around.

The majestic gates of the Darkhaven Academy loom ahead. My heart drops down to my feet. ‘This is it’, I tell myself. I am entering the most prestigious institute of learning, in all of Seldeon. They say that Lord Fellon himself was involved in the establishment of the Academy. I watch in awe as the great gates open themselves on my approach. Slowly and silently, a new world is revealed to me.

With small shy steps, I approach the receptionist. ‘Errr.. Greetings. I am Xion and I was invited to join the Academy for mage apprenticeship’. She directs me to an inner room. I walk into the room to find a hall full of young people listening to a tall lady shrouded in flowing shadow and light. Her voice was gentle, and at the same time, commanding.

“Greetings younglings. I am Mistress Tsythia, the Headmistress of this Institute. Until you complete your basic training, you will be reporting to me. At all times, refrain from breaking the rules of the Academy and wandering beyond the limits of the Academy grounds. This is for your own safety. Each of you will be given a magical amulet which will teleport you back to Toric, the academy healer, whenever you are excessively hurt or your lives are in danger. Please understand that the amulet is made of extremely rare gems and you should take care not to lose them. On completion of your basic training, you will be required to return the amulet, for, by then, you would be capable of taking care of yourself. Each of you has been assigned space in the student quarters and after this session is over, you can proceed to the quarters to relax awhile. When the sun reaches its apex, you shall assemble in the dining hall. I shall see you all then. You can now proceed to your quarters.“

We herd into the student quarters. The quarters is a long hall with rows and rows of bunkbeds. I find mine to be in a corner. Mine is the top one, the lower being occupied by a human. On seeing me, his face immediately splits open in a wide smile. “Greetings. I am Finrod. Human. 17. You are?“. “Xion. I am a high-elf from the plains. I am 16“, I say with a smile. I put up my stuff on my bed and sit down with Finrod and we start talking. He tells me about his village, how he was living on a farm with his parents and sister, and how one day a cloaked stranger approached him and invited him to the academy. Apparently, he had the potential for learning the magical arts within him, just like me. For us elves, it comes naturally. For this quality to be present in a human, is rare indeed. Finrod has a perpetual smile on his face and his good nature is infectious. Soon others join us and in a short while, we start feeling like we’ve known each other for a while.

The dinner bell rings and we all assemble in the great dining hall. The moment I walk into the hall, my jaw drops open. I feel small and insignificant in the large hall. The other end of the hall is just barely visible in the dim lighting, as is the ceiling. There is a huge oval table in the center and many small tables in the periphery of the room. I understood immediately that the center table was for the elders and we younglings were to occupy the smaller tables. Finrod pokes me and points. I follow his eye and see Mistress Tsythia taking the head of the table. Many of the instructors are assembled around the central table. Prominent among them is Lord Domick, the chief instructor. Mistress Tsythia gets up to speak and a hush falls across the great hall.

“Today, we are gathered here, to welcome the new generation of initiates into the Academy. As you all know, it is a great honour to be invited to the Academy and I remind all gathered here, that with this honour comes great responsibility to always use our powers for the good of others. Let not my words dullen this joyous event. I wish the initiates a wonderful life ahead and everyone a happy and hearty meal.“

All through dinner, Finny and I were whispering to each other. We were both very excited as we would be training to be mages. We could hardly wait to start. The rest of the dinner went uneventfully as we stuffed ourselves with the delicious spread the Academy kitchen had put out.

The rest of the day was spent in familiarizing ourselves with the layout of the Academy facilities and the Academy grounds. Some parts of the Academy grounds were marked off by barbed wire. ‘Ye who is not ready shall not enter‘. In other words, initiates keep out. Finally all the walking tired us out and we went back to our quarters. A refreshing steam bath and we were ready for dinner. Dinner turned out to be a lot quieter than lunch. After dinner, Lord Domick informed us as to where the classes would start the next day. We drag ourselves back to our beds and in not time we are fast asleep.

I dream that I am fighting a huge terrifying dragon. My magic spells drive it back and finally I rescue the lovely princess and carry her off to live happily ever after. I smile. A new life has begun.

If Health is Wealth, then I guess I’ve been bankrupt for quite a while now. My sedentary, indolent life-style has ruined my health almost beyond repair. Or atleast I think it’s not yet beyond repair. So many resolutions have been made in this regard and all have gone down the /dev/null path. Eat less. Eat less meat. Walk more. Excercise daily. All these were decided upon readily but never adhered to. I guess this inertia of rest is an inherent character flaw of mine and would take a while weeding out. I mean I am not even able to finish coding a simple program!!! I stop that mid-way with ‘Why bother? It’s already done by someone else. I am wasting my time‘. I conveniently chose to ignore the fact that the purpose of writing it was to prove to myself that I can still code.

So with these thoughts in mind, I have decided to start making a change. I had given up on Linux earlier. I have decided to take it up again. I have decided that I should start learning again. I used to be known for my ability to learn stuff fast. I will re-kindle that. I have decided to devote more time to studying. With that, I hope to retard or even reverse my mental degradation.

About my body, I think it needs more immediate attention than my mind. For, the signs of decadence have been showing for quite a while now. The frequent back and neck aches, trouble climbing stairs, inability to walk beyond a mile - if I dont do something, “I’m going down“!

So with this blog entry, I mark yet another attempt to revitalize my mental and physical health. I hope, by bringing this to the attention of people, I would have someone prodding me to do this and do that. I am not sure this resolution would go too far without some external help.

*Sigh*

Dog Logan is the antagonist in the Wolverine mini-series, Wolverine : Origin. Dog is the son of Thomas Logan, gardner of the Howlett estate.

It can be deduced from Thomas Logan’s and Elizabeth Howlett’s words, and Wolverine’s appearance, that James Howlett aka Wolverine may be, in fact, Thomas Logan’s and Elizabeth Howlett’s son. However this is only conjecture and James has always acknowledged John Howlett as his father (and role model). However, Wolverine’s short temper and bestial nature further strengthens this supposition. If so, Dog Logan would be James’ step-brother and if he was aware of it, his hatred for him would be even more justifiable. Yet, James is noble unlike Thomas Logan. Maybe this can be attributed to Elizabeth Howlett’s genes and not Thomas
Logan’s.

It is not shown what happens to Dog Logan at the end of Wolverine : Origin. There is wide conjecture that Dog must’ve grown up into one of Wolverine’s foremost enemies. The two candidates suggested are Sabretooth and Cyber. Cyber was Wolverine’s commanding office during WW2. He treated him roughly and on one occassion beat the living hell out of him and put out one of Wolverine’s eyes. Cyber later went on to become a super-villain (his former name was Silas Burr). With adamantium laced to his skin, single claws and healing factor, he became one of Wolverine’s worst foes AND the only person Wolverine accepts as his superior. However, times have changed and Wolverine has returned the beating he had recieved along with the eye-removal.

Sabretooth (real name: Victor Creed) has hounded Wolverine from time immemorial. Some of the earlier incidents were during the Weapon-X program where the two were team-mates. Sabretooth can be percieved as the equal and opposite of Logan. Bestial, similar powers. Where Logan fights to keep his inner demons in check, Creed embraces it. Where Logan is noble, Creed is back-stabbing and selfish to the extreme.

In my opinion, Dog Logan grew up to be Sabretooth. There are just too many co-incidences. Firstly, the similarity in appearance. Dog Logan is about the height and build of Sabretooth. They both have blond hair and razor-sharp teeth. However, during Wolverine : Origin, Dog Logan doesnt seem to have a healing factor as he still carries the scars James gave
him. It is possible it got activated later. Also, Sabretooth has been hounding him since time immemorial. Cyber came into the picture only during WW2 and they came into contact only because Cyber was his commanding officer. If not, they never would’ve met or become enemies.

However, even after Sabretooth dies (in Wolverine : The End), Logan is unaware that Sabretooth is Dog Logan. Either unaware, or doesn’t mention it. Marvel is yet to spin out who Dog Logan became.. Till then all we can do it wait..