I first read Eliot’s The Waste Land when I was twenty one, if my rusted memory serves me right. I was introduced to Eliot by one of my college professors, though he never really taught me. He was an English professor in an engineering college – a bigger misfit than me in that place, if that was possible. He also introduced me to Ginsberg and Dostoevsky.

What struck me about Eliot was the extreme sanity in his words which were describing an insane, distorted reality. I later learnt, thanks to my professor again, that this was called detachment. It was as much a way of life as it was a way to write great poetry. It was the very secret to stay sane. And that became a lifelong struggle – to take me out of me and look at me, to take me out of where I am and look at it. I am still a novice I must confess.

So when I started writing on the web way back in 2005, I chose The Waste Land as the title – a tribute to my favourite poet, a token of gratitude to my professor and a constant reminder to myself. But this was not to be only about poetry or, for want of a better description, about a certain philosophy of life. This was to be about anything that I felt strongly about, anything that amused me, anything that made me angry, depressed, frustrated or hopeful, joyful, ecstatic. This was to be my observations on the cruelty, the debauchery, the stony rubbish and the rays of light, the kindness, the roots and branches in The Waste Land, life as we know it.

Hence, all that I write is a very strongly opinionated, biased, if you will, view of the world as I see it. If you disagree, you have the right and the freedom to leave. If you do agree, at least to a large extent, you are welcome to The Waste Land.

In my defence, I do not belong to any religion, any school of thought, any fashionable way of being and am quite devoid of the baggage of morals, principles and all such nonsense. Or at least I believe I am. But I do have great faith in the power of the individual and in the power of humanity, though that faith gets eroded day after depressing day.