Dhoom macha le....

Dhoom again and run away with me

on a rollercoaster ride

dhoom again and see your wildest dreams

slowly come alive

dhoom again and gotta break the rules

and party all the time

dhoom again we gotta steal the show

you know that ain’t no crime

so steal all that you can

the magic you begun

let’s shout, break out

comes on once again lets hear it

dhoom machaale………

dhoom againand feel the beat of the rythm

rythm of the night

dhoom again and hear the voices calling

creatures of the night

dhoom again and see the shadows dancing

in the pale moonlight

dhoom againa and feel your heartbeat pumping

now the time is right

so go walk out the door

get down….get on the floor

let’s shout break out

come on once again let’s hear it

dhoom machale

And when love comes your way

you’ll know its here to stay

you’ll steal the chance ‘cose you’re

the thief of hearts yeah

you’ll win with a galance

walk away with your romance

there’s no more ther’s no backingout now

dhoom again and make the wholeworld crazy

set your spirit free

dhoom again and take a break right now

come celebrate with me

dhoom again ‘cos all wanna do

is steal the showsomehow

dhoom again ‘cos all i wanna say

is hey the time is now

let nothing get you down

go out and paint the town

let;s shout break out

come on once again lets hear it

doom machale….

Pardon me Lord! For I have sinned...

Your Deadly Sins

Greed: 80%

Pride: 80%

Envy: 60%

Gluttony: 60%

Sloth: 60%

Lust: 40%

Wrath: 20%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 57%

You'll die in a castle, surrounded by servants.

How Sinful Are You?

Don ko pakarna mushkil hi nahi... namumkin hai (smirk) 

Hobbes and the Tomato!!!

A stunning video of Hobbes devouring a red tomato! this video was made by Mimi, my elder sis.
Enjoy!

Thank God!

Your Depression Level: 52%

You seem to have mild depression. A lot of people fall into your range, and it's quite possible you don't need treatment. If you've been feeling this way for a while, you may want to seek help.

Are You Depressed?

 

And my Irish name is...

Your Irish Name Is...

Brendan Hennessy

What's your Irish Name?

 

How evil am I?

You Are 28% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well. In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

 

How normal am I?

You Are 50% Normal

While some of your behavior is quite normal... Other things you do are downright strange You've got a little of your freak going on But you mostly keep your weirdness to yourself

How Normal Are You?

 

Kannada in English medium schools!!

Well well well... so there's another hype doing the rounds in the Indian media and maybe... some social circles. The Karnataka Government has decided to make Kannada as a mandatory language to be taught in all English medium schools in Karnataka.



So what is the fuss all about??



It is argued by a lot of people that removal of English as a basic language in schools would hit the service industry (read call cantres) in the long run. Well, this must be true... but then, the media, maybe to boost newspaper sales, has decided to project the situation as if Kannada is being made the only mandatory language to be taught in schools. This is not what is actually happening... coz the Karnataka Government intends to make Kannada to be taught mandatorily in all schools only till Class 4. This however, does not mean that the studens won't get to study English. They will, but they'll also have to read their native language for a change too. Moreover, once they clear their 4th standards, they'll not be forced to study Kannada anymore.


The Government took this step because it realised that Kannada was slowly being completely removed from the syllabus of most English medium schools, which isn't quite good for the future of the language. Just because the service industry is booming, it doesn't mean the local languages will have to be shown the door. I guess the Government's decision is sane enough. It won't bar students from being taught English, but al the same time, it would also help them read and write in their own natuve language, albeit to a limited extent.

 

Back again...

I guess I took a real long break from all things I indulge in as pastimes, or hobbies you could call them. Stopped reading fiction altogether some two weeks back, the occassional comic strips too, and deleted the customised playlists in my C drive. The deletion drive swam through my entire D drive too, taking with it all previously saved movies, making way for some new ones like the Da vinci code, the aviator, kingdom of heaven, the patriot , saving private ryan n half a dozen others. I simply had to watch da vinci again, for the movie had been such a thrilling experience when I saw it in a theatre, and I realised that truly good movies do not need the big screen to demonstrate the greatness in them. I fail to understand why people are more concerned about Hanks' receding hairline than his more than obvious colossal acting talent. Loved Audrey, the big- screen Sophie, and was slightly saddened to hear that she had sported a highly- trimmed hair cut in her Oscar appearance later on.

Back to me.

The only book that I read in the past week was one about the history of 15th cenury Europe, written in 1914. Though I learnt a lot about the Roman city states, the Ottoman turks, the Scandinavians and the dying Holy Roman Empire of the Germanias, I was still complaining. The book intended to glorify the corrupt Roman papacy, one that was known more for its empiric tendencies than its religious fervour, and downplayed Chengiz Khan and his mongol followers, who were ultimately vanquished by Ivan the Terrible. Such partial interpretation of historical facts, including the coverage of the infamous 'Black Death' cauised by plague in the 14th century, probably forced me to throw the book away with great force. The author says the plague, that killed off a third of European populace in the 14th century originated in Asia and visited Europe through frequent sea routes. The reality, in fact, is quite the opposite. The Europeans always used to live in hovels and buildings with thatched roof which were a favourite hiding and breeding spot for the rodents. Plague originated in Central Europe and soon spreat to the United Kingdom and the rest of Western Europe. While an effort was made to quarantine the infected population, many were sent off to foreign lands to stop the spread of the disease in Europe. Because of lack of medical diagnosis available at that time, the apothecasies failed completely to curb the spead of the disease, and great fires were arranged in principle cities to ward off the evil spirits that caused the plague. A lot of Europeans who had been chased away from their own lands landed in Central Asia, China and India, and brought the plague with them, which led to occurrance of epidemics in certain regions. In fact, the black death has not been referred at all in Indian history books, probably because we were better prepared to face the disease or maybe our medical treatment was far superior than what existed in Europe at that time.

Apart from that book, which I did not finish, because of obvious reasons, I read some Indian military archives for a change. I read about the new supersonic missile BrahMos, one that is supposed to be three times faster than the American Tomahawk, and which can fly at a height of ten metres for three hundred kilometres. Then came the megaton nukes, the ballistic missiles, the anti- aircraft and anti- missile patriots, the new devastating T-90s, the Tungushka and Smerch missile systems, the Sukhois, Admiral Gorshkov and Akula nuclear submarines. Things are obviously looking up for our armed forces, I guess, and with a defense budget six times than that of Pakistan, they have to be.

Met Tanmay Rajpurohit, the president of Paritraan, the much- hyped political party floated by passed out IITians earlier this year. Made friends with other members too, and I thought they were comparitively much nicer guys than the RSS recruits I met last year. I hope they have a great future ahead of them.

Listened to a french song caled 'Belle' that was composed in 1995 jointly by Garou, Daniel Lavoie and Patrick Fiori. Amazing song, I must say, and it already is a part of my 'foreign language' favourites, apart from Cantique de Jean Racine and El Otro Del Rio, and a lesser favourite- ne me quitte pas. I think its time I started mastering my French, for listening to songs that I can't understand is quite an embarassing affair.

My blogging habit has suffered lately, probably because of the lack of themes that I could afford to comment upon, and basically because I've lost all desire to write all of a sudden. My personal diaries too have been lying unused for over a couple of weeks, and I guess I won't be too regular with them in the near future.

Saw Lage Raho Munnabhai with some friends yesterday. The film has been reviewed too many times already, and I would spare myself the effort. But if I were to say a couple of words about the movie, they would probably be 'astounding', or 'awesome' or their thesaurus equivalents. At least it was a value for my money. Probably I would'nt ask for more.

Thats it...

I've quit writing poetry, though not for good, but for the time being, yes.

I guess life demands a lot more than occassional musings.


Here I go, my friend
But I'll be back, I swear I will
The world beckons my services
And I must leave you in my stead.

But fear not, my friend
For I shall soon get back to thee
And then we shall muse upon
The cattle, the men and the broken tree.


Nay, I can't say goodbye, O friend
For I shall never mean my words
But do not wait for me, I pray of you
For my heart still belongs to you.

[Curtains]

Bismillah's dead!!!

That was a sad news.... but raises a quite a relevant question in my 
mind now...

Now that another celebrity has died, so who's going to play shehnai 
on Doordarshan? 

Blogthings Sucks!!

it does.

Aasmaan toot para....

It has been a really sad day for me, more so for my sister. A really good friend or ours died last night in a car accident in Delhi. Dhupar was a graduate from IIT Delhi n was doing a great job at Halcrow until last night. Still remember all those funny meetings with him in Delhi. In fact, my sister chatted with him yesterday, so its really unbearable for her.
Can't talk much now. I'm in a real shock at the moment.
May God rest his soul in peace.

Release me...

Release me…. From the pale sun.
From the dying moon that heads for the clouds
From time, that would kill us soon.
The death that poses an obvious stare, from him.

Release me…. From the green pastures
That would soon grow barren, and wait for spring again.
From gravity, that holds me down to the earth.
Would I never get to fly again?
From the high rocks up the cliffs
That would give way to angry winds.
From the colossal ice caps, the white islands,
That would melt down to mankind’s greed.

Release me…. from the personality within
The bias, passion, the emotion, the lust.
The romantic tangle, the circle of love,
The commitment, the web of my heart.
The surge of laughter, the pain of despair
The feelings that do not last forever.
From the ties, the lasting bonds,
The excuses of love that keep me down.

Release me…. from the beauty, the charm
The looks that do not last either.
The garb that sheaths the heart, the soul.
Release me… oh yes, release me for good.

Living for the company...

To my best friends.... Sriram, Amit, Vivek, Chandrika, Tarun, Neha, Mahesh (sadly out of town at the moment), Sumit, Rahul bhai, Sharad, Arunava, Yogi, Shaveta, Apoorva, Doel, Ayush.... thanks for making me feel so great and needed in this world. Thanks for the laughter, the fun and the frolic, the occassional treks, the arguments, the few bad moments, and the profound company I always had.

Having a dozed really close friends, apart from having a hundred lighter ones, who care to meet up with me at least once every day is so enigmatic.... makes me feel so good every time I have visitors in my room.... filling it up with their smiles and the love in their hearts... the world feels so goos for a change.

The dinner that Tarun hosted for us last night, the visit to Sriram's room, n meeting Rahul bhai too in the process, and not to forget, the few childish pranks in Arunava's room, where we literally wrestled for possession of a toy gun (lol) and the really funny auto journey with TJ, Dubey, Pathak and Anuradha amid heavy rains last night are experiences I could hardly afford to forget.

Thanks!!! Again.

The Old Man’s Diary (Contd…)

Contrary to my expectations, the day was very exhaustive and stressful. I did reach the pension office on time, but there were already a lot of people queuing up for their salaries. Sunil was getting late for his office, so he gave me some money so I could visit Vaidhji and my old friend from Bareli on my way home after collecting my pension. The process was very long and painful, as the crowd kept growing at the office as time went by, and I had to stand in a long line, being squeezed from all sides until I finally made it to the counter.

After collecting my pension, I went straight to visit my old friend Ghanshyam at Bandra. He had written to me from Bareli earlier this month, and had given me the new address where he will spend the rest of his life. The bus journey was a little comforting, as I was promptly given a seat, being old and frail, and because the traffic was light, I made it to his house by 12. Ghanshyam has grown quite old, so I gathered, and Bhabhiji also used a walking stick. They are really nice people, and forced me to take lunch at their place. Ghanshyam lost his brother recently, and since his brother and his son-in-law used to do all the farming, their lands had to be sold and so they shifted to Bombay. His son works in an insurance company now, and has two children. The daughter-in- law is teaching in a nearby school. So we concluded that our stories were nearly the same, collecting monthly pensions and living alone with our dreams all day in the ghostly house. I saw Bhabhiji talking to Ghanshyam all the time, comforting him and giving him medicines, and I just wished if Sunil’s mother had been with me now in my hour of need. My son has no time for me, and his wife stays out of town half of the time attending to her parents in Pune.

Vaidhji was furious today when I told him about my exertions. He did admonish me for having traveled so much today, but also sympathized with me for my lack of support. He has given me a few pills to be taken after every meal for the next three days, and has advised me a complete rest for a week. He said the pain of traveling will soon cripple my body, and I will have to guard against further exertions until I feel fully fit again. Having worked in the police for over thirty years, I have a natural appetite for traveling and exertions, and the same mindset still prevails today. The ten- kilometer walk every evening has still kept me somewhat fit, but I believe my body has started yielding a bit. For a eighty- four year old, this sure is food for thought.

As had been advised by Vaidhji, I cooked some rice for myself and had it with plain daal and some achar. It felt good to have steamy rice after a long week, as somebody had advised me not to have much rice, as it caused digestion problems sometimes. The afternoon siesta was very relaxing, more so as I had to rest after the early morning rush. I do sound like a hypochondriac, but it would be better if I take care of myself rather than leaving it to Sunil, who kept me admitted to the local Civil hospital for five days after I suffered from a chronic indigestion last summer. The hospital was crowded and dirty, and the food was appalling, which aggravated my ailment. Finally, it was at my brother’s home in Vasai that I could recuperate and had a month’s rest before I traveled back home. I won’t blame it on Sunil, though. The poor boy has to work for twelve hours a day and then picks up his son from school, and does all the shopping everyday. Even when he is forced to take leaves for social obligations, he has to work overtime during the rest of the week to cover up the time lost. Same is the case with Ghanshyam’s son. These days the working people do not have time for anything. I remember how traumatic it was for Sunil in March when he had to go to office everyday amid high fever.

It was around 4, when my grandson returned from school. Sunil dropped him home before leaving for office again.

‘Hi Dadu.’
‘Kaisa hai beta?’
‘Theek hu’ he said, resigned to the fact that he had to answer the same question everyday. He took his late lunch, got dressed in half pant and a tee shirt, and rushed out to play football in the nearby school ground.

Kavita, my daughter-in-law returned home at 6, after participating in the Colony’s ladies club meet. She looked terribly tired, and since I had nothing to do, I boiled a cup of tea for her. Apart from teaching in a school, she takes tuitions and also acts as a member to some clubs. A maid comes in every evening who cooks the dinner and the next morning’s breakfast before stuffing them in the fridge. When I was newly married, I remember I got posted the very next year to Bilaspur, which was far away. But I had to leave alone with my belongings, as my wife had to stay back to cook and to take care of my parents. Those three years in Bilaspur were quite lonely and painful, but at least my parents were being taken care of was a consolation. I expect a lot from my son and the rest of the family in those lines. Sunil says the fact that he is able to buy a place for himself in Bombay and to afford to run his family and father is a big achievement in itself. He must be right. The new flat where we are staying currently in cost him some fifteen lakhs two years back. He says the price has gone up to 22 lakhs these days. All these high prices scare me a lot, as we knew how to manage an entire month with salaries no more than two hundred rupees in the 1950s. My walking stick cost me Rs. 250 in the market, and nearly too away a quarter of my pension allowance for the month. I never intended to buy it, but my grandson said I looked good with it. He also suggested that I should buy the new designer sunglasses that would look ‘really cool’ on my face. I am not much used to wearing glasses, but in this month of June, it’s getting warmer every day. Maybe I might buy it next month or so.

My grandson says I can type diary accounts in the computer. He says he can ‘save’ whatever is written there, and that it will never get lost or damaged. He says I need not spend on pens and new diaries every month, as the computer can easily store thousands of pages in itself without the risks of the pages being torn or lost in the process. He says it is very easy and he could teach me the same in a very short time. I wonder if what he says is correct, because the computer hardly covers his study table, and I don’t see any paper being put in it, like in a typewriter. So where does the whole thing get typed out is still a puzzle for me. I think I am really comfortable with my ball pen and diary, but will soon clear my curiosity about the computer. The other day, my grandson was playing a game in his computer in which I saw there was a big gun which was shooting at approaching people. When I protested, Kavita and Pranay, my grandson, roared with laughter. I wonder what kind of a monster the computer is. I think I should better stay away unless these people force me to shoot people just like that some day.

I think its time for dinner now. The smell of the chapattis here is so different from our chakki atta in village. The rotis are very thin, and ghee is really expensive, so I have lost interest in eating these days. Anyways, I don’t have much of a choice right now.

Jai Shankar baba ki.

Life's Like That!!!

I haven't had a more eventful Sunday in a long time. This of course doesn't mean that I worked hard, and eventful could be described herein as a series of processes that did not involve burning of calories.

The events did take some time to surface, though. I woke up late, say around 10. This because of a weird article I tried to pen late into Saturday night, trying to describe some old guy's thoughts. Literally, that article has been my only achievement in the last two days of toil. Not quite an achievement though, but yes, it was the only thing I could finish in time.

So getting back to Sunday, the first thing that I realized, to my horror, was that I had slept over half a dozen calls from Ma, who generally calls up early every Sunday morning to make sure her son was napping again. ( I sure have some explaining to do.) Breakfast didn't follow, as brushing happened at 11. Bathing didn't follow too, but two of my oldest friends did. Bissa and Sumit visited me around noon to discuss some odd poetry I had posted in my blog. I love it when I see fans barging into my room. And guess what? Thay offered doing my assignments for me while I went at my poems. I was genuinely flattered, but no pact was entered into, owing to my stand of not entering into a contract when still under the grasp of sleep. Once I was done with the duo, in came Rahul. The 'bas zindagi guzar rahi hai' guy, the storehouse of shers and quotes of 'bewafai'.

What followed was a splendid lunch at SDL with Sriram. He sponsored it , for a change. Though it was vegetarian menu again, I loved the food. Paneer Hyderabadi and Aloo koftas were a real treat on a day when I was expecting myself to hog over worthless hot dogs from Jaideep's tuck shop.

Then came in Apoorv, with whom I went out in the evening for a Sunday chitochat coupled with beer and some snacks . We were done by 7, after which we decided to look for some hot stuff to follow up the beer. In came Kalinga, the ordinary NLUites delight, where we feasted on amazing vegetarian thalis again. The subsequent meetings with more friends at Kalinga, and the long long auto trip back to hostel ended at around 9.

I was just wondering how to celebrate my post- beer 'high'ness, when two young freshers staying in my same floor appeared with a moot problem. Law of torts. One was my new neighbour and the other a tall lanky guy named Digvijay. Apparently the respondent, whom they were representing was driving a Santro car within the speed limits when an fast incoming car forced him to swerve to his left, thereby smashing into a shop, which later caved in. The shop-owner and his rescuer, who also was trapped in the debris, sued. After two hours of lawyergiri, we concluded the only logical argument would be that the shopowner was guilty of contributory negligence as he didn't fortify his shop well enough to avoid damage in an 'accident- prone' area. The fact sheet did state it was accident prone, so I believed the guy could survive the verbal assault from the Judge long enough to last the required ten minutes.

Just after I finished with the young guys, I found an amazing movie in LAN. 'Ek ruka hua faisla' where a jury of 12 guys are to decide upon a case where a son allegedly killed his father. The movie was awesome, and very well directed, the only irony being that jury system does not exist in India. heh. Probably bollywood's passion for copying scripts does not take these minor hiccups into consideration.

What else? Well, I believe that 'was' an eventful day for me, without having to burn many calories. Have two classes to attend today, after which will celebrate another 'hopefully eventful' independence day tomorrow. The weekend has been fun, even though Saturday saw a mass exodus from our campus owing to the three days of holidays coming up.

Well, Life's Like That!!!

A page out of a wretched old fellow’s diary…

It has been a while since I last ate. Of late my tummy has been feeling a little low, which I suspect is not because of the rapid senile decay, which had deliberately been branded as the sole cause of every ailment of mine over the past decade. I have experienced more troublesome stomach upsets in my younger years, which invariably rose out of infrequent meals, given I had to man deserted check posts with no hygienic dhabas around. Those were the days when trekking across thirty mile mud roads weren’t considered big achievements. I knew some fellow constables who had to travel on foot when posted to some chowki in the neighboring provinces. Anyway, the past is past. I have been accused of blabbering about the ‘useless’ old times quite a few times by acquaintances many years younger to me, and the constant shunning has led me to be more constrained with my thoughts, even when talking to myself.

Today isn’t much of an eventful day, though I believe there must be something new happening to the town. I woke up at 5 in the morning as usual, only to find my grandson sitting besides my khaat, waiting expectantly for me to rise. I went through my initial prayers and the measly provision of dahlias and some bread pieces before I could get back to him and inquire if he really had anything to ask from me, speaking of which, he didn’t for the past few years if I could remember clearly.

‘Dadu, how did you meet Dadiji for the first time?’

It wasn’t a question that hadn’t been asked before, and I had perfectly mastered the art of replying to the same, having done that ever since I took my retirement from the constabulary. I have noticed certain amazement about the romantic inclinations of us older men, and how we went about the seducing process during ‘those times’, as if we were being referred to in the same breath as the ancient civilizations who went down to natural calamities without having enough opportunities of leaving a list of their daily activities behind. So I went ahead.

‘Beta, I never knew your Dadi until I was twenty four years old. I was already a constable, and partition had just taken place….’

‘Offo Dadu…. I don’t want all those details. Tell me how you met her.’

‘I met her only after our marriage had been fixed. My father had visited their town, and saw the girl. Incidentally, there was just one family in entire Khatipur that matched our caste, and your Dadiji’s father was fortunately an erstwhile talukdar. So the marriage had been fixed in just a couple of weeks after I gave the nod.’

‘How unromantic. Did you meet her in private?’

My reply, to my grandson’s disappointment, was obviously in the negative. I realized that every subsequent answer I gave frustrated him even more. I knew I solved no purpose of mine or his by answering in such details, but it did feel reassuring that my grandson had come to me and was, so I believe, genuinely interested in my life. I remember once when I was a child, I had to take dictation from my grandfather about a lesson in Hindi on Shivaji, solely because none of my parents were at home, and I had to fill the slate before it grew dark. Dadaji was a perfectionist, and I had lost count on how many times my right ear was pulled sore because of unintended spelling errors. I had been subjected to even more accusations later in the day because I had annoyed Dadaji, a profound crime in those days. Holy me, even I am falling into the trap of these young men of calling my youthful days as ‘those’. I wish the passage of time hadn’t been taken so seriously. I still fail to understand how I was primitive when I did not know what mobile phones or computers were. In fact, I am still clueless as to how the new TV- like machines helps one to survive. I am still confident our printing press at Dholpur helped us more than these very expensive sets. This reminds me of a Sunday in the previous month when my grandson took great delight in playing some old songs for me from his computer. So far, in my view, that has been the only constructive purpose the new computer has solved.

So getting back to my grandfather, he was the only Munim in our village during his younger days. His work frequently took him to the Courts, because of which he possessed unrivalled knowledge about the Sahibs. He knew them very well, and had been gifted several furniture items that we treasured for several generations until my son had to sell them off because of incessant transfers in his job and accommodations in Bambai. After his retirement, Dadaji never stayed idle, and acted as negotiator in possibly all major disputes in the village, that raised his stature a lot and made him a member of the local Panchayat. He was very serious, and I dreaded the prospect of being taught by him. And today my grandson comes running to me requesting to be informed of my ‘supposedly’ pre marital flings with his Dadi! We grandfathers have surely undergone a change in our profiles over the generations, probably to the extent of currently being ‘cool’, as my grandson says.

Well, I completely forgot about my tummy. The grandson episode early in the morning was too absorbing to think about mere stomachaches. The breakfast consisting of Dahlias and bread was all I had during the day. I did walk a few streets across to the Vaidhji whom I have known for quite a few years, and he told me the ache was contributed to by longer than usual walks that I took yesterday, coupled with some anti- allergen being fed to me by my daughter- in- law just because I had coughed a couple of times late into the previous night. I think I should be more careful of the medicines I take from now on, considering my advancing years.

It is about 5PM now I believe, and Sunil, my son, should be home in around half an hour. I will have to talk to him about talking me to the office tomorrow morning to collect my pension, and then to meet an old colleague whose son has recently shifted in to the city. I wish my legs could carry me to the local station, but the Vaidhji was quite stern with his advice this morning. I think I should go and rest now, considering the strenuous traveling I will have to do tomorrow.

Jai Shankar Baba ki.

it's been a while....

Am on a high
my toes two feet off the ground
the world floating before my view
staring down at trudging mortals
I revel in newfound excitement.

Down below I see, empty concrete street
I do not step, but yet it moves
It takes me where I want to go
Nay, I never touched it
Yet its being a perfect slave.

I am the master
the struggling soul, looking out
For things I own, and possess
I do not hear the words,
Of the pure, the neat.
I know none.

The wanderer that I am
The lanes brush past my arms
The mute faces, the dumb stares
The rude words of scorn,
Are but dead and past.

Am on a high
I see the glitter, the warmth,
The passion, delirious charm,
Speak out I did, insane ramblings
Of voices, shrimps, the sadists and you
Though numb my limbs are
The feeling never goes.

Goofed it up I guess...

Hi blog. Me back again. My sis Mims came back to Leeds last night, n she n her friends had awesum party n movie sessions. Spoke to parents too, on phone that is. The world's happy now, so I m happy too. heh

By the way, Mimi told me that the last poem I posted was pure crap, n smelt of it. I guess I turned too thoughtful to realise where the poem was going. Anyways, she says I should shift to sum modern stuff, n try some humour too. She suggested Haiku, a Japanese form of poetry. It consists of witty, n sometimes funny 3- liners. Guess I should think about trying that too.

My scrap chart is taking a really interesting turn. Its full of nonsensical trash, n comments that might force a grin or two. I made it up with black, blue n red marker pens, n drew sum pics too, like a batman logo n also two calvin pics. They look really funny, especially the evil grin, n the transmogrifier too.

What else? ya. Weekends on. Planning to catch sum new movie in the theatre. (I got bored watching all of them in my 17 incher). Gotta repair my cycle too, coz the fourth class guys were stealing evil glances at it quite recently. So am scared now. My lovely cycle needs a lock. n desperately so.

I think i'll pay a visit to my local guardians tomorrow. Nice guys,they really are. I hate to see them begging me to visit them. I get soooo lazy during the weekends, that I even skip lunches for avoiding the pain in walking down to the mess, n coming back again. Cant help it.

That's all I can ramble about right now I guess. Will b back soon. Stay tuned.

Suggestions invited for a title......

The battle raged on, the guns rained fury,
The tired troops fought amidst smoke and rubble.
Many bombs blew up nearby, ripping the roof,
As the nearby fields engulfed in fire.
Some huge tanks crossed over the bunt cottage,
As the Wehrmacht advanced, leaving a ghastly wreckage.
The sun went down, but the village still burnt,
As Ivan sat still amidst the terrible flames.
He lost his mother, the cattle and the farm,
The rest had fled, poor and orphaned.
It was dark, and Ivan was alone.
The cottage was gone, and he shivered in the cold.
Suddenly there was a sound, like trampling of leaves,
Ivan woke with a start, and saw a dim lamp.
A little girl was behind it, pale and starving,
She wore thick fur, and stared back at him.
The girl stepped towards him, her limbs shaking,
She produced a bun, and some frozen steak,
And placed them near his numb feet.
‘Who are you, tiny angel?’ he asked.
‘Why do you bring me food, o kindly soul?’
The girl looked at him, but didn’t say a word.
Her dark eyes were moist, the lips frozen black.
‘The villagers have fled, the cattle perished,
Why are you here, in this deserted field?
Why, o tell me why? How long will you
Witness the tears flowing down my cheeks?’
Ivan questioned the mute teenager.
Her kindness had made him cry.
‘The pleasant wind’s deserted me, the dancing horses too,
I’ve spent the day crying out my sorrows.
Now I am left with a night of pain,
Do tell me why, o tell me why, o beautiful stranger,
Why do ye still care for my hunger?’
The girl looked tired and limped forward,
Until she found herself a small fire, and sat besides it.
‘I’m alone, all alone, and fine being that way,
Nobody around to trouble my days ahead,
Nor any reason to be worried about any longer.
Even you, o kindly girl, can take the silent path,
And go to your loved ones, your happy companions.
Leave me and my solitude behind, o maiden
I yearn to be alone, being free from wretched memories.
My family is gone, and soon I shall leave,
To the place of which I once dreamed.’
The girl now moved, and glanced out of the window.
‘There lies my mother, trampled by the machines.
My father left too, taken by the blondes.
I wonder if he were alive now.
My Sasha barked too, until he was squashed,
And here I am, the unlucky remnant.
I wish I was with them, enjoying my pranks,
And they would tease the little girl in me.’
She stared out of the window, silent and blank,
As her tears froze in the bleak Siberian winter.
Ivan glanced up to the sky, as they fervently wished,
For the sun to never rise on them again.

Me, Myself and my poetry

It's about 2:30 AM into the night now, and still sleep doesn't come to me. I did lie down twice on my bed, waiting impatiently for sleep to grasp me in its arms, but alas, this blissful lady has deserted me again.

Most of my friends have given themselves up to sleep, and here I am, waiting for the sun to rise and release me from the nauseating grip of solitude. I know I will not stay awake long enough to see the sun rise, but yes, I will not go to sleep soon either. Listened to a flurry of songs all evening, and spoke to some of my friends before they too left as the night grew older. So I read an old diary of mine that was lying around somewhere in the sea of files and old books in one corner of my room. Read through the first few lines, and realised that it was a compilation of notes that I had made exactly a year before. I realised my blog would not be of much relevance if those special notes of mine couldn't be a part of it. So here are the first few pages of the old dirty diary that meant so much to me at one stage of my life.

On poetry being a passion: (July - 2005)

It has been quite a while after a series of events that formed a significant part of my life, a natural consequence that gave me many a new things to learn, to remember and to forget in the remaining elements of my existence. When I look back at the not quite recent past, what I see is just not a mere happening of events, that I consider disgraceful, but I see a vision of sordid experiences that ache my heart and lead me to the realization of many fresher aspects of life that may not be produced perfectly on paper.

Here I have come to terms with newer qualities that I believe I lacked in the past. Being alone, I have tried hard and finally achieved to an extent to develop the hidden sense of imagination, self learning and positive thinking. In the evenings when I shut myself in the inner confines of my room, I analyze myself and my activities and try to meditate in order to realize the purposes for which I exist in this world. Institutionalized education is but a primary aspect of life, in which one person teaches another what he had much earlier learnt from the books. Every person is a distinct unit in himself, and one being taught by another is a natural process of nature. In fact that is how one learns to live. But finally there comes a stage when the matured person realizes that he is fit enough to teach himself and to construct himself as a perfect being. At that stage he rejects the prospect of being taught by other men, who themselves have never been perfect in their lives. If the law of nature could ever be applied, you would have learnt not what others would have made you see, but what you had seen for yourself. The law that I now learn contradicts to a large extent to the law that I see. The course for a Law degree that has been made by the Bar Council of the land of the largest democracy in the world does nowhere set the course for defining parameters of good behaviour. Here we learn what wrongs are, what crimes are, and what the punishments are. But after two years of learning I realized that there have been neither codes nor laws developed for setting modes of good behaviour.

Life has, however, been pretty kind to me in the recent past. The new semester has been pretty enjoyable and to some extent, a break from the daily chores of university life. We students have now been together for five semesters and the bond between us has been created not just by attending the classes on a daily basis but also by working together for long hours, sometimes late into the night. But this in no sense relates to the notion that we are hard- workers, because the famous concept of “last- minute rush” applies to us as well, and we seem to enjoy challenges as they come. This gives us, at least as far as I am concerned, a lot of time to concentrate on other things in life that are more pleasurable, or in other words, more satisfying than other common chores. In my case, the most common time- passing activity has been writing poems, surprisingly, for until the recent past, I have never known seriousness or being devoted to something. Perhaps, life teaches one a lot of things which he never realizes that he has actually learnt. And I must take the liberty to state that I have been an outright success at it, the way people responded to my poems and the encouragement I received. Sometimes, I felt it was not a bad idea converting a passion into a career, but found it was a futile exercise considering the lack of time and poetic experience, and most importantly, contacts that I needed the most. Nevertheless, a passion was a passion was a passion, and I went at it, and in less than a month, was boasting of authoring twenty poems and a few short stories. Small successes are sweet, charming, and give a great boost to one’s confidence, and I felt I was improving at studies too. But that’s another story. I named my collection as “The Pleasant Emotions” which I gathered was pretty imposing.

Pleasant Emotions is like a well decorated bouquet, with a collection of poetry that was a result of periodic whims and mood swings that occurred to me at intervals. Poetry seems to come out of my pen at selected intervals that were heavily dependent on my moods and fantasies. The much needed sense of imagination is however lacking in most of the independent works as they were serial common life incidents. Though being a bit humorous and fun loving person, I find my poems do not have a shred of humour in them. The uncharacteristic and sometimes grim reality arises out of occasional dreams and romantic disposition that I face in my daily living. I wish to address emotional and ruthless events in life that are mostly seen through by most people.

Being alone and away from my family gives me the liberty to develop my own imaginations and feelings that otherwise could not have been possible. The immense joy that I sometimes find in pleasant solitude, I must admit, adds to my poetic sense. In the evenings, when under the golden sunshine I walk atop the tiny hills, I realize and relish the beauty of nature and that of the strange human personality. I find it enjoyable to dig deep into the multifaceted features of life that lie buried under the exhaustive daily schedules and personal bonds. I write about the beautiful irony that God created in men, of laughing faces and crying minds going together, of dancing bodies and broken souls tied together, and of me and my friends sharing everything together where the emotional and mental thought processes between us is so varied, so different.

I, in the process of writing my poems, sometimes place myself in the same category of all men, that is, to judge the world placing myself as the judge as if I am the only person in this world who is right. Such deviance towards self- appraisal is a disadvantage as far as a poet is concerned. I therefore try to write my poems like being a third person and judge my own deeds. I try to figure out the reasons of breakdown of friendly relationships with previous best- friends. I try to find reasons for the most unpardonable sins that I ever committed. I try to write my poems placing myself in the same mindset as my neighbour and try to write the same way he could have written the same subject.

Poetry is not a compulsion to relieve oneself from the clutches of the daily schedules that threaten to carry man away from the basic purpose for which he came to this world. It is a habit, a born desire to express, and to explain the inevitable darkness that exists in human life. This is how I visualize myself as a poet; this is how I believe I will fulfill the purpose for which God sent me here. Institutionalized education alone does not bring me satisfaction. It is only the theoretical aspects of life that one man teaches another. It is a continuously developing area where new principles learnt by one generation of mankind are passed on to another and so on. Poetry is the visualizations of nature and mankind that one sees for himself. It cannot be taught by anybody, but acts as an unending valley of fruits which can be explored upon by one and all. It is the harmonious construction of the vast nature into words, a nature that never erred in its set course, a nature that has something new for us to see and relish each day we begin our new step towards its holistic realization. It does not bind us to follow it, nor does it force its presence upon us. It acts as a giant cradle where people like us live our own materialistic lives. Poetry, in my opinion, is a mode of owing our allegiance to mother nature, of the respect that we owe to her, and of praising her beauties that survived under the cruel hands of the materialistic and power- grasping human society.

Experience insanity, did You?

I did.

Anyways, before we deviate from our main objective, lets look at the headlines.

Mimi, my elder kin, is leaving for London tomorrow. She was happy about it yesterday, but is suddenly pissed off with certain developments she is unaware of. She says she is aware of all the pissing off factors but isn't sure which one is troubling her the most. Hmmm... I guwess thats a good topic to ponder over, and the journey will give her enough time to do that. What say?

The thought of Mimi's departure has left me a little sad, if not howling. Used to chat with her every evening, and that has almost become a ritual these days. We keep chatting for hours together, bitching about people and their oddities. She'll be staying in London for about a week, n that's certainly going to be a lonely week for me.

By the way, I wrote a testimonial for Mimi last night. Couldn't post it right then as my internet connection was totally fucked up, but did it this morning. Didn't write any ordinary testimonial (I hate those) , but instead wrote a funny little poem which I thought was enough to introduce her to maximum effect. Mimi loved it. Kept asking me questions about it for quite a while, n said it was the best gift she ever received. It made me more proud as a poet if not as a brother. Here goes the testi:


"Oh my my! there goes the doll,
Did you see the gal who just sped by?
Yes I did. That's my sister.
That's great man. She's cool.
Yeah, I know. She's been like that since long.
Cool. There she hops, n there she laughs,
She's the only one I can hear from this far.
You ain't seen anything yet, dude.
Wow, she's happening man.
What's that little thing with her?
Oh its her dog, cute as ever.
She's so nice, really worth a drool.
Bought me a beer, n danced her heart out.
Ah, there she goes again,
Flies into yet another tantrum of hers.
Her chubby cheeks have grown deep red,
n oh God! how sarcastic could she be.
Amazing man, there she bursts out laughing again.
Hey, what's she buzzing about with those guys?
Oh, thats another of zillions of her secrets.
Probably bitching about some droolsome guy again. heh heh
Ya guys, that's the kinda sister i got.
Do check your pulse before you get around.
n I havent said anything yet."

Got my room painted this evening, n it looks brand new again. Pasted some new posters, including the giant Liverpool fan poster that Mimi sent for me, and boy, my room looks amazingly masculine. Caught a bad cold, n have been sneezing all evening. Though the sneezing has ceased for a while, my nose has been flowing without interruption. Not a big problem though, my mom has supplied me with enough hand towels to stop a river. heh

What else? Yeah, classes again from tomorrow. Gotta wake up early at 8. Sounds so boring man. I have really got tired of this endless chain of classes that irritates me to no end. I study more sitting in my comp table. I wish our wrinkled VC could understand the favourable impact Pink Floyd has on my studies. Write write a prose to him soon. lol

Oh yes. I forgot the main topic. Had terrible fever yesterday, n on Friday evening had a temperature of 103. The meds were useless, they don't work on me anyways, n so I thought about taking recourse to some alcohol, if that could help. Had a bottle of Kingfisher, n felt a little better. Did suffer from a brief headache, but had a good sleep that night n woke up fresh on Saturday morning. Though I wasn't sure whether the alcohol was entirely useful, coz I remember a friend of mine telling me on chat that I was delusional n needed some rest, I still believe that it's time the vintage Disprin had an effective successor. The resolution is hence made. Will stick to it from now on. heh

This is gonna be fun!

Am back again. n with a bang? yes of course. Got some amazing pictures to show off. Look at the pic above. Amazing. Isn't it? German panzers (tanks) advancing moments before the Battle of Kursk happened. The largest tank battle in the world that was. No wonder.

Achtung Panzer!!

Just look at this guy. Armed to the teeth. Isn't he? Love the long bullets flowing down from his shoulder. By the way, this is a take from the Battle of the Bulge (Fall, 1944)

German SS men taking positions before the Battle of Kursk (Summer, 1943). I love this pic. Check out the mortar, n the Dagger.

That's a German infantryman with the feared MG-42, the tormentor of the Russians. I wish I was this guy, with that monster of a gun to shoot with, picking up meek earthlings from the dense forest cover. (circa 1941) heh. Am craving for some blood.

Tired, again!

Yeah, I am, though I didn't do anything excessive this time. Didn't play much last evening, and then saw two movies after that, lying sprawled in my bed. One was on my favourite topic- "Stalingrad". This was a German one, dubbed in english. For a change, I didn't have to see cowardly Germans screaming for mercy and muttering "Fuck, Hitler" when pointed at with brens. No wonder why "Saving Private Ryan" pissed me off so much. Those tall blue- eyed blonde men were seriously the coolest men fighting the war. Loved the movie.

The next one was a horror flick named "Blair Witch Project." Gawd, it scared the hell out of me. Twas about three college buddies conducting a research on some "blair witch". The research takes them to the woods, never to return again. The picturing is perfect, never seen a movie so realistic. To get a taste of the real fun, check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blair_witch

What else? oh yes, recently posted a new poem in my blog (see below) that took me terribly long to complete. Received a couple of nice comments, but still think i've lost the flow. Gawd, two days to write a 30 line poem is really embarrassing. Will have to work on the pace.

Posting pictures in blogspot is really a big headache, so I gathered. the 'link' thing seriously goes over my head. Hopefully will learn a thing or two about posting pics out here soon.

Read an article last night by a mumbaikar who experienced the blasts at first hand. Nice article he wrote, made me feel so Indian when i read it. We people r really cool. http://interesting-snippets.blogspot.com/

Chao for now. Will come up with a prose soon.

The Knight and The Temptress

The clang of shields. the flash of swords,
The roar of boots, the march of hordes.
The smell of the dead, the castle that burnt,
The cry of the wounded, the widows that mourned.
The war ravaged on as the knights pushed ahead,
The palace was seized as the praetotians bled.

The Knight fought on, victory wasn't far,
The resistance grew thin, he reached the royal bar.
He dropped his guard, and marvelled at the sight,
A praetorian appeared and asked him for a fight.
They charged and swerved, ducked and lunged,
Their fingers bled as their swords clashed.

They fought on and on, as the day came to a close,
The arms tired, the muscles worn, as the moon rose.
It was almost dark when the praetorian fell,
He was a brilliant fighter, the Knight could tell.
The battle was over, the castle was taken,
The Knight collapsed to the ground, numb and broken.

Then came a new morning, as the dead were buried,
There were smiling faces again, as a new kingdom flourished.
The Knight lay there, still dreaming of the war,
Of the swords and the spears, that caused many a scar.
His groans and words the other knights could hear,
As he lay there struggling while they did cheer.

It wasn’t long before the Knight woke from his dream,
He saw a lovely dame, carefully tending to him.
Her eyes shone, her skin was a milky white,
Her locks were golden, o what a lovely sight.
The Knight stared at her, the lustrous charming dove,
He could not speak a word, he was already in love.

‘Who are you?’ he breathed at last,
The dame sat still, mending his fingers fast.
He held her hand, and caught her eyes,
And saw her face, bright as sunrise.
‘Who are you, o charming girl?
Why do ye tend to me, o kindly pearl?’

The temptress shook her head, as she stood
And hid her feelings as much as she could.
‘I m a maiden’, her eyes filled with dew,
‘Daughter of the praetorian, the one you slew.
I am the orphaned princess of Spain,
Hail, o Knight, Miranda is my name.’

The Knight bowed down as the princess turned,
He wept in grief as his heart churned.
The temptress was gone, the one he loved,
The battle was won, but yet was lost.
The Knight cried out in grasp of pain,
And the loss of a love that went in vain.

Terribly tired...

Well, right now I cannot do much but boast out my achievements. Wrote a poem in class today, and yes, in just a single class. Classmates loved it, and rightly so. heh.

My artistic skills came to light in class today. I was praised sky- high by fellow students who thought I drew excellent portraits. I still can't believe the professor asked me to draw is face.
Will try posting some of the portraits I drew and subsequently got them scanned by obliging friends.

Played cricket for a couple of hours in the evening... wasn't much lucky with the ball; couldn't take any wicket, even though there were some near misses. Fared better with the bat for a change, pulled the fastest bowler in the college for a boundary in the very second ball I faced. Yeah. Will put that in the list of my top achievements this year.

Thinking of writing another poem this evening. Have literally nothing to do other than to while away and engage in fruitless gossip. Wrote a story yesterday, n posted it right away. Didn't finish it yet, but I guess the process will take another week or two. Depends upon my schedule in the coming days. Hope it doesn't get too scary.

Well, nothing else to write home about... ya, gotta get a new sim card for my cell tomorrow. I can't believe I survived without my cell for a couple of weeks now. heh. Prolly there r a lot of things about myself that I haven't learnt yet. True, life is a teacher.

I m waiting, Master. Enlighten me.

Did I know?

"What are you doing here?" shreiked Mohan as I entered the narow passage of a new but weary departmental store. The entrance was deserted in that late hour in the evening, and my sudden arrival had not been appreciated too kindly by this old friend of mine.

"Nothing much. Just checking out. Never been here before."

"I know you haven't. But I guess you shouldn't be here at this hour."

I paused and stared at him. He saw the exasperation in my eyes, and sulked back on his chair. "You won't find many shops open now. Not many people either. Roam around as you wish. Just scream if you need me."

'Why would I need to scream?' I thought. Hell, its a departmental store buzzing with activity since morn. 'Hey, wait. This was different.' Me and Mohan were the only people in sight, and I couldn't hear anybody else either. Was the store really closed? Or was it that nobody decided to visit it this very day? Or was I overreacting?

Mohan had now resumed his slow but loud slumber, lying sprawled in his chair, using every inch of it for his comfort. I resumed walking, and as I crossed him, I noticed the hallway wasn't as bright as it used to be. The bright tube lights weren't there, and a few low voltage bulbs did the job or them. They were placed at quite a distance from one another, and I could see intervals of total darkness along the way. Mohan was right, all the shops were closed. I walked on lazily. Shopping wasn't my main concern.

"Yes, may I help you?"

I turned and found a really old man staring blankly at me through his thick glasses. His was a badly- assembled stationery shop, one that I least intended to visit, or to make a purchase from.
"Do you keep fountain pens?" I asked anyway.

"Certainly. Come along."

I stood outside the meter- long shop. It was all cramped up, and made me feel sick already.
"Would you prefer a Duofold or an Omas?" asked the old man, still staring blankly at me.
"Show me all of them." I retorted quickly, while geting irritated at the constant stare and the obvious slowness of it all.

The old man started fumbling around in the lower shelves. He was unnervingly slow in the process, and I decided to wander around in the meantime. The old man emerged again as I took my first step away from the shop.

"Here you are Sir. Make your choice."

As I went through the rather old inventory, I secretly admired the old man's collection. He was standing at the other end of the desk, still staring at me.

"How do I address you?" I asked in a lighter mood.

The old man shrugged and then turned his stare towards the untidy shelves in the other corner of the bookstore. It was obvious he didn't want to answer my question. I waited for a while, and then resumed my examination of the fountain pens.

"Dutta." He finally murmured, and turned my attention back to him. He was still facing away from me, shaking his head along a row of worn out books in one of the shelves. I thought the old man was a bit senile, and decided to move away.

"That will be all, Mr. Dutta. I don't think I'll buy any of these."

Dutta suddenly turned towards me, giving me a curious glance. He briskly moved forward, and held my hand in a tight grip.

"Come along, will you? I have some more of these in the adjoining room. I am sure you will like those, Joy." He was suddenly friendly, and in a haste. He started pulling my arm with his.

"Hey, what are you doing, Mr. Dutta?" I shrieked, pulling my arm back from his strong grip. I gave him a cold glance, and left the shop. Once I was out of the clautrophobic dungeon, I paced ahead for a few seconds, resuming my lazy stroll after a while. Meeting weird people in the streets was nothing new to me. This old guy was another of that kind, I assured myself.

Joy?

My legs froze all of a sudden. I was sure the old man had said that. I was still young, and didn't hear voices out of the blue. How could Dutta have known my name? I took a step ahead into the dark, and then stopped myself halfway. I was as curious as hell.

I slowly started walking back towards the shop. It was dark, gloomy and a cold silence prevailed. My curiosity increased with every step I took, and my eyes went dry in anticipation of the events they were about to witness.

I kept walking until I realised I had covered about a hundred yards. Hey, the shop wasn't that far back, I reminded myself. Maybe I had missed the shop. It was so small anyway.

"Mr. Dutta." I called out to the old man, wishing he heard me and appeared out of the stream of shops. The old man didn't answer, making me look like a complete fool in the depressing surroundings. I called out his name several times again as I jogged back and forth in the narrow but vacant passage. But with no reply. I grew impatient as i jogged on, and my frustration led to anger, at the old man had not heeded my loud calls for so long. Some ten minutes passed before I finally stopped besides a vacant counter.

'Where is the bloody shop? And why doesn't that senile Dutta respond to me? He didn't look deaf to me. And how the hell did he know my name, and why the fuck did he disappear?'
My mind asked itself questions that it couldn't answer. My forehead was sweating profusely, and I felt so peculiar. It was so unnatural. Reality dawned on me, and I found myself standing alone in a giant mall, trying to search somebody I wanted to run away from a while back. And then I heard it.

As I was contemplating my next move, my mind being confused and tensed up, sweat streaming down my face, I felt a noise from a corner of the passage. It was like some old metal garage door being reluctantly swung around. Without a second thought, I acted on instinct and made a mad dash across the passage to where the sound had come from.

As I finally reached one corner of the passage, from where led the way to the main entrance, I glared with disbelief at what I saw, and stood froze, panting.

The metal doors of the main entrance slowly closed down on the departmental store. I screamed once as the two doors finally met, cutting off the last stream of rays that glistened across the polished passage.

And there was I, cut off from the rest of the world, and my incoming Fate.

I slumped down on the floor. My mind was wrestling with itself, fighting off a fear that it had never known before. The entire passage lay before me, empty, and the dim bulbs adding to the discomfort of the eery silence. I had closed my eyes, and was too fearful of opening them lest I saw any more dreadful sights. The image of the old man appeared before my eyes, and panic ran through my veins. 'Is this all real? Or is it all a terrible nightmare?' I thought. I could clearly remember the things I did earlier in the day. The meeting with Mr. Basu, the laughters at the Railway Reservation Counter, the brief call to Prachi, the busy journey back home and then a walk in the evening to a nearby Departmental store. And yes, the unexpected meeting with Mohan at the entrance of the mall. Mohan? Hey, he talked about screaming my lungs out in case I needed him. Did he know that I would get trapped like this all of a sudden? Why didn't he stop me? Why was he sitting on the chair at the entrance? Was he trying to warn me? Did he know the old man?

I kept asking questions to myself. The entire episode was a horrendous jumbled- up story. I was right at the heart of it. And I knew I was trapped. I had to come out of it. But how?


To be continued.

Am On A High. Or Am I?

Ever heard of prose? Well, didn't know what that meant until a couple of years back. But yes, did read a lot of Shakespeare in High School. Chatted with my sister, n she thought that i'd rather cook up some prose for a change. Didn't know if I should, coz never tried that thing before. It was like trying cavear for the first time. "Hey, that might twist your tongue a little here or there, but it'll taste great once you gulp half the stuff down your throat." yuks...

ummm... but the idea wasn't that bad i guessed. I thought it was actually worth trying. So I went ahead. And boy, what a way to go. Cooked up a 4 page prose that was nothing but a sad story, supposedly ending on a bright note. The mysterious but rather mute "Death" made his appearance, and played the good guy. Strange??? Well, I wrote it. A friend of mine liked it, though.

The prose wasn't the end of the story. I thought maybe a couple of catchy lines could add some spice to my depleted poetry. So thought out and tried some inventive lines like...

"Somebody must have said it all right,
When love and happiness come your way,
You see only grief and pain,
And when they are snatched from you,
You see the beauty when it is away."

This was part of a poem that was irritatingly long and unrhymed at that. But it was kind of a prose (again) and was a sad story that (and again) ended with a bright note. Then there were some poems which I did try rhyming to some extent. They weren't extremely good, but I was still proud of the way I finished them. here's a few lines from one of them....

"The tiny hill lights are all gone,
The big city has some candles on
The world is as dead as gone
Nobody knows what he steps on...."

Well, the experimentation still goes on. Keep fumbling with words al the time with the hope that I might stumble upon a good line some fine day. Hope my wish comes true some day.

Cheers to humankind!!

oh wow!!!! a blogsite at last. Well, it doesnt mean i've grown tired of filling up endless rows of diaries, i still do fill 'em up even if they sound complete trash to those who get to read them. lol

Right now am languishing in my university campus. I must say am not exactly delighted at the idea of staying here right now. the vacations went so well this time, with all those new friends, those old relatives, so many new places that i visited. Just didn't want the dream to end so abruptly, and so soon. duhhh...!!

Fortunately or unfortunately, as time will tell, the old ghost has turned up again. Came back to college two days back, n the first thing I did was to open up my old poems n read all of them. Made (almost forced) a few friends to read them too. Since then, am thinking abt poetry again, n wrote one in fact last evening. heh

We had an informal gen knowledge quiz in our international law class today. Our group won (obviously), n I contributed some 5 points to it. Made me quite happy, coz i seriously believed I had recently lost all touch on reality. Seriously. Added to that, had some weird nightmares over the past week. Dunno if they were nightmares, coz they didnt scare me enough, but at the same time didnt give me enough time to get scared. heh. In fact, one invisible guy/gal(??) who I could'nt see in the dark actually hurled me through the air inside the house for a couple of hours before I woke up, Probably coz he accidently, or maybe intentionally, bumped me against a wall. I took the experience more as a joyride than some evil carrying me to hell. lol

Well, can't think of much to write now, at least nothing that makes some sense. I guess the introduction isnt that bad. I could muster enough petience to go through it once. Otrhers might too. Who knows. heh