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