Sunday, 30 March 2008

To the Matresses!

[Like Vasudha explained on her blog, she and I declared a diss war on each other so as to mollify the grievances of your distressed and tormented souls provoked by your vainglorious selves.
The following is her guest post.]

'But they couldn't touch him, he told Clevinger, because he had a sound mind in a pure body and was as strong as an ox. They couldn't touch him because he was Tarzan, Mandrake, Flash Gordon. He was Bill Shakespeare. He was Cain, Ulysses, the Flying Dutchman; he was Lot in Sodom, Deirdre of the Sorrows, Sweeney in the nightingale among trees. He was miracle ingredient Z 247. He was-
"Crazy!" Clevinger interrupted, shaking."That's what you are! Crazy!"

Howdy, world. Meet the freakishly brilliant prodigy sorts who we all wish to burn alive, then smother in pesticides and throw into the Ganga in vaguely anti environmental, totally mental act of sadistic rage - Nikita Nangia.Yes, a fine example of the effortlessly talented, insanely intelligent species whose unsurpassed cranial capabilities allow her to manipulate lesser mortals [me] and whose non existent self conscience let her do so guiltlessly and unfortunately for me, frequently. She be the one who has probably registered as many centuries as Tendulkar, though of the examination marks sorts, and thanks to her superlative mathematical aptitude, she can keep better track of them too. Did I mention this nauseatingly grey celled female might be going to either Stanford or Harvard this summer for a program on either advanced Physics or number theory? Her stark insanity compels you to engage in sad attempts at reverse dissing by making her out to be so good that people are repulsed. Ah, the wretch that is life.

However, even goodness has its blemishes and me being me, they are ingrained permanently into my memory, or whatever little of it exists. Nik's brain has a tendency to work overtime, and there are times when it decides enough is enough, organized workers are entitled to government benefits and a strike is in order. In euphonic terms - Creak, sputter and fizz. An essay in the ninth standard on Pocket Money and the Youth today ended up with our English teacher getting 100 odd write ups she had no inclination of voluntarily reading through. This, of course, was until she chanced upon Her Absentmindedness' piece de resistance. It talked about girls today being happy using the moolah for cleavage showcasing clothes [cloth?] and boys being happy at the girls being happy doing so. Now all this would have been very well, had the aforementioned English teacher not been a student loving sorts. For her, who imagined us to be cherubic little bundles of innocence this came as a mighty shocker [cleavage? Tauba, tauba!] and she hastily cut out the offensive word from Nik's paper. When the teacher subsequently left school, it was a matter of great deliberation whether Nangia's sly frankness had anything to do with it.

It is not only teachers who suffer, though. After watching John Tucker Must Die, she also seriously contemplated throwing rolled up thongs [don't ask] into her brother's room at periodic intervals while the poor guy was studying for his Computer Science pre-Board exam. Again, you could be pardoned for thinking of this as mere sibling irritation stimuli. The fact is, the woman is unquestioningly supercilious. There is no other explanation for her shamelessly flirting with a guy for over a fortnight, last December, and not being able to recall even the guy's name now. Same guy who might be lonesomely fantasizing about pristine white church weddings [No, wait. Guy.] or saying,"I do" after a torrid light saber duel. Tsk, tsk.

For a self proclaimed gargantuan egoist, her goof ups tend to be in sharp conflict with that and the jaw droppingly profound image. With her crap ass spellings and a natural aversion to spell check, Nik has a tendency to be involved in supremely deprecating self mortification. Don't believe me? Just get into a heated discussion with her over IM. She'll do anything to be one up, which includes trying to type lightning fast and getting in her point first. But the thing is, she'd have done anything but made her point when you see this prop up on your screen :
"I can NOT be wrong, ok? I am NIKITA NANGI!"

"Oh, shut up," Dunabr told Clevinger. Dunbar liked Clevinger because Clevinger annoyed him and made the time go slow.

I feel the sudden need to defend me mutilated ego; my reply :-
1) I did not write that girls today are happy using the moolah for cleavage showcasing clothes [cloth?] and boys are happy that the girls are happy doing so. All I said was, just as boys (read: all humans with Y chromosomes) have an unremitting attraction to cleavage, most girls have the same draw to shoes. Was it an infelicitous remark? (If so, bugger off).
2) Not thongs, socks. *says this very indignantly* (Btw, Vas failed to mention, I'm a remarkable liar).
3) I do (I'm treading shark infested waters) remember the fellow's name, just not his last name. *shrugs*
4) I bmale the kobyread!!

All the links were provided my She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (aka:


Thursday, 27 March 2008


[There isn't suppose to be a space between the 1st and second lines, can't seem to get rid of it.]
{A suggestion: read it slowly, with ease}

A wall of treachery divides
Instilling fear of what lies beyond.
Trembling at thoughts of a shaken wall,
Failing to realize
The sublimity of the illusion.
Yet the few with the leisure
of a double-ended view,
Our ignorance, perpetuate.

Duped, we may have been
But a generation new emerges;
Procreating hope.
The janus-faced divide
Spiraling to decadence.


Thursday, 13 March 2008


Contemplation reigns havoc.
Unbridled humiliation or
Unfathomable disgust?
Confusion of thought
Abounded by thunderous tumult.
Decisiveness shatters as
Resolves are made
And decrees broken.
To swing one way,
I brave the gallows
The other, a guillotine.

P.S.: The story behind this is hilarious but also rather embarrassing, so I'm going to keep it to myself... use your imagination?!

P.P.S.: I wrote this in 15 minutes flat, so as you judge and doom, be merciful.


Tuesday, 4 March 2008


[Old habits die hard?]

As the fog dissipates,
the future is foretold.
The prophesied disaster
Followed by sorrow,
Sorrow by the profane.
Vows succeed all,
But as pledges break
The cycle perpetuates.

The wrench of pain and grief crumble
At the sight of the inveterate.
But indifference, not
Admonition, emerges victorious
Over the incorrigible.


Sunday, 2 March 2008

Five, Six Pick Up Sticks

I've been tagged my Vasudha and I'm gonna bite the bullet.

The Rules:

Link to the person that tagged you.
Post the rules on your blog.
Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

#1 : When I wake up, and I tend to do so in wee hours of the morn, so does every other organic life form within a 10 mile radius as i blare rock music from my bathroom. I do this to snap myself out of REM (or non-REM) mode. [As of late I have taken to getting up with AC/DC's TNT resonating through the neighborhood]

#2 : As I mentioned in point one, I tend to get up early. But on a few rare occasions I'm so exhausted that not even the Immigrant Song has the decibel value to awaken me. So what I do is, I languidly spread out a towel on the bathroom floor and lay down and drift off into Neverland. I do this so that in the event of my mother coming to check on me, she would assume I'm in the bathroom (wide awake).

#3 : I'm venturesome when it comes to food. I'd be willing to eat anything at least once (even the Icelandic cuisine of Hakarl, which translate to rotten shark meat).

#4 : If I could, I would I spend all day reading books, listening to and playing music and writing whenever i find some source of inspiration. I have no trouble in putting off work, in fact I am an inveterate procrastinator.

#5 : I have oddly sensitive teeth and I haven't a clue as to why i just proclaimed that to the World Wide Web.

#6 : I talk to myself more often than I hold conversations with other living beings. And I used to talk in my sleep. Once I even did the entire sleep-walking, coherent conversing bit and only found out about the following morning, 'twas a rather embarrassing revelation (this is in consideration of the fact that my primary purpose in my sleep was to find a cow.. Don't hurry to get out your copy of Interpretation of Dreams, I'm blissful in ignorance and doubt).

[I could go on for another couple of pages, hell I could write a book longer than War and Peace (Did I mention my gargantuan ego?). But I am making an attempt at self-restraint.]

And now, I choose to torture the following innocent souls:
Sporadic Blogger