MONOSYLLABLES

No Wizard Here

2010-10-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

Chicago was meant to be hit by the worst storm in 70 years yesterday. I was psyched, I missed Delhi’s massive monsoon and a nice storm would have been splendid. But then, hopes were dashed and instead of a rave up in the clouds, we got the two step.
All I ever wanted was to be like Dorothy and Toto.

Hello World.

2010-10-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

As I was in the shower, singing to the mouldy curtains, I realized I felt like blogging again. I also made a promise, but a smart little elf once told me to never tell others my endeavours. Smart little elf, he was. Kill Elrond, he did. Become Santa Claus, he did.

Special Meals

2010-07-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

There are always those few people who order special meals on aeroplanes. When you see those meals coming you wonder at what makes the meals special? And figure that it can’t be much better than yours since it’s still on an aeroplane. Then you see the strawberries. They look good. You’re certain you won’t have any strawberries. Looking at someone else’s early arriving meal with all its succulent canned fruit makes you hungry. You also want your meal right then. You decide to order yourself a special meal next time.

If you don’t get one next time, maybe it’s an indication that you’re a Commi.

Yes, I only ever blog when I’m moving at speeds greater than 500 km/h. Go figure.

Crumbling Cookie

2010-04-22T13:28:00.000-07:00

[Let's just say I'm experimenting.]

A slice

A murmur

A banal drop.

That's not how the cookie falls.

A knot

A tug

A banal fall.

That's not how the cookie drops.

A twist

A tumble

A banal toast.

That's not how the cookie scuttles.

A stance

A totter

A banal scuttle.

That wasn't the cookie's toast.

A sigh

A half-smile

A simple melody.

That's the way the cookie burns.

Welcoming Back Blue Raincoats

2010-04-11T18:31:00.000-07:00

I needed to write today. Having done that, I thought I'd stick by my old decision to be my capricious self and decided to post on this purportedly closed blog.

I make no promises concerning future posts. If you hold your breath, please take it the entire mile and emulate a five year old in a mall who really really wants another gummy bear head. Then, tell me if it was watermelon or strawberry.

It's short and possibly incomplete. But it does have a title-

Blue Raincoats

Heaven sent at heaven's end.

A sweet man's abode

Converts to a widow's chest

To reveal the crinkling edges of homesickness.

A glossy finish by a rough edged sword,

Finality by an indefinite wink.

Chapters flip with the summer breeze,

Accursed.

Sweet similes end

And children's chests heave.

Swords wink in the summer Sun

To close curses at heaven's brink.

That'll Be All

2010-01-31T21:32:00.001-08:00

Hello young ones,

I have final notice, I'm shutting down my blog. It's been long in the coming and I see no incentive to keep it up, particularly since I've lost all my readers.

Lead unhealthy lives and disturb your twisted minds.

That'll be all.

Nikita.

Chalk Faces

2010-01-31T21:12:00.000-08:00

Words you can use to describe the following- purple, verbose, forced and downright banal.

Reasons apathy is my only response to your wailing- My plan for fluff blogging didn't work out and I haven't much else to put up here for your amusement and/or agonizing dragging death. Also, I haven't indulged my sadism in a long while.

Enjoy.

Downward curls and upward angles

A facile face, commonly discernible.

With a slight twitch and a wayward glance

The mighty sight moves off to perchance.

A glint and sigh with a bashful grin

Another simple one, identified without hint.

Toss a sneer and a muddle wave

You’ll have a splendidly confused daze.

Stoic stare, murmured immutability

Uncertainty unsure in perpetuity.

Off cadence breath or wavering peek

Works of comprehension clearly you seek.

Gods and Grand Games

2010-01-08T10:49:00.000-08:00

According to this highly reliable website, tomorrow is Play God Day.

I shall be taking on the role in full responsibility and engaging in all the barbarically holy crimes I am obligated to. So as to be a secular God, I have carefully analyzed all the possible deeds I could accomplish in a day and concluded on the following which I hope will satisfy believers of all faiths.

"If I could be God for a day, I would..." (commanding thee to imagine an innocent childlike voice of such high pitch, that you will be eager to claw your eyeballs out), "commit a few genocides, a couple of sexist acts, some good ol’ confusing reincarnations in the form of my son and myself and not to forget, just some frightful yelling that makes cows and chickens swap personalities just so they can each be severely disappointed. Also, like the original one, I’ll be demanding the first borns of every living being on earth. I likes me some infant toenails."

Unwittingly on New Year's Day

2009-12-31T19:57:00.001-08:00

I stopped making New Years resolutions a rather long time ago. So lets just call the timing for this a mighty coincidence.

The decision is to use this blog for flaunting my peerless wit rather than my writings which are scarce, often depressing and generally atrocious. And just for giggles, we shall assume that I am, in fact, right about my nonpareil wit.

Happy New Year and New Decade, who can tell me why we have a such an enduring obsession with capitalizations? ee cummings being discounted.

Pumpkin Pies

2009-11-01T01:47:00.000-07:00

"What are you dressing as?"

"The Lazy."

*cackle* *giggle* *squirm* *stare* *realize it wasn't all that funny* *realize you're inebriated* *get more inebriated* *grin*

Halloween is generally the greatest excuse to dabble in a little drag and get enough alcohol in you to clean the floors of Buckingham. For a few others, it's the trigger of contemplation of grim futures and of the endearing cycle of depressive thoughts and self-pity. But then, very soon, the death-fires dance on into the abyss, the colours green, blue and white return to their regularity and you realize it's now the 1st of November. You turn your clocks back an hour and glee in the fact that you have an extra 60 minutes to add to your day. That's enough to make anyone giggle and grin. If not, you need a drink.

Haverford

2009-09-10T19:17:00.000-07:00

[Another 10 minute poem written in Zurich. This one after a short nap and quick meal (also directly on the computer).]

Here I sit at the edge of Haverford

Watching the younger scuttle by

They brush past, they shrink on.

A wide gale of laughter,

My soft whimper of woe

Some boisterous, others unheard.

A hand whisks above the golden grain

Feeling wisps down below,

A tickling tendril totters up

Gushing giggles guffaw out.

The soil takes me in from the toes

I battle and win, but who’s to show?

They plunge down with sudden force,

The stabbing frost grasps me, clenched.

Such a feeling I have often known

Since the days of graying cold.

Now I court chirping birds

No longer being the one in Haverford.

[I came up with this while reading Beowulf. Go figure...]

Undersaturated Overtones

2009-09-10T18:59:00.000-07:00

[It’s been a while since I wrote something in under 10 minutes, sleep deprivation was the cure to that. Here’s a poem I wrote at the Zurich airport after the first leg of the journey to Chicago. (This is one of the few things I’ve ever written directly onto the computer).]

In a rush we scuttle and scamper,

Teetering from one end to another

A delicate feel of movement

But not much else.

Here we are, confined,

With no place to go.

It mushrooms within

Regurgitates itself time again.

You wonder at it,

Stare at its

Strange balmy pleasantness.

This is the end, here we go.

A feeble fluttering,

A sweet sensation,

An indication of final presence

Suffuses when surrounded.

Thinking of the inevitable

Just as we go.

Now we meet,

You and I.

After weeks of rumination,

Reflecting the inexorable

A breathless sigh in satisfaction,

Alas! we can go.

NovelRace

2009-09-02T23:39:00.000-07:00

[Here's a tiny extract from what I've written for the NovelRace. I've hit a colossal writer's block and might just drop out.]

It's a stale, permeating taste. Sucks you dry of all senses besides the light buoyancy of your stomach and the levitating tendency of your chronically lightened head. Wait fourteen hours for you next meal and you'll know the banal rotting feel of your tongue with its gossamer like dry surface. A certain peevishness seeps out from your choleric palate to everything around. Your eyes remain utterly focused, and your brows furrowed until the final sigh.

After removing myself from that familiar cesspool, I headed to yet another so as to play away my senses. A well-lit, unobtrusive corner in a large, labyrinth of a room is ideal for draining sensation. For company, a small cup with its inadequate handle, holding a strong brew and light froth arrived on a tiny saucer. A single sip diffused across the appeased muscle, delicately spreading its wily harshness to the extremities of taste.

Grimly Fluff

2009-08-25T23:54:00.000-07:00

[A future classmate complimented my blog by calling it friggin awesome and strangely adorable (I'm quite grateful that the adorable is at least modified with a strangely). This reminded me that I have a blog and so, thought to update.]

Vasudha recently wrote about her unfortunate but delayed realization that everyone is dead. Whether it be Feynman, Dirac and Fermi or Wilde, Hemingway and Buchwald or just your good ol' crazies like Vincent and Dali.

Doughlas Admas died. As did George Carlin. Michael Jackson died and discovered normality. While Brunetto Latini died and met a Minotaur in a fiery desert. My grandfather died at the wheel. My great-grandfather, in his sleep. All passed away, passed on, expired, departed, gone, no more, late, lost, perished, deceased, with God, asleep, slain, slaughtered, murdered, killed. In addition, this past fortnight saw the death of Eunice Kennedy and Edward Kennedy. Les Paul's dead as well.

I'm not really going anywhere with this since death is not much of a topic for debate. Nothing unexpected, just quite wretched. This was just a handy excuse, if ever you need one, to get the blues.

An explanation- the reason this is yet another fluff post about the on goings of life (or death, as it may be) rather than progresses in writing, is because I haven't written a damn thing of interest in a long while. Though, three weeks ago, I did join the NovelRace! But, in following the visible trend of disappointment, I haven't added a single word to the "novel" in a week. Instead, I picked up a different genre, mystery. Vicariously living fantasies of gruesome torture and butchery through writing may sound disturbing to some, but I found it cathartic. That too, should sound disturbing.

That's all for now.

Careful

2009-07-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

The clock showing 3 AM inspired me to write something, anything rather. I tried a new tack, I failed but the rubble is below..

Here I am seated-

In the silent corner,

Atop a minor dent.

Soughing breath,

Fitful hands,

Restive lids.

Careful, though.

Melancholy music

Of coloured song

Shuffles through,

Chances brick walls.

Notes whisk back,

Tousled and turned,

Ephemeral and ebbing.

Foot grazes carpet

With periodic tap.

Fingers itch

With tedious plan.

A bead trickles,

Diverging from a mass

Ending desiccated, defeated.

Darkness impregnates:

Crescent unseen.

Searching for abyss

Facing banal grey,

Philosophy forsaken.

Focus closer

Upon lined sheets,

Imagination mislaid.

Three assemble

In gradual procession,

Stare in silent pause.

Song fades,

Foot follows,

Eyes sigh.

Careful, though.

Vengeance

2009-05-31T05:08:00.000-07:00

God takes revenge. Evidence of fact:-

My IP address has been blocked from his site.

A few days ago, I wrote the first draft of a story on my laptop (up until now, I always wrote first drafts on paper). Before I could save it, my Mac decided to have its own first by crashing.

A day later, my Twitter account was hacked into and now it's been suspended.

The very next day, I was savoring the flavour of bile the entire night.

And today, my iPod died on me taking with it 20 gigs of my music and some great lectures, none of which I had backed up.

Here's some sage advice for you lot, never piss off old, bearded, sadomasochistic, egomaniacal men who only worked for 6 days in all of eternity. It could come back to bite you in the ass.

Which one's the 4th?

2009-05-24T12:44:00.001-07:00

Here's something I thought the world should know, I managed to piss off God. This is how. (In case you're a bit dim and it isn't clear, I'm Nik.)

We're having regular storms here, I expect to be smote soon.

UPDATE: Pitiably I can no longer access the site, I'm told my IP address is blocked. Well, at least I did a good job of pissing Him off.

Brushstroke

2009-05-05T10:20:00.000-07:00

Today, the kindergarten wall took a not so great tumble down to a ghastly pile of crap emerging from my personal Hellmouth set up by IT.

The wall mocks me in verse.

First you brush upon me

In hallowed white

But in the most impious way.

Then you burst upon me a slew of stain

From Satan’s personal palette.

This I can tell for some mortals admired

Except those of sane virtuous way.

But more I grieve as this was not

The end of your profanity.

You soon resolved to

Write upon my trampled skin

The names of books of wicked intent

None prophetic or of sacred verse

But of Irishmen and paedophilic mirth.

Irony struck when you wrote of a catch

For now you are caught in the very same.

Either desert me in this deplorable state

And be mocked by the world for incompetence.

Or amend me to a more agreeable sight

And lose your last penny to effort’s might.

Regardless of stance,

Leave your thoughts not to stand.

A week of nine days you have,

Before you’re caught in either catch.

If I feel masochistic enough sometime, I'll upload some pictures.

Scapegoat

2009-04-22T12:51:00.001-07:00

Here's one of the reasons I haven't posted anything for a while..

Using webcam. The purple goat ate my camera.

And yeah, I'm a lazy ass.

I was going for an old age map and ended up with a kindergarten wall. I'm nearly done, I plan on writing on it.

Oh and yes, I'm going to UChicago come September. GO TEVATRON!

Plenteous Movies

2009-03-22T22:01:00.000-07:00

Saw The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button day before. They managed to make a three hour movie out of a 10 page short story by Fitzgerald. And as expected, the story is infinitely superior to the movie. I resorted to chucking pop corn at the screen.

Aloo Chaat yesterday. Walked out after 40 minutes. Felt a little brain dead.

Monty Python And The Holy Grail yesterday. I want coconuts.

The Reader today. Haven't seen it yet, but I anticipate it'll be good.

Update- Got back from the movie. Kate Winslet was quite remarkable. Maybe I should read the book.

I'm off to watch The Full Monty now. Impotent men stripping, what could be better?

These posts have no purpose. I just need something to do in between doing nothing.

High school graduate, I be.

2009-03-21T12:27:00.000-07:00

Boards over and school's out.

Time to catch up on reading. First off, those thirty odd pending blog posts to be read. Then the fifty odd books on the read-after-boards-list. But it shall again have to wait a while. For, the next couple of days have been designated as Family-Time by mater. Nothing says family like arguments over my preference to use billiard balls while bowling.

Soon though, I'll be at complete liberty to regress into book hermitage or to wile away my time watching the spider population in my room grow (it's a lovely little ecosystem with ants, spiders and the occasional lizard).

Now I'll go brush up on Morse Code. Lack of practice due to excessive time spent trying to map my tongue print. Beginning to forget the order of my dits and dahs.

[You can blame the brevity of the post on Twitter.]

Woolen String

2009-02-10T09:55:00.000-08:00

I haven't had the time to do much lately but today I did spend a good forty minutes reading up on the Superstring theory. I would have wasted more time but I just didn't understand much.
I wrote down what I did understand and put it up here.

On a tangent, you know how Einstein said you haven't understood something until you explained it to your grandmother? It turns out, I don't understand algebra.

Ad Libbing

2009-01-25T08:37:00.000-08:00

[We were bored out of our minds and started ad libbing. Surprisingly enough, we kept it clean. And since I have nothing else to do, I am posting it.]

Nik: Can all mothers kill joy?
Bharat: Yes. Its their one common talent.
Nik: I see. I need to get the fuck out of here.
Bharat: Take me with you.
Nik: Where to?
Bharat: We'll get out of the country and go our separate ways.
Nik: Sure.
Bharat: I'm headed to Turkey.
Nik: I'll go to Italy.
Bharat: You could sail from Turkey to Italy. Go to Sicily.
Nik: Yes. I could do that.
When do we leave? The sooner the better.
Bharat: Yes. How 'bout tonight?
Nik: Ok. Lemme get my socks and my towel. That's all I'll be needing.
Bharat: No wait, I think I should inform my girlfriend before I leave the country. It'd be the gallant thing to do, right?
Nik: Yes, it would. Go on then. Hurry up. We dont have all night.
Bharat: You know what, she's probably studying right now. I'll call her tomorrow. Let's leave
I got my staff and towel.
Nik: Ok then. We're off.
Bharat: Yes we are.
[off the rocker]
Nik: [that happened ages ago. This is a continuation of the same]
Which path do you reckon we should take?
Bharat: Throw your towel. Let it decide.
Nik: It landed hobbes up.
The forest?
Bharat: Yes.
Bharat: Had it been Calvin I'd have called for a space ship. But Hobbes is the forest.
Nik: Fair enough.
To the forrest!
Bugger, what about food?
Bharat: Berries.
Nik: Adequate?
Bharat: We'll kill a few animals, all I need to do is tie this knife to my staff and we'll have a hunting spear.
Wait, did you get string?
Nik: Nope. Ivy?
Bharat: Yes, ivy.
Nik: We need hermit names.
Bharat: I'll be Cuchulainn.
You be Rimmugygr.
Nik: Works. Might scare the squirrels.
Bharat: Yes.
Nik: Hmm. We need to start a fire.
Bharat: My staff can be a torch too. Tie the towel to it, we'll set it on fire.
Nik: No! The towel is our hope for survival.
Bharat: My towel, it's special, it suffers no fire damage.
Nik: Fascinating staff you have Cuchulainn.
Bharat: Thank you, Rimmugygr.
We need to find you a staff.
Nik: I have socks. Don't require a staff.
Bharat: Chuck some stones and nails into your socks.
Nik: My socks are hardly ordinary. Don't need any rocks to make them hard.
Can be pleasurable.
Bharat: Ohhh, man socks
Nik: Yes, very manly indeed.
Bharat: Let's keep moving, I want to be out of the state by dawn
Nik: Let us eat first.
Bharat: Howbout venison?
Nik: Yes. I'll be back in a moment.
*Back with three dead squirrels*
I think I might have overdone it a bit.
Bharat: Nah, its perfect.
Nik: Ok. You need to cook yours?
Bharat: I'll stick it in the torch for a bit
Ah! the fur is smoldering. Just right and succulent.
Nik: I think I'll have it raw though.
Bharat: Suitcherself.
Nik: We'd better be off now. As you said, out of the state by morning.
Bharat: [In Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha they give a viking funeral to a rat they killed.]
Yes, I'm sure my mum has the police looking for me
Nik: [lol. Gotta read that book.]
I'm sure my parents have the entire intelligence force after me.
Bharat: [Yes.]
Nik: Cuchulainn, be wary.
Bharat: Halt and stay silent.
Nik: I think I heard a bee.
Bharat: Thats a tribal warrior.
Nik: Bee warrior it be.
Bharat: These people communicate using bee sounds.
Nik: Ah, we can fool him by doing the same.
Bharat: No, lets kill him. My knife thirsts for blood.
Nik: And my socks for rigor mortis.
Bharat:
*Throws the knife*
*Kills the warrior*
Nik:
*Lets the socks sit on the dead mans chest for a while*
Ok, They're both satisfied and tempered. We can go now.
Dawn approaches. We are close to the state boundary. We'll need a plan to circumvent the police. I'm certain, by now, they know our faces
Bharat: We kill them.
*Extinguishes the fire*
*Ties the knife to the staff with the towel*
Nik:
*Prepares self with socks in either hand*
Bharat: With Gaebolg I will kill them all.
Nik: You take the left flank, I the right.
Bharat: Works.
*Yells the ancient Irish war cry and charges*
Nik:
*Charges while singing Galway Bay*
Bharat: Ut ut ut ut ut.
No wait, that's Saxon. Meh, who cares.
*Throws Gaebolg*
*Gaebolg slices through the air and kills a dozen soldiers in one go*
Nik:
*Chokes a few men with her socks*
*Makes a few dozen sniff them*
Bharat:
*Kills the rest with his towel*
*Retrieves towel and kills another dozen*
Nik: All dead.
Bharat: High five!
Nik:
*Stares at Bharat*
Cuchulainn, you're a friggin hermit.
Bharat: Oh yeah, sorry.
Nik: Let's get moving.
*Dog starts following the duo*
What shall we do with the mutt?
Bharat: Let's domesticate it. Dog meat for when the squirrels die out.
Nik: Yes. Good plan.
It's male. Testicles always taste good.
Bharat: Yes. No need for condiments.
Nik: Yup.
Where in Chewbacca's name are we?
Bharat: We entered a portal. We are in Reykjavik.
You know what's considered edible here, right?
Nik: I know what's considered edible in Gultimysk. Is it the same?
Bharat: Is it fermented?
Nik: Of course.
Bharat: Splendid.
Nik: You still wanna head to turkey? We could live here for a while.
Bharat: Sure.
Nik: I believe grass is legal too.

Lumps of Coal

2008-12-26T23:20:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm not supposed to be blogging. But yesterday I wrote out a short post which I put up on Sensory Overload. It's a simple proof related to the twin prime series. Check it out if you're interested.

You see, math problems are my only source of entertainment (albeit, a great one). So, I've been spending my breaks working on getting the hang of infinite series in calculus which, for some absurd reason, we don't study in school. CBSE... bah!

So Long And Thanks For All The Net

2008-12-16T10:28:00.001-08:00

I am confronted with a set of highly paranoid and partially ballistic parents and so, my net connection is on quota. Sweet.

I might be able to regain computer rights after my pre-board result which will be somewhere mid-Jan I reckon. For the mean time, blogging is suspended. That too when I finally got an idea or two and started a new blog. Ah! what a wretch. I was looking forward to writing something on Bees And Quantum.

Anyhow, see you lot in roughly a month. Though, I will drop by every once in a while to invade your blogs, worry not.

Merry Christmas and enjoy the new year.

[Edit: Results out on 3rd February.]

Yes. No. Maybe?

2008-12-13T06:54:00.000-08:00

Today I read an article about a court ruling in Maryland. In this particular case, a woman agreed to sex and then in the middle of it, that is after penetration, she said no. The man, Baby (it took me a moment or two to realize that was in fact his name), continued for 5 to 10 seconds after she had told him to stop. Baby was convicted of first degree rape.

On the woman's side of the argument, it can be said that it is for her to decide whether or not she wants to have sex. And the right to this decision does not end with the beginning of sex. But here is what's bothering me, the only form of defense for the person being convicted of rape is the absence of physical injury. If now you say injury is not a criterion nor is consent to sex, then how in god's name is the man supposed to defend himself?! Since it's just her word against his, he'll inevitably end up in prison for the next year or two. Seem a bit sexist?

Under different circumstances, say had he carried on for minutes after she said to stop, the act would qualify as rape for then he would be forcefully having sex. But not here. In this instance, the guy may be called a variety of splendidly obscene names but he is certainly not a rapist.

P.S.: I think Baby appealed, I don't know what happened after. I was too lazy to do the research.

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T21:34:00.000-08:00

[Right so, I shouldn't be posting this since I wrote it while half asleep and entirely pissed. But since now I am equally tired and feeling wretched.. I don't care enough]

Ah, the irony of today. People across the world stuffing themselves with stuffed turkey while we all stand under siege. I am thankful to man for his not so benign idiocy.

But now it's finally over. Two days and 250 lives later, there are 20 less terrorists trolling the streets. The statistics seem just a bit off. If 20 can take down three iconic buildings, bring an entire city to a standstill and scare witless a nation, then what of a hundred? Nevertheless, I'll go out on a limb here and take the role of the naive optimist and say that things will change after this. Our government will do something. Anything to keep this from happening again. And no, adopting a couple of sniff dogs won't be adequate. We need initiative. We will take it. But will any of it work?

Ishmeet earlier asked how one can deal with people who don't value their own lives. Somebody said education. It seems like a logical thought- spread education, keep people from getting brainwashed into thinking blowing themselves up somehow gets them closer to that invisible omniscient being up among the clouds. But frankly, how well do you reckon that will work? Our most recent and potent terrorists have been well educated people who managed to convince themselves of the altruism of murder.

Never mind illiteracy, religion is the culprit. The root cause of fundamentalism is the religion. If you don't get worked up because some poor fellow happen to believe in a different all-powerful egomaniacal man than you, then you don't slit his throat. So there you have it, a solution. End the age old farce, end the new age violence.

Now if you were to apply similar logic to the solution, you'll realize even that wont make an iota of difference. Because humans are congenitally oriented to destroy, create havoc, kill. The ancients went to war over territory. Then we had religious wars like the Crusades, the French Wars of Religion, the Muslim Conquests and the Reconquista. We have fought battles over honour, for love and respect. In high schools, kids initially fight over pencils then over girls and often over nothing at all. I was bored, I picked a fight. Anthropoid brilliance.

Maybe, just maybe, the reason is that we just fucking love to fight. A war, regardless of how it came about or how it manifests itself, satisfies a need for blood. The Romans had gladiators, we have wrestlers, cock fights, terrorists and wars over the pretext of democracy. So why not cut the charade? We like to kill. Accept that.

The interminable bloodshed makes me prefer the company of Count Dracula to most humans. Besides the fact that it would be incredibly cool, vampires are more benevolent. Sublime oxymoron- vampire more humane than human. Thing is, in either situation there is a high probability that I'll be killed. At least Dracula will make nutritional use my blood, won't pleasantly let it drain into the earth.

In brief, either we go extinct because of self inflicted global warming or self incurred WWIII. I like mankind, I'm also a fan of sadomasochism.

There might be one little solution tucked away in the nooks of grey matter- work. Find yourself a passion and as long as it doesn't involve decapitation and evisceration of strangers, pursue it. Then magically, you might even become productive. So my advice to you: shut up and calculate (or make anthropological flow charts).

In Lacking

2008-11-15T09:16:00.000-08:00

My blog has been on a slow downward spiral for a while now. So, being somewhat sadistic, I thought to prolong the wretchedness. And here, I post a short poem which I wrote yesterday about being all out of inspiration and my dying blog.

In and around every niched corner
Above and beneath those dusty racks
It evades me still after these months past.
Scoured and sifted in hopes for an ounce.
But not one cares to cease in less than a scowl.

Searching within for the deep seated guilt,
Else maybe for the hatred of enervation
Or lastly for the hope of salvation.
But none yield ideas worth the written word
None provide inspiration for this dying work.

In a tepid attempt to express a pondering
I put down that which occupies us all-
The very truancy of occupation from others and all.
The void of faith now be filled with a specter, that of
Despair fused with far seeing hopes for a savior.

Chronophage and Relative Time

2008-09-22T01:27:00.000-07:00

This is a video in which John Taylor briefly describes the working of the Corpus Clock.

Fascinating.

Here's a question for you guys, why the pendulum? Is there any need for it?

Feels Like War

2008-09-15T23:51:00.000-07:00

An echo from a distant land
Leaves me without wary.
So I lie and dream of lower fares
For further foe, a few thoughts spared.

At my desk in Morpheus state
A sudden thud did rise.
Followed by three and yet another,
Finally the sands did dry.

No matter where we stand
Upon the world, escape eludes us all.
A scar, a scratch, a burn or mark-
Something to carry on.

The battle, some say, has been lost
But the fight we soldier on.
Others' words evince their hopes that
Darkness nears the light of dawn.

For the rest, like I, the current betrays
A clear vista to a perpetual war.
An eternal time of dusk:
The furthest point from dawn.

P.S.: I'd appreciate suggestions for the title.

All Turns To Ash- In Rememberance Of My Great Grandfather

2008-08-28T08:09:00.001-07:00

Raging thunder ruthlessly
End white walled empty dreams.
Lids and books flutter open,
A placid hour spent
Spurning Hypnos' pestilence.

Another disruption, now
Upon the groaning gate.
Enter a pair in consternation
Faces held long after
Lengthy deliberation.

A brief sentence, a passing death,
A murmured syllable made inaudible.

Deterrents leave, pages turn
Thoughts turn to poetry, to crimson hearts.
A silent door opens, unveiling
A fold of paper in a knoll of cloth.
Upon it are delicate words
By an innocence lost.

The calligraphy intended for a relative gone
The hopes now crushed, faith begone.

Now restored in its early grave
Left to mourn in ashen years.
On occasion, revealed
Allowing streams to roll down
A remembering face.

The saline is then
Wiped, walled, bottled, burnt.

Sex Determination Tests

2008-08-26T07:44:00.000-07:00

Sex determination testing first began at the 1966 European Track Field Championships in response to suspicion that several of the best women athletes from the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe were in fact men posing as women. The International Olympic Committee introduced sex testing in 1968 at the Olympic games in Mexico City, after the masculine appearance of some competitors (many pumped up by anabolic steroids) had started to raise questions about the gender of athletes in female events.

Santhi Soundarajan, a 27 year old track runner, was stripped of her silver medal for the 800m at the Asian Games, suffered tremendous public humiliation and attempted to kill herself. Soundarajan, who has lived her entire life as a woman, failed a gender test.

Walsh, a Polish-American sprinter, was at one point the fastest woman in the world. She set more than 100 national and world records and was inducted into the American Track and Field Hall of Fame in 1975. In 1980, Walsh was killed during an armed robbery. The postmortem revealed she had male genitalia (although this did not prove that she was a man as she was also found to have both male and female chromosomes- a genetic condition known as Mosaicism.)

Dora Ratjen, notable for her deep voice and her refusal to share the shower room with the other female athletes, was Germany's entry (during the Nazi regime) for the women's high jump. She came fourth. Dora, who had been born Hermann Ratjen, had in fact been a member of the Hitler Youth and said that the Nazis had forced him to enter as a woman.

According to the IOC transsexuals, who have had a sex change from male to female, can compete in women's events in the Olympics, as long they wait two years after the operation.

Did you ever go clear?

2008-08-14T09:39:00.000-07:00

[One night, Bharat and I were chatting while listening to Famous Blue Raincoat and came to the realization that whenever we listened to the song, two very similar videos played incessantly through our minds. So, the following is a guest post by Bharat describing the unceasing reel.]

The street was empty, blanketed by clear white snow. Lamps ran along either side of the road, emitting a gloomy yellow hue. Concrete buildings lined the pavements, appearing in the dark like one long mass of concrete of uneven height with entrances and windows cut into it. Lines of multi-coloured lights hung from ledges but did nothing to add any cheer.

Its four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
Theres music on Clinton Street all through the evening.

A window with the small light of a table lamp coming out of it. Inside, a desk of polished oak. Sheafs of papers were arranged in two neat piles on both sides and a small plastic clock and two pen stands were placed at the front. A glass of half-filled with scotch was placed on one of the paper piles, forming a wet ring on it. A man was seated at the desk, his features marred by the darkness, his pen forming a steadily growing blot on a blank piece of paper as he struggled for words.

The plaintive notes of a violin drifted in from the street. He glanced towards the bed at the end of the room. A form was huddled on it. He could not see her but knew she was looking at him.

The words came to him in a wave and he wrote furiously, as if the words would spill out into oblivion if he didn't pen them down immediately.

He stopped and looked straight ahead at the darkness.

Another room. Well lit, filled with people. He's dancing with her. She laughs when he spins her and they embrace each other. The people watching smile and clap. He grins and looks at her. She smiles back, but in her eyes there is a sadness, barely perceptible.

She's dancing with him now. This is a different room and there are no people inside. He puts a rose in his mouth and they gaze at each other's eyes. He smiles. Then she does. This time with her eyes too. The rose is thrown away and their lips meet.

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake --

She woke up and came up to him, her nightgown shimmering in the poor light and the wind blowing against her so that the shape of her body showed. He glanced up at her and turned back to the table. She leaned and looked at the paper with no expression on her face and went back to bed.

She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

He pulled open a drawer in which lay a blue raincoat, folded and with a lock of hair resting on it. Untouched ever since. He closed the drawer and resumed writing.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

Sincerely, L. Cohen

He put the pen down and rose from his seat. Then there was only an empty desk with a letter and half a glass of scotch, snow outside the window and the weeping of a violin.

19 Hits Yeild a Tag

2008-06-19T06:12:00.000-07:00

I got a total of 19 hits yesterday, so I figured I'd post something regardless of it being the quintessence of crap .

What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?:
If Camus is right and life has no meaning to it and the pursuit of happiness is an endeavour in vain I might as well go back to bed.

Favourite fast food place:
The stash under my bed.

Future child’s name:
Vae Spurius (Latin anyone?)

Finish this statement, “If I had a lot of money I’d…” :
Buy every last copy of both books One Night At The Call Center and Five Point Someone and then have one helluva bonfire.

Do you drive fast?
I don't drive. If I did, I would currently be sitting on a sand dune somewhere deep in the Gobi desert for I would have gotten lost on the way to my neighour's place.

Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?
Yes, I enjoy the practice of taxidermy.

Last movie seen in a theatre:
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. On the insistence of brother and mater, I yielded and ended up watching a movie which had one thing going for it: a drove mindless loyal fans.

What book are you reading?
Most recent translation of War And Peace and Three Men On The Bummel

Favourite board game:
Go and chess.

Worst feeling in the world:
Stubbing the same toe twice in a matter of thirty seconds.

Do you eat the stems on broccoli?
Yes. I like the idea of the head and stem being re-united in my esophagus, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Storms - Cool or Scary?
Bloody cool. I love to sit out in the rain and listen to the sound of hopefully distant thunder.

If you could dye your hair any colour, what would be your choice?
Dirty green: for all those who abhor the colour.

Name all the different cities/towns you have lived in:
Delhi.

Favourite sports to watch:
Football and Twenty-twenty cricket matches.

Favourite magazine:
Economist, The New Yorker, National Geographic.

Favourite smells:
Fresh earth, paint, yellowing pages of an old book.

Favourite sound:
The crunching of autumn leaves, thunder.

One nice thing about the person who sent this to you:
No one tagged me.
So, to nothingness: it never fails to keep me company. :P

What’s under your bed?
In addition to what I mentioned earlier I have a game of Monopoly which has a decades worth of dust and dirt fastidiously layered atop it.

Would you like to be born as yourself again?
Oh hell yes!

Morning person or night owl?
Both/either i.e. I am often an insomniac.

Over easy or sunny side up?
A well done Sunny Side Up.

Favourite place to relax:
On the rocks in the park close to home, anyplace under the night sky.

Favourite ice cream flavour:
Chocolate chip, Cookie Dough, Vanilla with chocolate sauce and nuts.

You pass this tag to:
All those plagued by writer's block.

The Step Game

2008-06-11T02:07:00.000-07:00

I follow in my father's great wake, skip for giant step. I've made it into a bit of a game, I imagine his six foot frame leaving a temporary indentation in the macadamized road and then plant my bare nine year old foot in the center of the impression. It keeps me amused as I accompany my father traveling from one palatial door to the next, gathering garbage so that we can relish the joy of frisking the waste in search of the seemingly worthless. Since it's an hour or so before lunch, I delight in the subtle savor of sizzling spices and herbs besiege my senses. The aromas that trigger desire intermingle with the stench of putrid festering foods of yesterday, which then delivered me the same momentous elation.
We arrive at the home of an aged spinster. She opens the door, hands my father the bleak bag that speaks of things dead and gives me a piece of candy with a wide gleeful smile etched into her wrinkled face. I take it with a grin and a slight joy brushes past me and dissolves her. As the transient dances with the permanent, my father reminds me of the inveterate liars we all are. The ones with argent and gold have been self-deluded into thinking the destitute are fortunate for they possess happiness. And the ones entrenched in penury are convinced that they are paying due penance for crimes committed in lives they remember not and may never have lived. Having received such declamations on several occasions, I lose track of father's words as I trace his path onto the next mahogany door.
We reach the threshold of a curious family that has an array of rumours incessantly pestering it- there always is a family that is preyed upon in a neighbourhood such as this where incongruity is looked at with askance and time is plenteous. Being a Sunday, the father, the crux of all rumours, opens the door. The man is undoubtedly formidable- towering over my father with shoulder built to support leaden worlds and thick eyebrows converging at the center, his dour look is an awesome sight. He eyes us and then hollers to his wife to get the garbage, a moment later his son comes up to him and tugs his shirt. But the boy spots me gazing at his red toy car and all thoughts of pater fade into abyss. He shows me the mesmerizing piece of plastic. It is unquestionably brand new- the wheels aren't frayed. It has several logos stamped on it and a faceless man seated in it. The scarlet paint gleams in the sun, taunting me. I grab the car and before the bliss seeps in and the boy leaks a tear, my father steals it from my fragile grasp and hands it over the austere man with a mumbled apology. His flinty features are slightly softened by a smile but his visage is still one that could make a man flinch. But for now, both men are cringing on the inside as they are stuck in one of those moments for which awkward is an euphemistic adjective. Ah! finally the wife arrives and hands over the bag of future prospects to my father. Both men breathe a silent sigh and we once again set off on our way.
All the way back home I am reprimanded for my ludicrous act and yet again my grip on father's words is loosened sometime after the first period for now I have added a new element to my game. Hereafter it is against the rules for me to step on leaves making it much harder considering the ample supply of withered once greens.

I'm IT

2008-06-07T20:41:00.001-07:00

I was tagged by Bharat and since it seems I haven't posted for nearly a month, I decided to give my blog a bit of a stir.

Ze 5 Zings About Me Tag

5 things found in my bag

At least two books (currently The Dubliners and The Odyssey)
My iPod which has only some 3 gig left :(
Something to write with.
Something to write on.
Empty space intended for money that I never possessed.

5 favourite things in my room

The vinyl records adorning my wall
Piano.
Laptop- me mac!!
The books littering every inch of my room (I don't have a book shelf, no room for it. So if any unfortunate soul decides to enter my room he/she/it will have to wade through a knee high pile of junk because every platform is loaded with books.)
Assortment of articles on topics ranging from music to astrophysics.

5 things I have always wanted to do

Travel back in time to the Renaissance period.
Sky dive, deep sea dive and get to base camp of Mt. Everest.
Visit and preferably live in almost every country on the bloody globe.
Learn Italian, German, Mandarin and how to play the guitar, drums and saxophone.
Attend a Pink Floyd concert.

5 things I am currently into

Go - riveting game!
Random and generally useless torrents.
Playing Halo for reasons beyond the tangible.
Trying to flesh out a story that has been roaming my mind for a while.
Avoiding the copious supply of house guests.

5 people I choose to further torment

**********************************

Found this fascinating video, check it out here.

Ode to the Sunday morning

2008-05-11T22:29:00.000-07:00

[Foot fetish anyone?]

A poem as a tribute to the all-pervasive, indomitable, sagacious BO.

[This poem is the unfortunate result of a exhausting, mind-numbing, dehydrating, stomach-churning and crazy Sunday (and a tad amount of plagiarism). Details should soon be up on Radhika's blog]

Bhow, bhow,
Oh my God, its Bo!
You only reap what you sow
You have hairy palms, no?
We shall go - play with Play Doh
Hona hai jo, hone do.
Listen to the crow crow
The Indian Space Research Organisation is called ISRO
You rise when its dark
The heavens break apart
And quote to thee,
Lucifer's child, the anti-lark
[Six, six six! The number of the Beast!]
Prepared is thy zoic feast
Thy arrows :
Will through bone marrow
And call to blithe mortals in a low baritone
'Minions, Armageddon nears
Look to the heavens, fear oh fear'
Bo, neo Zeus
Aam, seb, ganna juice
Das rupay, paanch rupay, teen rupay glass
Aao piyo, bahut hai khaas
A glass of sang-froid stands prepared
Vlad [the Impaler] hath not better fared
Slitting the throats of a thousand kind
Slaying more monsters than you can find
Woe betide thee oh Earth and Sea
O Bo, please set us free.

Credit for this master piece goes to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (aka: Vas), Freak-of-Nature (aka: Radhika) and Abominable Being (i.e. me).

[Disclaimer: Any mental retardation, hallucinations of pink elephants and/or spontaneous fires caused by the reading of this post is not the responsibility of anyone/thing other than the towel with yellow Polka dots in the junk yard across my home.]

A Strange Thing

2008-04-28T01:55:00.000-07:00

“When you stare into the eye of Death, you don’t see death”, these were the words that besieged her mind as she drove her dilapidated Ambassador back home. But of course she was exaggerating, Death wasn't at her threshold it was merely at her garden fence; as per the four oncologists she had met with, she had six months to live if she went without treatment.
In her minds eye, her months were mapped out in accordance with her future physical condition. She knew she would not tell her family of her illness for another four months. For she also knew that if she revealed it to them earlier, they would manage to persuade her into wearing a wig despite her resolve to live and die a little sooner rather than to live a life in death and wait longer.

In compliance with her well-manufactured plans, she would be spending the next month in the Himalayas heading for Everest Base Camp. This dream of conquering Base Camp had been one she had shared with her father. She even remembered the exact moment they had conjured it- she had been spending the winter holidays with her family in Dehradun’s frost. As father and daughter sat in front of a toasty, crackling fire they read the evening paper and sipped scalding cocoa. On chancing upon an article that spoke of a climbers success on Everest, he revealed to the ten year old his adolescent yearning to breathe in the air at Base Camp. Right then the two decided that once she turned twenty-one, together they would realize his hopes.
Her mother had thought it was a load if trite but they had made elaborate, intricate plans and fully intended on seeing them through. However a year ago, in a four way pile up her father had met his unfortunate end. And along with this loss, the dream had dimmed in the light if insignificance. But now, on being confronted with her own death, she was determined to go through with their plans, only a year later than previously devised. She could visualize herself sighing the frigid, crisp air. And then taking photographs that would help fill the album that would be her parting gift to her mother.
After returning from the Himalayas she would head for The Four Seasons. She’d live in the world of the opulent for as long as her scant savings would support. And in the resort she would take in every conceivable luxury - from room service to spas - after the long arduous trek (always having lived in extremes, moderation had seemed far too mundane to her).
When she would near the end, she decided she would settle old scores, pay off debts, write her will and make her funerary arrangements for she would never forget the turmoil her mother went through the previous year.

Taking the final turn into the lane whose every nook she knew, she continued to awe at the absurdity of Death. Thinking of the inevitable, she saw not her burial site six feet under but the funeral itself: the people who would attend it, how they would speak of her, her eulogy and all the rest. It all eluded her for even as shadows faced her, she saw everything but Darkness.

Untitled

2008-04-14T05:47:00.000-07:00

Anger emanates from within,
Ruminations of reason and objectivism
Succumb to riotous hatred.
All before initiation, the argument
Lost to the irrational.

Logic and pragmatism peter
In the simplicity of rage.
But none occur without reason;
Incentive justifies for all but one.
One, solitary and despondent,
Carries on in penance.

Zeus' Wife

2008-04-13T11:03:00.000-07:00

[The movie Juno has managed to inspire my bleak and desolate mind to write a run of the mill blog post about adolescence.]

We don't know where we are going and we don't know where we are from.
As soon as adolescence materializes, hormones surface and your mind brims with questions which are far less than tangible. You inevitably question the existence of God (iconoclasm is quickly, if not hastily, adopted) and incontrovertibly loose your faith in Humanity. The hypocrisy of life and the speciousness of morality hits you so hard that it send you reeling for seven years.
Ironically though, while you loose faith in all the institutions that require it, you also become an idealist. Sanguinely hoping that maybe through the grace of something you no longer believe in, your cynicism and skepticism will be shattered in the light of the marvelous wonder of altruism (or anything a notch below egocentrism).
Those years of stupendous contradictions have only one road to salvation, humour. It is the solitary thing that will keep you from being obliterated; loose it and you end up as just another platitudinous piece of text in black and white.

To the Matresses!

2008-03-30T01:30:00.000-07:00

[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: Vasudha).

Duplicitous

2008-03-27T07:12:00.000-07:00

[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.

Catch-22

2008-03-13T09:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Procrastination

2008-03-04T10:08:00.000-08:00

[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.

Five, Six Pick Up Sticks

2008-03-02T09:13:00.000-08:00

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:
Ishmeet
Namrata
Lemonade
Raincoaster
Bharat
Sporadic Blogger

The Second Hand

2008-02-13T10:38:00.000-08:00

Traveling its preordained path,

It brings closer that which I fear.
Its apathy causes indignation,
Pleas of mercy affect it not.
Traversing its perfect path
Being its only objective;
Misery, its primary incentive.
On reaching its destination,
It unveils the secrets of its land;
Casting loose either
Insidious sorrow or Utopian joy.
I now await to see
Which course the elusive shall take.

Bewilderment

2008-02-11T02:01:00.001-08:00

[SCENE: Me having an astonishingly intelligent conversation with a good looking guy (further referred to as Sisyphus).
I borrow his pen to write something down. Then I, for some inexplicable reason, fall into a trance and stare at the pen which reminds me of an incident (trivial) which took place when i was ten.]

Sisyphus: [curiously] What you doing?
Me: [snaps out of it] Oh! nothing (..) Reminiscing.
Sisyphus: [curiosity turns to bewilderment] Reminiscing?
Me: [laughs out loud] Yeah!
[speaks while looking at the pen] Profound pen thou art; you sink me into a reverie of days long gone past.

Yes, I said that. Result: he takes me for a raving neurotic lunatic (not that I'm not, but I was hoping for the revelation to be slightly more delayed).

Amazing how life, though quite simple, compels us to conjure escapable complexities.

P.S.: Whether or not this is fictitious, I leave for you to decide. But remember, reality is the one thing we always choose to deny.

P.P.S.: Reason for using Sisyphus as the pseudonym: I was thinking about the myth.

Poetry.. of sorts

2008-02-01T10:01:00.000-08:00

I'm not one for writing poetry (specially when it is longer than 2 lines). So bear with me and these 6 odd lines of.. well, of whatever you reckon it is.

A haze of unreality settles:
As time slows, sounds quicken.
Words that are heard leave lips unmoved
A resonating echo of dampened cold travels the earth;
The unsighted winter makes lucid all,
But a thickened fog descends upon mind and sight.

Ecstasy rises from the forgotten explored.
The echo of melody, ephemeral-
Rapture revels in its transience.
As reverberating sounds clear frosty remains
Joyous euphoria blossoms green.

And a Happy New Year....

2008-01-12T08:04:00.000-08:00

This post is a little late in the coming (12 days if my grasp on time hasn't completely been lost), but I have the support of the fool who claimed, "Better late than never."

The New Year is symbolic of new beginnings, new hopes, new trials and (most famed of them all) new resolutions.
For maybe the first 15 days of the new year, people's spirits are high, either the outcome of new found optimism or maybe that of the holidays' festive mood or maybe it's just that strong spirit. But at the dawn of the 16th day, reality comes crashing down like a wall of cement built on a house of cards. The pessimism that plagued us previously returns, those violent and exotic shades of green and red disappear in favour of grays of the city's landscape of undulating concrete.
So my decision was to make a resolution, but on the dirge of the previous year; this resolution was to make none in the coming year. Worked brilliantly. There was very little room for error; all I had to do was eat cake when the countdown began.

I don't mean to sully the zest of the resolution hopefuls. So until the day of realization- I fare thee well in the land of bliss.

Only Words

2007-12-25T05:19:00.000-08:00

I dont know about the rest of the world, but for me words provide the only escape route, the only means to any end. I need them, I crave them. I cant do without them.
a sharp tongue and a honed wit have always been my salvation. i have always relied on them to get me through a tight spot; to get me into one and eventually out of it again... but as of late my words seem to have gotten lost into an endless abyss , I tend to make some blunt redundant comment thus labeling myself "A fool."
My wit and words are failing me so this is my attempt a salvaging it.. tell me if its any good.

I let thus cursed ink fall upon the ravaged earth,
For it has betrayed me in ways intangible to ordinary thought.
It bore witness to the genocide of purpose and truth.
All the while dripping a tinge of blue;
Broken words of worlds lost-
Trivial and insignificant.
In bliss, as the present vanished into the void of oblivion.

P.S.: It isnt complete but i've got a block, i'll post the rest if and when I finish it...

Making Merry

2007-12-22T02:16:00.000-08:00

"What's today?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
"Eh?" returned the boy with all his might of wonder.
"What's today, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.
"Today!" replied the boy. "Why, Christmas Day."

The holidays have arrived and everyone seems to have developed an uncharacteristic sense of decency, kindness, benevolence and all that we righteous celebrators of Christmas consider good and moral. Christmastime is that time of the year when we shower one another with benedictions, sit together for an evening meal in peace and harmony. During the rest of the year, of coarse, we make it a blatant point to carry out acts of pure malevolence, to malign every other organic life form and to be indifferent to the chaos and pitiable state of the world.
The birth date of christ sparks in each of us a sense of humility but that warm fire of compassion lasts only a mere 24 hours after which it is dried out by reality, the indomitable.

Piano.

2007-12-03T07:51:00.001-08:00

when i put my hands to the keys, all my anxieties are lost, all worries withdrawn. as the hammer hits the the tightly wound strings, my finger flow and my nerves loosen.
it has been a sole and solitary companion: often when i felt as though my nerves and stomach juices signed a pact ti make me feel as nauseated as humanly possible, the resonating sound created in the body of the instrument rid me of all self doubt. before and important examination, when every muscle body ran stiff and cold, i sat myself down in front of a classic and all melted away.
whether i am an extraordinary or simply mediocre pianist, matters not. for when the soothing echo of crochets and quavers, created on the treble and base clef, hit my ear drum: nothing but music can be heard; nothing but music can be felt.