Let There be Light

Happy Birthday Keshi

2009-06-25T01:34:00.000-07:00

I thought i wouldn't blog again. Not for another four five months maybe. But this girl deserves a post to honour her. I didn't know it was her birthday actually. But facebook zindabad. Now i do. So Happy Birthday to you Keshi. To the most sensitive blogger i know. To girl who cries for the pain of every human she touches. To a friend who welcomes me back everytime i come from my long blogging breaks. To the blogger who writes incredibly long posts and yet you don't feel like skipping any part of it. Luv You. Hugzzz

Half Century ...oof poof...finally there

2009-05-01T03:24:00.001-07:00

Slow and unsteady...but i got here. Yay. I know most of you who started much later got to your 50th post ages ago. So what? i got here at least. :) . And this post is to thank everybody on my blogroll - the starters, the main course, and the desserts. Sorry, but holidays have a way of putting food in you brain ;). So here goes :

The Starters:

These are friends, those that i met really early at the blog. We never got around to social networking or abusing each other on the comment boxes but they always came back to read my inane posts. Like starters there presence in blogosphere gives me the appetite to write more and i can't thank them enough for just being there on the fueller's list :). My indispensable starters : Swetz, Mia, Satya, How do we know ( how do i know her name?),Nikhil (Multimenon), Sachi, I'll try to be truthful (another mystery name), Shrey,Mithe, Swayam, Vinayak, Shy, Sanchit, Peter, Mera Angle ( a brilliant artist by the way), lala, maverick, spectator, John, Awais, Nidhi, Rakesh,Santoshi, Cindrella, Mishra, Bhai this is for you:

The Main Course:

They are the life of my blog and the reason i come back to post even after huge breaking hiccups. They are friends both old and new that i have met only through the blog and chatting but they make my day, everyday. You can't call my blog a blog without them. My delicious main course: Lena, Sameera, Divyu (the dumbigang gals): its tough to name them separately and individually and together they can throw you off your feet with their words and charm

Divya : The warm heart

Neha : i don't know why but i feel we have a sort of sisterly kismet konnection

Ayushi : this girl, she drives me mad with her philosophy, just amazing (she, not her philo :P)

Rahul: He's crazy and narcissistic :P and a great person to talk to when you are down

Crystal(Ayushi) : Mindblowing bachchi, you can't help loving her

Priya : sweetness, thy name is...

Hemz :i've met him only a couple of weeks back but he's addictively friendly

Chriz :my maddest friend in close competition with the next two names that follow

Ritwick: sigh!

Abhinav : sigh sigh

Urv: cricket crazy guy, writes all sorts of fantastic nonsense, but he has done a brilliant dedication for me ;) and been there since i can't remember when

Stupid : this guy is a rib cracking enigma

Mehreen: apni across the border sister, i just love her

Vikram: This guy writes poetry that literally reminds you of the magical sense of wet earth. Amazingly sweet guy(don't mind the adjectives)

Umer Toor: My philosophical Paki bro

Keshi: Super sensitive super glam gal, she just makes everybody make feel so special that you get addicted to her and her blog

Sid: He is the guy i'm really mad at now, but he made my header and writes beautiful poetry and is a great friend so ... :P

Arv: There is one thing i know about this guy, he loves the weekends like me

Vinay : Sid's poetic brother, these two just rock

Mayz : He writes poetry like nobody, sensuous, beautiful, just delicious

Advertisingh: I know he had a name but i like this better. And whats more he knows what it is to take long breaks ;) like me

Swati: this girl, hardly ever blogs but can make a fan out of anybody in a single coversation

Mithun: I'm addicted to his horror stories, hes just toooooooo good.

Heer and Tinni : well i don't think i need to say anything to you, you don't just complete my blog but my life.

This is for you guys:

The Dessert:

The really sweet newcomers to my blog. They make me look forward to checking my blog each day, finding them on facebook and getting to know them . They complete my blog. My scrumptiousdesserts: Yamini, Elithraniel,Meghana,Venus, Ubaid, Shrav, Meera, Harini, Mohita, Ki, Swetha,Nautankey, El Furibindo ( i hope i got it right), Diana, Pisku, Nehal, Komal, Ria, Richa, Susan,Aamal andJaky this is for you

And some really awesome people turned up with some really nice dedications . I'm putting them up in the order i received them Thank you so much. xxx

This was from Lena:

****************
I cannot believe it has been ONLY 50 (well, 49) posts till now. And most probably i missed a big half of them, but the ones that I have read so far made me wonder, made me think, made me feel. You got a wonderful gift and I would love to read more and more from you, one of the most talented bloggers I have met. And if we do not get to read 100th and 150th and 1000th post, I would personally come to India and kill you :P No breaks anymore, just keep writing :)
***************

From Hemz:

She brings smile with the light

Who looks like sunshine full of bright

She brings friendship into so much height

She is my friend I am so delight

She is the glow in the darkness of night

Then she says 'Let There be Light'

she brings smile with the li

Congrats on your 50th post Farah... u really rock...

From Priya, the sweetu

From Vick and his rainfed earth

You are

like the frost

dancing up
the window pane

delicate
and
intricatei wish i could say more...

From Ayu, the superkid

From Ritwick who has aptly named himself deluded. he did a whole post actually. thank u sooo much

top 5 pictorial reasons why farah changed her name to think tank

5. she can be global, energetic. and a share-holder in a company.

4. she can be evil, and rule the world

3. when your name's think tank, youve GOT to be hot!

2. ahem. ahem.

1. when youre think tank. youre.............umm........addictive.

This is from Chriz,the mad guy who wants to be Marlyn Monroe, don't laugh:

Farah!
 
I have read her first ever post and now i am being a part of her 50th post. I always wanted to appreciate this girl for one reason- Her hair. I had a -cockerspaniel dog "Bubbly". With so much hair covering its face, it was always diffcult to see Bubbly's face. Farah always reminds me of Bubbly. (Attach foto here)
 
Farah and me go a long way! She was my first girlfriend. But when we both found that we were two timing, we mutually split. Now as i type this line, the emotions have brought tear drops to my eyes. Jokes apart, this girl is a cranky nutster and her blogs always makes me smile.
 
Keep writing Think-Tank and May you have many many blogging years
 
God bless you
Chriz aka Chronicwriter

From Urv, he's a sweetheart:

I will keep it short for our sweet Farah :)
 
I started following her blog July last year. And since then I have often been left mesmerized by her posts. She weaves magic with her words in her stories and poems.

Yes Farah. Ranchi rocks (I don't think I can say otherwise. I now know quite a few people from Ranchi ;))

So, Ranchi rocks babes! But not as much as you :)
 
And finally, Neha who found time despite exams and work buggering her...muah:

Farah is not just a writer she is the one who can pierce into our soul with her words.
Good Luck


PS: Please, if i've missed a name i'm really very very sorry, it wasn't intentional, i thank you for being here even if i missed by mistake.

PPS : i'm sorry i'm unable to visit your blogs : i have a major exam on 10th and an interview post that ...see you after the 13th.

Going back in time

2009-04-16T22:07:00.000-07:00

This is a memory post. And other's memories are, more often than not, drab as a dustbin so you can pretend you have read it and say, 'Ooh! such memories' and 'oh! those days'. And you should thank me for giving a cue to what to say without having to go through the post ;)

It was the MTV go bite question that put me on this. Something about wriggling your way out of going to your village for hols. Which is a dumb question in the first place. Unless you are the 'oh - i - love - this - super - fast - super - stressed life' type. I'm the quintessential 'ganwar', i love the village. i love the smell of hay and wet earth and dung (yes dung!) that combine to give a smell that is indescribable. I love running through those DDLJ fields with a plastic bag tied to a string. And stealing watermelons from my own field which we would slice with a pen knife. Ahem, you don't need to know the way we ate it - in the mildest of terms it was gross. i love rising up at five (which would be criminal if i did it at home), to be the first to fill up my bucket at the hand pump . i love the chilled water of the earthen pot, the solid chunks of yogurt that is watery at home. i love the central courtyard of the haveli where the summer stars are the only roof above your head as you lie down on charpoys. i love the terrace that looks like the durbar of jahangir, even though its crumbling. i love the green well that nobody uses. i love the 'phulwari' (which is a more poetic word than orchard) where you share your mangoes with mynahs and sparrows. i love the ox-carts where you hitch a ride to the nearest sludgy pond. And those small push carts where barter is till the way you buy iced lollipops. i love the absence of electricity, i was seriously dismayed when they brought an ugly smoke spitting generator to give us lights. The soothing magic of dim kerosene lamps is a uniquely rustic possession. You can go on and on breathing in the village air without killing yourself. There is a strange peace in the cacophony of the village.

Or perhaps there isn't. Perhaps you should stay back and party in air conditioned rooms. i don't know . Perhaps the nostalgia of childhood has mingled so inextricably with memories of those cherished fortnights that came once a year that i don't remember whether its the memories or the rustic beauty of that tiny village that i am reveling in.

OK ,now you can say 'O my god what did you write this for.'

PS: The next post will be 50th ..which means no work for me and all work you. Send in whatever u like for yours truly either at my email : cacophonix5@gmail.com or facebook : Farah Yameen.
I am waiting.

For you

2009-04-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

Take your time reading this post. I know its long. At least i didn't have the patience o check it for errors ;)

'Wait. Have you put the jacket on? And the sweater? Really the muffler isn't...'
'Cut it Mom, nobody is catching me alive in a muffler. I gotta go.'
She dragged him into a hug. 'Mom,' he said exasperatedly
'SHAR!' Shrill horns and angry rumbles followed. She could almost smell the dust and smoke. He hurried out with as much of a swagger as he could put in a run.
'Be back by nine!' his mother called after him. He grunted, mounted his friend's four lakh luxury rather resentfully and disappeared in the cloud of dust.
His mother worried herself to sleep on the sofa that night. She woke up to the key rattling in the door. She tried to focus her eyes on the wall clock. She figured it was six and her sleep stressed brain dimly registered anger. And a surge of relief. She launched herself on him as he entered.
'It isn't nine yet, you know.'
'God! Mom, i already have a hangover.'
'You! You have a hangover. I nearly died of anxiety and you...,' she spluttered unable to voice the million emotions that swelled up into a heavy tide in her heart.
'I didn't ask you to worry,' he said moving towards his room.
'I'm your MOTHER!' She almost added 'lousy wretch'. Her anger was getting the better of her relief.
'Yeah, I know. Unfortunately i couldn't choose my mother'
The anger evaporated. Every feeling just melted out of her. She bit her lip as her insides crumbled. He walked past her lowering his eyes. He didn't like talking to her that way. But really she tested him. He grumbled in self- righteous anger and dozed off.

----------------------------------------

'I want a bike.'
'What for? Your college is only a five minute walk from here'
'All my friends...'
'Your friends have way too many things. You think i can get them all for you?'
'Its embarrassing not to have a bike'
'OK hotshot. But 35,000 is the most i can give'
'35000? No decent bike comes below ninety.'
She shrugged.
'It's not like you can't afford it! You just hate giving me anything i really like.'
It stung, 'Yeah! I actually waste time being your mother!'
'You dont' have to do the motherly act every time. My friends are surprised i have a mother like you.'
'Like what?' she raged to keep the sob out of her voice.
'Like YOU! Its suffocating being here under your 'motherly care'.
The silence rankled. She fell wretched, unwanted, unloved; like she had failed miserably in everything that mattered.

--------------------------------

'Hey Mom'
'Hey. The food's laid out. Sit down, i'm coming.'
'Wow. Tikka? Thanks Ma.'
She smiled as she emerged out of the kitchen with another dish, 'How was the day?'
'Cool. Just caught the Dark Knight, first show. There was an inaugural offer at the new PVR. Just 400 bucks'
'You paid 400 for a movie?'
'Everyone did.'
She bit back a reproach.
'Anyway,' he continued, 'I'll need a couple of thousands for the cellphone bill.'
'A couple of thousands?' she asked incredulously.
'Hm,' he mumbled through a mouthful.
'I don't have money to throw away.'
'I have to recharge.'
'Which can be done for 200. Or that 'Dark Night' ticket.'
He ignored the insinuation, '200? It wouldn't last 10 hours.'
'Perhaps you should try living off it.'
'My friends...'
'I'm not concerned wth what you friends do. These are my lines and you have to learn to live within them.' She rose from the table.
'I can't believe I even tried talking to you. You are impossible.'
'You might learn some decency yourself son before teaching it to your mother.'
'Forget it. I'm going. I can't take it anymore.'
'Go!' she screamed.
The door slammed behind him.

------------------------------------

'What are you writing dad?'
Sharad tuned to his fourteen year old, 'A message'
'Who for?'
'For your grandmother.'
'Our grandmother? I thought...'
Sharad closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair.

-----------------------------------
The next day, in an obscure corner of a famous English daily this message appeared with the grainy picture of a middle aged lady - 'Dear Mom. Wherever you are, please talk to me. I can't find you anywhere.' - Sharad Raj.

-------------------------------------

Several cities away at the neat and quaint reception of a nondescript building a matronly woman carefully cut out the newspaper ad. Beckoning to one of the little boys who often ran errands for her she handed him an envelope that looked like it had been clutched by desperate hands for many nights before being consigned to her care. As the boy ran off with a coin and the envelope she took the newspaper clip and left for the cemetery adjoining the ashram where they buried all their homeless inmates. The cemetery was empty and beautifully kept. It resonated with the painful songs of its sleeping souls, the air as lonely as their now still hearts. She wended her way to an unremarkable looking grave. The gravestone bore nothing but this - Raina Raj. She carefully tucked the bit of paper between the grave and the headstone with the hope that one sad soul would finally be rested.

-----------------------------------

Sharad trembled as he stared at the yellowing sheet of foolscap in his hand. In his mother's tiny handwritng, on one corner of the page was her simplistic will:
'To my son I leave all I have and the
bike I bought him the day he left. And
his mother's love. For life and beyond.'

The rest was a blank.

Image courtsey Lab2112

Good to be back!

2009-04-03T20:07:00.000-07:00

He could see the grey ridges coated with mud and dung turning inevitably towards him through his blood-laced eyelashes. He watched on in horror, unable to move. His limbs were arranged awkwardly around him surrendering to the inescapable. His immovable body seemed to be welcoming the end, pleading almost to end it.

He closed his eyes, waiting; gathering the last threads into the closing knot. His mind was a haze as memories blurred past his consciousness, each distinct - all elusive. He remembered a broken tricycle and a boy sobbing over it. He could see himself crouching in corner, one desolate wheel in his hand sniggering silently - A cluster of people gathered around the underground tank. A girl's lifeless body, distended with water, drenched in diluted blood beside the opening. He was part of the crowd, the scratches under his sleeves still fresh and hurting - The mute beggar who crawled on his belly. His bowl thrown a ten metre distance from him, the coins strewn like silver dots in the street. He looked at the bowl, his eyes as mute as his tongue. He had brought back the bowl with all its coins. The beggar had managed to prop himself on his side and touch his forehead with his street worn hand - The Lagoon. Wine and women spilt liberally around him. Ugly. And tempting. There was money. Huge wads of it. Some loose notes sticking out. One bleary-eyed tried sneaking some. He remembered blood on his eyes like now - The bars in the little cell that he shared with the small time thief. His gaolers had had some fun with the lad in the evening. He lay panting heavily beside him. His trousers were freshly died crimson. He grasped his hand and put it on his throat, "Please, please..". He felt his hands tighten around him. The boy had stopped whimpering. They had inexplicably let him out the next day. He was making his way to a street he barely remembered. He was nearly there. Blank. He was sprawling on the road. The tyres passed swiftly over him . The execution was expert. The crowds gathered once agan. When they parted there was another figure on the ground beside him. The beggar blessed him one last time and left, his bowl clattering as it razed the ground.

Pic: martien van asseldonk , flickr

Addicted to love

2009-01-21T08:19:00.000-08:00

She gazed into the redness of the wine.Everything beyond was inordinately beautiful. The red coloured them to perfection. The glassy distortions carved them beyond mundane recognition. She hadn't touched it yet. But her smile was already drunken with satisfaction. She ran her finger along the brim, down the length of the glass's curve, sensuously, greedily.
The longing in her eyes was evident. But she was scared. Scared to put the red warmth to her lusty lips. Scared that it would be over before she began. Scared that the longing and emptiness that followed would be too hard to resist.

The bartender gave her a long look. He knew. "Take it. It'll be over. But it'll be good while it lasts."

Her lips quivered as she wet them. She felt the warmth cooling on her lips. Her tongue sought out every last drop. Her breath quickened, she snatched the glass and drained the rest. The last trickles clung to the edges washing down like tears. She gripped the glass in despair, with the tenacity of clinging to life.

The glass shattered.

Dulled brown eyeballs, wild with fear, followed red tears that rained off the edge of the table.

Before you let your thoughts run wild, this is about losing a love or friendship you get addicted to and can't do without, not perverse addictions to some night ramblings. Get it? and i think most of us here know what it means except a lucky few.

This post is also from me to my friends here on bogville. I know i'm hopelessly irregular at the blog and i hardly manage to comment on your blogs and most of you are already writing me off. Be i am really going crazy with classes and final exams and entrance exams preparations and an internship. Please don't abandon me. I'll be properly back after march, though i'll continue posting intermittently. Then i'll have to go off in may again..coz of entrance exams . I'll need an
asylum soon.

Image: courtesy jjohn652, Flickr

Irresolutely Resolute

2009-01-11T06:49:00.000-08:00

Yes! Yes! i know i'm late. I was foggy in the mind actually, thus the delay. We are sorry for the inconvenience. Please visit this blog again.
I know new year arrived quite some time ago, but as i told you , i was completely fogged. But i think you must all have had enough time to make your resolutions by now. For fast trackers like me - you must also have had time to break it. This is not a noble blog . So my lords and ladies, for those of you who have noble intentions for the year that you intend to keep, ahem, please don't shame us little folks by a show of your munificence. For those of you who have decided upon stupid resolutions like mine (put in more hours of sleep to reduce dark circles) or have breakable resolutions, welcome to the club. And we are going to guess others resolutions too. Like George Bush probably decided to have a shoe proof suit for himself this year. And i genuinely hope Shahrukh Khan has decided not to act in weird roles like a certain mustached character. And perhap Ricky Ponting has planned to go into hibernation in timbuctoo. Anything.

Bragging

2008-12-28T22:35:00.000-08:00

I know i'm supposed to be blogdead for sometime , but i couldn't help boasting about my new header. Its awesome, terrific wonderful. For everybody who wants a bindaas header call sid, aka riversoul before he starts charging for them ;). Thank you so much sid.

Goodbye, for a while

2008-12-21T22:33:00.000-08:00

Going off blogging till Jan beginning. Bear with me friends. Ans this is my shortest post till date. Record. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Make sure you make a resolution. We'll discuss them ;).

Shoey Drama

2008-12-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

George Bush truthed(see 'lied' so 'truthed') for the first time in his life. He said a democratic system is finally coming into being in Iraq. Because a journalist threw his shoes at him. The first he threw 'for all the dead men of Iraq', the second 'from the widows and orphans of Iraq'. Yoohoo for the braveheart .. And boo for George Bush.

Makes me think some of our own men need some shoes. Only problem: half our people don't have shoes, leave alone to spare some on a possible miss at some dunghead. So today's post invites idea from everybody at what can be thrown at some people too big for their shoes (or perhaps too small to fit into the bigness of the shoe, whatever) without incurring any loss either of money or personal hygiene (i was thinking of dung).

Just an interesting fact: The Iraqi journo's shoes were bid for 50 crores. He's in jail of course in his democratic system, though hundreds of lawyers from all over the world have volunteered to defend him

PS: George Bush fans need not comment.

Pic courtsey Lucid Optic Lab : Flickr

Inside Outside

2008-12-11T06:26:00.000-08:00

I hate getting up to leave for college. Today was no different. Brush, loo, bath a change of dress which hardly looks any different from my night dress(I am a living fashion disaster) , hair looking like somebody didn't like so much of it around and decided to clump it together, i leave on a not-very- healthy scooty. I pass the scavenger girl scantily dressed in what must at sometime have been a frock, clutching her garbage bag to her for warmth. Her brother is searching for scraps in a heap that includes the body of a run over dog. I cringe. Accelerate. I pass a big sumo driver thrashing a construction labourer for accidentally having touched the unmanageable bamboo poles with his precious second hand car. a crowd gathering . I hurry to avoid the traffic jam. I pass an old man, ribs threatening to burst out in protest, clad in a dirty grey- brown sack, his twig-like arm stretched out in a hideous distortion. Repulsed, i let go of the brakes. I pass a huddle of barely-ten- year- olds, half naked, hair browner than the dust that clothes them, playing by the temple. A policeman nearby is eying them. I am close to the college. almost at the gates when a little child, not much different from those i just saw has her hand on my accelerator. The cars behind are blowing their horns out. She looks into my sunglasses. I jerk her hand away and zoom into the gates. I hurry my way to the auditorium. Half an hour later i'm delivering an impassioned speech. On Human Rights.

For Moshe, And Mumbai, And India

2008-12-05T07:53:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about the Israeli child Moshe when I wrote this. I know it isn't great but somehow this is how i pictured explaining the madness to a child who so totally does not deserve this.

Thronged all its days
By lusty fays
Bright gossamer hues
Pollen shod shoes
By nectared wings
At windy swings
By crawly feet
All tiny neat;
The flower rested quite content
Earth's simple love for it was meant.

In winter bleak
They rested deep,
In blankets warm
Of velvet darn.
But hail and storm would have it not;
Nor would the creatures of the rot.

The petals' last broken embrace
The gossamer's powdered last do grace
Shrouding their last in specks of mud
Shame-faced earth wept tears of blood.

A Wish

2008-11-24T08:49:00.000-08:00

I have already posted this poem in an earlier post but i'm currently facing the writers block, and anyway it keeps with the demand of a happy post:

The silver beach invited me

To waters silver more

The blinking stars spoke luringly

Of enchanting fairy lore.

On the crags sat I, in wishful dream

As drunken as in sleep

While the lapping water whispered me

The secrets of the deep.

"My little child", tinkled Neptune's nymph

"Come let me make you mine

Wish me your love, wate'er she be

And I shall make her thine.

Whether rosy lips or lustrous eyes

Most entices your heart

Yours damsel shall be yours to choose

Beauty that rivals art."

Bewitched , beguiled

In euphoric delight

Into mesmerizing musings

I took a flight.

The water laughed a lilting laugh

The breeze, it danced to tune

With a knowing look on my love - lost face

Lazily shone the moon.

I thought of eyes iridescent black

The dewy depths of love

Of ravishing locks, the tangles dark

That trap for evermore.

And further more of charming smiles

Of smiles that conquer all

Of beauty envied beauty

Beauty that Venus palls.

Beauty that'd be mine

To love, to worship, to adore.

But the water nudged my idle feet

And reminded me of more.

The breeze it gave a gentle tap

And bade me to the heart

More beautiful than beauty itself

A dwelling for my heart.

And having wished all that I willed

I asked the nymph trepidation filled

"Can she be ever mine?"

The fairy gave gave a tremulous smile,

"Look there beside you, there she stands,

To be forever thine."

I stood in swooning in wondrous daze

Enthralled, bedazzled, enraptured I stared

And offered you my trembling heart,

"Not thou mine, but I thine."

Just saying goodbye

2008-11-18T21:43:00.000-08:00

The pages flipped forward in an awkward symphony. The smell of virgin paper wafted deliciously from them. The irony in the twitch of her lips was marked. When her pages were chronicled dreams, and the tales were fairy's blessings and the words were the wings of angels she had hunted vainly for such paper. Today, when the book was to be her will and her last gift to her children, they had dropped it in as a sample. Yet, it was fitting.

The pen rocked between her fingers like time ticking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She began:

To my son, my souls first strength, I leave behind fading memories. Memories of the armchair where little boys outwitted notorious rogues. Of the little bed where his mother learnt what boundless love meant. Of the G.I. Joes and Pokemon and our victories against the 'baddies'. Of schoolbooks where he wrote 'I love mamma' in the sidelines. Of bruises that he brought to me like a proud soldier back from war. Of the time when he took those bruises to her and 'I love mamma' was modified. Of the hugs that reaffirmed that the modification didn't mean that the son was gone. Just that a lover shared the space with the son. I leave him those hugs and love to last a lifetime. Maybe more.

To my little darling who will remember nothing of her mother but will know her through others : I Love You. I knew life had been gracious when she first clutched my fingers with a possessiveness only a daughter is entitled to. I knew life had been thrice granted to me when she was born. I leave to her the insignificant gift of a photograph. I can only pray wildly that she shall see the love in those still, glazed, eyes. And this book, so she shall know her mother through her mother.

To my husband I leave both my children. Our love lives on in them.

To my unborn child, I can offer nothing but death. A small token of a mother's love.

[From a mother who was not allowed to abort a foetus, which , if it came to this world would live a life worse than death]

Pic: Courtesy sally_monster, flickr

Blessed

2008-11-12T07:46:00.000-08:00

The music resonated loudly within her.It was one of those rare times when life allows you the illusion of possessing it. Pleasure radiated from her whole being. She sung to her stove as she cooked, stirring in time with the beat. She waltzed with the mop, generously spilling water all over the mosaic, giggling hysterically as she swept it up the floor in a grand sweep. She had dismissed her bewildered maid with an enigmatic smile for the day. Today, she thought, she truly knew the meaning of being blest.

He smiled indulgently, loving the glow she bestowed on the little piece of heaven they called home.
Anything special today?
Mmmm. Perhaps.
Perhaps what? he asked usurping the the broom's place in her embrace. Close. Close enough to feel her softness rub against him. To revel in the touch of her lashes on his cheek. Close enough forget that they were two.
I missed the last cycle.
His eyes pierced hers hardly daring to believe, to receive what was being offered. They questioned hers. They answered.
Yes.

She had never known pain. Not before then. Never anticipated unbound joy in pain. Ten hours of agony and buried ecstasy later she passed out.

When light flooded her consciousness again, it was with distinct dream-like fogginess. A dream she owned , a dream she designed. A dream she adored, for it was hers.

She looked up into his eyes, not sure whether it it was her eyes or his that were blurred. Not until a drop of salt touched her lips. It was she who asked the mute question this time. She received no answer. Just the vacuum that that lodges itself in loss. He broke into a flood of sobs.

Blest.

Ps: Bwahahahaha for my last post ...:D ..ise kehte hain googly ..deleting to avoid embarassing reminders :D

Cuppy Cakes and Candy

2008-11-08T20:58:00.000-08:00

She stared wistfully at the slightly dusty glass window. Yes, she thought, that's where. She read off her mental note - crisps, chocolate sticks, Hershey's strawberry syrup, a couple of cartons of mixed fruit juices. The youngest she remembered had asked timidly for candy floss. She smiled inwardly. Candy.

She lingered at the glass window checking the display. Perhaps they would like one of these. The cuppy cake looked particularly inviting.Five of those, she added with maternal pleasure to her inventory. But she had to tackle the apparel window first. That way everything would be fresh. They'd melt within seconds, those chocolates.

The dress was important. Her snow maiden's birthday next week. She'd have to be extra careful with her choice. Her chapped grey lips cracked into a smile imagining the the tantrums that would follow otherwise.She would have to order the cake too. She tried to picture the cake. A doll house perhaps. Chocolate icing smudged generously all over and candy sticks for windows. That would be pretty.

She stood there, tottering on her feet, gazing into the distance relishing the cake already. Something nudged her sharply on her side and she stumbled onto the paved parking lot littered with empty cuppy cake cups. Oh sorry, I didn't notice. A voice that probably didn't notice anything but mirrors.

She thrust her palm forward - every line of fate etched in clear black ink, stubby curved nails - clinging on to life. Sorry, no change. The voice trailed away behind the glass of cuppy cakes and Hershey's strawberry syrup.

Something fell on her lap. Someone had discarded a lump of unwanted candy.

Flickers

2008-10-31T21:51:00.000-07:00

The bangs echoed everywhere. One after the other like answering calls.Huge gigantic balloons going bust together. Lighting iridescent the black night sky, outshining the million blinkers a million million miles away. The sheer rapture of the light overwhelms the dark. Illuminating perfectly,with discretion. Careful of what it bestows its glorious light on.

The exquisitely finished weatherproof paints of mansions. The humble whitewash of unknown slum walls. The heavy gold and diamond of time ticking away. The shampooed-after- a-month limp brown hair. Shining sprayed tresses.The exotic sarees, 'crafted to perfection'. The gaudily glittering clothes struggling to feign gold. The smiles. Brilliantly glowing, golden and silver. And the eyes, unrecognizable, illegible behind the bright light filming them.

The darkness dispelled, the pretentious sparkles dancing their way around halt. The golden wrist watches still the eyes of some by their glitter. Other pupils, are more vacant, having nothing to reflect. Just the blankness of being once the sun exposes it pitilessly to them. Like the doleful charred catherine wheels that would never pirouette again.

But for one eventful night all was right with the world.

Just Another Day

2008-10-16T21:46:00.000-07:00

It was black as the pits of hell. Blacker than blackness. Blacker than the absoluteness of a black hole. Not the distantest ray of illumination touched here. Nothing. But it was bulging. Too heavy for the emptiness of the dark.

Her fingers led her blindly against the expansive walls wending their way through the cramped storage. Limbs, sockets, entrails wrapped carelessly in smooth notes, once crisp and green. Sealed with cold unyielding metal. She dropped down on her knees, on warm, slightly wet and unformly lumps. Her nails scraped against damp, limp paper, tearing apart the pieces, feeling through the contents, one by one, carefully, as if waiting for a revelation. The package gave away. A gift from hell. The seal fell in a dull 'thuck' and millions of slimy balls ambled down listlessly. She reached out a gingery finger and touched one. The ball spun, dispelling the darkness for terrifying light.

The silence split. A numb dread crept under the thin peel of her skin like a parasite. The stench of death choked her throat, burning her insides. Glutinous red. Everywhere. Pools. Puddles. Oceans. Limbs scattered like dry leaves from a dead tree. Siren- screams; toneless.Insignificant centipedes thrashing futilely against fate. Against fate scribed by humans in blood. Where doom is the only word.

Wide eyes. Fear. Surprise. Who knows. Too disfigured to make out. Lip hung loose. Blue. A one-fingered tiny hand stretched out in call.

She staggered. Her hand crept towards it. No movement. "Come", she whispered hoarsely, "Come to Ma". The finger curled round hers.

"Shock", said the doctor tonelessly. And they carried her away.

PS: Friends and blogmaniacs. I'm really sorry but i ate up by surfing limit again. I know you are rolling your eyes but really i don't know what happened. Anybody have any idea to help this damsel in distress? This is my last post for this month :(. And whats worse i won't be able to visit your blogs:(:(:(. I'm sorry. Two messages however: Crystal thanku you so much for that awesome award ..will add it next month. Digant, i'm sorry i couldn't visit your blog, i'll do that next month too. Hasta La Vista.

Greening It

2008-10-10T22:30:00.000-07:00

Just been back from heaven. I mean 'Betla National Park' doesn't seem the coolest name to visit. But its one of the most beautiful places i have seen. I had been there ten years ago. And as people say history repeats itself. Not too many animals. Most of them prefer the forest to gazing at ugly humans. But deers and monkeys are plentiful. And the bisons - who treated us to a perfect show of royal disdain. I would post the bisons' snap, but they need some editing. However, here are some slices from two days at heaven . It really made me rethink living in the city. The forest, the sea- they are just such perfect places to live in. Far from the dusty, smoky, choky big bad world. Or am i being an escapist? Your take? And by the way forest or sea i intend to take the net and electricity with me.;)

The woods are lovely dark and deep. Actually these are the outskirts.

Sunrise in the forest.

Somewhat more towards the interior.

This is out of order. There is a communion of two rivers nearby. We visited that too. A pic of the train passing over the bridge with my brother running after it, shouting, "Hey wait, I'm coming along too!"

Our ancestor..in deep thought.

A view of the forest from the crumbling watch tower of Palamau fort.

He's probably saying, "Morons", for disturbing his breakfast.

The river flowing through the forest.

And sunset in the forest. Beeeeeaaauuutifulll. I'm punch drunk.

Adieu

2008-10-04T21:08:00.000-07:00

He hated it here. Its not very pleasant, being moved around like an unwanted carton. Or lying slumped, forgotten, in a corner, for ages. Nobody bothers. Or cares to bother. His unparalysed family must be free somewhere. Somewhere in the recesses of live memory where he could probably have been. Instead of gaping glassily at frozen smiles and plastic flowers. Listening to redundant clicks and ominous beeps. Dead yellow and white light closing in upon him from ceilings and floors. The predictable slush of water - at you request. He never knew when it was cold. Or hot.

"Anything? Please. Anything but that."

"Please understand. Life has nothing more to give him."

A sob. He vaguely saw the thin, harmless looking needle approaching him.

He closed his eyes gratefully. Into heavenly bliss.

Pic: courtsey Ray, flickr.

Sing A Song of Six Pence

2008-10-01T02:15:00.000-07:00

Am back!!! I mean from hibernation . Manipal..well Manipal's history . Couldn't go :(. But the good thing is Ramzan is finally over and its eid tomorrow. Yes!!! The pleasures of eating are back again. And it's October. So I can blog again. AND I got an award which i don't deserve ..but well, an award is still an award deserved or not. Life couldn't get better then this. So i'll do the award tag first :). I was tagged by Sarath. Thanks a hundred times dude.

These are the rules

1. The winner may put the logo on his blog

2. Put a link to the person you received the award from

3. Nominate 5 Blogs. & put links to those blogs

I'll just bend rule three a bit..no urls and more nominees.

1. Tinni - coz I never knew she could write so well. Understatement. Period.

2. HP - Coz she writes all those things i never think of

3. Mayz - he is the ultimate magicmaker

4. Sameera - Her poems give me the greens. She is brilliant.

5. Priya Joyce - the honest blogger award definitely goes to her

6. Riversoul - for being a wonderful poet and friend

7. Alok - For being a mad engineer with a creative mind.

8. Joie de vivre - Coz she says in four lines what i couldn't say in a hundred

9. stupidsaur - sumone who doesn't read my posts , but well, i'm addicted to his sense of humour.

10. Abhinav - Another nutter in blogville with an amazing way of making everything seem funny.

11. De- Scribe - coz he's the only guy i know who can write fantastic horror storie that creep me out.

11. Vinay because everything about him rocks

12. Urv because he has a wonderful way of commenting on pics;) and he was my first blog (virtual world)friend

Oh and to everybody else for being my friends on blogville.

Post tag, I want to ask everyone one question. Just 1 koshchun. This doesn't apply to those who have their real names as their blog names too. For the rest : Everybody , how exactly did your blogger names come about? Just wanted to know. Mine , well it came out of a moment of foolish pride. Answer answer.

In Mourning

2008-09-19T06:49:00.000-07:00

Friends, bloggers and helmsmen, the first thing i do is apologize. I've eaten my surfing limit this month like a glutton. Glut - glut -ton. As after effects i'm unable either to reply to your comments or view your posts. *wails*. The bible is right. Gluttony is a sin. So no posts till the first week of October, because i'll be going to Manipal to attend a mock UN summit. I'm sorry. For myself. Even if you don't miss me I'LL BE MISSING YOU GUYS!!!!! For the time being i'm posting one of my earliest poems here, copied from a previous post. This is called lack of creativity, but you can't expect me to be creative now. :( Here goes:

I played delighted with that glass fragility
So beautiful , so perfect,
Such eternal bliss.
A song to my heart
Peace to my mind
A childlike thrill to my eyes.
I was sure it was mine
A companion to my heart forever
Invincible - it was divine i was sure
And while I was peacefully snuggled in my illusion, before my very eyes - shattered
shattering every fragment of me.
I mustered courage
and put together the blurred pieces
The scars remained , but my world was one again.
This time I was resolute
I wouldn't - I couldn't loose it this time
Assured again i ventured to play
And again through my clumsy fingers - my joy splintered
I stared unbelieving in helpless dismay
And trembling, hopeful
Mended it again
And just as I managed to convince
my disbelieving heart... again...
Courage failed me, hope eluded my farthest reach
I let the wounds be -
Open, crippled, crying...

PS : Don't mind the lack of rhyme and meter. I never was one for them.

Touchy Issues

2008-09-12T16:36:00.000-07:00

Pair - a - noia. Since i came (or landed up accidentally) in this city i have learnt weird lessons. Like girls should be demure darlings. That they should not have, or pretend not to have, 'you - know she has a boyfriend'. Or that that they should avoid having girlfriends. Paranoid. Totally. This city is completely paranoid about lesbianism. Owing chiefly to missionary moms. Duh. And well i'm more of a hug - and - say - it person. Well i was, till i encountered my deadly classmate. I have no issues with gal mad girls. As long as they keep off me.

Now my 'i really love you' classmate gives me the jitters. When she asks you for your notebook her hand is around your waist, her head just short of falling on your shoulder in a 'pyar hua iqrar hua' scene. When she wants to talk to you, she'll take your face in her hand ..'i luuvv you simran' (or kiran, or farah, its not exclusive). You can't talk to her without being dragged to the floor - 'tumko le kar chalo chalen'.

That's her. Most of the rest are 'horn ok please, keep distance'. Even between friends. *sighs*. To touch or not to touch, that is the question.

Calling 999 - HELP!!!

Where are You?

2008-09-06T23:41:00.000-07:00

Running away from death..........

Confronting it

And losing.

If God is All Seeing and All Loving ...why?

Tag Tag Tag Tag

2008-08-31T08:12:00.000-07:00

This tag is dedicated to all me buddies in blogville for having shown all that awesome bit of concern over my last post. Luv you guys.

I was tagged by some relentless taggers ..Divya, Riversoul and joiedevivre. Thanx guys .. i actually liked this tag ...

The rules:
1. Put Your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG DOWN NO MATTER WHAT!!! After you've answered all of the questions, tag other people and then let them know that they have been tagged.

- IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Mera Saiyyan(Khamaaj) ....wat has my 'saiyyan' whoever he is has to do with this?

- WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
doorie ..atif- right i can't avoid myself

- WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL ?
Seasons in the sun.. sun tan?

-HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
In aankhon ki masti ...umrao jaan - not exactly

- WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Smack that..akon ..how did it know?

- WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Kahin to hogi ho..Jane tu ...mere bechare dost

- WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Tere bin...Atif ...Right for the first time

-WHAT IS 2+2?
In my life.. Beatles..what is dat supposed to mean?

- WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
O Re Piya ..Atif ... no! wat does best friend and piya have to do with each other?

- WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Rhythm Divine..Enrique... Bulls Eye!

- WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Ye jo Mohabbat Hai..Kishore ...I'm actually liking this tag!

- WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Zindagi ke Safar mein ..Rafi ...dear ipod..i want to do something before i'm old enuf to sing songs like this

- WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Rangeen..Ali Zafar ..this is what he should be thinking of me but ..*sighs*

- WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Chalte chalte ..Pakhiza...nahi yaar ..aise hi nahi utha laye ..im their bona fide daughter

- WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Words...Boyzone... i hope my guy woos me wid something better than this.

-WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Zindagi Ek Safar ...When i'm dead?

- WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Meri Kahani ...i suddenly realized there are too many Atif Aslam songs here

- WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Numb...very revealing

- WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Abhi na jao chorkar .. oh yeah ..don't go ..ever

- WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
Din Dhal Jaye ..ok if u say so

-WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THIS TAG?
O Haseena Zulfon Walin ..like a witch?

I tag
Farhan
Aria
Maverick

Down and Out

2008-08-26T08:59:00.000-07:00

I'm dying ......of fatigue. Can't do a post guys. Bear with me and please don't go away ... i live on your comments ...phew i'm dead.

Tagged to Tags

2008-08-18T21:05:00.000-07:00

Here's the tag i've been delaying.The rules are :

1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page of results, and pick one image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into Big Huge Lab’s Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.

The questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food? right now?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favorite drink?
7. What is your user name?
8. What is your dream vacation?
9. What is your favorite dessert?
10.What do you want to be when you grow up?
11. What do you love most in life?
12. What is one word that describes you?

1.

This is my first name : Dog and the Bone.

2.Fav food right now: What ? Soaked rice ? With a dirty man in gray?

3. High school : Chana jhal. Accounts for my dumbness.

4. Big bummed girls are definitely not my favourite colour.

5: Oh yeah. he is definitely my celebrity crush.

6. My fav drink: A fungus eaten bread. Straw please.

7. Guys . Bow to me. My user name doesn't have an image result. Flickr 'gives up'.

8.Dream holiday: with a dog in the mud? I'd rather stay home.

9. This is NOT my favourite dessert.

10. I'm gonna be a dumb waiter when i grow up . Or so flickr says.

11. I didn't type books but flickr's intuition worked for once.

12. These two kids describe me perfectly: the scared and the mad.

And this is the mosaic. Dumb.And wow the rules of this tag don't require me to tag anybody.

Monsoon..Life?

2008-08-16T05:16:00.001-07:00

Friends, I need a quick and really blunt review of this poem. Point out each and every line you don't like ..please be as rude as you please :

Fresh full of life the puddle filled,
The water danced, anticipation thrilled;
Hopeful, trembling, anticipation..
Tiny teams of tadpoles, teeming tiny tadpoles
Danced, Danced, Danced with the water
Danced in the mid, in the mid of life
Danced on the edge, on the edge of strife
Danced for happiness, in innocent prime
Danced, danced, danced out their life.

Then heat, and filth, and squalor came
And ended life's deception game.

Down in Dumps

2008-08-12T07:25:00.000-07:00

What do you do when you discover you are a thoroughly mediocre idiot too full of yourself?

Grrrr...

2008-08-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

I can't believe i've been tagged again. And i have changed my mind about people deserving capital punishment. Enforced by certain people i came across yesterday. One certain uncleji came to our cabin (in the train) with a huge packet of monaco, his antique cellphone and a pot sized front. He came , he saw a socket ,plugged his beloved cell, and he pasted his enormous bottom on an already squashed seat.. 10 mins...he devours 10 biscuits ...smiles idiotically at nobody and continued with his excercise.1 hour - the biscuits are finished, he looks longingly at the crushed plastic in his hand, checks his cell, decides its charged and makes to leave. Just as we almost lost sight of his buldging backside he turns, "You see, i'm expecting a call from my wife". Yes, thank you. Civil courtsey indeed.

2008-07-30T05:15:00.001-07:00

I've been tagged by two unspectacular friends of mine and its creating a blog jam so i thought i'd get done with the tag first.

Here is the Unspectacular Quirk tag (copied from my tagger):

Link the person who tagged you.
Mention the rules on your blog.
Tell 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs, letting them know that they have been tagged.

Queer quirk one: Like most of my species i like keeping in shape. Whenever my size 26 'unfits' me i take to the golden remedy : exercise. Unfortunately when i exercise i feel doubly hungry which means ...i throw out the size 26 and buy size 30 :(
Queer quirk two: I'm a language puritan. Which incidently does not mean that my language is good . It only means that my English is realatively better than my hindi and i'm a bit immodest about it. So whenever anybody makes a grammatical or speeling mistake i'm embarrassingly finicky about pointing out the mistake. Mind you i make millions of them all the time. Talk about smartypants.
Queer Quirk three: I loose my mind during examinations. I have the irritating habit of getting up every few minutes from my bed during exam period(which for me begins two month before exams) put on the light and check a fact, much to the annoyance of anybody who shares my room at night.
Queer Quirk four: I like reading books and am convinced that everybody and anybody who does not read is deprived , disabled or whatever. I'm annoyingly persistent about making most of my friends and relatives read books even if they hate reading.
Queer Quirk five: Keen as i am on making people read i try to avoid lending my books. I cover my books and read because i like the spine straight and the corners unbent. Unfortunately i'm rarely successful in keeping my books from my relations and therefore they aren't at all in the shape i like them to be. Except my classics of course.
Queer Quirk six: I sleep with two pillows, neither of which are ever under my head. My dad thinks i'm a psycho and its usually my pillow that get taken when an extra is needed because it is accepted that if a pillow isn't under your head you don't need it . :(

Yes i did it! I thought i would never find enough quirks.. now i'm full of a few more ..like carrying an umbrella sun, rain, wind anytime. Anyway these are the people who'll do it next:

the soul
De - Scribe
Silent Recollections
Petals and Pebbles
I Rhyme Without Reason
Lage Raho

Amen. And Please don't tag me again.

Resurfacing

2008-07-27T00:54:00.000-07:00

Aargh...ahhh ...ooh ....phew! I'm finally outta the water. Nearly two weeks without the net, you have no idea. I felt like a bird underwater (literally). Patna beat mumbai at waterlogging this year (thats one step forward to being a metropolis at least). And i had to recamp to a 150 year old haunted house. A week of peeling walls, dripping roofs and non - motorable roads. More importantly a week without the net and a non - functioning gprs. I need some serious sympathy. And a vital question, a kind of question that comes only with a tortuous travail , when you have seen life and death simultaneously struggling to take you : how do people live without the net? :?

PS : Ok im sorry for that pathetic ending . Urv I was going to tag you yaar, its not fair. And at any case by compulsion my next blog will be the tag. :)

2008-07-11T15:54:00.000-07:00

My friends, (especially one friend) keep slamming me for my sense of humour or the lack of it. Admittedly my skills at joking are worse than Manmohan Singh's (see?). But then, as I very recently realized, God granted me only half my share of gyri and sulci with one tenth the grooves(evidence in support of defense- when i hear himesh sing only half my head aches), so theres little choice left poor me as to its employment.

Besides, i can laugh, although very self consciously - the maker has been doubly generous with the size of my teeth(I know what you are thinking - Nice attempt sweetheart, but joking is not a skill awarded to dumbwits. I appreciate that you don't add 'like you').

Also in my defense and in favour of my (ab)sense of humour : there are people who laugh at things I say. Unfortunately at these rare occasions of infinite joy i'm never aware that i had been joking. My first reaction is that of pleasant surprise.Later in the dimness of the dusk when i recline on my chair in introspection, when the inner eye looks back searchingly upon its experiences................. i try to figure out the joke.

Like yesterday. We were discussing the phrase 'wet chickens'. Its a casualty of being an English student. We develop a special penchant of of delving into the nitty gritties of uselessness.
Anyway, one of my friends suggested that it might be because wet chickens don't fly. I cocked a skeptical eyebrow and asked , "Dry ones do?" She was laughing for the whole of next class. Promise. And I still don't know the joke.

If you are wondering why I posted this at all I beg you to sympathize with a poor little girl and her agonized attempts at making a crack. I also ask my friends to bear with my half witted posts.

WITH DUE APOLOGIES AND SALUTES TO ALL WHO HAVE READ THIS AND EARLIER POSTS AND HAVE THE COURAGE TO READ MORE. GOD GRANT YOU STRENGTH IN THIS NOBLE ENDEAVOUR . AMEN.

Ranchi Rocks

2008-07-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

Three potholey auto rides later i am dying of backache. Traveling in an auto is always a pain. In Patna it is third degree torture. Specially with deodorant unintelligent people sitting beside you. And putting their arms behind the seat..i'll omit gory details. The moment i landed in Patna i wished i was back in Ranchi again. The weather here is designed for doomed to hell people. The roads - i'll be fair- last rains there were 50% roads and 50% potholes. This year you need a magnifying glass to discern specks of tar and concrete among pot holes. A special tourist attraction is the resemblance this ancient city bears with Venice during the rainy season , with a healthy addition of floating muck.
And this is for Ranchi. I miss that city like heaven (who misses hell?). Imagine having lived in heaven all your life and then being thrown out. And the fat aunty sitting beside me in the auto today with her hands raised up to clutch the rod, her breath like she had never brushed in her life and her sweaty elbows poking my ribs as we moved in and out of every sized holes made me miss Ranchi acutely. For all those people who think Ranchi is that tattered place that that stupid gel ad shows it to be, just go check it out. Its the most beautiful balance of metro and small town. You can actually breathe air, not smoke and bad breath and sweat. And you can move on the road without dying of exhaustion.AND you can see trees. Ranchi rocks.

PS:Patna is headed to be a Metro. I swear. On whichever book you like.

A Foolproof Winning Formula - You Just Can't Lose

2008-06-29T23:33:00.000-07:00

A brilliant new dicovery has been made. I know you are thinking its probably from USA or Japan or somewhere in Europe. Stretch your imagination. Nope not Australia either, they are busy watering withering saplings.Its Zimbabwe! Yeah finally! A fourth world country coming up with a brilliant discovery. And it could be the solution to all our psephocratic problems.
One man elections. Its a wonderful new system developed by the new(or old, he's been there for 28 years at the same post) president of Zimbabwe - One man elections. You might be thinking - thats old stuff, Hitler did it. Actually no. Hitler faced all the other parties, lost the election and forged a deal with the then President to appoint him Reich chancellor. Then he banned all the parties blew up the Reich and had a referendum to grant him absolute powers. Even he, Fuhrer Hitler, did not have the ingenuity to devise a one man election. That should a feather in Robert Mugabe's cap, and good solace after having been ditched from Queen Elizabeth's knighthood.
For all you aspiring politicians out there(I hope Narendra Modi has cleaned his earwax, his formula has an improvement) here's how to do it. The foolproof recipe for an election win without the usual troubles. First, and this is important, make sure the election commission is yours to command. Hold an election against Tsvangarai (or Sonia Gandhi, whoever you like. Its better if the name is unpronouncable). If the rival wins, don't worry. Just get the election commission to declare that a run-off election is needed because you were sitting in the loo during the first one or whatever. Use your supporters to intimidate and pound Tsvangarai's supporters till they withdraw from the run-off. Hold an election and declare yourself winner. Easy. Actually you can miss the first election step if you like. The system is new so you can't blame it for a few fallacies. And you can't deny its absolutely stupendous. Prime Minister , President you can be just you like.Dream Big. As some wise person said - the end justifies the means. Cheerio.

One day Your Economy Goes Boom

2008-06-29T01:53:00.000-07:00

I haven't been too active on my blog for some time. Who wants to write a blog nobody reads? But since my friends have been 'blogging their heart out' i decided to give my heart a chance too. I don't think it's going too strong though, especially with the share markets dumping points like household garbage which means i'm approaching penury. Thank God i live with my parents!
Our booming economy party had hardly gone past midnight when uninvited gatecrashers came in. And the booze went out. The oil actually. So petrol goes more expensive and we can't drive our cars to the parties, which means fewer parties, and fewer things to party about anyway. The BJP is probably the only party thats still going strong, and their party is going to end up in a painful five year long hangover. The parliament belongs to the BJP for the next five years to scream in and kick chairs about. There's going to be a lot of kicking anyway. The government better put a section in the budget for purchase of new ones and the next speaker should be warned of occupational health hazards.
Prices are not going down anytime soon. Actually, if you can take it, they're not coming down. And the economy is literally going 'boom', as in kaput. Forget 9% growth. There's a depression on in the US which should depress you anyway- even if you are Osama -since the Americanization of world economy means when US gets a flu everybody else sits around the sickbed praying for recovery. And if the flu turns out to be pneumonia you'd better hand in your sick leave as well.
Till crude oil prices go down,or till you learn how to grow money (believe me, they're both possible!) i'd suggest everybody to sell their cars and buy a bike(as in a bicycle). Or you can wait till they're ready to buy your car for a million dollars for the British museum. Whatever you do get ready to shed a few extra pounds. And that's actually good news! Oh wow! I thought it was out of stock.

Truly Yours

2007-11-16T19:59:00.000-08:00

The silver beach invited me
Into Waters silver more
The blinking stars spoke luringly
of enchanting fairy lore.
On the crags sat I, in wishful dream
As drunken as in sleep
While the lapping water whispered me
The secrets of the deep.

"My little child", tinkled Neptune's nymph
"Come let me make you mine
Wish me your love, wate'er she be
And I shall make her thine.
Whether rosy lips or lustrous eyes
Most entices your heart
Your damsel shall be yours to choose
Beauty that rivals art."

Bewitched , beguiled
In euphoric delight
Into mesmerizing musings
I took a flight.
The water laughed a lilting laugh
The breeze, it danced to tune
With a knowing look on my love - lost face
Lazily shone the moon.

I thought of eyes iridescent black
The dewy depths of love
Of ravishing locks, the tangles dark
That trap for evermore.
And further more of charming smiles
Of smiles that conquer all
Of beauty envied beauty
Beauty that Venus palls.

Beauty that would be mine
To love, to worship, to adore.
But the water nudged my idle feet
And reminded me of more.
The breeze gave a gentle tap
And bade me to the heart
More beautiful than beauty itself
A dwelling for my heart.

And having wished all that I willed
I asked the nymph trepedition filled
"Can she be ever mine?"
The fairy gave gave a tremulous smile,
"Look there beside you, there she stands,
To be forever thine."

I stood in wondrous daze
Enthralled, bedazzled, enraptured I stared
And offered you my trembling heart,
"Not you mine, but I thine."

Let There be Light: Pakistan quagmire

2007-11-16T07:03:00.000-08:00

U.S. Is Looking Past Musharraf in Case He Falls

Pakistan quagmire

2007-11-16T06:23:00.000-08:00

Ok, an update.... Mrs Bhutto has had a change of mind(or so it seems) . She decides she does not want to share power. She wants it to her democratic self. And she has asked Mr Musharraf to step down who got annoyed and told her very categorically that she has no right to ask for it, (and rightly so since he is the big boss). She has also declared another rally and seems likely to actually carry it out. Meanwhile Mr Musharraf has very obligingly agreed to holding the elections by 9th January. But he has also been very clear that he is not revoking emergency, since they are necessary for free and fair election (where its only fair that he gets the mandate).
Now this is slightly discomfiting for US since they had been counting on power - sharing deal. They are now mulling over whether a threat of cutting down military aid would make Musharraf toe the line. But the US need not worry, even if Musharraf falls , the leaders in the waiting list ( namely Kayani and Bhutto) are both pro - America , so its interests are snug secure. And Pakistan remains stuck in the muck.

2007-11-11T01:47:00.000-08:00

The Pakistani political crisis has all of us Indians shaking our heads smugly. The Pakistan roller coaster seems to go inevitably in circles - corrupt civil governments followed by a coup ousting and a military dictatorship. But what's happening today in Pakistan is different . The country after 60 years of independence finally seems to have found its voice. The judiciary, for the first time in Pakistani history is actually talking justice instead of complying submissively to the higher despotic administration.
In fact that is why the whole issue started - the judiciary stopped doing what it was expected to do and decided that Pervez Musharraf's continuous twiddling with the constitution was getting a bit too tiresome. The general smelled rat - or justice(these upstarts were planning suspected to be conspiring to pass a judgement against the validity of the General's recent election) decided that the judiciary was getting extremist, called for an emergency and to top the cake with a rich layer of icing ( choose your flavour) abolished the Supreme Court and very politely told the Chief Justice Iftekhar Chowdhary that his services were no longer needed.
Immediately, the self professed champion of democracy in Pakistan- ex- Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto , flies back from Dubai. Her immaculate timing has newsmen suggesting (outrageous!!!) that she had foreknowledge of the release of the blockbuster. she condemns the emergency(not too vehemently , if you mind) calls for a rally but is detained at her house on account of the threat to her life - so the rally never gets a chance for the cameo(pity).
Meanwhile there is a whole lot of international drama being enacted too. The US, longtime Pakistan ally ( always an ally when a dictator is around) decides to play 'democracy champion' and pressurizes general I-make-my-laws to revert to constitutional means but they assert that they cannot interfere in Pakistan politics any more than they have ( is South America listening?). A less tactful official makes it clear that Us, after all, has a stake in Pakistan.
At the same time rumours are afloat that Mrs Bhutto has been in touch with the US and is likely to strike a deal with the General on power - sharing (preposterous!). For those who need it spelt out power - sharing means Pakistan would be ruled by a despotic General and an ex-PM , the corruption charges against whom were dropped under mysterious circumstances ( National Reconciliation Ordinance).
On a happier note Pervez Musharraf has announce that elections will be held by February 15th next year which will , no doubt, be completely democratic. On a less happier note, the pertinent question - If not Musharraf , then who?

Melting

2007-10-29T07:44:00.000-07:00

The throb of the yielding heart,

Yielding yet unyielding

The throb of love

The throb of hate

The throb of love that inspires hate

The throb of pity

Of pleasure

Of heartfelt desire

Of mad passion

Of greed

Of need

Of thirst

Of hunger

The throbbing, the pain

The endless convulsions of the feeble heart

Yielding, unyielding

Giving, ungiving

In tussle, in compromise

In myriads more

Breaking , unbreaking…

Love survives

2007-10-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

My mom told me a heart - wrenching tale today. Not a tale actually - its real. There is an employee in her bank who lost her husband and son. They drowned. This lady has a washer woman living near her home. She came one day crying to Arzoo(the employee) because her son was dreadfully ill and the hospital authorities wouldn't admit him. The child was suffering from some disease that caused the pores in his body to ooze blood. She persuaded the hospital to admit him.He required blood transfusion every month and this lady, when she could not arrange for blood would persuade doctors into taking her own( there is a rule that does not allow a person to donate blood more than once within two months). For six months the child survived and then he breathed his last . This is what Arzoo said - The boy reminded me of my son. The blood from the boy's eyes brought back the memory of the blood that was on the eyes of my dead son. Keeping this boy alive with his parents for six months gave me all that happiness that i would have had had my son been alive for all my life.

Broken Shards

2007-09-26T08:32:00.000-07:00

I played delighted with that glass fragility
So beautiful , so perfect,
Such eternal bliss.
The sight of it brought a song to my heart
Peace to my mind
A childlike thrill through my eyes.
I was sure it was mine
A companion to my heart forever
Invincible - it was divine i was sure
And while I was peacefully snuggled in my illusion before my very eyes - shattered
shattering every fragment of me.
I mustered courage
and put together the blurred pieces
The scars remained , but my world was one again.
This time I was resolute
I wouldn't - I couldn't loose it this time
Assured again i ventured to play
And again through my clumsy fingers - my joy splintered
I stared unbelieving in helpless dismay
And trembling, hopeful
Mended it again
And just as I managed to convince
my disbelieving heart... again...
Courage failed me, hope eluded my farthest reach
I let the wounds be -
Open, crippled, crying...

Quota Quarrel

2007-09-26T08:04:00.000-07:00

'The Times of India' today came up with an interesting article. The Kayasth community that had petitioned for room in the OBCs found to its dismay that it is the most educationally advanced community in the country. My condolences. They are now mulling over another little room for the Muslims too. WE make place for everyone of course.
I commend our sincere politicians at their even sincerer efforts at bridging the ravine between the haves and the creamy 'have nots'. Since the literacy rate of our country is a whopping 65% it is but natural that we should make more place for mediocrity. We are a society of equals . And as Orwell says some animals are more equal than others. The general category must accept that we are among the 'less equal animals', but equal nevertheless.

We did it . We bashed them . Wee Dhoni's the one!

2007-09-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

India did it ! We finally won a tournament that matters! It would all have been very wonderful (it still is) had Shoaib Mullick not commented unthinkingly that Muslims all over the world were praying for a Pakistani victory. What an unsporting assumption. The game was not between Muslims and India . It was between two teams. I'm certain that Irfan Pathan was most definitely not praying for a Pakistani victory. A Muslim in India is an Indian first. Shoaib Mullick needs to do a rethink if he thinks we are supporting Pakistan. That is not to be.

Empty....

2007-09-24T11:03:00.000-07:00

When darkness clings
And hope evades
And love deserts
And muscles betray
Look up,
Out there, somewhere
You'll know there is someone
Who loves and cares
And every time you slip groping
Through the darkness
You'll find a hand that pulls you to your feet
and holds you there
And then through the darkness
You'll see a ray
That comes from that lone star out there
And you'll find all love hope and strength
Pouring back into your empty soul.

Nuke Deal : do we miss the bus

2007-09-24T10:36:00.000-07:00

The nuke deal really must come through. Its time the left got real and the BJP accept that had it been in power it would have grabbed the deal. We are gaining good on the deal even if we lose our right to test. The U.S. is not going to be in any position to manipulate India if this deal gets through and it will not compromise India's dignity or its potential to be a superpower. George Bush may not be India's best friend nor the world's but the nuclear deal is in our interest and we must take the bus while its waiting.The deal is the answer to India's energy needs.We must pull this deal through without of course forgetting the left's 'environmental considerations'. Thats one score on which they are right.