যেদিন তোরা...

কলেজের প্রথম অঙ্ক পরীক্ষা ছিল
যেদিন তোরা ধর্না বসেছিলি
আমি ভালো ছাত্রী ছিলাম ভীষণ
একশো না হোক, নব্বই পেয়েছিলাম
যেদিন তোরা অন্যায় না মেনে
অনশনে জেগেছিলি সারা রাত
পাশ কাটিয়ে গিয়েছিলাম ঘরে
ঘুমিয়েছিলাম, খেয়ে মেসের ভাত
কলেজে আমি নাটক করেছিলাম
রাত জেগে এঁকেছিলাম আল্পনা
কিন্তু তোদের পোস্টার আঁকার সময়
পেয়েছিলি কেবল আমার অজুহাত
কি জানিস তো, সবাই বলেছিল,
"ভালো মেয়েরা রাজনীতি করেনা
চোখ কান বুজে নিজের টুকু বোঝো
ভবিষ্যত হবে খুব উজ্জ্বল।"
তোদের কে কি বলেছিল কে জানে
রুখে দাঁড়িয়ে করেছিলি প্রতিবাদ
কত হুমকি খেয়েছিলি মনে পরে?
তবু প্রাণ খুলে করেছিলি কলরব।
যেদিন তোরা মার খেয়েছিলি ভীষণ
রক্তে যেদিন রেঙেছিল ক্যাম্পাস
সেদিন চোখে জল এসেছিল, জানিস
কিন্তু গলায় আসেনি তবু স্বর!
আঙুল দেখিয়ে সেদিন বুঝিয়েছিল,
"এই দেখে নাও, আন্দোলনের ফল।
তাই তো বলি, অঙ্কে মন রাখ,
ভবিষ্যত হবে খুব উজ্জ্বল।"
আজ তাই আমি দেশান্তরে বসে,
অঙ্ক ঘিরেই আমার রুটি রুজি।
তোদের আজও মার খেতে দেখি
আজও আমার আসে চোখে জল
তবে একটা কথা বলি, জানিস,
অঙ্ক দিয়ে গড়ে না ভবিষ্যত
অঙ্ক দিয়ে গাড়ি আর প্লেন চলে
সাহস দিয়ে চলে সময়ের কল
তোরাই হলি আমাদের শেষ আশা
তোদের রক্তে রাঙা এই ইতিহাস
যেদিন তোরা তুলবি ঝড় প্রবল
ভবিষ্যত হবে খুব উজ্জ্বল।

Why So Insecure?

A few years ago, a movie called 3 Idiots was released. Aamir Khan was the lead actor and it made a mockery of premier engineering institutes in India. I was, at that point, a student of one such institute, premier enough to be blamed for suicides of both students and unsuccessful aspirants. We all went out and cheered at Aamir's disregard for his professors' teaching methods and cursed teachers who threw us out of lab for untidy circuit diagrams. Our teachers, in turn, threw us out of lab for untidy circuit diagrams the very next morning. We all had fun watching that movie. Some professors may have altered their teaching methods after watching 3 Idiots. Some directors may have relaxed campus rules and some departments may have re-structured coursework. The others, who were fairly certain of the efficacy of their methods, took the movie in good humor and moved on.

If you have been wondering why I am ranting about a not-so-recent movie that I don't particularly like, allow me to get to the point. I loved watching PK. Congrats to the entire team involved in that movie! They have perfected the idea of "entertainment with a purpose". But alas, once again, mindless blabber turned out to be much better comedy. I am talking, of course, about the hilarious reaction PK has received from religious fanatics. If PK made my day, the religious gurus' responses have made my week. I ask them but one question: Why so insecure? If you don't see the point, why don't you just move on?

In a country where we frown upon everything from plunging necklines to pre-marital sex, Bollywood has always had the liberty to portray all of these and much more. We have routinely rooted for the uneducated hero trying to date a millionaire's daughter in the movie hall. When has that ever interfered with grounding our daughters for "talking to that guy"? We have shed tears for the on-screen beauty forced into prostitution and accused real-life rape victims of "revealing too much". So why create a ruckus over Bollywood crying foul on religious practices? Do you honestly believe that anyone will stop going to temples or mosques or wherever else they go to butter-up the Almighty just because Aamir Khan said so when pretending to be a confused alien? Do you think the idiots who believe God is all powerful and yet can be wooed by sweets and cash will stop believing so thanks to one movie? I wish that would have been enough to save Copernicus, to stop the Holocaust, to avoid Godhra or to educate a girl child. Yes I attacked your religion there. Please refer to your religious text for the appropriate punishment you are clearly entitled to inflict upon me. In the meantime, allow me to ask exactly why you are so afraid of anyone speaking against your religion? What exactly are you trying to protect? The almighty, the society or yourself?

Let us discuss each of the above possibilities. Let us assume you are trying to protect your almighty. Just like you try to feed him, make him promises of gifts in return of his cooperation, and try to keep him happy to avoid his temper. At this point this God character is beginning to sound like a rather ill-behaved child. I am pretty certain better qualifications are required for the post of "protector of mankind". So under the circumstances, unless you have completely lost your minds, I will assume you understand the circularity in protecting the protector. Hence, it was rather ridiculous of me to suggest that your reaction stems from the insecurity that someone might destabilize the Supreme Power armed with a 153 minute long commercial film. Let us move on to more realistic options.

It is our right to uphold the sanctity of our society. What are we, after all, without strict moral control and herd mentality? You are completely justified in trying to shield society from the evil that a Bollywood movie can cause. There are, after all, young minds we need to protect until we complete the brainwashing process. But here's my issue with that. You remember that movie celebrating the perfect bank robbery, or the one where the hero systematically murdered whoever wronged him? Did any of you launch a mass movement saying that they might be morally incorrect? Did you ever get up and protest the excessive alcohol and drug abuse many movies glorify? Did you question how item numbers affect the youth's perception of sexuality? Let's just accept it, you never spared a single thought about the effect of movies on society. Why, then, do you suddenly care this time?

Here's a theory: You don't care. You are not afraid that people might be misled. You are afraid for yourself. You feel threatened by PK. You stand to lose the unconditional devotion, the absolute control that being a religious leader guarantees. PK teaches common people to ask questions and that makes you nervous. But have you ever heard of scientists who fear being questioned on their findings? Do parents ever beat curiosity out of their kids? Why, then, are you so hungry for people's approval of your faith? Is it because your faith is only as strong as the number of followers it has? Or is it, perhaps, your own insecurity at play here? Maybe at some level you know the fallacy of what you preach and are simply afraid of being exposed. Maybe you know that the only way your faith will be taken seriously is if you have enough puppets tied to your holy thread!

I am pretty convinced it is self-preservation that you are aiming for. So here's something I'd like you to consider. Take a moment to strip off your religion, your accolades and your qualifications. Examine the person that remains. My question to you is simple: Who are you without your faith?

All That Glitters...

[...since you'll never know if what you see is what I see too...]
If the world were my oyster, I'd wash it down with wine. The closest I can get to that at the moment, however, is free pizza and extra-strong lemonade! Welcome to grad school, the world of sleep-starved poverty and overwhelming expectations. Add to that a mirage- an abode of angels in the dreary desert- and we have the beginnings of a plot my friends! One that is shared by a significant fraction of  Hollywood movies.

Sadly, we have to leave the award-winning screenplay aside for now. This article is upon request, and it must adhere to exactly what was requested: "Good stuff about UCLA"! Yes, I need to review my request acceptance policy. No, I will not repeat the university brochure. So, without further ado, here's my best effort at not being sarcastic about this place.

The most amazing thing about being a grad student at UCLA, without doubt, is the salary you earn on graduation. I can go on about this forever, but I can't shake off the mental vision of the one who requested this article shaking his head indignantly at my realism(and the "holier than thou" section of my readers following his lead). So I'll move on to more intellectually acceptable reasons with only a mild reminder that rainbows and butterflies don't pay your bills.

Well  rainbows and butterflies are a good starting point, actually. This place is beautiful. Be it the manicured lawns or the flower-lined walkways, it all looks glorious in the California sun. The nights are enchanting with swaying branches casting magical shadows under the street lamps. Not once have I walked through this campus without marveling at its ability to be beautiful in the most unexpected ways! It refreshes me and fills me with the quiet happiness that human company rarely provides.

Now that those of you with a reasonably strong imagination are smiling, let's move on to fashion! To put it simply, I love checking people out here. People here have their own sense of style and wear exactly what they feel like. For someone who has been exposed to the herd mentality of Indian engineers a few years too long, this is really impressive. The fact that an engineering classroom does not preclude the possibility of wearing a pink lace dress will continue to fascinate me for eternity!

Next on my list is the appreciation for talent! Don't get me wrong, my undergraduate institute was home to some of the best socio-cultural performances I have witnessed. It is the approach that fascinates me. This place is devoid of the cut-throat inter-hall competition that defines extra-academic activities in IIT. People here hone their skills out of love for their art, and get applauded for the joy they bring to those around. Your only aim is to outdo yourself every single time. The sheer beauty of it makes me wonder what inter-halls would be like without the n-th rendition of "Charandas Chor"!

To stay on the topic of self-reference, academics here is tailored exactly the same way. While we abuse the quarter system and lament the lack of research opportunity on a daily basis, it is truly all up to us. We get as much done here as we strive for. We get as much out of this place as we attempt to achieve. Everything from easy A's to world class research is laid out before you. It is a buffet, and you choose exactly what you want on your plate.

There I listed out four awesome things about this place. I am seriously impressed with my achievement. Believe me it is extremely difficult to find such things to write about when you have so much going on! I mean I hardly have breathing space between a roommate who shares my love for the outdoors, another who shares my love for literature and a third who understands my introversion. Add to that a beach, a couple of good museums and just the right pinch of bed-time stories - and we have the beginnings of a plot my friends! One that no Hollywood movie can ever match up to.

Rangoli...

[This post is simply an outbreak of nostalgia... for once, not to be judged on literary qualities but on emotions alone....]

I look down at my hands... manicured nails, fair fingers...people say I have pretty hands. Today, however, I hate my hands. I don't like them so clean, so perfect. Not today, not on Rangoli! Yes, today is Rangoli...not Diwali, not Kali Puja (as those in Bengal call it).. today is Rangoli!Today my hands should have been soiled with a myriad of shades. Today my nails , clipped to the roots, should still have found a way to accumulate pigments under them. Today my hair should have been a mess, my clothes worse than rags, my face barely recognizable. Today my eyes should have been red with a fortnight's waiting sleep. Today my voice should have been hoarse from inhaling pigments (and from shouting at innocent kids everyday!).Today my feet should have been treading a tip-toed path between patches of unfinished rangoli. Today my breath should have been irregular, held every time a bead of sweat threatened to destroy our art.Today dinner should have been fed by a friend braving the rangoli room in spite of asthma, just for my sake. Today my temper should have run high, only to be calmed by the relentless effort of thirty pairs of tired hands.Today my nostrils should have been filled with the smell of cheap powder-dye. Today my ears should have been filled with a Bhaat team's recital interspersed with calls of  "...concave stencil kahan hai?" Today the lights should have been tried(and tried again), the borders should have been drawn, the floor should have been swept. Today the saree should have been wrapped hastily after a two hour long bath that fails to wash all colours away. Today my feet should have hurt, from walking to every hall after a sleepless week. Today my eyes should have opened to an unparalleled showcase of creativity and art. 

Today, this day, is not for crackers, sweets and sounds. It is for achieving the impossible, together, against all odds. Its a celebration of lights and colours, done as only we know how. Today will always be Rangoli (or perhaps Illu for some), every remaining year of my life. Because you aren't KGPian for a few years, you are for life...

My Personal Paradise

My first step out of the golden gates,cobbled sidewalks lined with roses

My first step on this walk of life - for life - one precious, elusive life
Down a path where memories walk, leading to a treasured dream
As the world I know dissolves into a wilderness of conflicting thoughts
I pick my way in careful steps, avoiding bundled weeds and jagged roots
Eyes searching the gaps among the trees out of sheer habit - empty hope
Branches rustle in the wind, reaching desperately for their fallen leaves
Birds sing of joy, insects stir, a lone wolf howls for a long lost mate
But underneath the sounds of life, the wind sings a haunting melody
Reminding me of all that is, and all that soon might cease to be
Insatiable thirst slows my step, perhaps more than just a physical need

But will, sweet will, proves stronger still, as memories cloud my consciousness

Light from the evening sun seeps in through the branches overhead

Wavering, fading into shadows - an enchantment of the end of day

A starless night! A moon still red - sinister in its soft, reflected glow

Absence of life, a vacant world - a cold and dreadful existence

An unseen raven calls aloud - warning or encouragement?I know not yet
But my elusive faith finds its way back - company serves as sustenance

And with each deliberate step the path is less defined, less traversed by

Till it fades into a tangle of thorns - hindering, cutting, drawing blood

So when I pass the edge of the cliff  into the nothingness beyond

When the stark, empty white engulfs me, when each breath breaks my resolve

All I want is the last backward glance, the glimpse of your everlasting smile

The glow of life in the depth of your eyes - that's my personal paradise

Reply to a set of Quora Questions

They say that if you are good at something, you should never do it for free. I try to follow this rule, but this isn't the first time I'm making an exception to try(albeit in vain) to ease my daily suffering. The amount of Quora curiosity on "IITians" as a species is killing me..and no, that does not make me a cat! So here are my humble offerings , in the safety of my own private blog, away from the answer-race on that extremely competitive forum.
Statutory warning: This is not for the weak of heart!Listed below are the questions that have ruined my peace of mind....along with my extremely caustic replies to them. So read on, if you dare!

To begin with, there are the dating advice questions:" What is it like to have an IITian for girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or wife or partner or ... or.....?"
Well, it is pretty damned good, from your perspective at least. See, they usually earn a lot and that is a huge plus point for someone as materialistic as you, I'd say. Honestly, give me one other good reason as to why you are so obscenely interested in the qualification of a person you are supposed to fall in love with! The question you really should be asking is "what is it like to have an IITian for an Ex?"See, IITians have this nasty habit of being smart, and they are likely to figure out the real reason you are with them at some point.

Moving on to more serious matters, this one caught my attention a while ago: "Why isn't there even a single IITian who is known for film-acting?"
Now, I am actually kind of sure that if we search well enough, we'll find an example. But answer me this dearest: why would anyone give up an assured income of 10lpa( relying on their brains) in order to struggle in a merciless, brutal industry armed with nothing but their physical appearance and luck? Yeah, I know you forgot that IITians are smart. But you'll find lots of IITian artists, musicians, directors, designers, etc because these professions require you to be good at something. Honestly, if I do ever consider taking up acting as a career, it'll be stage acting, not film, because that requires skill. We IITians rely on our skills, not on our looks. Its the smart thing to do.

Then there are those looking for motivation: "What made you work hard for getting into an IIT?"
Well, you see, here's the secret: About six months before JEE, a random set of 5000 odd kids have the same dream. A messiah comes and tells them 'Child, to be an IITian is thy destiny, and thou shalt follow this path laid out by the Lord, for only then shalt thee find out the truth behind cylinders rolling down inclines!' Honestly kid, what do you expect to hear? We realized that  its our future and we want this and that nothing comes for free. Its the same thing that motivates a footballer to not miss a penalty. Now here's my advice, take up football and practice hard, and someday you will have Pele appear in your dream like I said above :)

Now to move to more adult content, mirror mirror on the wall, who's the creepiest of them all? this one is truly scarring:"What is it like to have sex with an IITian?"
Am I to assume this is the newest fetish? Not that I am judging, but if that is what is on your mind while doing it, you should be asking your questions to a professional psychiatrist, not on Quora. No. I really don't have an answer that does justice to this question. I am just trying to get it out of my system...

Well, in order to ensure that I don't overwhelm my readers, I'll wrap it up with one last question. This one actually hurt me: "What is the best way to insult an IITian?"
Well my friend, you just did. You just called for public opinion on trying to humiliate us! Do you really hate us that much?If this was just for fun, then thank you for having fun at our expense. If it was for a specific vengeance, is their being an IITian what bothers you most? If this was because you are an IITian and think nobody can insult you, when was the last time you went to your department? But somehow I know, that it is the desperate need to prove to an IITian that they are not special, that they are just another regular person, that triggered this question. That is what hurts me.

Let me tell you a secret. We IITians know that we are not that special. None of us can guarantee that we'll clear JEE if we take it again. None of us assume that success in some competitive exam as a teenager makes us a separate species. We are better than average at logical reasoning and concentration. That's all we have to say for ourselves. Which is a hell of a lot less than Rafael Nadal or Salman Rushdie can say for themselves. So, that's all we want said about us. Please do us a favor and don't alienate us. Whether you worship us or detest us, all you do is create a barrier. Treat us with exactly the same respect that you have for that neighborhood boy who's a state level player or the kid who can juggle 6 eggs at a time. There are a lot less people who scale the Everest every year, let us all stand up and bow to them!

The Unthinkable...

[In reply to Mr. Chetan Bhagat's advice to women: blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/The-underage-optimist/entry/five-things-women-need-to-change-about-themselves]

Now that the first attempt at something "unthinkable" has been made, let me try my hand at it - by trying to tell men that they might just be wrong. This is not a pretty article, so if you are looking for a lighter read, perhaps you will find a copy of "Two States" lying around somewhere. This article is my reply to the five things Mr. Bhagat suggests women to change about themselves. My reply, not as a woman, but as a rational individual:

Mr. Bhagat suggests that women need to stop judging other women. I completely agree with this. In fact, they should also stop judging men, their kids, others' kids, the clothes in Paris Fashion Week and the quality of rice bought at the supermarket. Men should also not judge women, other men, their kids, others' kids, the Kawasaki Ninja and football passes. Won't that be a nice and comfy world to live in!?  Give me a man who has never judged anyone or anything in his life (professional judges, please don't take this personally), and I will accept his advice to humanity on the matter. Mr. Bhagat, whose description of 'Dean Cherian' closely resembles that of a bulldog, does not strike me as such a person.

Now, where do I even begin on the faking issue! Well, as a disclaimer, I love to fake. I was told it is called being grown up. It appears, however, that women tend to commit the serious crimes of laughing at men's jokes even if they are not funny and dumb-ing themselves down for guys. Now, how many men do I know who fake it right , left and center to improve their chances with a girl? I'll leave that question hanging...
Women also tend to accept a raw deal at work easier than men, it appears. It is called being professional, Sir! You might not like to hear it, but perhaps those women are tougher than the men around. They might not be the fake bitches you make them out to be. (It should be noted here that I, personally,do not agree with this generalization  of women accepting raw deals in the least.)

On the issue of women refusing property rights (the only serious issue in the article, according to me), I agree with Mr. Bhagat that women need to stand up for their own rights. However, the usual reason for women to avoid property disputes is domestic discord. Blaming society might be  cliche, but, in ours, women always support their men in their property related disputes, but not vice-versa. The supportive husband says, "forget your dad's property, we have enough as it is!" The loving father says, "forget your alimony, I can support my daughter!" I have rarely seen a woman who has given up her property rights when at least some of her family has supported her. But to choose domestic peace over a few acres of land - isn't that a sign of foresight?

Then there are the dreams! Those dreams that are never big enough, never great enough, never worth fighting for...to anyone but the dreamer. Truth is, nobody needs someone else to tell them what their dreams should be. Mr. Bhagat, in spite of his ability to reduce life at an IIT to a bollywood-ish romantic comedy, does not get to dictate the dreams of the women of India. An ambition of having your two healthy kids tell you how much they liked the lunch you packed for them is no less precious than that of becoming the CEO of Yahoo! The question is: Can you respect one as much as the other, and ensure you do your bit to support a woman in achieving her dreams, irrespective of what they are?

Mr. Bhagat's last advice, however, is one I wholeheartedly support. Never be too caught up in the drama of relationships. This advice, I'll re-iterate, for both men and women to understand (no, I do not think women need this advice more than men).  Any relationship,with anyone but yourself, is not worth having if it takes that much effort and causes that much distress. Relationships, like Mr. Bhagat says, are important and should be valued. However, they are there to help you get through everything else with a smile upon your face. It is not worth it to protect a relationship that constantly keeps costing you that smile. Get over it! Move on! Live your life, this is your only chance at it!

The Naming Convention

What drives a respected Professor at a U.S. university to write an article on his webpage explaining his name?(reference: http://users.ece.cmu.edu/~raj/name.html) Why am I consistently referred to as T. Asha in Bangalore, or my friend called "Dibba" in Kharagpur? I call it the naming convention...or rather, the conventional naming.

Here's my theory: The human mind tries to fit everything to a recognizable pattern. We see a  grassy field with lines on it, we automatically start pattern matching it against football/hockey/baseball grounds. We see a name and we break it up to fit our predetermined format for names, translate it to our mother-tongue, re-translate it to English and generate what most obviously must be the actual name! Then we smugly think "Stupid fellow! Can't even spell his own name!"

Next comes the phase when we, in all our magnanimity, repeat the "correct" name over and over again to the person, hoping that they'll someday pick it up! Usually they do. I, for example, reply to anything between Tisaya and Treiasha without so much as a flinch, Divya knows to pick up her mail whenever they announce "Dibba courier!" over the intercomm and I am sure each one of you have a similar story to tell. But often people turn out to be exceptionally thick headed and continue to argue on how their names are supposed to be pronounced. I was that way at one point of time, and I remember the patient sighs as people explained to me that given the spelling, my pronunciation of  Tiyasa is gravely erroneous! Today I laugh at my ignorance...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have done my very best to conform to your naming convention. But there's always a point where one must draw the line. And I have identified my point to lie after the T and before the Asha. I hereby declare that I absolutely, solemnly and wholeheartedly refuse to be rechristened T.Asha, no matter what part of the world I reside in. I will not respond to this name and will forever boycott any person/organization that addresses me by this name. Be Warned! I will fight this injustice till my dying breath!

My Fairytale: Introduction

When I was a kid, I used to believe that I was a character out of some book, where my life was part of a fascinating plot, connecting lost puzzle pieces that would fall apart if not for my existence. As I grew up, however, I convinced myself that I was extremely real, as was the world around me. The realization that my existence did not in one bit affect the flow of any award winning script was definitely not easy to digest. But the overwhelming evidence against my theory left no doubt in my mind whatsoever. To begin with, if my life had been penned down, it had been done with extreme attention to detail. Such detailing, to the level of my shoe size and eyesight, can rarely be seen in literature, and definitely not for supporting characters. That I was not the protagonist was evident: I was neither a princess nor a pauper, not amazingly gifted at any of the arts and definitely not breathtakingly beautiful! I was not the antagonist,  simply because I am not evil! In short, I was fairly uninteresting and nothing of importance ever happened to me. Thus, dear friends, I came to the conclusion that I never had a fairytale!
Now, some ten years after convincing myself of my absolute irrelevance, I would like to propose a plot for a fairytale. One in which someone like me can be the central character, and live happily ever after. You see, magic, if it happens, doesn't happen to pretty people only, nor is love restricted to royals. You can of course argue that magical love is a thing restricted to the rich and famous, but I'll simply cite about half a score examples to the contrary to end the debate. That, however, is not the point because my plot does not have a prince charming or a pumpkin carriage, mirrors don't talk to me and as far as I am aware I am neither a mermaid nor a duck.No this fairytale does not have magic, nor the ideal man and it definitely does not speak of the kind of love that makes you live happily ever after.This fairytale is about a real person; one who has been rejected and wronged, one who has loved selfishly and hated irrationally, one who can't sing or dance to win peoples' hearts and one whose fortune does not change overnight to provide every happiness in the world. On the contrary, this is the story of one of those simple beings to whom finding ten bucks on the sidewalk is worth writing down.
I start narrating this tale with the fear that most of my readers are more interested in the ten bucks than in me. However, to prove myself worthy of being the protagonist, I have decided to take up the challenge.

The Bird of Destiny

A shrill cry - desperate - reverberating from the cracks of a shattered soul

A shower of golden feathers,twisted at odd angles, bent, tattered and torn

wings flapping relentlessly, fighting hard against an impending doom

talons clawing at the empty air, searching for a nonexistent foothold

the vicious tongues of flame rise and fall as if to an unheard symphony

scorching, burning in every touch, hungry for the last shreds of hope

a lone tail feather catches flame, a momentary flash of brilliant gold

And then nothing but a trail of ash and soot, a stab of pain, a stench of fear

A sudden restless rustling of the wings,  a cry of new-found vigor

an inch of progress -  a possible escape - a  sudden glimmer of hope

But then the inevitable backward glance,the vision of all-engulfing flames

Terror - a flutter of panic - the gradual dawning of cold despair

Fatigue - wings beat out of rhythm, a realization of the inevitable end

the fierce cry of will fades into a mournful song of acceptance 

The flames approach, touch, advance - the waves of heat burst forth

and then the burning - somehow purifying each string of existence

The rising fumes choking, breaking, muting the last lament

Blazing fire weaving into the plumes of  dazzling gold

Flecks of ash swirling amongst the the ever-spreading flames

Before disappearing into nothingness, denied the truth of existence

A wing swallowed, then the other - body indistinguishable from its doom

A silent tear, vaporized before it could take its destined shape

A swirl of fire, smoke and extinguished life bursts into emptiness

And then the flames keep burning on, but the phoenix doesn't rise again

[Disclaimer: The content of the above text is purely fictional. Any similarity, to any phoenix, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No phoenixes were harmed in the writing of the above text.]

Dear Listener....

[After 6 solid months of writers' block, I guess its a decent start...]

Words, many words woven into a  fantastic tale

 embroidery giving life to a tapestry, ornate

An anecdote to complement the best vintage wine

The frowns, laughs and sighs so perfectly timed

And the captivating melody of her mirthful voice

As she casts that unearthly spell with such ethereal poise

Oh listener, how perfect this evening seems

As you swallow the elixir of her childish dreams

And you wander, lustful, in her enchanted world

As she fuels her lies with well chosen words

And if ever she pauses for a slow sip of wine

Oh! how you die to hear how her fantasy unwinds

Oh listener, for a moment, break free of the spell

The truth is whispered behind the lies words can tell

Hear the clatter of the china when her white fingers shake

The tinkling of her jewels speak of the laughter she fakes

The rustle of her handkerchief, as she tries wipe her sweat

The  tapping of her high heels, the swishing of her plait

Oh listener, please listen to the story she tells

The one that she hides in words rehearsed so well

For such gruesome tales her voice cannot speak

And yet, beneath the lies, to speak her heart seeks

Its the truth, dear listener,that she wishes to share

Are you courageous enough to listen to her?

The only poem this blog will ever host

[This was written quite some time ago, its just time to post it...]

We sit on the bank of the river of time, or perhaps of timelessness

Our fingers inches apart on the ground, yet never touching

Too afraid of all the worldly meanings the action might betray

Yet what do I have to fear from you?

One who can look into my eyes and know the very depth of my soul

Who sees in my trembling hands all my insecurities

And dissolves them into nothingness by casually brushing my cheek

One who can trace the falling tear right into my heart

And while I weave a tapestry of lies to hide behind

I see my truth reflected in the silence of your gaze

How did you know me so well?

How did you awaken the lost little girl without a word?

How did you make your way through all those deliberate barriers?

Without breaking any of them, or at least not in consciousness

Who are you to me? Friend, Lover, Protector –

All the words seem so shallow and fake

For I have seen others play those parts, and play them well

Do you play them better? Not really, no –

Yours is a different role altogether, one not in the script

Like an actor never on stage yet forming the very essence of the play

In your words I find my existence reflected

Explained as if to a child, a simple yet magical dream

And yet I am afraid to ask you to repeat them

To look in your eyes when you speak them

Afraid of that one false note, that one flicker of gaze

Afraid it will all fall apart in jagged bloodstained shards

And there on the edge of the lost stream of time

I am afraid to reach out lest, I don’t feel your touch

Save yourselves, you fools....

I have a certain friend who I have been calling a narcissist on a regular basis recently. Is he one? Perhaps. But stop gloating will you, you are no better yourselves. I mean even when you dream up a higher power, you create him in your own image. Of course God looks like your great granddad, for what can he be, if not a wiser version of you?

Well, at least that is one thing we agree upon: wisdom is not your strength, mankind, so stop acting like it is. Your childlike fascination as of late has been caught up with the environment. "Save mother nature", "save greenery", "save the planet"! Yeah right! The planet will implode upon itself if you keep littering, won't it? Let me tell you something you bunch of narcissists, "thou shalt not destroy the planet, thou shalt destroy thyself."

Come here kids, let me tell you a story. Guess what its about? Dinosaurs! They were big and strong and roamed the world like kings, till they over-exploited their food sources and destroyed their own habitats. Did the planet suffer, no! It removed dinosaurs from its face. But you are different, aren't you? You are small and weak without your 'technology'; your special 'technology' that can destroy the World!

Keep dreaming people, for ignorance is bliss, and denial the heart of existence.To all of you who are out there trying to do mother nature a favour by saving her, here's a word of advice: "Think". For all those who think they are above the menial task of protecting the environment : "Think again." In short, realize that you really aren't the one doing the favour here. Let me explain in short simple sentences the exact effects of your indifference towards your habitat.

You will exploit resources thoughtlessly. You will pollute your surroundings further. You will get some flora and fauna extinct. Ecological balance will be destroyed. Nature will have had enough of you. Natural calamities will occur. You will not adapt to the changes in your environment. You, yes all of you, will perish.The planet however , with sunlight, water and oxygen, will recover from the wounds you inflicted upon it, will give birth to new life and continue her happy existence.

So my dear fellow human beings, here's a not so humble request. Stop acting like benevolent saints who do nature a favour by caring for her. Realize what's at stake. With the sole purpose of saving your own backsides, stop and think before you act. Try for your own sake to inflict minimal environmental damage. Try, in short, to save yourselves.

Cut and Polished

Everyone (except those paying for it) finds diamonds charming. The scintillating stones, in which specks of coloured light are entrapped, are enough to take our breath away. We stare at, we admire and we desire the diamond - but only after it is cut and polished.

Have you ever seen an uncut diamond? Maybe you have. But have you ever stared at it transfixed, desiring it above all others? Probably not. If you have, you have desired it not for itself but for what it can become.

When a diamond is cut, it is not done in one hard stroke, but in gradual steps. Piece by piece all that is undesired is chipped off the stone; every blow carving away a part of its being, eliminating a part of its self, its essence, yet rendering it more beautiful than before. As the facets are formed light begins to get internally reflected making the diamond shine and sparkle. With each facet the light is reflected back within the stone, until it is completely entrapped, confused and finally broken. The desperation of the broken light makes the stone scintillate with an ethereal restlessness that makes us hold our breath. More the number of facets, the prettier the diamond - more awe-inspiring with every confused attempt of the light to be set free.

Slowly, systematically, all imperfections are eliminated, every little flaw that gave the diamond its identity is polished away. With every stroke the stone resembles more closely the model of perfection, till it becomes a perfect replica of our perception of ultimate beauty. And then in a jeweller's window, it sits pretty, appreciated, envied, desired - a perfect cold hard stone.

The Elephant Speaks

Hey guys! So what villages have you been up to destroying? Guess where I was?That's right, The Indian Institute of Technology, no less!Oh by the way, the largest campus thing is just hype, its really not that big a deal. I mean, I couldn't walk down those roads without knocking one of their light sticks over...what do you call them...lampposts or something!And they didn't even allow me entrance at the main gate.I had to go all the way around and break a wall down.Outrageous , I tell you! But I'll grant them one thing; for people dedicated to the service of the nation, they sure know how to make their guests feel important! They acted lie my visit was the single most important thing to have happened to them in ages! They actually put up gtalk and facebook status messages up to honour my visit. I hear some of them even had group threads running, tracking my every move. But do you know what touched my heart most? After days of watching people running away from me like I am some kind of monster, finally I found some respect. They actually left the comforts of their rooms on a cold night just to catch a glimpse of me! Such love! How I wish I could fix their lamp-thingy! But you know what? I think I'll be famous! No, I'm not just talking of the news coverage, guys. Some kid in there is actually writing a whole blog all about me! Oh if only it gets published somewhere! I can sort of understand why, though! I got bored of the place in mere hours, wonder what four entire years of it can do to you....

Something Creative

I had a break-up, or perhaps I should say I had another break-up. And I decided I don't want another relationship. Don't get me wrong, I love relationships, particularly the part where guys go out of their ways to find creative ways to woo girls. I even like the next phase where they pay for your dinners and celebrate anniversaries with you. What I absolutely hate are the break-ups. If you are wondering why someone as awesome as me is writing such a sentimental post-break-up lament, rest assured, I am not. I am not begrudging guys the joy of breaking up at all. I fully appreciate the fact that a break up is their birth right and they shall have it. My only disappointment lies in how extremely unimaginative they are at it!

Consider the reasons guys give for a break-up and how boring and pointless they are! The first and most classic one: "I need space"...umm... go get a flat? I mean when you asked me out, you did know I am not in the land allocation committee, right? And they usually save this one for when you are a thousand miles away from them!

The second glorious, all pervading reason is "You have changed". Well, mate, if your affection is so subject to temporal invariance, maybe you should date The Statue of Liberty. Anyway I have been told ( by an overzealous metallurgist) that her nose is corroding, so I guess she doesn't make the cut either.

This one is my personal favourite: "Things have changed". Yes dear, they have! Your precious white shirt for example is no longer white, or even much of a shirt, but trust me that is in no way my fault! Neither is the death of the hamster aunt Muriel gave you.

Face it guys, you suck at explaining yourselves. So you have two options. The first, play it safe with "I don't know". Trust me it won't take any girl very long to add this one more thing to the long list which you have no clue about. This however I am now utterly bored of and have no intention of putting up with.

The second, and this is the only thing that can lure me into a relationship, is to be creative! Lets face it, your reasons are never believable anyway. So the least you can do is make them interesting! I am listing a few possible openings that you might want to build on:

1. I got mutated and I turn into a toad every full moon...

2. I just realized my imaginary friend Alex is a girl...

3. I own a pink shirt...

4. My nose grows an inch every time I kiss...

5. I have developed a fetish for green skin...

But honestly, if you really want that break-up, you could try "I'm just not that into you"...

A Nine Year Old's Suicide Note

Dear mommy and daddy and everyone else,

I had lots of fun with you. But I got bored of having fun. The other things to do, in which you don't have fun, are terribly boring too. So, like I told all of you, I decided to die. I am sorry for being a disobedient girl. You all told me not to die for some reason. Mommy, you, asked me to think about how daddy would feel and daddy told me that mommy couldn't live without me. Suzie told me to not make mom and dad feel bad. Brother asked me to stay alive for my friends and his friend Dave told me that my brother loved me and this would hurt him a lot. But I think either all of you are lying or none of you know the truth. Because I spoke to all the people who others said would miss me. And all of them said that somebody else will mind. But nobody told me that they wanted me to live. Nobody said that they will miss me, or that they will be sad if I am not here anymore. So I asked all of you and no one had any problem. For all of the people each of you mentioned, I spoke to them and found out that they don't mind me dying.

So I am going to die, Good Bye. It was a lot of fun to have lived with all of you.HUG.BYEBYE!!!

Amy

Female Standard Time

This one is for all my male friends and all my female friends' male friends.

Guys around the World, understand this: women don't run on Greenwich Mean Time (no, not even the ones in Greenwich ) and you cannot blame them for it. Do not badger them with the virtues of punctuality and don't even try to impress upon them how extremely boring your wait for their arrival was. Trust me, they are not at fault. On the contrary, it is you who is unbelievably ignorant and naive!

My dear gentlemen, welcome to the concept of Female Standard Time( FST ) ! Women function on this completely different time zone than those mindlessly defined on our male dominated planet. The zone in which a woman resides in Female Standard Time is related to your idea of timezone in the following manner:

1. In FST events are marked by the time when preparation for it begins as opposed to when the event itself is held as is the custom in your timezones.

2. The beginning of preparation for any event in FST is set exactly half hour before the event itself is scheduled in the corresponding local time of the region.

3. Any event in FST takes place exactly after the necessary preparations are duly completed barring emergency situations.

4. Emergencies include bad hair days, chipped nail paint, broken heels and the likes.

Once you make yourself familiar with the above concept, you will realize that the women in your life are always on time! For any event scheduled in local time, they punctually start preparing exactly half hour before. That girls are always early for classes but late for dates is a direct corollary, since the first takes around fifteen minutes to get ready for while the second takes hours! The fact that breakfast is always too early and dinner always too late is another very straightforward outcome of the above principles.

I hope I have cast enough light on the issue to make all rational men realize how unfair they are to think women have no sense of time. I hope to see them acknowledge the timezone mismatch, and schedule their appointments with women accordingly. But then again, I'm hoping for rational men to exist, which in itself is far-fetched...

Falling In Love

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to some person or event is by no means a mere coincidence.

It all started some 5 or 6 years ago when an extremely immature girl came across a quite average guy and by some complex reasoning, or the lack of it, believed him to be the most wonderful person she had ever met. Well, that is when it all started for the girl in our story; because start it does everyday, every minute, when somebody in this world finds somebody else to be out of this world! But coming back to our story, the girl thought long and hard about how extraordinarily perfect this guy was, and came to the conclusion, that, it would only be logical to fall in love with him. The next steps were pretty simple, since with all the books and movies publicizing it, everyone in today's world knows what to do when you fall in love. So she did it all with great enthusiasm: she thought about him, wrote immature poetry and completely lost her power of speech whenever she caught sight of him. She did it all for a long time too, till she realized movies were movies and books were books and nobody went back to check if they really did live happily ever after. She had friends, guys, who in the mean time had found her to be their 'amazing person' and, as the books and movies tell us, had decided to propose to her. Exactly what was proposed was never quite clear, for there was rarely a straightforward proposal involved. Regardless, our heroine kept refusing till one day she realized there was one friend she found more amazing than her most amazing person! She thought long and hard about him, and he about her, and he asked her out (again out where was not an issue) and she said yes and they fell in love with each other. This time it was like the movies, with all the beautiful scenes and nice long walks, but absolutely no song and dance sequences involved! There was even a lot of romantic dialog and staying awake thinking about each other, in short it was the much hyped 'true love'! The truth however varies along the time axis, which is the primary reason for all complications in human history (followed closely by boredom and dissatisfaction). So, things got complicated, and the 'true love' wasn't so true anymore, and there being very few books and movies about it, they had no idea how to deal with it! So they 'broke up', because that's what people did when things got complicated, and regretted it, because that's what people did when they break up! But what really made our now quite mature girl lose all faith in the books and movies was when 'true love' happened a second time! This was in direct contradiction to every scripted and visual story she had experienced and so, for the first time she decided to do it her way. She liked it too, and had loads of fun, and dreamed lots of dreams about the present and the future! Some of these, to her utter delight, started coming true! Some others fought obstinately and remained forever elusive fantasies. It was these that got her upset and made her doubt love again. They even went so far as to make her question her preformed notions about this thing they called 'true love'. It was then that magic happened. It was then that she found love and it was always very true indeed. Because love she did and loved she was and it was no longer restricted between two insignificantly tiny people on a planet called Earth. It was, in fact, shared by a lot of insignificant tiny creatures on a planet called Earth. And that was what made it neither insignificant, nor tiny! It was the force that preserved life on earth, in spite of the extreme dullness involved. Because love made you love life, and just when you were about to give up on it, it would very cleverly remind you of how your dog snuggled against your legs or the card your mom gave you for your 12th birthday! And then love would challenge you, and mock you, till you finally conceded that you were, in fact, utterly, completely and irrevocably in love...with your World!

p.s. I know most of you started reading this just to find out about my love life. Well, sorry but the story does not describe my love life. Else it would include a certain puppy called Figo and a lot of chocolate sundaes.

Shower Personality Test!!

It is absolutely Accurate and based on pure logic!! Check out what your showering habits tell about you!

When in a shower which of these parts do you wash first?

Face

Hands

Feet

Armpits

Scroll down for your personality

If you chose:

Face: You seem to be quite a clown!...professionally

Hands: You are probably a person who tends to pick their nose a lot

Feet: You are a type of person who puts off buying a new pair of shoes

Armpits: You are a simple individual who is possibly unfamiliar to deodorant