Barks & Bites - The Oblique Skeptic's Blog

Waah Kya Baat Hai!

2009-11-18T22:28:00.002+05:30

Sahil: hor das!
kiddan!?

Harshal: ba
bs
bas
:D
ye hi life hai
kabhi missing
kabhi missed
in the end, its one!

wah
kya baat hai

Sahil: kya baat hai!!!

Harshal: kuch bhi bolta hoon main
:D
:D

R-P-S

2009-09-08T22:34:00.002+05:30

Rock beats Scissors.
Scissors beats Paper.
Paper beats Rock.
Routine beats Boredom.

This makes no sense.

I've no clue.

Anyways, have a great day :)

Some More

2009-06-18T15:03:00.001+05:30

2009-06-06T20:35:00.003+05:30

First Shot

2009-04-30T20:16:00.002+05:30

I was walking through just another college corridor when I eyed a particular piece of paper pasted on the wall. The information on the paper was interesting and I thought to myself - "Hey! Why don't I give this a shot?!"

And I did. I did give it a shot.

As I rushed towards the door of the classroom, I almost dropped my pen, twice and lost balance, once.

I got to the classroom and as I peeped inside after having arrived at the entrance, I was overwhelmed to see so many others, almost just like me, some nervous, some clueless, some busy in establishing acquaintance with the nearest female(or male). I walked up to an empty spot and found myself a place to sit. I looked around the classroom anxiously, waiting eagerly for it to begin and also for it to get over.

Then walked in a couple of people, and I bet I had seen them before, not anywhere particular, but definitely somewhere around in college; and these people were usually seen a lot, almost everywhere, but that's again besides the point. They handed out printed sheets of paper to everyone and the directions to begin were given. I had decided to give it a shot and that's exactly what I did. I looked at the paper once, twice and thought to myself, "Sahi hai! This is going to be easy - Lets do it!"

After having scribbled the last sentence into the sheets and after verifying my name, branch and Roll number on the first page I turned the paper in.

I waited for about three days to look at a list that didn't have my name on it. I had checked twice :)

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

I gave my first SAASC test in first year, didn't make it and gave it again the next year. I feel blessed to have been here.

Yesterday, I made, what possibly will be my last poster for SAASC and while I was doing so all the posters I've yet made flashed before my eyes (Really?)

Anyways, Thank You SAASC :)
Its been fun being around.

Bang Bang

2009-04-30T15:41:00.003+05:30

Contract Killers have a very interesting profession. They get to be the meanest, most critical, most deceitful and yet the most fatal. Imagine crouching behind a bush, or behind the curtains of a 20th floor window and then taking your aim, following it around with the cross-hair in the scope, unlocking the rifle with your thumb while easing your index finger over the trigger and nudging it just slightly to test the play of the springs and then taking in a deep breath, eyes still un-strained and as focused as ever on the task (usually a person. So much for an HR Manager). Or imagine running straight up to the man you're supposed to be killing. Right upto their face, looking them in the eye, watching their eyes ooze with an unphrasable fear of something extremely unexpected and their lips tremble with a solemn, pleading for mercy. Then comes the execution part. A moment of highly intensified self-belief, a moment of telling oneself that this is not wrong and that its just a 'job,' that this is for the good of the son who has been so eager to go to grad-school, or the wife who of late has been frustrated due to the crunch in the home-budget.

Picture popping a Mauser into the mouth of another human being, down till the end of the barrel hits hard against the Adam's Apple and the barrel itself scratches against the roof of the mouth. All the while holding their head tilted backwards by the hair on their head and watching their eyes almost pop out with fear and their cheeks drip wet with tears.

It doesn't take a lot of thinking for a man, whose own life has earlier dangled between life and death, to take another man's life.

Its more about having a brutally rational (or irrational) mind than about having a stable arm or a 6/6 vision. Head-strong, convicted and affirmative. I guess I can admire contract killers for that.

Budgeting

2009-04-29T17:41:00.001+05:30

Capital Budgeting is an interesting thing. Its a way of determining whether doing a particular thing is going to be beneficial in the long run, or not.

There are times when I feel that I should have been more careful in allocating my usefulness, productivity across various things.

Mutual Funds with assured returns are usually more likeable. So are conformists.

Process

2009-04-29T09:41:00.002+05:30

Growing up causes a very interesting change in us humans. As kids and children we are more open towards risk and all our activities are highly impulsive and their execution is hardly temperamental. But as we grow up we learn how to measure, calculate and estimate the magnitude of risk which we are opening ourselves to as a result of doing something. Hence, we become more restricted and try to cocoon our thoughts and plans to comparitively safer alternatives. And as a result we tend to become result-oriented, imminently behaving in the same old 'childish' manner.

I guess all our dreams, ambitions and plans for life should be process-orieted and not just target centric.

The Journey's more important than the end, they say.

Observation

2009-04-29T00:02:00.003+05:30

Stark amusement is usually, and almost always followed by desperation and then closely by disgust. Its remarkable for one particular thing - person, place, incident, activity - to spark such opposite emotions and still be the same thing. Meaning thereby that the change in the generated emotion occurs not as a result of the thing under observation, but due to an almost unnoticeable(to the observer) change in the observer.

I guess I'll stop here before it gets disgusting.
Because I'm in a mood.
(Hint : I'm not Smiling :) )

Dawg Talk

2009-04-26T19:08:00.001+05:30

We all are dogs (and bitches) if you take a cynically metaphorical look at it. We bite and bark and itch and snarl and wag and wave and scamper. Moreover, I like the way the blog looks and I don't need any reason to justify that.

Hope you have a nice time digging through here.

"Its never about the size of the dog in the fight, what matters is the size of the fight in the dog."

Sentence

2009-04-24T18:43:00.002+05:30

The most interesting part about Life is that it finally, absolutely and ultimately comes to and end. An end that puts a defining punctuation mark on the sentence that had for years been in writing, a sentence that had been written through many other sentences, a sentence that had many other sentences written into it. The sentence, mostly, possibly had been incomplete, void of a few essential phrases, missing a handful of adjectives, verbs, nouns, interjections. But, this defining full stop comes down hard, and in an act of expressing a shameless, defeating pride in definition, authority and finality, reads out the sentence one final time to the world, so that the sentence,for the word that it began from, for the meanings that it expressed and for the clauses it tried to usher to, is remembered by everyone till ever.

I guess the thing I dislike most about people is that they die.

My Grand Father expired yesterday.
May his soul rest in peace.

2009-04-08T19:26:00.000+05:30

Bank Cheques with your name on them look great.

Pt. 1

2009-02-28T05:03:00.002+05:30

We always think the most about everything in a general sense when we are in a state that is either excited or de-excited as compare to the normal. This is because an increase in the awareness of the sense, any sense, individually or with others, leads to an increase in the awareness or perception of most of the other senses as well.

And thus, for all of those who desire to be more aware, more perceptive, and possibly as resultant, more analytic, intoxication becomes a necessity, unless of course their lives are sufficiently interesting, captivating and requiring.

To The Green Martian

2009-02-04T16:00:00.000+05:30

I Love You, Harshal Sethi.

Somewhere Else

2009-02-01T14:41:00.000+05:30

A stone to a hill,
to a sky, to a cloud;
the wind to the seas,
to the end, to a shroud.

The love to a memory,
to remembrance, to pain;
the eager lying meadows,
to a never giving rain.

The eagle to the pharoah,
to the message, to words;
denial and desperation,
to flocks of birds.

The tear to an answer,
to endlessness, to start;
the indelible scar,
of your tear on my heart.

Beacause some dreams really never let you sleep.

Maybe

2009-02-01T14:23:00.002+05:30

I tried to make you,
smile,
more than once;
but you didn't notice,
or dare to meet my eyes,
more than once,
much more than twice.

You didn't notice,
maybe,
all that I created,
that I wrecked,
you did quiver,
though,
to notify me of,
indifference,
disregard,
refusal,
regret.

You didn't notice,
maybe,
how when I tried,
the stars and the sun,
to make, in a single sky, light;
or when I drank,
the ocean of pain,
and when I danced,
in our last rain.

You didn't notice,
so, you still won't,
maybe,
the way in which I die,
lying and waiting,
just for you,
for you,
maybe.

#6

2008-12-30T22:55:00.002+05:30

I quit.
I swear.

2008-12-30T16:36:00.001+05:30

Best Movies of the Season.

Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye

Slumdog Millionaire

And not, Ghajini. :D

Questions and Answers

2008-12-03T09:27:00.002+05:30

I read this article on the internet at:

http://www.daily.pk/politics/politicalnews/8360.html?task=view

This piece of writing didn't leave me amused and I couldn't help but reply.

THE ARTICLE

The Hilarious Performance Of The Indian Government

Written by www.daily.pk

Friday, 28 November 2008 16:23

The Indian media is playing exactly the same role as the U.S. media did in 2001. Some Indian channels have begun showing the Indian flag and patriotic songs, all of which makes it look like as if this is yet another ‘well anticipated’ war against terror. Or against Pakistan. But the best part is the response of the Indian government and military. Simply hilarious.
I watched this drama all night on eight different satellite news channels and noticed how pathetic and incompetent Indian government and security really is.

There is a total chaos in this city, Mumbai, and even the media doesn't know what to tell the people. One minute they say, ‘they are all Pakistanis’, and then go, ‘Oh no! Wait, they are “Deccan Mujahedeen”’ and then say, ‘Wait! It’s too early to say …’!

Another bullshit you see is that the Taj Hotel perhaps has 1000+ rooms and is so huge surrounded by commandos and all security forces and yet 4 to 5 terrorists continue to hold it for so long.

No mater how super these men might be, 4-5 people simply can not hold such a huge building hostage. So WHAT IS THE INDIAN GOVERNMENT HIDING?

If the Indians admit that there are several dozen perhaps even hundreds of people involved in this then it would be very hard to sell this lie that these are terrorists and spy agents who came from Pakistan.

I did not see a single helicopter in the air or any attempt by the Indian security forces to go on the roof and/or surround the hotel. Are they scared or is it that India simply does not have an air force?

Indian commandos arrived. These commandos were disembarking from trucks, holding truck railings at the back and then jumping out, almost like old crumbled men. I saw few of them standing on one hip holding their hands, ome of them hiding behind blockades.

So this was the level of Indian security and military response. Now about some other observations:

HOSTAGE:

Apparently foreigners and Jews have been taken hostage but this was not admit publicly to the media until 23 hours later. Why would suicide bombers and terrorists hold hostages? Why not simply finish them off if they have really come to die?

India’s Mumbai is well known to be owned by the underworld, known in India as ‘bhai loag’ [roughly translated Brother People]. These terrorists are so good they managed to kill so many including top Anti-Terrorism Force official who happened to be an officer of RAW, the Indian intelligence agency.

But the Indians are stupid. Instead of admitting their failure to control these gangs of smugglers and thugs they are blaming their usual and favorite scapegoats, A.K.A. Islamic Militants and Pakistan.

The fact will be established eventually that there already appears to be a much deeper conspiracy in all this tragic event.

But the Indian media is playing exactly the same role as the U.S. media did in 2001. Some Indian channels have begun showing the Indian flag and patriotic songs, all of which makes it look like as if this is yet another ‘well anticipated’ war against terror.

Which in fact may turn into a war against Pakistan at its height or war against Muslims in India at the least.

For how long will the world continue to fall in this trap?

There are several gains Indian will get from this act:

1- Election of Radical Hindu Nationalist Party

2- Passage of an Indian version of Patriot Act (against Muslims)

3- A Possible Indian attack on Pakistan [although the Indians don’t have the guts to go that far]

4- Possibility of Indian lobby forcing United States to put sanctions on Pakistan by fabricating false evidence involving Pakistanis in this.

Which is really easy for India. They can come up with a few Pakistanis from Indian jails, handing them weapons and produce dead bodies of Pakistanis from these places.

THE REPLY

Dear Incompassionate Writer of the Article,

Firstly, I'd like to use this comment to append to and compliment on a few of the statements which you made.

I agree that the Indian Army and Security forces were at lax when it came to fighting the terrorists and above all having prevented the attack altogether. I also gather from your article that you believe that the Indian Media is trying to forge a lot of extra TRP by utilizing the nationalistic sentiment, and I agree to it very much. In addition to it, I do also feel amused at the dirty politics which has been thrown into the middle of this crisis for mileage, political, mostly.

All this said, I would like to add a couple of things to your, possibly incomplete and hardly thought over, story.

The reason why the Forces took so long to counter the terrorists was because they actually cared to save the hostages. You may say that - these guys were so good that they managed to kill a lot of people including the ATS Chief - but I believe that saying this only makes you lesser of a human being, although I do doubt whether you were one in the first place. The only reason why you're able to qualify these disgusting bastards with a positive adjective is simply because you were not related to any of the people who lost their life to these marauding motherfuckers.

I do agree to the fact that the Media is exploiting the nationalistic sentiment, but I'd coax you to realize that the only reason why this sentiment is being exploited is because we actually "do" have a nationalistic sentiment, unlike, may I say, your country, the fundamentals of which are based on a horrifying defacing, and evil manipulation of a great religion. A country, whose people are so used to living under dictated terror and who possibly never have understood, and never will understand the meaning of democracy and the basis behind free-living.

Once again, dear writer incompassionate Writer of the Article, all that I'd like to say is that I love my country, and I hope that you love yours too, and for that small love which you have for your nation and its people, I'd like to ask you to try and not get on our bad side.

Both our nations are nuclear today, and if we were to even mathematically predict the outcome of a future war based on extrapolation of the past, it sure wouldn't paint a rosy picture for your land.

Jai Hind.

2008-12-01T17:21:00.000+05:30

Ah, and in vain, is everything afterall, be it the kid's pursuit of a butterfly on a spring afternoon;
the small girl's quest of the bottom of the earth in a rain puddle; the grown-ups endeavor of making ends meet, again and again and again....In vain is everything, but then again, there is no greater reason to work for, to live for, to die for - than Happiness.

Something

2008-11-27T16:27:00.002+05:30

I'm supposed to be writing an SOP, but I will be writing this blog post.

Some extremely shocking stuff is going on as I type this. Down in Mumbai terrorists have held hostage and already shot dead a lot of people in Hotels and places.

Most possibly this act of Terrorism will also manage to stay in the Media for about a months time only to be replaced by news stories about cows with two heads or how another toddler managed to get to the bottom of a pit and to the top of the news.

But it shouldn't. It shouldn't become just a part of your "general awareness." Terrorism, doing something against it, should be a part of our more awakened conscious. Something fed into us instinctly. We may not be the ones actually at the root cause of generating terrorism/terrorists, as many theories do clame, but, we can be the cause that helps stop it.

I hail from the beautiful vales of Kashmir from the city of Srinagar. I am proud of the heritage I carry but remorse in the fact that I could never actually live in my own land. It boils me deep within to think that there can be people who are cruel enough to take another person's life for a reason which is as incomplete as the damned image of a self-blaspheming God. For a century-slimed definition of Religion and of all that it entails. For the mere purpose of garnering dastardly control over one's own life. Over that of others.

Something must be done. Something has to be done.

I met someone today who was talking something related to the men who actually are presently raising havoc in Mumbai. He said, "Yaar, bande toh classy hain...matlab kaise mast tarah se sabki g***d maar li."

I couldn't believe that he actually said that. I told him, "The only reason why you have even the smallest admiration for these bastards is because you don't know any of the 100 people who've died."

I don't know anyone either. But, I can fairly guess how it would feel like.

Isn't there a nice way to end this?

Have You?

2008-11-18T13:20:00.003+05:30

Have you ever seen a skull, a fish and a spaceship in greyscale on the roof?
Have you ever seen cobwebs in the shape of women's lingerie and another like a trapeze artist?
Have you ever felt the blood in the fingers of your feet?
Have you ever seen a glass of water that had eyes?
Have you ever felt young?
Have you seen a man hiding behind the door of the cupboard?
Have you heard classical music?
Have you ever seen a man sticking out of a glory hole?
Have you ever played ring-a-roses all by yourself?
Have you listened to rock?
Have you ever confused Bob Marley with Jagjit Singh?
Have you ever opened the door to the rest of the world?
Have you ever felt so hungry that you could eat the whole universe?
Have you been in freezing hell and seen the snowfall of sin?
Have you ever seen unseen faces talk to your footsteps?
Have you ever walked down a corridor the length of the Titanic?
Have you ever flown down a flight of stairs which lead to the bottom of the earth, and then climbed back up too?
Have you ever walked endlessly only to come back to your hostel room?
Have you ever rollerbladed off a mountain?
Have you ever spoken to your pillow?
Have you ever shivered do to your own cold heart?
Have you ever heard a flame speak?
Have you ever felt alive?
Have you ever slept?

I have.

2008-11-11T11:40:00.000+05:30

There are days, and then there are days.

O'Look

2008-11-11T11:36:00.002+05:30

O' look, O'look,
at what you leave,
behind your steps,
a trail so deep,
of sadness,
of memories,
of laughter,
and more;
of feelings,
desires,
emotions,
so pure.

O'look, O'look,
one last time,
as you pass by,
at the little boy,
who sits,
waiting his turn,
and cries,
for what will not be,
for what never was,
for what never began,
for all that did pause.

O'look, O'look,
just steal a glance at me,
just try and imagine,
what you never did see.

O'look, O'look...

2008-11-11T11:35:00.001+05:30

All that was good,
was all that was bad;
all that we missed,
was all that we had.
All that we didn't,
was all that we could say;
hold onto people,
they're slipping away.

2008-10-19T00:38:00.001+05:30

I'd like to thank a very special person for having made me realize, and recollect one very important fact -

Life is Pointless.

Welcome back to Pointlessness.

Thank You

2008-10-12T11:04:00.002+05:30

I would like to take the next several kilobytes of Google's Server Farms to thank a bunch of very very special people.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The memory is still very fresh in my mind.
I had spent a lot of time looking at that place as if it were some kind of a revered structure where not just about anyone could/should go. I had always walked past it, looking at it and quickly turning my gaze away, afraid, that I might somehow offend it. But then, one day, I actually went to it. It was not as cold and bizarre as I had presumed it to be. Or maybe I couldn't feel it being that relatively cold since it were the winters at that time. Anyways, I went to it and it accepted me with a big hug, I felt as if I had always wanted to come here, as if this was one place where I was definitely destined to belong. I walked all around it, breathing the place into myself and letting the place take in all of me. I used to sit with it under the lazy winter sun and merrily while away time. I used to eat with it, I used to study with it, I used to talk with it, and at times, when I was too gloomy, I used to just sit there, quiet, and it would accept my melancholy, and give me solace in silence, silence and a consoling wind.

But then, they took it away, right from my arms, they locked it up and even though it was right there, I barely met it. It wouldn't talk like it used to, and it always seemed to be so sad, so remorseful to provide solace or consoling to anyone else. It would weep endlessly, and so did we, and we all heard all of us cry, but hardly any of has had the heart to do anything for it, for us.

Till this year.

The 11th of October 2008 marked the rebirth of a phoenix, a phoenix that needed an initiated spark that has today rekindled the fire.

The College Cafeteria is back.

Welcome to Cafe 2.o.

A very special thanks to -

Arjun, Mukul and Rohan and all those who've worked selflessly with them.

To you, indebted, forever.

Butter

2008-10-12T10:57:00.002+05:30

After wondering a lot about what this blog post is going to be - from how crappy this semester has been, to how how crappy it is going to be, to how un-crappy I wish the next semester is, to how crappy it might as well could be too - I decided that the post would have nothing to do with a semester, this one or the next. The blog post would rather revolve around all that my clueless mind has been pondering about for a lot of time now.

I've realized that the only way to finish a race is to actually run it. But then again, there's a lot of difference in finishing a race and winning it. If you are very sure that you won't be winning the race (And please don't ask me how one can be sure without even having run the race) and if you know very well that unless you win you don't make/score a point, then does running the race really make a good logical decision?

Of all the things that confuse me, I like myself the most.
I wish some things were as simple as Bread and Butter. And then again even bread and butter can be pretty fucked up; you can spend hours wondering which side of the bread to butter, and hours more over the eternal debate of - Butter Side Up, or Butter Side Down.

Deewar

2008-09-29T07:28:00.003+05:30

There's only two things that you can do with a wall; and yes, sitting at your own comfortable patch on the ground is not an option, because you are not doing anything with the wall except maybe staring at it and trying to supposedly understand it. The only choices there are, are to either jump so high, so far that you jump over the wall, or, to run so hard and so fast, right into it. Into it, and to never come back. Very simple choices, all it takes is to get your act together and choose.

Hmm, now, Walls can be interesting, people, doubly so.

Ghazal

2008-09-18T15:52:00.002+05:30

Thami hui si ik ghazal,
ruki hui,
sharmai hui si,
tere hothon pe,
thehri hui.
Ghalib aaj ho jayenge hum bhi,
yeh ghazal,
choom lene toh de.

2008-09-18T00:13:00.003+05:30

Goodbye Heartache.

Untitled

2008-09-18T00:13:00.002+05:30

I'm not aware whether you know what the Blue Basketball is or not, and what the theories supporting its conceptual origin are; but nevertheless, I would like to conclude, that no matter how hard you try, a round peg can never fit into a square hole. Its almost like how Mount Everest couldn't have been conquered first by no other than Sir Edmund Hilary. Life is about realizing, at the right time that you're not Hilary for a particular thing, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you are. Life times can be spent in remorse over un-accomplishment, and in sheer denial of the fact that the thing wasn't just meant to be; but what is asked of a human being is the realization of inability at a particular thing. I might have lost the battle today, but then as they say, a battle lost today, is a war won tomorrow. I know not, what war I am going to win by giving up finally after 2 long years on this battle, but I know this, that giving up has been tough, that letting all quantum of hope loose out of your palm and down onto the pavement below has hurt, and every single bit. Life is weird, it teaches us a lot of things as a lot of us would agree, confirm with and support with fervent agression, but it gets very depressing at times when you have to be the one who is taught lessons all the time, when you can't be the one people quote in examples, and expect to learn from. Badi hi fuddu baat hoti hai. People, Ah.

I read the lines scribed on a desk in the library and they read - "Its not the realization of truth that hurts us, its the bursting of the bubble of whims that we blow up around our lives, the bubble of hope, of expectation, of success, of victory, that hurts us much more."

I sometimes wish that I was merely a computer program designated to do a particular set of things, but then again that would take all the fun out of life. Nevertheless, Steve Jobs was very true when he said - Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish. He was very correct about the happiness derived from being Foolish, but if one stays hungry too long, he might as well kill himself.

I don't want to be dead.

Goodbye Pain in the Head.

2008-08-03T00:26:00.001+05:30

There're some people, whom I've known, for and through the past three years of college life now.
It's been a Pleasure, and will always be.

People

2008-08-02T23:57:00.003+05:30

There's this question that would linger in my head as a kid. I would ponder over the purpose and meaning of knowing people, of befriending them, of socializing and having a circle of people around you, by you. I never could make sense out of it, and I continued to believe in the word's which, for me, as a young teenager, Stone Cold Steve Austin had immortalized - Don't Trust Anybody. And another thing peculiar which I remember from that age is being asked the question - "Tera Best Friend kaun hai?" As much unanswerable I found this question, I also found it irrelevant, and always ended up replying with cliches such as, "I am my own best friend."

Several years have passed since that time and Stone Cold isn't the World Wrestling Federation Champion anymore.

As I sit in the bulb-lit hostel room at turn of the day, I realize how things have changed. I have come across people, have met people, have known people, and have known people.

There have been acquaintances, there have been contacts, there have been people who've made it to my orkut buddy list, my Gtalk Window, my yahoo Messenger, my phone directory, and many other people who've made it to so many other parts of my life, people who I don't really regard being there, people whose existence I actually don't relate with, mainly because I matter as little to them as they matter to me.

Then there've been people who I spend most of my day with, whose pings and messaged keep me alive, who keep reminding me, every minute, that no matter how hard I try, its hard to be an island.

Its been weird, and overwhelming to have come across so many(number and type) people, and its been very assuring to know, that if I ever see my a leak in my boat, I can always swim across to a welcome reception on another one nearby.

I thought I'd use this post to thank all those people, I've known, and maybe even, just known; so I guess I'll do just that.

Thank You.

And yeah, maybe today, if someone asks me that age-old question again, I still may not be able to answer. But there're some things I've learnt about life, and they keep me more happy than what an answer could.

Happy Friendship Day.

6th Semester

2008-08-01T19:37:00.002+05:30

Dear Dept. of Mechanical Engineering
Punjab Engineering College
Chandigarh

I did not, repeat, did not at all, spend six months of my life, slogging my ass off, in grease, metal-dust and electrical wiring, to watch Accounting and Financial Assessment be ranked higher than actual Mechanical Work, and that too by the Department of Mechanical Engineering.

Its not that it wasn't expected, its just that I did not willingly labour for 16 hours a day and watch some infidel and apple-polishing bastards ruin everything.

Thank You
Sahil Dhar Hakim
B.E. Final Year
Dept. of Mechanical Engineering(and oh so unfortunately)

Tit for Tat

2008-07-23T00:18:00.002+05:30

Sahil: dekh..

aisa hai..

ek baar ek haathi tha...

Vinayak: bol

haan

Sahil: and ek tailor tha (we'll call him darji)

okay?

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: and us darji ki ek shop thi...

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: SCO #543 sector # 17

okay?

Vinayak: okay

Sahil: ab yeh haathi roz aata tha market main...

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: and he would rampage shop#500-600...

all of them..

but for one...

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: shop#543..

u knw y?

Vinayak: nope

Sahil: bcoz the darji fed him a banana...

one everyday...

Vinayak: okhay

Sahil: so there was a mutual understanding...

Vinayak: acha

Sahil: as long as the darji fed him..he dint do nething to him...

okay?

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: this was TIT for TAT, in the positive sense...

Vinayak: i see

so u want a kela ?

Sahil: 37 years later, when the darji had achived a turn-over...

and was heading towards 70% profits after taxation...

and was very keen towards going public with his company...

he had a thought...

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: he wondered that if he stopped feeding the elephant a banana everyday...

he would reduce his fixed costs by as much as 0.83%

Vinayak: wow !

Sahil: which would help increase his PAT

PAT = profits after taxation

Vinayak: alrite

Sahil: so, at the end of the third quarter, and on the morning when he announced his shop's performance in front of all its workers..

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: the elephant arrived promptly...seeking a mere banana in return of total co-operation

the darji, was a shrewd businessman...

and one of the best the world has ever seen...

it was a small world, actually...but whatever..

Vinayak: hmm

Sahil: so that day...as he moved his hand closer to the elephant to hand him the banana...he pricked him with a needle...

right in the thick of his nose...

Vinayak: ouch !

Sahil: or trunk, as u may like to call it

pretty big needle..

size 13 or 14, i believe

and then, the elephant was like...

ouch!

Vinayak: indeed

Sahil: just the same way u went ouch...except that he didn't have a space between the ouch and !

coz his reactions were more spontaneous i, guess..

Vinayak: pretty economical of him

Sahil: that day, the elephant was in so much pain...

he didn't wreck shop#543 to 600...

he left for home..

the darji thought that he had scared away the elephant..

and the shopkeeper's asccociation conducted a feliciation ceremony...

wherein they garlanded the darji, applauded to his badly phrased, self-proclaiming speech...fed him laddos...and distributed free pink-colored-cold drinks to small children from smaller homes..

Vinayak: aha

Sahil: okay?

Vinayak: have heard this happenin

go on

Sahil: that night all the shopkeeper's slept in their respective houses with their respective wives, too tired to copulate..after the eventful day it had been...

the next morning...

the shops opened exactly at 9 a.m.

exactly as they did every day...

except on saturdays when they opened at 11 a.m. and on sundays when they were closed...

it was about 12 a.m. and almost time for lunch...

when the darji saw the elephant coming...

Vinayak: oh dear

Sahil: he almost peeed in his pants...except for the fact that he was wearing a lungi...so he refrained...fearing that he might not stand accurate to the phrase...

the elephant walked closer...

Vinayak: elephants walk ?

Sahil: (yes they do. now shuddup and listen)

Vinayak: ok

Sahil: and when the elephant was in breathing distance (the distance from which u can smell fear of a person, or bad morning breath, or a beer burp) of the darji...

he pulled out a needle of his own...

and mind you, elephants have humongous needles...

Vinayak: umm is this the elephants genitilia ?

Sahil: they have humongous clothes too, so i guess that's only complimentary...

Vinayak: apologize

Sahil: he brought the needle upto the darji's chin...he brought it down to the darji's chin actually...the elephant had the height advantage u know...

and slowly he brought it closer to his nose...

Vinayak: eeps

Sahil: he then whispered(yes, elephants talk too), "darji..."

"...this is TAT for TAT in a negative sense.."

all the darji could say was "...but but..i was only..."

and the elephant rammed the needle right up the darji's nose...blasting right through his temple...

and out of the back of his head...

the workers at the shop decided to go home early

Vinayak: ouch!

Sahil: and the company never went public

Vinayak: oh dear

Sahil: the darji's son was too scared to accept ownership and he moved to another city, changed his last name and married a transvestite

end of story.

[noname]

2008-06-28T15:37:00.001+05:30

Strangled, he sits,
meekly sobbing,
murmuring, but to his own self;
And he looks, unto the road which lies ahead of him,
the road,he himself rests on,
the road, the end of which suddenly dropped off the horizon;
and all the while,
the bright life-giving sun burns,
glistening retrospect in each pool of tears,
of blood,
of actions in vain,
of words, un heard.

His head, held low above the ground,
gyrates for control,
control from insanity,
control to reason,
control from reality,
control to hope,
once again.

And then,
his head,
stops pulsating,
for the war has ended,
it has been won,
but the victors don't always get to choose life,
neither does he.

Excerpt

2008-05-31T19:34:00.002+05:30

There are three people in the conversation depicted below.

An L&T employee(A), the GET(B) I work with, and me(me).

(Me is packing up components of the setup for the day)

A (to B) : Agle hafte yeh(me) chala jayega, phir yeh setup kaise chalayega tu? Pta bhi hai yeh kaise chalta hai? Mount kaise hoti hain parts? Software chalana aata hai tujhe?

B(looking so utterly embarrased, but displaying a perfect state of denial) : (says nothing, looks at A, then at me and then somewhere in between.)

A(to B) : Iske jaane se pehle sab kuch seekh ke jaiyo isse, baad main kaun batayega...

Me(to both A and B) : Tenshun mat lo sir, main jaipur wala number de deta hoon...koi doubt ho toh call kar lena...

(B tries to smile, as if pretending that what I had said was plain, harmless humor. I know it wasn't, he knew it wasn't. I continue with my work.)

On the 7th of June, when me and my co-trainess, together leave the premises finally and for good, one thing is for sure, The Technology Upgradation Cell at L&T Switchgear, will be in deep shit. Coz none of'em muffakas aint gonna be able to do nothing on their own, inept selves.

Dead Man Writing

2008-05-26T19:51:00.003+05:30

He lay aimless that night sky. He hadn't a home to go to, no inviting pair of arms he could seek refuge in, or a helping hand he could look forward to. Amidst all the havoc that raged on the Railway Station that night, and very close to the the flood of feet that would literally wash over him every now and then, he lay unnerved, or rather, numbed out. It had been a week since he had come to the City of Dreams, but as they say, not all dreams come true. His hadn't either. He had been an optimistic young chap back in the place he came from, but the ruthless, chicane like claws of cruelty and failure paid no regard to that fact. He had been hit, and hard. And within a week's time had he been forced to realize, and ever so starkly that the world is not as colorful and bright as he might have depicted it to be from the odd movie. Tonight as he tried to sleep, destitute of all that he had brought along to the city, save the tattered fabric that shrouded his torso and the knee-torn denim, his eyes wouldn't close. And, not that sleeping had been an easy affair in a city where the foot-paths are housed at night by people who don't manage to earn a roof to live under, and especially, when the number of these people is far more astounding than a mere gulpable fact. But he had slept, for almost a week now, for six days in a row. And each night, he had fought, for the smallest stretch of tar to lie down on and some gravel to get to lay his "inundated with misery and plight" head on. But tonight, the seventh day after the glass-showpieces of all that he had ever dreamt had been crushed under the pityless boulders of reality, he conjured images of how happy he had been in his former "hope-less life," how very satisfied he then was, how happy he had been, till the day he had desired, till the day he had craved for more. And as he saw all those images vanquish to the dark, harsh reality of inability, poverty, dearth and hunger, he couldn't help but shrink into an even more smaller cuddle than he already was. It was a chilly night, that one, and it was raining. The floor of the stretch of the overbridge that connected Platforms 1-2-3-4 and 5-6-7-8 was slick with the mud that passengers carried along their footwear across the lenght and breadth of the city. He lay in possibly the cleanest spot of mud-covered, cold, aluminium floor of the overbridge. The rain didn't seem to die down and not even enough for him to try and walk to a neater, cozier part of the city, it was a huge, tremendously large city afterall, there could've been somewhere for him, right? He shivered with cold, as his sobs transgressed into self-minced hiccups, and the stream of tears mingled with the pitter patter that leaked onto his face. With his eyes closed tight and body static, there was no way anyone could tell if he was awake. Such dispicible was his state that passersby would turn away heads, mothers would veil their children's eyes, and even the Policemen wouldn't wish to pick him up and throw him somewhere else. The odd passenger who would hastily step on his body, would startle, looking at the ghastly mess that the man was, and would equally hastily usher away, with a mere "Tsk Tsk" and gesturing his hands in a sign of asking forgiveness from his God and pleading mercy onto the wretched, punished soul. Then there were some, who drew up extremely disgusted faces looking at the almost lifeless sack of bones that lay infront and wished that he better be dead already. And lying awake all the while, so did he.

Cold Water

2008-05-24T17:01:00.003+05:30

Its 17:oo hrs and I just finished gurgling down a whole bottle of cold water filled while coming back from work. We all are aware in sufficient amounts about how fun-weekends sometime seem to be urban folklore, only. This post possibly attempts to blow it up to extremely exaggerated proportions. Life is boring. Yes, in general, it is boring, that is how life is. That is how everything usually is. But possibly the only reason we do make it to the end of the day is owing to impracticality. And as far as its opposite - Practicality - is concerned, and as my brother would greatly agree with much more than just a submissive nod, it sucks. Impracticality on the other hand, unassumingly has served to a great extent in shaping the world as we know it today. Poetry, proze, movies, fun, booze, dance, shopping, partying, laying around on the beach, or in the grass under a winter sun, with Ghalib in one hand and your brother on your side. Impractical. Yes, there is no definite purpose why someone who is anyone should do anything except what he is supposed to do, but we all do them. We all tend to walk out of the line, we all tend to break rules and not meet deadlines. There are just our little ways of contributing in the disorder and disruption in the universe. Our delta-S additions to the Entropy of a much bigger celestial system. Having said that, I would also like to reinstate that consumption of alcohol should not be governed by time and disagreeing flat-mates should be punched in the stomach for actually convincing you against it. Whatever. There was also another thing that's keeping me pondering for quite sometime. And I guess that I'll let it do that for some more time till I absorb it into the deeper cortex of my brain, the part where forgotten things are retained. And yes, we don't forget things, its just that we don't recollect them, till something forces us to. This doesn't hold true for Chemistry Equations though.

Coffee - III

2008-05-24T00:27:00.008+05:30

Its 1900hrs and once again I'm joined by my cuppa, my solitude and the 24x7 buzz for another round of I-have-no-fucking-clue-about-what-im-write-about. Well, for one, I could write about how the attributes of incompetence and sheer inability can be veiled by the virtues of seniority in hierarchy ; or I could go about explaining how every one week worth of time later you feel that you've got absolutely nowhere, except of course, maybe closer to where you started, and it in fact surprises you so much when you actually do make a move that you prefer to lay back down, and that too very casually in a very mediocre manner, without putting up the smallest resistance. Ah, nothing for the loss of nostril hair, right? I could also explain how some people are like 5th class ke Physics lessons. Yes, they are, for example try to recollect that 5th class Physics topic which you knew so very well when you were in school, which you could preach about, because you were so closely knit with the fundamentals, with the basics. But so many years later, after a lot more, in terms of life and physics lessons has passed through you mind and life, those topics seem so irrelevant, so un-associable and so very changed from known to "achha, haannn......, " and although it would possibly be a good thing if you still knew them (the people, the physics lessons), but the fact is that you don't, and nothing even remotely motivates you to dig into an old pile of books, flip back thousands of pages, and go through those physics lessons again. Its a disconnection of sorts, and you accept this disconnected reality, without even putting up the frailest of an offensive. And yes, nothing for the loss of nostril hair, right?
There of course, are a lot of other things that I could think of writing about, but I guess I'll refrain, the coffee tastes like crap, and still I've had three cups, and its all watery (the coffee) unless you manage to pull out your cup from under the dispenser before gallons of water pour down into it. Its sometime between seven and half-past-seven now and I'm perplexed about whether I should be having dinner here at work, and be saving 30Rs or having it later with the people back home, thereby spending the 30Rs that I thought that I would otherwise save. Life is confusing, and it only gets worse. There's just one line that keeps coming back to my head again and again, and it has been hitting me very well today - "I'm trying to do this with a smile on my face and a song in my heart."
Baaki kal?

Coffee-II

2008-05-22T23:16:00.005+05:30

Sitting at the cornermost table on a chair that still hasn't lost its outer plastic covering, I look along the length and breadth of the empty coffee room at the back of my office. The chairs huddled around the tables in some sort of strategic battle formation seem to be planning their offensive against any office employee who has ever farted sitting on a wooden chair, or any chair for that matter, pretty much like us humans, they hardly need a reason to shed blood or chip. Well, of course I can't hear them talk, but what I can hear are the tip-toes of the people who walk from distant corners of the office(not really, there are those who actually live in the coffee room) to this place, to the coffee machine or the water cooler, to quench thirst, revitalize their minds, or just make most out of CTC. And it is this tip-toe that I've decided not to pay the least attention to, and as I'm writing this, I am also trying to look extremely busy and critically involved, as if the comma put in the next sentence could change the course of the world's future. Also to be heard is the 24x7 electric buzz that originates from the are where the coffee machine/water cooler are, and I know for sure that the buzz is 24x7 because I've been at work till very late and have got here very early too. I, nevertheless am unable to figure out which of the two machines actually make the sound and as of now I'm too tired from having completed an 11-point TO DO LIST with 1.5 hours of office time to spare which I'm spending in the fortress like premise of the coffee room, shielding me from anyone with the commanding authority of assigning me any kind of work (read anyone from my department, save the co-trainees). There were some other sounds that I wanted to describe too, but first I'd like to describe the latest additions in the sight and sounds that surround me. Diploma Trainees. Basically pointless people from around here somewhere who don't dress in anything even remotely close to Formal Clothing, do not 'work,' drink lots of free coffee and speak in the most irritating accents, and and to my uncomprehendable disgustment, only in Marathi, and very loud at that, considering that they are still in office hours, and very much in the audible province of people who actually might be trying to work (or write for that matter of fact). And please, do not ask me how simply pathetic it is when they laugh at their jokes or when the stupid girls try to say something in English, the most common word being "SHUT UP." Very weird people, they possibly attend Shiv Sena meetings regularly, and wherein, like the rest of them, pledge to never be smart, hardworking, or pleasing in outlook. And, I would like to apologize for a very im-actually-grinding-my-teeth-as-I-write-this review of these people, and I agree that these people might actually be good human beings under the facade of idoticness, but I'm just being so critical about my displeasure to derive personal amusement, and I do not intend to defend my views, incase they're challenged in a court of law, or even this very coffee room. And it is 16:22hrs already and just a few minutes more before it is time to get going for the day. That's all for now. And I feel a lot better, about what I have no clue, but I do, and although this was written with open eyes and at much lesser than 60 words per minute, it felt good.

Coffee

2008-05-22T18:48:00.004+05:30

Jethro da Clown

Takashaki - Paper Cup Monsta :)

This is what you do at L&T when you have free time, because there aint nothing else to do but smirk at the sheer hollowness of a name-sake multinational that thrives out of sucking the people who are sent to train there.

Koi na...Koi na....

Farewell

2008-05-20T22:10:00.002+05:30

Farewell, well, its that time of the semester when we are supposed to weigh our words very well before we utter them, 'cause they just might be our last reminders to those who go away, and to those who are left behind...before I attempt one such carefully calculated expression of what I feel deeply in my heart...

I would like to say a couple of things about the Editorial Board, the body that unites us all present here today, or atleast helped initiating the process once upon a time, after which things took almost fairy-tale turns, and have brought us here today, under the roof of the revered Sector-8/9 KFC (I still don't know which sector it is, but this is where Bullseye is too), and sitting at the table where we always have joined hands in devouring the carefully cooked chicken with utter disregard to cutlery and total absent-mindedness towards cleanliness of anysort....after all, we are all Mechanchis, aren't we...

Continuing with the proceedings of bidding you seniors present here Farewell with mere words would be nothing but expression of utmost disregard and disrespect, for a prepared speech can never showcase the love that our hearts extend to you, and nor can they help you fathom the sorrow that dances in our hearts, like those sad Geishas, with expressionless white faces in the Entertainment Places all over Japan.

and bidding you farewell, would also mean sending you away too soon, much sooner than you fulfil the quota of your days here, and although our best wishes and Godspeeds shall always be by your side, I would like to push the envelope of time that you have here, as far and away as possible.

Today, I can proudly say that the EDs are indisputably the most lunatic bunch of war-mongrels to be seen in civilised clothing, ever since the First Struggle of Indian Independence, and not only the Forces of nature (read rainbows, smiles, and sneezes), the English Editorial Board has also successfully been able to harness the power of nuclear weapons to destroy the enemy strongholds which were believed to be very strongly placed very close to the College Auditorium.

Leaving issues of verbal assault and grammatical espionage aside, I would like to let you know how I have felt during my two year tenure at The English Edboard, and how your ever-bewildering shadow of sheer ruthlessness, utter hilarity and outrageousness, O'Dear Seniors, has made me feel one with the wild; for as some guy sometime said that he went to the wild because he actually wanted to live, I guess all that I had to do was come to the Eds, and yes, I can proclaim, and with dizzying nausea, that the past two years have been a roller-coaster ride.

look forward to my last remaining year at the Edboard, wherein I shall try, with all the energy that is left of me after all the booze-bashes, to take the Edboard to greater, never-tasted-before heights, to brighter, even-more-wilder-than-imagination-magazines, and only IT-chicks in the upcoming batch (aur kitne mechanchi chahiye!).

With these last few promises, I would like to congratulate you seniors for having booked good places of higher study and jobs that'll make all your wallets fatter and help you feed our poor, hungry stomachs with even more food and free beer(emphasis to be laid on the beer).

In the end, I would like to wind up with a few lines which already have been acclaimed as Masterpieces of Literature - "The world is round, and so are beans, almost, atleast."

And I would like to extend a special vote of thanks to Miss Suchreet Kaur Dhaliwal...

for without either her persuasion, or approval, I never would have been able to come to the end of this Farewell Speech...

Tonight

2008-05-03T00:17:00.001+05:30

The clock had slipped beyond hours that usually fall under the criteria of "earthly" and the moon and the stars too had hidden, consumed either by shrouding clouds or devoured by the city night-light smog. There wasn't as much of a heartbeat to be heard in the house and the only sound you could hear was that of a water faucet leaking in the bathroom or maybe in the kitchen and the periodic creak of the broken window that hung by merely half a hinge, everytime the almost dead night winds gasped their final breaths to blow out a million metaphorical fires that burned throughout the city. The minute hand of the clock ever so slightly snailed to 3.27 a.m. and maybe it was the sound of the faint ticking of the gearing mechanism, but his eyes opened and not a moment later he was wide awake, sitting upright in his bed. He had his shoes on and for that matter of fact his day-clothes, he hadn't had much time, it seemed, to actually go to bed, it was more as if he had just dropped dead and hours later, woken up now. He looked around for some time to thankfully realize he was where he was by choice. It was a friend's house in the outskirts of the city, away from most of its life, but closer to where the dead lay. There was a graveyard a mile away, and for that matter of fact many more too. Birksville, it seemed had chosen Virmsent Road to be its favorite burial place, and no wonder it was so, for, being so away from the city it was a perfect resting ground for the dead. Fred too chose the place for exactly the same reasons. He visited the place whenever he was in depression, unrest or mental turmoil; and his visits had only grown more frequent of late. That night as he woke up, partly startled, partly numb, he knew that he was there for purpose. There was more than just sadness within him tonight, tonight he bore upon himself the anvils of guilt and remorse and he knew of no other way of repentence but this, one which would cleanse him, and forever. He started to leave, getting out of the bed and setting his hair looking in the cracked mirror that stood by the pile of cobwebbed journals and unbound pages. Something caught his eye and he delved his hand into one of the mite-damned piles and discoverd a sketch, a sketch of a tree and a girl who sat next to it, he stared at it, as if seeping in all the memories and reminisces that the piece of paper had to reflect into his head and then he crushed the paper in his hand, and silently crushing it as hard and bitterly as he could, letting all the pain and regret ooze out of his palms. He pocketed the paper and walked out of the door. As the door closed behind him, he looked out of the window at the end of the corridor, and never had he found a 8th floor window so inviting. There wasn't a lot that could be seen outside the window but the faint silhoutte of the forest, a dysfunctional streetlight, and the glitter of the pavement and the infinitely stretching blackness of the pavement. He decided to wait and take the stairs. As he trudged down the almost neverending spiral of stairs thoughts circled his heads as he kept knudging them away, trying, and hard to believe that he had already made his choice. He stepped out of the main exit of the building and walked down the pavement that seemed to stretch out as far as the gaze met the horizon. He continued to walk towards a direction he had quite associated himself with, a direction he associated all his ill-fate, misery and despair to, a direction he associated his final destination of solace with, he walked South, which also was the direction in which all the graveyards lay. As he walked past the Candy Store that had been shut for years now, he could see through the broken glass of the display a doll hanging by tethers, with hollows in place of what were once doll-eyes, with rags replacing what once used to be a doll-dress. He continued to walk as memories of his own scarred childhood flashed before his now almost watery eyes. He remembered all the times he had considered himself to be some sort of a mutilation, a scar-child, a black blob on his family, on the world and the numerous number of times he had put the kitchen knife to test on his index finger. He took one last fulfilling look at his hand, the same hand with the marred index finger, the same hand that had crushed the now pocketed piece of paper. He had arrived and it was early morning now. He remembered, how as a kid his dad would take him out of the house early in the mornings on Sundays to mow the lawn and was the car and after they were done they would lie down in the grass and his father would show him weird cloud shapes and they would both loaugh looking at them till his mother called out for breakfast. And today as he stood at the Cemetary Gates he knew that this was possibly his last recollection of early mornings as a child. For, today, he was a grown up man, and mornings asisde, whole days had been spent in repentence, agony and bitterness. He ushered the door open and watched it creak as it swayed to its full till it hit the wall on the other side and came to a tumbling, almost falling off halt. He entered inside and all of a sudden walking more cautiously today than he ever had inside a graveyard, inside this graveyard. Today was a day of reckoning and of redemption, and he knew it within his heart that this was the only way out. He had been here before but never with the intentions that today loomed over his head. He knew the names on almost all the graves by heart. Mr. Roland Alfresco 1915-1967, Miss Rosemyre Hart 1943-1988, Mst. Rubert F. Peters 1997-2001. He knew them all, he knew where they lay and today wished to be one of them. He had grown tired of losing, of having to submit, of feeling frustrated of loneliness, of unaccomplishment, of disability and of life and today he pleaded to end it all and for good. He looked up at the skies, and could see the faint signs of a morning sun gleam across the back of clouds. He hurried, he wanted to do it while it was still dark, while the world could not see him, while those who lay there silent as ever could not see him, while he could not see himself. He was afraid, he knew and thus he trusted impulse as the secret weapon against his ownself. Being a coward had taught him everything there was in this world about Compromise, Submission and Giving Up and today he wanted to give up for the last time. As he stepped another step further, further away from the world and towards the end, his palms soaked with sweat and he could feel a colossal lump accumulating in his throat, and all the while he kept telling himself that this was right. He could feel his heart thumping, and the thumping was only growing harder, stronger; never before in his life had he felt his heart beat as hard as it did now. Irony, he thought to himself. And the beating only grew more stonger. It wasn't his heart he realized. It wasn't his heartbeats which were making almost his whole body shiver now. As his right hand moved up to the left of his chest, he slid it under his coat and discovered a cell-phone vibrating. Eyes still closed, he hit the answer button and put the phone to his ear.

"Freddie!!! Where on earth have you been? And why haven't you called? Do you have any idea as to how worried I've been? What took you so long to answer? What time are you coming home?!"

"Err...Mommy! Err...I actually dozed off at a friend's place, I'm headed right home Mommy. Will see you at breakfast."

2008-05-01T16:57:00.001+05:30

Ladies and Gentlemen, Fishes and Birds.

The PECMAG is here....

Maine bhi dekhni hai :D
Please Please Please....

Photo bhejo koi

Today

2008-05-01T16:17:00.002+05:30

Sometime way way back in time a bunch of frustrated workers decided to ask their employers to be a bit lenient about their work timings. Obviously (and as many I have learnt from personal experience) these workers were pretty much pissed and irked about having to work 12 hours a day for meager pays and one fine day they realized that it wasn't worth it at all. For these workers knew that there were other things to life, for example, the local pub, the children's musuem, the Wednesday night concert and the Tuesday wali flea market; and these workers had realized that with a 12 hour day all this and much more would never be possible. These workers decided to revolt and 'demand' an 8 hour day, thus effectively saving four hours every working day they could go to the gym, get drunk, meet up with girls and live life to its fullest. And then something happened and in some parts of the world, the Organizations crumbled to their knees in front of the strongly growing resistance to work long hours shown by the workers and the poor chaps and chaplets were relieved of four hours of extra work. And then, and very mysteriously some other incidents fell into place, and possibly someone was killed and crucified, and some other incidents the actual intricacy of which could not be garnered from Wikipedia, took place and voila the First Day of May every year, workers all over the world, in collaboration with their immensely powerful unions(where ever the law permits them to be formed) show gigantic mid-fingers to their bosses and to all the CEOs and the big fat virile bastards who sit on their chairs all day and give orders to their trainees over the telephone - Yeh karde, woh karde, yeh ho gaya? woh ho gaya - and do nothing else but check their mailboxes which have no new mails.

Yes, Today is May Day. And today no one goes to work. I mean, the kids go to college to study and the students go to their schools, but the grown-ups don't go to work. And I very much like the sound of that.

Peace

2008-04-30T19:31:00.003+05:30

It felt nice to realize the worth of 'Urdu' beyond jaw-dropping poetry, both creating it and reading it. There's this old uncle who lives in the apartment in front of ours, he's Muslim, and really really old. While coming back to home in the evening, I noticed him enter the society gate along with me, but being much younger in age I naturally outpaced him and reached the elevator before him. I turned around to see the old man walking slowly and pretty unsteadily (a manner which is very associable with old men, for you feel that they'll fall down the very next step). I decided to wait and when he had made it to the elevator, I held the door open for him and let him step in first. He smiled. As the elevator started speeding to the 7th floor I uttered a very warm and smiling, "Salaam Walakum."(And believe me its damn difficult to put a smile up coming back from work.) The old man smiled with a query printed clearly on his face and replied with an equally warm - Walakum Salaam. In the journey that took us to our destinations, the old man asked me questions, I have been asked many times before, but never had I answered with as much glee.

It was a happy incident.

May Peace Be Upon You :)

P.S. : Girls aren't everything. Sometimes old men will also do.

2008-04-23T19:49:00.000+05:30

Milte hain :)

2008-04-19T20:11:00.000+05:30

Tomorrow is Lacuna Sunday.
Tomorrow I go to work.

2008-04-19T20:04:00.002+05:30

Everyday I want to fly stay by my side...
Everyday I want to dream stay by my side...

Every morning I wish I could just play....
Wish the mornings were just days...

Dream

2008-04-07T22:15:00.000+05:30

Men, they dream,
of a thousand things;
of treasures of gold,
of diamond rings;
of sun-swept seas,
and hazel eyed skies,
of crimson kissed mountains,
and free fall flights;
of moon faced poetry,
and star shaped words,
of proze drenched pastures,
and bliss breathed worlds;
of unrepeatable victories,
and unforgettable highs;
of conquests fore unfathomed,
and adrenaline initiated tries;
of star smoked galaxies,
and belts of a milliov suns;
light years in heartbeats,
and footsteps in none.
Ah, and men they dream,
a lot for sure,
they dream for none less,
than a li'l more than more.
But, all that I dream,
that which I wish to be,
is a figament of her imagination,
and get to own,
a fraction of her thought,
all for me,
just for me.

But men,
Ah, men,
they always fail,
fail to see,
fail to be.

Pyaasa

2008-02-23T20:01:00.002+05:30

ek sahil tha pyaasa...
ek aas thi, rooh main uski...
pee jaana chahta tha woh...
dariya ishq ka...
aur lehron ki, aarzo se tha use khelne..
woh sahil, doobta tha shaam ko paani ke aate jaate jhonkon main...
aur subah talak, khelta, raat ki zulfon se...
par subah jab woh kheenchna chaahta...
sagar ki chaadar ko aankhon ke upar...
woh saagar haath se nikal jaata...
sahil, woh bechaara...
pyaasa hi reh gaya...
aur arzoo uski,
ret banke,
aaj bhi paron tale kuchli jaati hai...

Ankahee

2008-02-16T07:40:00.004+05:30

Ankahee kuch baaton main,
khamosh, kuch nagme gungunaye hain,
kuch meri tamannayen,
kuch tumhari muskaan,
kuch aansoo,
kuch yaadon ke saaye hain.

Aur ankahee in baaton main,
alfaaz kuch maine paaye hain,
kuch lamhe inkaar ke,
kuch dhadkanein ikraar ki,
kuch apne,
aur kuch paraaye hain.

Aur ankahee inhi baaton main,
aarzoo ke phool chupaye hain,
izhaar ko inhi aksharon main dhakke,
maine nagme kayin gungunaye hain.

Ankahee kuch baaton main,
maine nagme kayin gungunaye hain...
maine,
nagme kayin gungunaye hain...

(Image Credits : Siddharth Ahluwalia)

Parchaaiyaan

2008-02-14T22:55:00.004+05:30

Parchaaiyaan kehla karti thi,
is raah par, jhilmil taaron se;
aur aaj roti hai aarzoo,
dabi aahaton se, mukaddar ke isi maud par.

nasheeli raat ke is saaye main,
jagmagaate the kabhi jugnu;
aur aaj tere ashkon ki boondon mein,
ek toote hue chaand ki parchaaiyaan.

"What used to be of laughter and glee,
is today a tearful of pain.
What used to be of belonging and trust,
is but a longing of rain."

The Doc of Love

2008-02-14T00:05:00.004+05:30

The Doc of panache,
the Doc of style,
the Doc of fiction,
the Doc of smile.

The Doc of smartness,
the Doc of grace,
the Doc of agility,
the Doc of pace.

The Doc of affection,
the Doc of Love,
am the doc of it all,
but all that's listed above.

Happy Valentine's Day :)

Samay...

2008-02-10T17:29:00.000+05:30

samay ki laal aandhi ko cheerta hua...
behti hawaon se ek ulta rukh pakad...
ek patta...
apni daali se bichda...
apne ped, apne baghban se gumsum...
woh patta, a gira ret ke ek mehal main...
bahut hi aalishaan mehal tha...
ret ki diwaarein...
ret ki khidkiyaan aur darwaaze..
ret ki seediyan...
ret ke bistar...
ret ka paani...
aur ret ki hi hariyali...
sunehri us dhoop main...
ret ke aanchal main latpat...
woh patta neele aasmaan ki aseem gehrai mein chupe dard ke samundar ko aankne laga...

woh patta toot chuka tha...
bas aandhi main behne se hi nahi...
magar aandhi ke pehle panpe tofaan se...

woh tofaan jo raat ki ek shaant si aahat main aake poori zindagi ujaad chuka tha...
woh tofaan jisne us patte ki dhadkanon ko uske dil se juda kiya tha...
aur ab...
woh patta a gira tha...
ret ki us duniya main jiska varnan toh aap sun hi chuke hain...
wahaan us samay, aasman se chup-chaap, bina kinhi alfaazon ke, baatein karte hue, us patte ne, aasman se poocha...
"e-neele-ambar...ek baat bata...ki aakhir kyun toota hoon main aaj...kya jazb-e-aatish na thi meri mohabbat main? kya ped ne kabhi jaana nahi ki main chahta hoon use, abhi bhi, juda hoke bhi, apne andar behti paani ki aakhri boond tak.....kyun, e-anant-aakash...aaj toota hoon main...juda hokar..."
aur phir...
us din...
sadiyon baad...
ret bheegi...
jam ke bheegi...

aur aaj wahaan...
ek nadi baha karti hai...
aur us nadi main...
ek rookha sa, toota sa patta...
aaj bhi behta hai...
apne ped ki talaash main...

(P.S. Its not always about sex. Sometimes its simply about Trees and shed leaves and fucking exaggerated to a whole new dimension)

To Paradise

2008-01-25T20:10:00.000+05:30

She had heard about the lands of the midnight sun, but for her it had been a long long night. Despair was all that she met, in scores of personifications, in tens of verbs; and every morning when she looked into the mirror, she'd see the prettiest girl this side of the northern hemisphere frown back at her. The worried mornings would transgress into troubled days and further to sleepless nights. The seconds, each single passing one, had started appearing monumental and all so un- gulpable, so un-unnoticable; and no being but her knew about how she had managed to keep a head as volatile and random as her's, sane and between her shoulders. She would pray, and so would many others, so that she could get to hear a good news, something comforting, or God-forbid even a harsh truth.

***

And then, one fine day while dangling unnerved between today and tomorrow, quitea while after the stroke of midnight, she saw the light, a reply, a lone beam of hope and much much more.

***

And before she knew it, she was there, belted to her seat and the cabin doors had been shut, and inside her head, preferable not accessorizing any seat-belts, tons of whims and fantasies danced around, hand in hand, rejoicing the now very near future. The engine drew up a decent hum and the plane took off.

***

Through the aisles she made her way out of the entrance at the fore. She walked down the gangway, and reassured her step as she finally after hours of flight set foot on the tarmac. It was a windy Wednesday morning and her hair fluttered all around as long and far, seemingly even more anxious than her about being absorbed in this new world. She stood straight up and took in a huge gulp of air. And then, as she watched the beams of light tear through the chest of the mountains, out of a gaping sky, he smile could be seen rising up and above where she wore her muffler. Then she spoke, all to herself, "Its true, there is paradise."

The God from Greece

2008-01-23T18:46:00.000+05:30

The harbinger of hope,
the convenor of peace;
a pied piper, well paid,
he's the God from Greece.

Bizillion dreams in his eyes,
trillion tales in his talks;
Music, when he speaks,
panache, as he walks.

Eyeballs, fixated,
heads swivel around;
ears they ache,
to hear his numbest sound.

And he knows it too,
he knows much more than all;
of an answer, and a right one,
never does he, short, fall.

The clouds to dance,
as he animates with his hands;
showering a thousand foot prints,
on memory's sands.

And as the sun begins to snore,
around the kingdom he does walk;
with a girl, I too dream of,
about whom to myself I talk.

And there is just one question I ask,
of this paragon of greatness, so fair and tall;
Why-o-why do you try to woo,
the girl, someday I hope to, mine call.

(Go Greek God, See Cleopatra instead)

This is a Song

2008-01-22T23:45:00.000+05:30

nobody could every let you go,
but for the seasons in my mind.
I never thought you would be all alone,
but then the moon, it bid goodbye.

This is a song of a brand new dawn,
of a brand new sky.
Its about time that I asked for love,
a new story write.

And I could never have watched you die,
but then you took your own life.
And I had thought of a better end,
one where only I would cry.

The Wall

2008-01-14T18:12:00.001+05:30

(Click To Enlarge)

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Behold,
and gape in awe, if you may,
The Wall

Resolution

2008-01-01T08:18:00.000+05:30

A Very Very Verrry Happy New Year to Everyone.
May the winds of destiny always remain at your back and push you forward to greater fortunes, bigger smiles and simply more happiness.
God Bless Ya.

BTFW : My New Year Resolution is 1024x768. Got me Laptop Screen Repaired :)

About Mary

2007-12-18T04:09:00.000+05:30

His friends said, "Be reasonable."
They said, "Just let go."
But there was something about Mary,
that they didn't know.

:)

Similarities

2007-12-18T03:34:00.000+05:30

I would like to bring forth a point of similitude between two movies that I happened to have seen tonight, and back to back.

8mm

A nice flick. Well, the girl that gets murdered in the movie is named "Mary Ann Matthews."

There's Something About Mary

A very fun movie. The character Cameron Diaz plays is named "Mary Matthews."

Jus a li'l observation.
And as Rodeja sez, "I hope this bit of trivia helps you win a quiz someday."

2007-12-17T23:56:00.001+05:30

2007-12-17T23:54:00.000+05:30

I guess I should stop doing this to my head every fucking single day.

2007-12-17T09:40:00.000+05:30

I guess I'll wait,
and hold my words,
leagues below my tongue.
I guess I'll wait,
and keep my thoughts,
say naught,
and stay mum.

2007-12-17T09:35:00.001+05:30

Here's a story,
of loss and win.
Here's a story,
of thick and thin.
Here's a story,
of a frown,
and a smile.
Here's a story,
that's been read out,
for quite some while.
They call it life,
this story,
my friend.
They call it life,
and we live it to the end.

2007-12-15T18:27:00.000+05:30

"But it was only fanstasy
The Wall was too high, as you can see
No matter how he tried he could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain."

- Pink Floyd (Boy-o-boy. They know it all.)

Association

2007-12-13T22:58:00.000+05:30

Its funny, the human power of association. The human mind has the limitless capability of remembering things, or recollecting facts, figures, faces and what not by a simple joining of dots in the head, by simply connecting one thing with another, an image with a name, a name with number. The possibilities are endless and definitely beyond the scope of enumeration. We use it everywhere. We use it to remember formulae in shitty college examinations or to remember telephone numbers or just to be able to remember what color the Eiffel Tower is(Okay, mebbbe not this).

Well, this ability of associating things becomes even more comendable, and might I add, humorous when the subject under observation is in love. Yes, precisely, a human emotion(and the most complicated one, to say) coupled with an uncanny knack will something that is nothing short of something worthy of scientific analysis and research, or atleast something that makes up for a good blog post.

Well, all I actually wanted to say was that being madly infatuated with someone can make your ability to associate do the weirdest things and make the weirdest associations. You go about associating the girl of your dreams to anything, from a song in the movie Om Shanti Om, to the History of Indian Economics since Independence, to the 9'0 Clock News.

Anything Happens.
Its a weird World.
With lodza weird people.
Beware.

Ah, and btw, Happy Joining'em Dots.

2007-12-07T21:36:00.000+05:30

There're somethings money can buy.
For everything else GO FUCK YOURSELF!
(coz you aint getting any)

2007-12-07T21:33:00.000+05:30

B'bye Broken Friday, it was nice being with you.
Somehow I have the feeling that I'll be meeting up witcha again in another name, on another day.

2007-12-07T08:42:00.000+05:30

"I would.
I still would."

:-)

O Mast.

2007-12-03T02:37:00.000+05:30

क्यों रखूँ मैं अब अपनी कलम मैं स्याही,
जब कोई अरमान दिल मैं मचाता ही नहीं।

न जाने क्यों सभी शाख करते हैं मुझ पर,
जब कोई सूखा फूल मेरी किताब मैं मिलता ही नहीं।

कशिश तो बहुत थी मेरे प्यार मैं मगर क्या करूं ,
कोई पत्थर दिल पिघलता ही नहीं।

अगर खुदा मिले तो उस से अपना प्यार माँग लूं,
मगर सुना है वह किसी से मरने से पहले मिलता ही नहीं.

Found this somewhere on the Internet.
Courtesy : Rahul

Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner!

2007-12-03T02:11:00.000+05:30

Yes Baby,
Its High time,
and quite the right moment,
to write a rhyme.
A rhyme about love,
expressed and denied.
A rhyme about tears,
that I have cried.
A rhyme about happiness,
felt and shared.
A rhyme about me,
for all you care!
A rhyme about us,
and what we coulda been.
A rhyme about the love,
thatcha neva woulda seen.
A rhyme about the rhymes,
that I penned in your name.
A rhyme about all the times,
when I was the one at blame.
A rhyme about the beginning,
that started with an end.
A rhyme about a broken heart,
that no time will mend.
A rhyme about a upturned smile,
that will never turn around.
A rhyme about the symphony of sadness,
in the silence of your sound.
A rhyme about a wait in the cold,
while you made someone else's day.
A rhyme about all the things I wanted to,
but could neva fuckin say.
A rhyme about the gaping hole,
you've left here in my mind.
A rhyme about how emotion and shit,
had me acting all so blind.
A rhyme about how stupid I was,
and how I wasted all ov my time.
Waiting, wishing, and waiting more,
for you to read my rhyme.

Oh Yes Baby,
its time.
Its time to write a Rhyme.

2007-12-03T02:10:00.000+05:30

Haunt me,
don't let me go.
Hate me,
just don't let me know.

She Said...

2007-11-13T00:53:00.000+05:30

She said,
learn how to write,
learn how to talk,
learn how to dance,
learn how to walk;
learn how to laugh,
learn how to smile,
learn how to be slick,
learn how to be agile;
learn how to win,
learn how to bask,
learn how to command,
learn how to ask;
learn how to be adorable,
learn how to admire,
learn how to be humble,
learn how to burn like a fire.
O' learn how to be,
the man I always dream;
only then,
shall I be your girl.

Okay, now that the poetic pleasantries are done with, I would like to move onto a more frank and harsh method of expression. Proze. First things first, "no, I do not wantcha to be ma girl." And secondly, "Please, get a life." There's a third thing too, but I'll tell it ta ya when you come begging to me for love. C'mon, Move over now!

HD :P

2007-11-09T12:55:00.000+05:30

There're days and then, there are days.

And for today, I wish you all,

HAPPY DIWALI.

Broken

2007-11-07T15:46:00.000+05:30

Scared and dazed,
they run and hide.
Oft in dark corners,
away from recollection,
from further thought.

They weep,
in solitude.
And bleed in pain.
They think,
of promises,
of by gone days.

They crib,
of lost chances,
of unkept words.
They smell,
of turned down roses,
of tears in the rain.

They sleep,
in insomnia;
they wake,
in fear.
And buried they remain,
for the rest of the years.
'Til one day they get,
called upon,
on very sad days,
on melancholy morns.

And then they wail.
And then they cry.
And they cry.
And so do I.

Broken Dreams.
This is how they get.

Thank You, anyways.

And Then He Wrote.

2007-10-31T22:32:00.000+05:30

And then he wrote. He had waited on her too long. Waited way too long to hear her say, "Yes." Waited way too long to get to hear her say the words he wanted to hear. Waited way too long so that she could notice him in a way in which he noticed her, regarded her, felt her, loved her. But she did not. She made no moves. Possibly because she did not want to, but almost definitely because he did not mean anything to her. He wrote about all the times when he had stayed awake nights in a row wondering what she thought about him and about all the endless possibilities that tomorrow held, for him, for her, for them. He wrote about his dreams, about his tears, about his smiles, about hers. He wrote and he wrote. Sheet after painful sheet. And bottle of ink after another. There was not a soul in the whole world which would ever come to know of all that he felt about her, but today he had decided to give it all away. To her, to the world. He wrote about evenings when he would stare aimlessly at the setting sun and imagine her by his side. She would never be there, just like she hadn't been there today. And the more he tried not to bother, the more he tried telling himself that she had a life of her own, the more, it got to his head. He wrote about dog-tired days which would all of a sudden come alive with joy whenever he saw her smile, and smile at him. As he wrote, he realized she had never really smiled at him, for him. It shook him to realize that the smile he had so deeply fallen in love with was never for him, never would be. He wrote about all the songs he had penned in her name, all the poems he had written her and how he was rarely ever able to rake even a spark of emotion in her. But they did not really matter to her, she saw the poems as mere pieces of underpar literature. He wrote that night about how he had cried once, the only time ever in his life, and only because he knew that she was sad and there wasn't a thing he could do. As he picked up this last remaining sheet of paper, he wrote even faster, scribing an almost incomprehensible scribble. As he neared the end, he wrote about how much he still loved her, about how much he'd always love her, about how much, in spite of all of this, she would mean to him. He wrote about how she would always remain one of the most cherished memories of his life, how her name would always remain the sweetest thing his lips ever got to taste, how the tears she had given to him would always remain as sparkling diamonds in the dark of his mind, and how her smile would always be his sunshine. He finished writing then. And this was the last time he ever wrote. The last time he ever loved.

To Quote

2007-09-30T18:32:00.000+05:30

"George, do you have a dream?"

"I will have a dream if I get some fuckin' sleep. Why don't you shut up?!"

From the movie BLOW.

Life

2007-09-28T21:39:00.000+05:30

What's the point behind this?
Or that?
Or that!

none.

Its like one big circle.
no matter how far or fast you go, you always remain in the circle.
You were born in it.
You die in it as well.

You may state enriching the quality of one's life by experiences as the motive.
But how many?
How much?

You may state happiness, love, fear and even hatred as equally beautiful emotions, emotions worth living for(or dying for).
But why don't you realize, emotions after all are mere bio chemical reactions of neurons, of nerve endings, of a flow of hormones from one part of the body to another and possibly an accelerated heartbeat.

What's the point then?

You may state friendship, dependence, socializing as important phenomena, but its as simple as the concept that guides a market economy. Two parties only coalate for satiating their individual desires.

Its simple.
Yet so pretty fucked up.

I'll still, after having written all of this, go to sleep tonight, hoping to wake up in a world that is more fair for me. Hoping to wake up in a world that is more for me.

Life, they call it.
And we all live it.
Or do we?

An Open Letter

2007-09-28T18:37:00.000+05:30

To Whomsoever It May Concern

There are things that make me smile.
There are things that get to my head and make me want to kill something.

To both of you.

I love you.

Life'd have been so fucking incomplete without you both.
Thanx for being there for me, always, whenever I needed ya, and also when I fucking did not.

Regards
Sincerely Yours
and a li'l more
Sahil Dhar Hakim

2007-09-25T22:23:00.000+05:30

Tell Her This...
Be Happy. Always. Please.

2007-09-25T21:50:00.000+05:30

To be able to turn a page and never again find,
to be able to forget a smile and never look behind.

H for Hope

2007-09-23T23:31:00.001+05:30

Hietesh Shridhar was right when he said, "You never wish for the past, you always hope for the future, and never ever lose hope."

2007-09-23T22:53:00.000+05:30

And, so certain they seem,
in these walks of change;
Then why,
then why,
Do I feel so strange?

Coming Back

2007-09-23T22:34:00.000+05:30

Cause no matter how hard,
you wish me away;
I'll always keep coming back.
Cause no matter how plain,
your pages you maintain;
I'll keep penning them black,
I'll always keep coming back.

2007-09-23T21:52:00.000+05:30

"I'll wait for you there,
like a stone.
I'll wait for you there,
alone."

2007-09-13T22:06:00.000+05:30

We used to great friends sometime back. It would be with me all day long, sharing a million thoughts that razed through the vast grasslands of my mind, and practically remembering each one of them. And I

wasn't the only one speaking in our conversations. It would speak to me all day long and at times, even when I didn't quite want it to, never very seriously though, cause I could have never would have

imagined it not talking to me, not saying a word; plainly blankly staring, no endorphines bustling in its cerebrum, no new sensations running down its spinal cord.

Back then, when we used to have such a great time, it would talk to me about all sorts of things, and all through the day it would bring me things to talk and discuss about, and at times reflect upon in great ponder. It would bring me to news from all corners of the world, happy news, sad news, happy things, smiles, winks, sadness. Everything. It was the most complete partner that I could ever think of. For no moment of my day would be completely solitary as long as I had it was with me, and it always managed to be there. And no matter how far I traveled into desolation, and away from people, it would always be there, right by my side, smiling and waiting just a li'l moment before it would start speaking to me, and possibly never stop, not even if I wanted it to.

Things have changed. Someone was right. I wish someone wasn't.

Its almost stopped talking to me. Hardly once or twice a day does it usher a word or two out of its mouth and mostly to either ask for water, or to ask me to turn the lights out before it goes to bed.

Its changed, possibly I have too. I have grown use to the silence that's been stagnating between us, and which will only grow more uncomfortable with time. I have no clue, I'm sure it doesn't what to do any better than I.

Anyways.
I guess this is how it's supposed to end.
There's just one thing, I wish, that the day its about to leave, I wish, and very hardly so, that it just turns back to say "Good Bye."

It, my Cellphone, nokia 6600.

Its been so long, so very very long. I don't expect it to talk to me again. :|

Main Azaad Hoon

2007-08-30T19:18:00.000+05:30

Haha...haha...hahahahaha..

A Day In the Life of a Mechanchi

2007-08-25T20:33:00.000+05:30

Me: "Oh Yaaaaar...."

Sanam: "Mast!"

Me: "Yaaar...hamara kabhi kuch hoga kya?"

Sanam: "Hmpf...mujhe toh ni lagta."

Koi Na.
Woh kehte hain na, "ABNM!"
Bas Wohi.

Humpty Dumpty

2007-08-24T22:32:00.000+05:30

Humpty Dumpty,
sat on a wall, waiting to decide;
whether to live on one more day,
whether to commit suicide.

Whether to breathe in the same stale air,
or to choke himself and die;
whether to paint an egg-yolk smile,
or just sit and cry.

Whether to look at a life he never wanted,
whether to brave the pain;
or simply take a plunge,
so that he couldn't be put together again.

But Humpty was a wise li'l chap,
he wasn't going to crack;
he raised a finger and showed it to the world,
screamed "Hey, Fuck You Back!"

Ghalib Speaketh...and again.

2007-08-24T19:54:00.000+05:30

Now your kisses
are for offer
without a plea
without a request
now that you keep
company that's strange,
company that's changed.

Hmpf.

Ghalib Speaketh...

2007-08-23T22:26:00.000+05:30

Oh for those days
and those nights
where one had little
on one's mind
than to think
and to weave
images of her
my love.

Hmm..on a second thought, I don't think I'd want that time back.
On a third, maybe I would.

wFe.
WfE.

Pta Ni.

2007-08-19T23:05:00.000+05:30

Twenty one days later,
Seventeen songs far,
There’ll be,
Yet another dawn.

And I’ll wish to hear,
The bulbul sing,
The morning sun from sleep.

And I’ll wish to hear,
The whoosh of the wind,
Knock all reconciliation deep.

I’ll wish ti see,
The sky go pink,
For it just must’ve guessed.

The blue of her eyes,
The scent of her hair,
Nd how her cheeks go red.

I’ll wish to talk,
To the falling rain.
And sing with the winking stars.

Dine with the Gods,
Dance with Venus,
And go fishing on mars.

:)

To all

2007-08-18T07:45:00.000+05:30

To all, that doesn't need me no more,
to all of'em who left me behind.
To all, that never really did care,
too all of'em who never did mind.

To all, that can just go to hell,
to all of'em who can tag along.
To all, that never ever was right,
to all of'em who always found me wrong.

To all, that never needed me anyways,
to all'of em who never heard me cry.
To all, that never could live with me,
to all of'em who won't get to see me die.

She's a ...

2007-08-18T04:20:00.000+05:30

She's a bitch,
its not her fault.
She's a bitch,
after all.
She's a bitch,
right to the end.
She's a bitch,
she ain't no friend.
She's a bitch,
like none I knew.
She's a bitch,
and fucking askew.
She's a bitch,
for all I care.
She's a bitch,
she aint ever there.
She's a bitch,
O'lord above!
She's a bitch,
She's the one I love.

(Yay! Phuree, Phrushterashun, Phuck!)

Words

2007-08-06T01:23:00.000+05:30

For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been."

Of Love, Of Joy

2007-08-04T11:28:00.000+05:30

He had,
to say,
heaps,
unscalable mountains,
unfathomable seas.
And she,
for hearing,
a word,
or two,
of love,
of joy,
was deaf.

He'd sing,
ballads,
serenades,
pen poems,
scrib epics,
in her thought,
in her name.
And she,
to read,
syllables etched,
of love,
of joy,
was blind.

He'd create,
wonders,
smiles,
tears,
lives.
All for her,
all for,
a moment,
of feeling
of emotion.
And she,
to live,
a second,
in bliss,
of love,
of joy,
was dead.

He'd still,
love her,
live for her.
Think of her,
dream of her.
And she,
Ah, She.
Ah, Her.

The Night Of 3rd August.
Very Very Disgusting Night.
Very Unpleasant.
Extremely Frustrating.

Saare log ude pade the.