Chapaat v2.0

Saturday, March 17, 2007

The three-and-a-half of us

I live in the presence of humble beings. Whether they are intrinsically so or exalted presence humbles my comrades is as sensational a topic of discussion as the question that whether the pet dog of Ashoka's seventh wife was known as Tommy or Chintu, or did he have any seventh wife at all. The bottom line is, I see them humbled. (Experts say that Ashoka was highly influenced by the west and had changed it from Chintu to Tommy several times, but her orthodox wife changed it back to Chintu - This was the sole reason why Ashoka converted to Buddhism. In my opinion, although, the best name for a dog is either Odie or Kutta. [Click here to read about the history of Kutta]).

I immediate companionship comprises of two-and-a-half people these days (the half symbolizes occasional interaction from one of the three creatures), but mostly it is the three of us (Jotshi,Punja-bee and the humble I) or the four of us (Jotshi,Punja-bee,Thee-Pooh and the humble I again) who can be seen working their way, as if they have all the time of the world, towards Subway(tm) or SDA(no tm) to while away their time while they have some to while. We three(or four) can be spotted pulling each other by our bags, pushing others off their paths, delivering our that’s-what-you-get(tm) punches, pinching(with corrosion as a result) and mostly laughing like hooligans at everything or nothing. People know us a couple of maniacs (how befitting - Mani(ac)s), as the crazy phools(Gobi ke), or maybe as insane insaans. But that sounds all the more amusing.

With time, each one has whetted their skills for cracking and deciphering far-fetched and baseless PJs. At times they're so far-fetched they seem to come from the other end of the universe and our wonderful, unique and acute apprehensive abilities have had the pleasure of apprehending all of them effortlessly. The PJs do sometimes venture out into the realm of what is popularly called 'Pondy' but then it is all a part of the game.

The startling part is, that over time, we have become similar, the three-and-a-half of us. How? Well, all of us have two hands, two eyes, one nose (with two nostrils each) and the biggest coincidence, none of us have thirty-two teeth. Now what else would you call that but similar. We like and dislike the same people. No we don't dislike people, we just like others more. We study the same courses and take our exams on the same days and sometimes even at the same time (and even in the same room - how astonishing, isn't it?) Now what else would you call that but similar. Even our histories are similar. All born and brought-up in India, all passed through the dreaded JEE, we consulted each other before filling in our options as Chemical-Delhi, and there we are... I mean here we are. Now say not similar! Huh! We even swear the same words and use arcane code languages to describe our surroundings an example of which is:
"Josmoshi saasmaali tosmo osbomtyuse haisami. Hasma Hasma Hasma." (I doubt anybody understanding that.)

But there are, co-incidentally, some differences too owing to the foreign elements that sometimes mingle and affect our states of existence. And sadly these elements shall continue to practice their influence on our poor members, making us more and more dissimilar over the quickly impending summer. Alas, it is all a part of the game. We still stand as a tripod (with half a central leg) and continue to benight the sight of passer-bys, continue to compress and extract (extremely perilous and difficult operations conducted on some members) each other, and as a result act as a recipe for a perfect whiling of unneccessary time and enjoying amidst the commotion of all tutorials, exams and other similar dreary entities.


Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Ode to yove - VII

And I expect yove. How, tell me, am I worth it all? The noblest thing extant desired by the lowliest of the characters. How do I expect ambrosia after sowing poison? How presumptuous of me. Oh please, how can the poor I find my way of out this. The poor I is capable of nothing. Most ignoble, stubborn and exceedingly ugly, I find nothing to my cause. I depend of the perfection of the heart, the nature of yove; I trust in my being human and accept all that is endowed. I need yove though I'm not worth it.

Interestingly, there are two kinds of yoves - real and fake, unconditional and its opposite, true and superficial. And startling to know, contrary to popular belief, the former is prevalent much more than the latter for it is only some who pretend of loving but each one has fallen into true and perfect yove, unknowingly. What is unconditional yove, by the way? A state in which the object of affection is liked, yoved categorically; when one sees no vice, when one recognizes no pain, when one senses nothing undesirable from the object, it is then unconditional. Though the beloved may cause one misery manifold, may lead to ruination, may blight one's life, the lover sees no wrong to ever be associated with its source, it is then complete yove. And surprisingly all are in deep (of depth unfathomable) and irrevocable yove.

Every being I see is in yove with ego, the traitor, greed, the exaggerator, lust the allurer. No. Not them, each being I see is in love with pleasure and comfort and they provide it, hence the induced love. But true love indeed. A person would renounce his mother but not his ego. A man could kill his father but not the lust. A human could dismember his children but not his greed. How true is the yove? Wow. These evils, the blighters, the cause of all pain, of all sorrow are so dearly yoved and owned by man, how much more selfless could one be? These deceitful entities which promise to bring joy, are accompanied only by fear, dismay, pain and despondency and still they rule my heart. I already know what true yove is. One which has no bound. No matter how much they pain me, I shall keep up the hope of extracting pleasure some time and attempt to draw solace. I salute thee, O mankind and I salute myself too.

No person yoves his parents but only the needs they fulfill. No person yoves his siblings, but only the happiness they give. No one yoves his spouse, but only the pleasure that is derived, only the needs that are satisfied. Who yoves friends? Everybody yoves the joy that is attained. Where are children yoved? If the children are a cause of pain, they are disowned. If parents are a barrier, they are crossed. If siblings have clashes, they are renounced. If friends can give only pain, they are left. Who yoves another? One only loves the pleasure that is derived, only the happiness that is felt, only the desires that are (never) sated. People don't love people. This is the superficial yove because the person is not important but what the person can give you. How amusing. But to talk of real yove...

Like the egotist yoves his reputation, I need the same yove. Like the greedy yoves others' wealth, I need the same yove. Like the lustful is enticed by form and beauty, I need the same yove. Like the sadist yoves pain, I yove yove like that. Like the thirsty man who craves for a drop of water, I crave for you O yove.

Respect the fish, O ignorant being, I must learn to respect the fish. Of how it loves the water, of how it lives in water, of how it dies in it, of how it is imbued in it, of how the fish craves for it even when cut into a thousand parts and digested, it yearns for water. It has known the art of true yove, it knows it's needs and I know them not. Look at me, the unfortunate fish, who roams around in search for what I live in and what lives in me.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Ode to Yove - VI

People live on their lives, people like me, without yove, crying, in torment. And I want to break free and get entangled in your yove. Otherwise I shall go on living in the living hell with no hope of recovery. I want to get out of the question and live in the answer.

What am I to do with people? People who come and go - like seasons - stolid and free. I am to do with myself and my yove, that what I ultimately shall come to possess, that which I shall come to possess once I do away with people. Do away with others from the heart, place of love shall be created and such a space shall be created others will fit in easily, comfortably.

Oh yove, you have no time, no date, no day. You are forever, every minute, every moment. How soothing you are, dear friend. You are what I have not, you are what I thought I got, you are the one besought, you are what I still have not. Yove is each moment, you are each moment; constant as the waves of the sea, as the sheen of the sun, which exists latent or sensible.

It is the best of times, it is the worst of times, the worst of times. I am so smart, so I thought; I know now, that I'm not. I am so smart; I am such a fool, such a fool. I am so strong; I am so weak, so weak. I am so firm; I am so brittle, so brittle. I am so quick; I am obtuse, so obtuse. I am detached; I am so attached, so bounded, so bounded. I am compassionate; Compassion is a choice by those who're free. I am so compassionate; I am so miserable, so harsh. I am so pure; I am so diseased, so blighted. I am so modest; I'm such an ass, such as ass. I am so sweet; I am such a hypocrite, such a bloody hypocrite. I am so deep; I am so hollow, so shallow. I am so noble; I am vile and wicked, vile and wicked. I am so truthful; I'm a liar, always a liar. I am so lovable; I am perfectly hateful, perfectly perfectly hateful. I am perfect; I am so broken, so broken, so broken.

And I expect love. How, tell me, am I worth it all? The noblest thing extant desired by the lowliest of the characters. How do I expect ambrosia after sowing poison? How presumptuous of me. Oh please, how can the poor I find my way of out this. The poor I is capable of nothing. Most ignoble, stubborn and exceedingly ugly, I find nothing to my cause. I depend of the perfection of the heart, the nature of yove; I trust in my being human and accept all that is endowed. I need yove though I'm not worth it.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Ode to Yove - V

Ha ha ha ha! Make me mad after it please! I want to be insane. Think me mad of human race! Please treat me as mad and banish me from your memories! I would love to be known as mad. What ego then? What attachment? What ego now? Of what can I pride. I am like a beggar entreating, asking for yove for all that I seem to possess is of no value except that it might help me survive physically. But the mind? It writhes of hunger and insatisfaction. It feels that huge void. I feel like a slave of my own temptations and desires, of pain and pleasure, of repute and disrepute. What greatness can slaves possess? What is there to pride?

How insane can somebody be? I want to be that. Strange desire, it is, to be called mad. But ultimate pleasure, it is, to be rejected and nondescript when you know you have all that you need and want nothing more and want nothing at all. Your yove shall do the magic and I wait eagerly. Wait with patience and let things happen for I know what must happen, must happen. And I know that yove must happen too.

Where is now that fear, the dreaded fear, that plagued me for time immemorial? Where does it now reside, when it has been rooted up from my mind? I have been extricated. For I have accepted all happenings, all sorrows and all joyless joys. All due to the very simple yove.

All music is noise without your touch in the mind, every note sounds so profound with your taste. And that sweet music exponentiates the want even more, how so very sweet. My ears want to hear no more than you and eyes want to see nothing except you. Oh these profane senses, they know all except you, they feel all except your yove. These nugatory senses are unwanted if they ask for anything except you.

Yove breeds compassion and forgiveness. Forbearance too. Practicing them is golden. Yove breeds insouciance and I yove it. Yove subdues are restlessness and peace prevails. Yove destroys impurities that act as inhibitors to the process of yoving more. Yove engenders equanimity and boosts candor. Yove brings honesty. Yove is the bracelet I want to wear, jewels do not impress me. Pure, unadulterated yove.

People live on their lives, people like me, without yove, crying, in torment. And I want to break free and get entangled in your yove. Otherwise I shall go on living in the living hell with no hope of recovery. I want to get out of the question and live in the answer.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Ode to Yove - IV

And what has this world become. I see no friends, no relatives. All a superficial part of life. Customary. All for their business. There is no love I see in children or parents, neither brother nor sister, but only an outward appearance. I am a cynic for that is all one can be given the hollow ways of the world; of which I am, unexceptionally and unfortunately, a part.

How short is the life and so much to be had. How limited is everything. Oh God, it disheartens me and fills my heart with gloom when I realize, seldom, the true fleeting nature of all that is seen or felt. Why was it made this way? And why is it so difficult to accept? No, I must not ask questions for I know my worth. I must just try to accept. I know now, I have not what I want completely, but the hope of it is precious too. The want of it is something I want too. Scrumptious it is.

Whenever I hear or read of love, projected love that maybe, my heart mellows. I realize how badly I need it. And when the need culminates, its wells up the source of endless joy; the inviolable tears, the mark of blooming love itself.

Along with the multitude of unfortunate souls, who have spent their lives in turmoil, searching for what shall complete the void in them with material that tingles their senses, along with them there are extant, still, some perfect lovers. Those who have manifested the inherent capability of every human and have reaped its fruit. I salute such dauntless souls who have attained purity of heart using the soap of love and I adjure them to teach me the same. How else does one get rid of this pus, the constituents of the festering mind. The only medication known is the much cliched love. How cliched! I hate writing love, love all the time even if I mean it because on reading it sounds so shallow even though it originates from the depths of my soul. I shall call it yove and then I shall start recognizing all what I have in me, the vestige, and name it as yove and start afresh.

That heart which has been steeped with yove is never freed of it. A sweet prison, the heaven of a prison. Who wants to be free? But the mind is overwhelmed by temptation rather than yove. It has no want for it, the stupid creature. Engrossed in what shall leave me aggrieved, I work like a donkey that runs after a carrot fixed in front of his head and as the donkey works his way ahead, the carrot too wants to be chased but is never achieved. Like the mirage in a desert to a thirsty that promises to slake his desire and abandons him in the end, I chase what shall leave me stranded.

Oh if only I could have perfect sincerety. I am tired of pretense, so hard to do. Why can I not be myself? What am I afraid of? My friend pain? I want categorical earnestness, urgently. And for that I want yove. Give me yove please!

Ha ha ha ha! Make me mad after it please! I want to be insane. Think me mad of human race! Please treat me as mad and banish me from your memories! I would love to be known as mad. What ego then? What attachment? What ego now? Of what can I pride. I am like a beggar entreating, asking for yove for all that I seem to possess is of no value except that it might help me survive physically. But the mind? It writhes of hunger and insatisfaction. It feels that huge void. I feel like a slave of my own temptations and desires, of pain and pleasure, of repute and disrepute. What greatness can slaves possess? What is there to pride?

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Ode to love - III

I concern myself with nothing more than what I need most - love. Tonnes of it! Let my heart be as tender as cotton, as smooth as silk, as warm as wool. Let it be saturated with your love and let it still want more, the greed of love. Wow!

Alas, my affection, the pull towards you is so inchoate. It should live on the increasing side of things. And this cub of fondness too, can provide such an effect to exult me in the most trying circumstances, imagine the lion itself. I cannot stop imagining the shape of perfect love and yet cannot imagine it for only by experience is it known and not by words. But even what I have forces me to accept all your doings, seemingly good or bad, as the same. What is done by you is better done. What is not done should not have been. This is what submission teaches me and I must learn, submission being the immediate concomitant of love.

But the problem of intensity forces me to think that, is knowing my feeling as love correct or perhaps a milder term shall live more correctly? Perhaps I really get to know it some day but until then art thou my beloved or simply liked? To measure the firmness of emotion, pain given by you is the touchstone. If I can always welcome pleasure or pain (both the rogues) alike, without thought, subconsciously; If I do not have to tell myself that I must accept but rather live in a state previously-defined acceptance, I might call it love.

No... there's more to it. Engendering of perfect acceptance, removal of all hostility, and attainment of perfect faith is not the end of love. There is certainly more. But what? Incessant remembrance, absolute inebriation? Why do I surmise rather than actually experiencing it! I will know what it is (only) when I have it. I must strive to achieve it rather than making conjectures about what it might contain. How wonderful a thought.

But I like to talk of remembrance. I like to talk of all that that makes me remember whom I want to. I like these odes to love for the reason they make me retain your yearn, and make me cognizant of what I actually do want; they make me remember the love I have seldom felt but with great intensities (or so I feel). And it is ciphered to such a good deal that no soul might have the power to surmise what it means which is amusing to the extreme and even if someone has enough time to waste on my deepest effusions, I couldn't care less! All I want is to retain this feeling. I feel, by my inner self, beholden to behold you always.

But the best part of remembrance is the pain of separation, so painful and sweeter than anything for it spawns brackish water, which when trickles down through my face onto my hand breaks open the vault to the ultimate pleasure. And the pain begets more pain which accrues and further increases the pining, until it reaches a maximum and then I start coming into my normal being. The mind then runs wild, out of my control completely, but it is most relaxed and fresh for the yen has been condensed into the form of tears, I need to engender more of it, I need to work for more love, like the farmer ploughs and reaps and ploughs again hoping to reap his crop again and again, like a livelihood, I too, plough the soil of my heart, till it with your love, water it with these tears and enjoy the fruit of pleasure. But I have to work hard!

'I' have to work! Can you imagine the temerity of the speaker who can utter such haughty a statement. The love is not a product of my work but completely your doing. How does one fall in love in the first place, I have not stopped to think. Is it because of greatness, or superiority of power and intellect? Or because of humility? Or because you have something I greatly desire to achieve. But all I desire to achieve is you! Let me not confuse myself with the hollow rhetoric. All I know is I want your love, by hook or by crook. And I want nothing else.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Ode to love - II

I run after love, how amusing if I catch it, how so wonderful if I don't now and so says submission. How rugged is the ego with sharp edges and I apply the silk of love, cream of submission and cover it with the smooth indifference.

I run after a variety of other things too, for after all, the heart in me contains loves of different kinds. Say the love of the ego or the love of a million other yearnings. I carry the load of expectation and bear the brunt of its repercussions. I will have to throw all these off as quickly - the expectation, the attachments, the ego and a gazillion other leeches - as possible and reduce this amalgamation of love, sublimate it to the most sublime state. Your love puts everything into a time warp, that iota of love, I mean to say. How amusing would perfect love be?

What indulges and allures one, must scare and scratch one. From what I seek joy by its mere presence shall burden me with agony by its sheer absence. The directions are opposite and the magnitudes are same, life adds up to zero, maybe. The coin take the form of both heads and tails, with equal probabilities. I want to get rid of the coin for once and for all.

When you speak, I listen with ardor and when you are spoken of I listen with zeal. I wish I could love your talk for infinities to come, how wonderful would that be. The moment when that fire dwindles, is of pain. I desire the fire. How soothing it is to be steeped in love and having a thought no other. When the head of a toblerone is severed and the T-block melts in your mouth, that sweetness, that stimulation of the tongue is nothing as compared to when your sweet, lofty thought embraces me.

The anger that burns minds, is like the forest fire that burns the tender plant of love. What I cannot digest is that if one loves another, doesn't the heart become so tender, so mellow as to not being able to hate anyone else? Doesn't it render the person devoid of anger? If one wave of the sea is loved, how can hate for another one flourish?

When I know the ways of the world, why do I not accept them? When I know the human is not the possessor of his own mind but only a slave in the hands of countless urges, how can I blame anybody? When I know that everybody is inherently good but with actions vile due to desires that extend perfect ascendancy over poor mortals, how can anybody be hated? When each action one does is 'right' for the moment according to his knowledge, why can anybody not be forgiven? When I know the movement of the hand can either slap or caress, why am I not prepared for both?

Let me not maunder into questions that are not questions but sincere hopes. Let me be grateful to the soul that can love. Let me be ever sanguine for more love and more love and still more. Let me know that there exists no limit, the ever increasing, tending to infinity, the unreachable. What a ridiculous way to represent an emotion of such grandeur with a handful letters? L-o-v-e? How ridiculous is language, even trying to represent it; how limited is it; how superficial; how inaccurate. But this is the best tool we have to convey our message across to others? What others? What others do I care of? Why does anybody need my message? Why does anyone have the need to glance at my emotions? The others are as temporary as anything else. How amusing is evanescence. The desirable and the dreaded, both end.

I concern myself with nothing more than what I need most - love. Tonnes of it! Let my heart be as tender as cotton, as smooth as silk, as warm as wool. Let it be saturated with your love and let it still want more, the greed of love. Wow!

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Ode to love

Outside the air is still and tranquil, but the inside is roiling and boiling. Outside, the seasons change everyday, gradually, until I realize that it has changed completely from winter to summer to autumn and spring. But on the inside, the ostensible changes are the different facades of the same structure, the masks of the same entity. The masks are black and white, and grey too but the blackness of the masquerader remains hidden when he wears anything but black. Black is good. It shows his real self to me and I want to escape him, the aspiration rises at least. When he is white, I am relieved, duped actually. Like an abscess, he sticks to me, but an abscess at least is honest in its appearance.

What is then the cure? Isn't the cure the sweetest thing not known to man? And still isn't it the most cliched emotion amongst us humans? I yearn for love and that shows I lack it. I have just tasted infinitesimal bits of it, maybe, and I fell completely in love with love, wonder what the whole thing tastes like.

When that moment of culmination arrives, bliss fills me. And there is more to come. When that extreme concentration of remembrance of one thought, of your thought, is achieved, those surges of pleasure, the eddies that twirl in my head with the utterance of utter delight, then I remember what a fool I have been leading a life otherwise. And people thought an orgasm was the best thing that could happen to man. The more the purity and sincerity of thought, more the ecstasy that rains and manifests itself in the form of brackish water. That secretion amplifies the exultation manifold and deludes the outsiders of contrary circumstances. How amusing.

How amusing to confuse others' thoughts of me. How amusing to not bother what negative is being thought of me. No! How amusing to know what negative is being thought and enjoyment from that knowledge. How amusing so very amusing to know every person respects you not but thinks you insane. How so wonderful. But how so worthless, devoting time to think of the thoughts of others.

I relish the love, the submission, the gratitude. I relish being imbued in lovable remembrance, being unperturbed, at peace. But why is it so rare? Why is it so difficult? Why do I have no control over it? I have no control over its start or its end. Those moments of sincere emotion are beyond me. But what is not beyond me?

How amusing to not care what is beyond me. How delightful the feeling of acceptance. How comforting the loss of fears. How reassuring the triviality of everything. How sweet is your pleasure and sweeter your pain.

I relish the pain, the indicator, the friend. It is real until I believe it is and goes when I know it is as good or as bad as pleasure, its counterpart. When I do believe it real, then pain pains me and I fail to extract, rather, forget how to extract the joy of out this pain. How amusing the infinite pain of the absence of infinite love, because the infinite pain implies the yearn for the infinite love, the delight of my soul.

I run after love, how amusing if I catch it, how so wonderful if I don't now and so says submission. How rugged is the ego with sharp edges and I apply the silk of love, cream of submission and cover it with the smooth indifference.

Friday, January 26, 2007

EveryBody hurts

In every sphere(and cube) of my life (my life is strictly symmetrical), I have met people and have befriended many and that is how they reside on my yahoo list - according to their origin with respect to me (wow so much respect). Unfortunately, there is one whom my list is bereft of, The Yapolko. (Yes, that's the name)

The Yapolko is incorporeal, in simpler words, a ghost, a spirit or an aatmaa if prefer the oriental terms. I first met him when I stepped into the world of voodoo, necromancy and clairvoyance. A wicked and stubborn soul, we made friends before the blink of an eye (not his eye, he has none). So we were friends before we knew it. Opposites attract, you see.

The other day the poor The Yapolko gave me his a chance to relish his exalted company after eons, we could say. And accompanying him was a jeremiad about the humankind (or not so kind) in general. Let us spare a minute or two point five to listen to the poor man's err I mean soul's pathological grief.

Every Body hurts. Trust me, I'm not lying. They hurt at the feet, in the skull, in the arms, the legs, the pancreas, the heart, the lungs, the kidneys and even at point unmentionable. They hurt at every anatomical location I could have ever studied. It was only day-before that I possessed a sultry damsel I saw wandering about a mall (owing to you know what). But she seemed to be the daughter of a pauper owing to the kind of clothes she wore at sub-zero temperatures. She caught a cold and lots of fevers, which enfeebled me enough to be trapped in her body until she was all well. Every part of her (me) hurt, cause you know, when one possesses a body, you posses their pains and comforts too. I escaped the durance like thunder and I reached a gymnasium where I thought I'd hang around inside some sinewy fellow for a while. I spotted my quarry and made my way according to the plan, only to realize that all that exercise and hormones have endowed him with severe spasmodic pains round the clock and history repeated itself. I gloated at being an evil spirit but now! Now all that is left of me is a pain swallower! What! What! What can I do! When every body hurts ?

My earnest condolences with you my friend The Yapolko, but what cannot be cured, must be endured. On this bleak note, I end this lamenting, plaintive post and can only hope that some fit personality without any pains can come forward to help the destitute soul.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Some people never change

Twenty seven murders, thirty eight more attempts, smuggles worth millions, innumerable thefts and countless wily tricks (at the age of nineteen) had made her the most satisfied girl in the world until she woke up one day and owe it all to an obscure dream, she felt something very heavy on her chest, something rotting in her mind and an invisible force that pricked every part of her body. It was what we call… remorse. This compunction had taken over her and made her cry incessantly for day, thanks to one dream she never told anyone (except me) about so that I could warn the world to stay out of the clutches of evil.

She wanted to become a normal girl, like all the other normal girls, and live her life in the same traditional way, the much clichéd life of integrity and honesty, a life she had once thoroughly despised being an iconoclast herself. She remembered she had parents and the prodigal daughter, at once, packed her bags and knocked the door of the house she was ensconced in as a child. Her mother opened the door and as we all know mothers are all-forgiving, that is what she expected, but her mother flinched at the sight of her and something seemed to throttle her as she closed the door at her face and ran into the shelter of her house.

This completely broke her heart (or whatever was left of it) and tears rushed to make way towards the ground passing over her swollen face (out of shock and despair). She thought of going to her best friend for help and hoped that she accept her back. She reached X's house and saw her in the garden but as soon as X caught a sight of her, she stood where she was, shocked but not scared, to show her that she was shocked but not scared. But as she reached into close proximity she shrieked loudly and ran for her life. She pursued her and caught her by her clothes and told her that she had left that world, was repentant for all that she had done and wanted to be her friend again but X struggled in her grip and managed to say only one thing
'You will never change! Will you?', and hearing this she loosened her grip and X ran for miles before stopping. (She was reported in the newspaper the other day).

Now she had only one alternative to prove that she had changed. She had to surrender herself. She decided to walk to the police station and give herself in. Along the way, the people who passed her by maintained a vast distance from her (probably fearing their lives) and she ignored them all and walked into the police station. There had been a prize money (goodie bags and gift hampers) for the person who caught her dead or alive but no person had ever dared to come close to her, forget touching her. She walked into the police station and as the inspector of the station descried her face out of the window, he became extremely delighted to see the lion enter the cage itself. But as she entered his room, he covered his face and fell towards he ground and a thing similar happened to all the other constables in the room. She told them that she'd come to surrender but astonishingly they all said
'No! You can never change! Go Go! Leave all of us alone! Please go from here!'

Now this was more than she could take and she had only two options (actually three, I'll tell you the 3rd one later). Either she could go back to the sordid life of crime or she could have no life at all and she chose the second. She ran towards the pond (with passerby's having similar reactions as earlier) and without second thought jumped in. Since she did know how to swim, she drowned without any problems except that the next day myriads of dead bodies (one her and many fish, frogs, snakes etcetera) floating in the pond. The pond was covered with mud and abandoned for ever; imagine the plight of the people who did that task. There was no cremation or burial because there was no one capable of enduring the stench and that odor.

C (that's her name), you had another option my deer. You could've had a bath and changed. But alas, 'Some people never change!'
Moral: Bathe and change daily or C's fate shall afflict you too.


Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Hi, Burn Nation

In the new era of computer technology, where we have left 286s and floppy drives disused, there lives XP and the like. Luxuries, for atleast now. What I love most about XP(and contemporary OSs so as to not sound partisan) is that you can save your entire virtual situation and retrieve it at startup, better called Hibernation. It simply saves all the RAM(Don't you ask what this means or you don't have a right to touch a computer. Touch it only with your left) to a file and recovers it later. How clever.

If you're staring at me right now and wondering why has Chapaat become Techno-Chapaat-i, your amusement is justified but only for a bit. Technology, it seems, runs quite parallel to our evolving lives and unfortunately, I love exploiting this phenomena and use obscure technological analogies to get my mind across. Unfortunately because it is seldom that people get my point. But for the technologically sumptuous beings who deign to read this, this is condescendingly limpid. I wish (Oh yes! Another of those), I just wish, I had something, I just wish I had something which could save my frame of mind this instant and save it to a file so that I could retrieve it later for re-usability purposes. All this, for I am an ingrate or possess a disposition contemptuously close to one. All this, for I forget all that has been granted to me, just because of my virtue of being me(virtue alright). If only something could recast this gratitude I possess now, when the opportune moments arrives for me to remunerate all that I acquired.

It is most often the case, that what is done for you is conveniently disposed off from the memory and grudges of what could not be done(for reason a many) is clasped hard causing to state of ingratitude to reign. How perfidious is this memory and how perfidious it can make us is certainly beyond doubt. Save for me, o somebody, this golden room(thanks to the golden lamp), this bright screen, this cozy atmosphere, the noises from far, the pastry I feasted upon, the smell of nothing, the feeling of freshness, the books in repose, the bright red phone and what not. (Wake up, the description has finished (Rather has been truncated)). If any keen brain can develop such a case for my thoughts, please let me know, for he shall be soaked in currency(assume currency to be liquid please, you've heard about liquidity and all, haven't you) and receive his weight in (solid) gold (so says the self-deprecating King !Xobile (and learn to pronounce my name!)).

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

News of the day

In the land of eyesores, I landed today, just to be landed by the blows of boredom. Boredom here signifies the state when one is so bored, one becomes dumb(and numb).

In an alien world today, that formed by one of my cousin sister's engagement(read enjajement), consecrated by my holy tread, consisting entirely of multitudes greybeards and hags(some moustached) and distorted physiognomies(young and old) lruking around with contorted and affected smiles or painful grimaces or radarring necks, I too, moved my head like a radar receiver for time that seemed like years so that my vision could cover light years in search of one visage that could complete my purpose of visit apart from appeasement of some formality-bound host souls. Ofcourse I was disturbed in my intense routine by one or the other relatives who would find me and smile at me, and it was now upon me to go to them and do the touch-my-feet thing to them(what has been instilled in me since a long time now) so that they could call me obidient and intelligent and present them with a figment of self-importance to gratify their voracious need of it. My search yielded results.

After having three blood and brain sucking presentations in a single day which started at eight in the morning, I left college at nine(evening) and all the changing was done in the car. Exasperated as I was, we reached at ten with a ravenously hungry and desperately thirsty me, took one look at the drama that went on in the hall and it didn't take long for the thirst and hunger to scoot away owing to shock and awe. So what was going on ?

Well nothing as serious as you might expect, just some megadecibels of blaring drums with bright yellow sultry lights and camera and some sweat-sodden people dancing in the middle, celebrating the enjajement of some-dear-one. Given the aversion I possess for dancing amongst relatives, my apprehension seemed to throttle me, for the reason that some mentally excited and physically agitated goon might know me and pull me in! But thank goodness, it never happened. Nobody knew me. Only some touch-my-feet type relatives to whom I succumbed naturally and dilligently and such were definately not the people of dance.

So I drifted into the stilted snack-eating audience with grimaces or affected smile and joined the former clan. My search began to search for the miss india in the throng of billions and after years of effort and light years of searching, I found a mildly lookable face. Ah! What great luck! Although she wore an alluring color, but as I said, the specimen was midly lookable. Beggers, I thought, are not choosers so I began working in my prey, watching each of her movements and admiring her mildly comely face. Surprisingly, she kept sitting too, right across me and talking and in the end when I was to move, she would move too.

Enough of leering, I thought, and got a comfortable seat which avoided proximity to known kindred. I was at peace. Alone with just myself and just when it got better, I was told that dinner is served. I hated to get up, but alas, it was the only escape, so I gobbled up quickly(as if that helped) and waited for my parents to eat there food miligram by miligram and say their parting speils while I waiting beside the car. I'm happy to be back home safe and sound.

So that was how, the land of eyesores, granted me a mild-beaut and found me a purpose for an itiose visit. Oh man! But how I hate these marriages and enjajements! But why would you care ?

If it seems weird that mr.chapaat is not ending with a punch line or stupid joke, then make a habit of it. Me has changed. Me annot crack those runtime PJs now, nothing able to whet my wit, I suffer for normalcy. I have lost my superpower of chapaating and am no more than a mere mortal, the mango maan - the aam aadmi - who talks mango, walks mango and does everything mango thing in a mangoish mango manner.

I, I'm sorry to say, have lost it.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Of egos and pants

---------PART I ---------

Paean to the ego

I am a man of a thousand achievements and a million and one possessions, eight billion talents and boundless virtue, or so it may seem or I may claim humbly enough. I take respite in the hope of being different, unique, disparate from all 'cause I've heard or held an unfounded belief that the difference makes the difference and indifference is the difference I cherish. Assuming that I am unassuming, a verily presumptuous presumption, the possessions and the disparity ought to be subject to indifference, but the ego relishes the affected grandeur and affects the affectation in a manner to dislodge it up to soaring heights. Then rouses the pretense , from nobody-knows whence, and pretends with all its might. The show(off) must go on.

Thousands flatter and billions slander and some genuine praises find their way into the foreground. The ingenuous emotions cast their way onto the countenance and the thoughts relentlessly recount the remarks as the second's hand counts. The undying surges of excitement and agitation roil up the serene barn of the mind, which has not descried serenity since it first visited and was shoved out by the redoubtable surges. The pleasure of the ego tingles and caresses, but the brutal despot leaves behind pangs and tears. The cycle moves and the spokes of pain and pleasure vacillate until who knows when.

In the background, there's just libel and nods of approval which engender mirth ascribed to countless other egos. But thank goodness it works this way, Thank goodness the veil of distance bars all obloquy and protects the ego from ravaging the barn completely and mercilessly. The game of all egos is played rhythmically, in harmony and arouses perfect delight for the spectator, oblivious to how the he too is simply playing a puppet. It panders and pangs and counterbalances so well, the positive hope of positivity never dies.

To regard the other as conceited is the nature of conceit and it remains so typical, unchanging. Go ahead, oh slanderer and besmirch me to hell, defile my reputation in your thought and in the thought of the surroundings, but I couldn't care less or atleast say that try not to. And this indifference tickles my thoughts. But the reality still has its feet fixed firmly into the ground. I too am a puppet, afflicted by this very hope, the possessor of a million and one, the personification of virtue, I too suffer the same. But it elates my ego to proclaim that I am different, and difference is grand, but only because I see a few of the slew of souls who have not yet been able to proclaim what I aver, what I confer, that I know that I am just an obsequious minion of my ego serving it no end, endowed with the hope that it will becalm one day. It gets distended by the fact that I realize it lives and yearn for it, the insatiable one, to leave satisfied and let lady serenity in, then.

---------PART II ---------

The jeans of my dreams

Pants or jeans are better then people. And today, occurred a horrific event which I have still not been able to digest completely.

I sat blithely facing my PC when I remembered it; I remembered my pants(jeans), the soft, blue, faded, comfort giving and fingerhole-spangled pair of jeans that I'd been awaiting for the past few days to perch, folded up in my almirah but the moment had not arrived so I decided to discover the truth behind the situation amiss. I bolted immediately towards my mother and asked her for the pants and incredulously enough she refused to give it to me on the accusation that it had catered to another finger hole at a place where it should not have, the defiled jeans. But I demanded to see it and she wouldn't let me because she was always against me wearing that lovely piece of cloth for the reason of a simple, cute little decent finger hole(at the knee). I harped and carped vehemently until it was finally bought into the room from the nether regions it was reposited in, ready to be given away.

"Oh this! Only this! This can be stitched without any effort!" I said with a relieved smile.
"Thats not possible. This cannot be stitched. ", and I knew her ulterior motives behind saying that.
"Oh no please! I know it can be", I begged
"Mani, you're not going to wear jeans with holes"
"I like these jeans!", I complained
But she was mercilessly indifferent to my imploring.
"If you wear these again, I'll tear it", she threatened me and slid her finger through the hole to warn me.

That was it. I was in love with the jeans and my mother did not let me wear them. So it was fine. I snatched the pair of dead cloth out of her hand, and with one fierce movement of my hand it rent apart. It felt like suicide and I walked away with a grimace.

I really loved those jeans. Such a beautiful piece of cloth; immensely tender and caring. And I tore them with my own hands. I wanted to cry but could not. It takes me months of perseverance and tolerance to endure a new piece of cloth for a long time until it is rendered comfortable enough to be wore devoid of any misgivings about its behavior throughout the day and at that precise moment when I fall in love with it, we are sundered apart.

Inanimate objects elicit love much more easily than people, because they are so predictable, so helpful and selectable. Their inanimateness is their virtue. Take for example a book, one could love a book. You have the fullest opportunity of being yourself, of being off your guard while with a book. Like a lamp, a lamp is lovable. It'll give us light, beautiful peaceful yellow light and demands only a predictable about of power, a nominal amount I say. People are fickle. Don't put the PC in the inanimate category because this devilish piece of plastic and metal is the machinofication of fickleness. Pants are better than people and I lost one today.



Thursday, October 26, 2006

Rotten Crap

The world is full of sleepers, but it's fuller of non-sleepers and fuller is a newly coined term as you might already have conjectured, or maybe not. And I, the might one, am one of the non-sleepers today errr, I mean tonight. One of the causes might be that I woke up not before midday and others might include facts like physically active, as I am, I wouldn't want to sleep so early and what not.

Sleeping has a been an issue for me for as far as I can remember and further than that as confirmed by my mom. I savor vigilance, as she puts it. But what troubles me is certainly not that sleep is evasive, but it is evasive at the wrong time. And whenever you have to wake up the next day(early ofcourse), although I don't have to tomorrow, it will torment you even more. If sleep were a person I knew trying to irk me, I'd bluntly tell him to buzz off, away from my life, but what do you do when you want and your so-called 'enemy' doesn't pay you a visit ?

If you've read the above two paras, you're as useless as me. (Thank me for comparing you to the great one, oh ungrateful one.) If I'd read through them as if I'd not written them, I'd puke right away of boredom and silly-talk, but you've managed to restrain a whole magma of dirt inside you, is commendable in itself. As a matter of fact, you, reading these crappy lines bolsters my assertion.(About you being useless, as I am, ofcourse.)

I gave this post its title, rotten crap, and wondered, what other types of craps would exist for humankind to explore ? And this has got me thinking, knees paining, head aching, hands quivering, legs shaking, neck swaying abdomen swiveling and what not, hence I must retire and try to catch hold of some rotten sleep. Hey, how do you catch sleep ?
*Faints of mental exertion*

Monday, September 18, 2006

Foods Feuds

Its the chicken-soup reign, again. As I noisily sipped the soup, it made me remember the typhoid days (and nights too), when I was supposed to have two big bows of soup in a day. Not that I don't savor the stew, but the everyday notion of it is a bit too much, esp homemade chicken soup has that homemade healthy, rather a very naive kinda look and taste which makes it even more unappealing.

The chicken soup lives, owing to the 'fact' that I ostensibly am become weak, my skin is darkening and the mental tension I have creates a need for rest. By the way, thats what my Mom feels although I wonder. According to her, my health is monotonously detereorating simply beacuse I eat skimpy quantities. If only someone could tell her what a ravenous raavan I am. And not just that I eat less, I eat all junk, oil and fat. Greens for me are a strict no-no, you see.

Sporadically and suddenly, at times, my mom shoots her statements in a plaintive yet authoritative voice, "Oh! you've become so week". Oh gosh! I thought I was just a day but now I'm week!! And then I flex my muscles and smirk, "Thats not true at all! See my muscles". "Look at your stomach!", she retorts. I then tighten my abs and show her what a macho I still am but I'm getting weak and puny and dark and tense and a million other things.

The chicken soup is still bearable. Umm.. Lets just say I'm inured to it now, but carefully note what follows. Due to a heavy soup with scads of chicken bits, which is generally served to me at around 8 in the evening, my appetite for 'food' further plummets which is the cause for more criticism and disapproval. But how, tell me, do I explain my plight to her ?
"Mom, I've had soup just now"
"So what ? Soup is only water and with that petty amount of chicken you feel full ? Boys of your age eat double than you guys" (My brother, too, is at the receiving end).
"If the soup is water, then whats the use of giving it ?"
"Shut up and eat"

Ab kya karein, atyachaar kee to aadat see pad gayi hai.

I can never make her understand this, I feel. So I quietly drink the soup and calmly have my food because I just can't help it. Perhaps, she knows less about material and energy balance or maybe I know too much.


Saturday, July 29, 2006

Serious post (about IIT and all)

I have been tagged. But before I dilligently wipe that tag ka daag off myself I have something more serious to say. My neighbour's sister-in-law's daugther's friend's pet cat ate her per pet rat but that is not what I wish to tell you. It is even more serious. A matter more sober than you can ever imagine emanating out of my thoughts.

In a programme on discovery channel they said that after 70,000 million years, there would be no more horses left on earth. Extinct, I say extinct! Can you believe that ? But that again is not the serious matter I wish to throw light upon.

Now without wasting my precious time, let me come to the actual topic. Mr.Al Qaeda. Yes, he is the topic. Now some of my friends here would think that I'm a stupid fool (I'm a phool you fool), referring to a group of activists as a Mr. but but but, you don't know the inside news. Al Qaeda is a person who acts like a group to protect his identity. He has got out a hitlist in which he targets useless things like Taj Mahal (which will supposedly be blown off on 15th aug), Homi bhabha research centre and some more futile agencies. But what he also has in mind to attack is IITs and IIMs! Arjun singh was not enough, now Mr.Qaeda wants to try his luck in devouring what remains of them. Ridiculous.

He plans to bomb IITs and I don't know why I feel its going to be IITD. Maybe because he knows I study there (so-called study). But I have been trying hard to imagine how the scene would change, the possibility of which is not really remote, I must add. I was telling this to my friend and she says, 'Oh then they must've increased security in IIT'. And as I told her, that keeping a bomb in IIT is not as easy as snatching candy from a child. It is as easy as giving candy to a child! So all you people who are either IITians or friends/brothers/sisters/parents (or koi aisa rishta jiska koi naam nahi hota) of some IITian, beware you could lose a loved one (or a hated one). I am getting a weird feeling, something might go wrong. My friends, the people I know... or even myself. Lets keep a check. If there is a bomb blast in IITd I will post the same day and if I don't.... Means.... I'm in swarg. (Or my net is not working)

Lets get on with the tag ka daag... Raam Pyari has tagged me.
I am thinking...
and hence my knees pain. I think I must not think... OOOOOO... yeh dard!

I said...
OOOOOO... yeh dard! Suna nahi kya ?

I want...
to want nothing.

I wish...
Abe wish want mein kya farak hai bloody ???

I miss...
bus,train,flight,taxi,car,cycle... bas bas aur kuch nahi bacha.. rocket mein mai jata nahi

I hear...
I don't hear. I'm deaf, dumb and blind. Even my keyboard is braille.

I wonder...
Why I even try wonder!

I regret...
nothing that I can remember... I'm prefect.... Errr I mean perfect!

I am...
!Xobile. And learn to pronounce my name!

I dance...
On the floor (mostly).

I sing...
Using me throat.

I cry...
to enjoy. To have fun. To get pleasure.

I am not...
Evil. Trust me.

I write...
in english.

I confuse...
many times b/w left and right!

I need...
one nylon pant, 2 samosas, 1 face wash.. I think thats it for now

I should...
never lie.

I finish...
Shukar hai... tuff tag ka daag!

Anybody wanna do this evil tag ? Then you're welcome.
As for me Adios and keep lookin at the news channels...


Friday, July 14, 2006


My wash-basin has been annoying me for the past two months now. Its a stupid piece of... of whatever the blody thing is made of...Grrr.. its such a bloody stupid basin. Ask me why! Ask Ask! Ok. I must not overreact. Let me explain. The problem with it is that whenever I bend to wash my face or open the tap for some purposeful purpose, I see one thing written in front of me in the basin. It says 'Adamsez', which I always read as Adam Says.

Good enough. I have heard a bit about adam. They say he was the first man on earth though I still think they should call him the first baby on earth but anyways. Adam says something. But what ? That is the whole bloody problem! What does Adam say afterall ? Isn't that bizzare! Giving me a piece of information, a piece of apparently useless information. Why ? Because its incomplete. How dare you give me a piece of partial apparently useless information ? (That was for the basin not you).

I have searched all around for one simple clue to what adam might be trying to say but no! Nothing! Not a letter! Now I'll always mourn the fact that I always knew adam says but I will never know what he said. What, oh cruel fate, you have for me ? Why, I ask, is this being done ? Why me and why only adam! Okay. Don't worry.. I'm chill.

I have a plan to get rid of this kind of a problem for anyone in the future. I'm going to invent washbasins with moving and changing captions. Wallah! Thats it. I will spend my life trying to figure out what adam says and tell it to the whole world using electronic-moving-and-chaning-text washbasins! That'll be my purpose of life! Perhaps it IS my purpose!

Enough crap. Talking of crap I remember the story of a scrap. Recently, a good friend of mine wrote me a testimonial

He says : the most sexy and sporty surd i have come across in my life. and my very close friend.
(Thats his point of view)

I find it a bit weird and overconcise but then he has thought of me and written good things so I accepted it. The very next I get a scrap, out of the blue, from the old guy saying..

He says: oye where is my testimonial??????????? :-( acchhha likhiyon

Good enough. I thought I should be kind enough to do what he asks. So I wrote a tesimonial for him.

I wrote: He is the most awesome and the coolest guy I've ever seen. And he is very funny.

Exactly on his lines because I thought thats his choice when it comes to testimonials. Very well. Next fine morning, I get an e-mail from him subjected 'testimonial'.

he is the most awesomw and coolest guy toh theek hai.
dont write i m funny. everyone writes it. write that i
m sporty and intelligent......


And I was laughing my eyes out at that. I showed the whole thing to a friend of mine and she said 'Who is this loser ?'. The point I'd like to make is, I really like the innocence and honesty of the person when it comes to friendships and he, I assure you, is not a loser but a really good and funny friend of mine.About sporty and intelligent, that I don't wanna comment :D.


Tuesday, July 11, 2006


What will I do when I die ? I do so much, get so much more. But what will be of use when I die!
I want something to work then! Otherwise everything is waste because it will end.

Tell me!

Monday, June 26, 2006

Me In You. Kay. Paattoo

Writing a blog, is child's play. Easy job, I tell you. Some people love writing posts and sharing stuff but still those lackadaisical insects wounldn't gather enough courage to write one complete post. Darn such idiots. They find it hard.

That bloody Mr.X was one of them. He no more owns chapaat. Infact he is no more(Obviously more nahi hai, insaan hai). Meet me, I'm !Xobile. I'm from south africa and I'm a real funny man. (You were supposed to laugh now) so I bought this blog. That gives everybody a reason to be happy.

I am a rich man. You could call me 'Ando ka rajja' and 'bread ka badshah'. I have around 113 factories in 150 countries which produce bread and omlette. I learned how to cook an omlette and toast bread while I was in nottingham. Then I opened a small omlette shop and due to my sheer genius, I am sitting here today and I am rich rich rich.

Okay enough. I've just changed my name to !xobile(I'm sure u dont know how to pronounce that) . I'm not rich or anything... I'm the normal stupid mani enjoying my life in nottingham doing what I always wanted to do. I am enjoying all the freedom I wanted to do whatever and whenever and eat anything I want. I'm the king of the world... Umm... I'm the king of my world would suit better.

We're a group of 10 people (9 lads and a lady) whiling away our time and money in nottingham. Its a fun place to be honest. And its all the more fun when you're the welaest person in the group. My friends go out daily to do their work while I wake up at 11 just because I'm hungry. I can eat anything I want. Hahahaha. I don't know how to cook anything except omlettes (that too I can't turn it upside down. One of my friends' do that for me) and maggi. I make excellent maggi. But mind you, I'm the cold-coffee champion here. May it be .5 or 10 people waiting for a cold coffee, I'm the cold coffee guy here. But then sometimes I wonder eating all this cheese and drinking all this pepsi's is gonna make me real fat and chubby by the time I reach back. Oh.. I forgot I have only diet pepsi, so there's no problems.

I am a lazy fellow. So I got myself a pair of roller blades riding which I go to the grocery. So this one day I was skating around the store and one of the salesperson says
"Hey.. I got these roller blades at home!"
"Oh ya! They're reak fun"
Though I wonder what'd he expect me to do ? Worship him or something for that ?
And then one day, I got down from my room and started moving along on the skates and one english boy standing nearby says
"Skates!!! Wow!! Hey can I borrow your skates!!"
So I said "Mate I'm skating right now"
So he says "Oh okay.. Lemme help you skate.. Come hold my hand"
So he holds my hand and starts running with me and he was about to make me fall
"No No.. Its okay", said me and slipped away..

About the Mate thing. Like we guys say yaar in India or Dude in America, here the system's different. The guys here say
"Hey.. How's it goin' mate?"
And girls say
"Hey.. How's it goin'. Wanna mate ?"
And the answer to both of them is "Fine! Just fine!"

I am not much of a travel-bug. I like hibernating at one place. Maybe coz I'm too lazy to travel but I don't know, until you're not completely awed by something you see, I feel its not worth. My friends mock me for this. Though there's another extreme in our group too. One of our friends K likes to visit all museums and places of historical interest in UK. Isn't that shit scary ? And he's ready to spend his entire life savings on tourism. Amazing. Infact we have all kinds of items in our group. Let me not start describing them now.

We have clicked over 2 gigs of pics here. (Yes sir.. Gigs.. not gigabytes.. Huh.. thats the english way of saying it). People are really crazy about photographs... By the way, If you really wanna see my new pics, see my orkut album. (As if you will haha!).

Oh man!!! Its 3 am now. And I think its time I got some sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz


Sunday, June 04, 2006

Me In You. Kay.

There's just 14 types of blogposts I can write. One is the stupid type and I don't remember the rest. But thats not an offence is it ? And even if it is, boooooo 2 youuuuuu... Now, generally, It is a tradition to say 'sorry for not blogging' after you return to blogspot after a while but I'm not gonna do that as I know there's nobody dying to read my stuff.

If you've had the courage and determination to read this far, I can surely say one thing, You're really patient (Take care of your health yaar!). Writing this post is going to be tough and exciting. Tough because this laptop's keyboard sucks and exciting because this is the first time I'm blogging from outside India. Yes! Foriegn! Videsh! I'm sitting in UK. (Background music please)

Time here has fled quickly, very quickly. It feels as if I came here only 2 weeks ago and today I.... Oh no! Wait! I did actually arrive 2 weeks ago! So my body clock isn't that bad afterall. Don't ask me what all has happened, because there is too much to tell. I was planning to do an intern for the summer but the embassy guys didn't like that so now I'm here on an "Exchange programme for research purpose" and guys, I'm one hell of a researcher. I remember the time when I had lost one of my bathroom slippers. I searched for them, couldn't find, so I researched and reresearched... untill I remembered I didn't have any. So apart from practicing my researchive skills I'm here to enjoy, sleep and loiter around. Though I really don't relish travelling a lot, but a semi-paid vacation is nothing I'd wanna miss.

The problem we face here is that we guys have to walk around everywhere and transport like everything here, is extremely costly and much out of reach for us broke lads. So the other day we saw a guy sliding around with a skateboard and in less than 3 hrs, we had a skateboard, on a contributional basis ofcourse. But to be honest, it didn't help much. Now I'm thinking of buying skates, individually obviously, but now I know how a poor man survives. In India, I'm like richie rich and all. (Yes my dad owns oil wells and all)

I've been dying to catch an english accent here, but unfortunately, the bloody thing won't come on. But I have full confidence in myself that by the end of this bloody summer, I will bloody have a bloody good english accent. Oh bloody! I'm using the bloody word bloody, bloody too much. Damn bloody.

If somebody asks me, whats the best thing about england... I know nobody would ask, but still, I'd answer, the weather. Amazing. And even more amzinger is the sunset, it takes place at bloody 10 o' clock!!!! Isn't that just great!!!!!! Ok.. It isn't.

If I read through this post, I'm sure I'd find it really goofy and I don't even have the courage to do so. So I simply end it here. Its maybe not the post, but me who has become dumber or duller in terms of conversation but I'm truly sure its not that big a deal... Umm.. Maybe!


Saturday, May 13, 2006


However gloomy it may sound, everything must end. Everything. Death looms it all. And if one thinks it does not, wait and see.

One may work, work and work, but in the end all that matters is nothing. Empty handed is everyone to leave.

A dream, while it is occuring, seems real. Reality seems real too. After this ends, one will realize it was a dream too. Whats the difference ? Only the time scales ?

It is inauspicious to mention death. But for how long shall one run away from reality. We don't realize just because there is no one to tell us a first hand experience.

People don't even learn from others' deaths. They see only what the other is leaving behind rather than what he is taking.

Enjoy. Keep enjoying.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Enzoy the drama

Life has been, exciting to say the least if not fun. For these major exams has shown me a lot of drama, suspense, tragedy, melodrama and action. (But no romance). I have just come out of an exam worth 50 marks which had only one question (Yes 50 / 100) and 2 hours to do it. Fortunately and unfortunately, I hadn't studied that topic so I invent a new ingenuous method of solving the problem based on logic sized smaller than bird brain(kabhi dekha hai kitna chota hota hai??). Now my marks will depend upon how hard my ingenuity hits the prof. Lets wait and Enzoy The Drama till then.

Okay. Now all you path-thar dill people, I warn that I'm about to tell you a long dukhbhari kahani which will make your stone-heart melt and even you might cry! So beware and get ready.

Honey and his friend Peru had opted for a course called Mata-Machchars. Funny name, I know, but compare them with the names of the people who're doing it! Honey and Peru bloody! Anyways. Let me tell you this. Peru was the studdest girl Honey had ever seen in terms of intellect and many other thingies and he was sure Peru would score really well in Mata-Machchars. It was time for Minor 1 exam. The paper was really easy but unfortunately, poor Peru had a bad headache on the day and came out with a 3/15. Nevertheless, there was still chance.

It was a peaceful evening when Honey was whiling away time on his PC when suddenly Peru buzzed him. That day was the deadline for submitting Assignment #2 for mata-machchars and Peru having made the full assignment had deleted it by mistake. She became panicky and each assignment was worth 6 marks. So Honey gave her the assignment he had made without thought so that Peru could change it a bit and submit it. Peru was a trustworthy person. Infact, Honey used to send all his assignments to Peru to submit them because he could not access the college-network from outside.

Minor 2 was not good. It was bad for both, Honey and Peru. Honey got 5/15 and Peru got 2/15. But still Honey was safe. He had got 15/15 in minor1. But Peru psyched out this time. She could not take it because she knew she hadn't been doing well in Mata-Machchars and was heading for a very bad grade. She had even got 0/10 in the quizzes. Now the only hope left was the major.

There was an unusual problem with Honey. He had two majors on the same day and that was too much to handle, so he talked to the Mata-machchar prof who agreed to take his exam just after the whole class finished with it. Honey was relaxed.

It was the day of the major. After giving the 1st major, Honey relaxed around so that he could give MataMachchar peacefully. But as he was about to start the paper, he got an SMS from Peru. It was amazing what the prof had done. Question #0 in the major paper was too much to be true. It said "Have you copied or made anyone copy any of the assignments ? If yes, confess in the paper otherwise we will run MOSS (software to detect plagiarism) on all your assignments. "

Now the drama starts. Peru confessed she had cheated an assignment from Honey 'without' his knowledge, stole it from his account and took it all upon herself. She immediately SMSed Honey after the paper ie just when his paper was about to begin. Honey marked that 'I have not cheated'. He gave the paper, it went well. But it got him thinking that was it correct to deny the truth an put it all onto her? This question haunted him for a long time.. Honey thought maybe he should confess too. Soon enough, the list of names of people who had been identified cheating had been put up on the prof's site and predictably, it had Honey's name in it. He was supposed to meet the prof for a small interview. But this made Peru all the more nervous for she did not want to harm Honey in any way. Though Honey had helped her, but then, he had lied too. But then he was too weak to go and admit that. On the other hand, Peru was worried that Honey might get angry at her as because of her his grade could go down and although she'd been an old friend to Honey, she had still not realized what was more important to Honey...Grades or people.

Interview time came and no one was as proficient as Honey in lying blatantly to the prof.
"Sir.. She told me yesterday that she took it without my permission. I have done nothing"
So the prof demanded to talk to Peru once so she went there and said it in person to the prof that Honey had done nothing and should not be punished and that she had stolen the assignment. It was panging Honey in an uncanny manner but then nothing could be done. Nothing could be done for Honey was a weak guy, weak enough to throw the whole blame on someone else who's ready to take it. Honey was not happy.

Now since Peru had confessed in the paper, no action was taken against her except that she got 0 / 30 in the assignments which were her only score-house and now, she was failing. The prof told her that he might consider not failing her (which he did) but the drama in Honey and Peru's was just that I sat and enjoyed taking it all as a part of the game. Because a game is not about winning and losing. That’s not a game, that’s a war. Cricket is not a game. Football is not a game. Where you win or lose, is not a game! A game is like kids making sand-castles on the beach with utmost determination and breaking them happily, with the same determination and enjoyment. And in the same way, I'm just enjoying the game.

What’s more surprising is this. The prof had not run MOSS on all the assignments but only on assignment #3 and Peru had copied only assignment #2. Then how is this possible?

What had happened once was that Honey had sent Ass3 to Peru to be submitted in the college network. And while submitting her own assignment #3 , she submitted Honey’s by mistake because the names of the file were the same. Though she re-submitted her own later. All this was known later to Honey and Peru after everything had been done. Isn’t this ironic !? And Enzoy the irony too!

Written Later:
Since, in the paper which I gave earlier, I had written mostly crap, the prof was very eager to talk to me. He stopped me in his room and said
"What have you done in the paper ? I saw your paper.. You're getting a 0 and you're failing this course. I'd have to be veyr lenient to pass you" and I was the last person on earth who could open his mouth now. I just sat, dumbstruck as he lectured about the balance between academics and fun and promised me a very bad grade in the course. I was happy to escape out of his room like hot pressurised gases and flow into the open and here I am writing a drama and enjoying the game. Enjoying the past-majors and taking fun from the twists and turns of a bumpy ride called life.


Is marks ya grade ka koi kya karega ?
Yeh grade shrade to sab aata jata rehta hai.
Insignificance ke intehaah hai yeh,
aaj apun aisa openly kehta hai.

Friday, May 05, 2006


Let go of it.Easily, Smoothly. Because no matter how much joy you get out of it, it must go, sooner or later. Never cling onto it. It'll make you just more dependent.

Let go of it.
You are not dependent. When the time comes, you shall get what you ought to and lose what you ought to so never make a fuss about anything and let go of it.
What is in your hands afterall ? Just the ability to let it go or maybe not that even.

Let go of it.

Sunday, April 30, 2006


The first part of this article was written in 1931 and the latter part is what I've completed now.

30th April, 1931
In the evening today, for some obscure reason, my room got populated with mosquitos and for a reason obscurer, they started waging wars against me. So I asked my mom to give me the Baygon Spray. While handling the spray she said
"Don't forget to wash your hands after using it"
Something hung my processor and I stood still for a moment before processes could get normal and I asked,
"WHY ?????"
She quickly replied
"Because you have to eat your dinner after that" (My mom's processor is real fast!)
It took me a lot of artificial intelligence and compuational time but I figured out she meant that the intake of the poison could be harmful. I quickly turned to the bottle which said (Yes!.. bottles also speak)
"Insect Killer"
I transferred control to my internal dictionary and figured out the meaning of insect in a giffy. (Ahh I know I'm fast. Thank you :D ). But suddenly lightning flashed with thundering sounds(like in hindi movie), camera zoomed out and I stood there, shocked, still.
Slowly tears rushed down my eyes. (Yes.. Tears rush slowly!). I was shocked. After all these years of thinking I was a man, a human, a homosapien, today life had played a joke with me by make me realize my true identity. I am no more than an insect. *cries* *cries more*

(Few Minutes later)
Uhhh! The keyboard got all wet. Anways. Life is harsh and I cannot bear such harshness so I decided on.......
(just builing up suspense)
Yes I decided on.....
(Mysterious music on)
Yes Yes Yes!!
On suicide!

I was going to kill myself using the insect killer, but suddenly, something struck me..
"If I'm gonna actually kill myself, why don't I do the things I've always wanted to before I die"

30th April, 2006
With that thought, I went out of the house and did whatever I always wanted to do.. (not to be revealed) .But when a few days passed, I though I have done everything and was ready to have the poison, I remembered one more thing. Needless to say, it was a vicious cycle and no matter what I did there was always something to be done. Today, It has been 75 years. And when I look back, I realize why I was wrong!!!

Did you know : Suicide is a criminal offence.
Well, most of us know this fact. If you commit suicide, you are entitled to 7 years in prison and 32000 rupees fine. Fine ? Talking about suicide. There are only two ways of commiting suicide,
1. Consuming Rat-poison/Insect Poison.
2. The remaining methods
Category two is paticularly boring, but today my friends, I choose to throw light on the former method.

Consuming rat poison/insect poison is an inelegant style of killing yourself. So if you're feeling suicidal, remember, this is not the way to do it! Reaching this point, I'm sure you might be wondering the reason to my assertion. Even if you aren't I'll make you read it!

Consider this news article in a leading newspaper (thats coz I buy that newspaper),

Vargamulla Swaminathan Prithamisu was found dead in his room today with something whitish flowing out of his mouth. We had an interview with the CBI Director, Ramlal Damduja on this, "Vargamulla Swaminathan Prithamisu was found dead in his room today with something whitish flowing out of his mouth" he said. He had been watching too many saas bahu serials, too seriously and was mentally depressed, infact psychotic about the fact that Parvati had been falsely charged of murder in one of the serials. "He had been watching too many saas bahu serials, too seriously and was mentally depressed, infact psychotic about the fact that Parvati had been falsely charged of murder in one of the serials." said Damduja. Damduja was very disappointed. "I am very disappointed", He added later.

(More on saas-bahu-stuff by my friend odie)

The above article proves that it was Rat Poison that killed a person.(I have known from secret sources and experience that Vargamulla Swaminathan Prithamisu was a human).The whole problem lied in the name of the poison. Tell me, If it can kill humans why the bloody hell is it called RAT POISON!

Whatever happened, Now its okay. But in these 75 years I learned one thing.
Don't take life too seriously, 'Coz you're not gonna get out alive and thats how I lived it.


Monday, April 24, 2006

The cheetah and the Ck

I love cheetahs. There was a time when I liked cockroaches not the real living ones but paintings and drawing of cockroaches. 'Cockroachaa' was once my favorite word. But now I started like cheetahs a lot. Though I've never met one in reality (and most probably will never), I will always continue liking them for their alarcity and swiftness. Cheetahs are non-vegans but that does not mean they're 'dil ka bura', its just their diet. So here goes an istory about a cheetah and a cockroachaa.


There was once a cheetah and a cockroach in a jungle. Yes there ARE cockroaches in jungles also...And No your bathroom is not jungle. Anyways. So the cheetah and the cockroachaa were really good friends. The cockroach was a happy-go-lucky guy who found enough food here and there very easily, but the cheetah led a tough life. It had to work hard, run around a lot, wait in ambush, attack many times and finally prey to get some pray...Na Na... pray to get some prey. If you did not know, let me tell you that cockroaches are born hunters. Lets call the cockroachaa ck. So ck was a cool, chilled out and relaxed cockroachaa. Ck had a different strategy. He did not keep running after every small insect he intended to eat, but waiting for it to come closest and strike at the right time. Ck did not mind missing an insect or two but he was designed for least work, but when he struck, he struck hard!

Ck had been telling cheetah to do the same. Cheetah was much too apprehensive about his nutritional needs and kept chasing hard every animal it saw. So the average hunt-rate of cheetah was less, which ultimately caused cheetah to think that it was unworthy and untalented as far as hunting was concerned. When it saw other animals' paws clinging into some flesh, it got inspired but again that dirty fear, the worry, the anxiety caught hold of him, that what if he could not catch any prey even this time. Cheetah chased as ck and others saw, but with a heart beating so fast and a soul so low, it would need a miracle for cheetah to catch something to eat.

"I'm no good.." said cheetah.
"Oh no dear..." consoled ck
"I'm not a deer!! I want deer!!! " and cheetah cried..

Ck tried to condole it and said

"Hey don't worry, everything will become fine" but cheetah cried more.

Ck got infuriated and gave cheetah a reverberating chapaat and cheetah stopped crying. See the wonders of chapaat, it can make the laughing cry and the crying stop. Okay I'm a Jackie. Shut up and read on.

Then ck gave cheetah a strong look and said

"Oye Cheetah! The fear of failure is the biggest failure"

Ck had read that in a book though he himself did not understand what it meant as it was in English. But yes, cockroachaas read books too. He did not understand it but he had been wanting to showoff a bit since many days about the lines he read but could get no chance, so here his chance was.

"There are no set backs cheetah...Only lessons". Cheetah lit up a bit.

"Call them losers, who even think of giving up."

Ck went on saying some cool-sounding lines from books and all until cheetah was fully inspired and its fear had fully expired for ck had nicely conspired against the problems of the cheetah mired. From that day onwards, cheetahs life changed. It was most confident and enthusiastic about hunting now. It had the conviction that nothing would go wrong.

6 months later

Cheetah was a master as hunting. It had killed 100s of 1000s of deers, goats, zebras and even giraffes and elephants. Okay I think I said too much. I must not exaggerate. It didn't hunt goats. Sorry. But all I wanted to say is that this cheetah was the best hunter of all times. It was famous and reputed and one fine day all the animals out of his fear, elected him as the king of jungle and he had overthrown the lions and all. As for ck, he remained his happy-go-lucky, chilled-out self and feeding like always, on small insects and stuff.


Shit.. I'm sorry the story was bizarre, but I'm just not able to think too much right now as my knees are beginning to hurt. So please bear with me.(You could also cheetah, cockroach, rabbit or deer with me.. That’s up to you..)

Friday, April 14, 2006

Just a...

Recently there was an email, about a departmental magazine to be out in college and they needed articles. There was a punch line though, "See that the articles are related to the department". Then X came to the rescue and give forth this and I ask could it be more related to the (Chemical Engg.) department..

As the engineer trod the control room floor for the last time, for one last time he(not the engineer) looked around nostalgically. He looked at the high ceiling, the long pipes, the heavy railings, the dryers, the columns and in the end, he looked at her, inanimate and old but ever beautiful and he wept. He wept for the last time for the factory he had spent his whole life in was now to be defunct just like himself and his love. The reactor was old, as old as her, the reactress, but alas, time got the better of her and took her away. Since the time they were constructed, they had been seeing each other (with their eyes), they clicked and became the best of friends and the best of lovers. Being utmost quality, extremely strong outer walls, anti-corrosive material and huge (3m diameter!), they were the state-of-the-art, the best out of their contemporaries but they had never even considered vanity as a part of their mindset. But now, there were these young, energetic and more efficient ones, though even they could not halt the factory going out of business and all could be blamed on none other than, Distillo.(The distillation column.)

He remembered the youthful days, when they had just been installed. How happy they were, together, working, reacting and producing. But this world is a water bubble, happiness bursts and sadness outbursts .Distillo was large, really gigantic and he looked wicked too. Moreover, he was inefficient and restless, would disturb the whole production with his tantrums. Abi, the absorption tower was titanic too but kind and loyal. He was their defense against the fiendish Distillo. RotoDodo, the rotary drier, equally evil was Distillo's servile follower and his messenger. Though superficially, they maintained good relations with all, it was just a means treachery and craftiness they had been imbibed with.

"I wonder why the reactor work so hard these days", said Rotododo to the reactress one day in very mysterious way, when reactor had gone for maintenance.

"Because he's a reactor with principles.. He knows its his duty to react materials and give the best conversion" defended the Reactress. Suddenly Distillo came into the scene,

"I know he's hard working. But you know what reactress?" said Distillo, and started before she could say anything

"I really like you. You're really beautiful, but more than that you're honest and kind. Let me give you this advice and I say this to you only because I wish your good.. The engineers talked of replacing one of the reactors with a new young model and by showing that he's very energy efficient, he could outrun you and not get replaced."

The reactress was moved and she moved, thinking that what if Distillo was true. What would she do? Could reactor ever have done that? But fortunately enough and unfortunately for Distillo, Abi had heard the whole conversation and had told everything to Reactor, the moment he arrived but before he could clarify matters, reactress was taken in for maintenance.

That night, reactor went to Distillo with a temper uncontrolled, but his temper and himself were quelled by their mighty blows. When reactress came back, he was not there. She heard that he had been leaking heavily due to injury caused by Distillo. Furious, she demanded a reason..

"Don't you see it reactress? His treason ? He came to shut us down, just because we told you the truth but we had to defend ourselves."

Reactress collapsed, not physically though. While reactor was away, her efficiency went down, touching the ground. She was rendered useless by the malignity of Distillo and RotoDodo and by the Reactor came back, she had been completely dismantled and had been replaced by a newer, prettier and a more efficient reactress, but this, too, was the end of Reactor's life.

He was helpless and wept all the time and all he could do to Distillo is curse him and ask the reason why he did everything he did. Distillo always ignored him, keeping busy in his tantrums and evilness, except this one time, "Tell me why do you ruin everything! Why!?", cried Reactor..

"Okay listen up buster. For once and for all, We're all here to do our work and we do it. You both were reactors, you reacted, likewise, RotoDodo dries. I have nothing against you, but I'm just doing my work. I'm just a separator. Just a separator."

And after he gave this reply, reactor never spoke anything again...