tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9269959109274417582024-03-13T22:47:15.103-07:00Shrink to Fit... fits, misfits, and moreblank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-3941801540567797942012-04-15T23:23:00.000-07:002012-04-15T23:24:14.450-07:00<a href="http://www.blogadda.com" title="Visit blogadda.com to discover Indian blogs"> <img src="http://www.blogadda.com/images/blogadda.png" width="80" height="15" border="0" alt="Visit blogadda.com to discover Indian blogs" /></a>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-31238185352841685992010-03-24T05:51:00.000-07:002010-03-24T05:52:39.408-07:00Redirecting youIf the previous post couldn't bring you to www.warmtongue.com, I hope this will. :D<br /><br />It's a blog we have created to share what we love doing, writing. Hope to see you there.blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-46455992794636540102010-03-07T09:31:00.000-08:002010-03-07T09:33:05.848-08:00www.warmtongue.comHello people<br /><br />I love my blog, though I've not written much over the past few days..<br /><br />Ok, so I've moved to wordpress.. it's a joint thing between abhishek and I. So please go to www.warmtongue.com and feel free to comment, like or love any post you want.<br /><br />All suggestions are welcome...blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-87631036504823454062010-02-15T10:34:00.000-08:002010-02-15T10:35:24.013-08:00Colours???<div align="center"></div><p align="center">I am a candle wick, bound inside the wax<br />Packaged in golden paper, I’d shine a shimmering shine<br />One day, I passed from his hands to hers<br />That heat, the melting wax, and the wine<br /><br />She held me, admired, and put me away<br />The dust couldn’t get to me, nor could the breeze<br />One evening I came out, in his hands, on her bedside<br />I watched the bed sheet form a crease<br /><br />I burnt for the very first time that special day<br />A bright red burn, as the wax held me tight<br />Air and oxygen seemed to elude me for some reason<br />The flame although the brightest, couldn’t burn away the night<br /><br />Three years passed, the wax began to wane<br />She met him twice a year, or maybe thrice<br />Yet, I felt stronger, I felt the wax losing grip of me<br />Despite being a paler orange, I could now even scorch ice<br /><br />The waning wax today just holds on to my feet,<br />After six years of their laughter, tears and tests<br />And although, I’m still shackled down below<br />I’ve grown a burn of blue, colour so calm, yet the hottest<br /><br />So I breathe easy now, and continue to burn<br />In colours of love, trust & desire; in his and her mind<br />All phases of red, orange and the peaceful blue they’ll easily pass<br />Did I mention I was colour blind?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> </p>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-5111551361473693442010-01-09T04:49:00.000-08:002010-01-09T22:48:51.731-08:00The Three Idiots<div align="center">Whenever the Dons struck, millions trembled<br />Each of the three had a distinct style<br />The Bong, the English, and the Hindi<br />Extremely evil, and supremely guile<br /><br />With territories, poop scented and marked out<br />Their wolf lineage was still quite strong<br />The crafty three would often look up and howl<br />Their methods were never the opposite of wrong<br /><br />The Bong don had the loudest of the voices<br />Heard by even those in the English and Hindi kingdoms<br />Having migrated to the Ganga basin, from his wolf ancestors<br />He relished the chicken-rice, and the daily beer and rum<br /><br />The English don having evolved right at the beginning<br />Over the eon had grown quite refined and sophisticated<br />But that still did not stop the ‘culturally superior’ don<br />From his practice of getting rid of the aged<br /><br />The Hindi don was the most menacing of all<br />A clever attacker, very furtive and underhanded<br />His voice crude, and a character rather boorish<br />His outfits were however, all expensive and branded<br /><br />But each of the dons had one distinct character like I said<br />Exemplifying how evolution can play mayhem<br />Preserving the weirdest of genes of the wolf relatives<br />These three traits surely were very lame<br /><br />The Bong don would sniff his supporters’ asses<br />While the Hindi don would eat away all the poop<br />The English don had the weirdest trait of all<br />Humping almost every member of his group<br /><br />Now every year there was a battle and a brawl<br />The three would try to expand their territories<br />So millions gathered twenty sixth Jan that year too<br />To witness what would definitely be an epic story<br /><br />The Bong, and the English, were in the very first battle<br />It lasted some long, painful seven days<br />The lazy bong with his fat beer belly and his nose blocked<br />Was wounded in more than a thousand ways<br /><br />‘<strong>Gha! Gha!</strong>’ screamed the bong don’s supporters<br />referring to his innumerable wounds in Bong language<br />‘Retire hurt sir, or you’ll get killed for sure<br />Let the Hindi don now take to the stage’<br /><br />So the next battle ensued, between the English and Hindi<br />The longest of the battles, as history would tell<br />“<strong>Bhau bhai</strong>! Maaro <strong>bhau bhai</strong>!” cheered the Hindi don supporters<br />“eat away your poop, confuse his sense of smell”<br /><br />The English don was losing, and losing it real quick<br />He tried the one last trick he had up his canid sleeves<br />Managing to get hold of the Hindi don’s backside<br />He humped him to subdue, but slipped on some wet leaves<br /><br />While down, and flat, the Hindi don clawed at his face<br />The English tongue got split, the Hindi don mocked<br />“Who’s your real daddy now, hahahaha!!”<br />The English don supporters were now fully shocked<br /><br />“<strong>Woof! Woof! Woof!</strong>” said the English don<br />Meaning to say that the wolf would always be his real dad<br />The ‘L’ in the 'wolf' that he missed out that day<br />Is crucial to how they sound to you, me and that other lad<br /><br />All the days of the battle, the three were totally oblivious<br />To humans who spied on them from a distance<br />The same humans now on the path of their domestication rampage<br />Starting to intimidate all creatures with their presence<br /><br />So to each of us humans, the same bark sounds different<br />Have you ever let your grey cells wonder why?<br />A cat does meow-meow in probably all languages<br />But why the discrepancy about a dog’s bark, has been a total bheja fry<br /><br />A dog says ‘woof-woof’ in the English language,<br />But 'bhow-bhow' in Hindi and 'gheu-gheu' in Bong<br />The way the respective dogs sounded during the battle is the answer<br />‘Gha, Bhau bhai and Woof’ , all evidences sufficiently strong.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Inspiration</strong>: Gautam sir's question while I was giving my major project proposal presentation at Wildlife Institute of India... it just got me thinking</span></div><p><span style="font-size:85%;">The evolution mentioned here has no scientific basis.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"></p></span><div align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;">Other arbit refernces<br />(</span><a href="http://www.cracked.com/article/122_6-insane-dog-behaviors-explained-by-evolution/"><span style="font-size:85%;">http://www.cracked.com/article/122_6-insane-dog-behaviors-explained-by-evolution/</span></a></div><div align="left"><a href="http://www.lonympics.co.uk/AAAaC.htm"><span style="font-size:85%;">http://www.lonympics.co.uk/AAAaC.htm</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">)<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-46699346947440041332010-01-02T10:23:00.000-08:002010-01-02T10:31:33.854-08:00..............<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><div style="text-align: center;"><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults ext="edit" spidmax="1026"> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout ext="edit"> <o:idmap ext="edit" data="1"> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">Twelve red ones, rich, full and just right</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">the twigs cut, thorns removed</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">deft hands tie them in a bunch; the last one; for her</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">She’ll never get them, but still they’re made</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">unsurpassed beauty they hold</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">beauty, sure to wither away with the distance</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">It’s the day, when lovers love, others try</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">a bunch falls short, a ‘voice’ pleads</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">but this was for her, how would he part</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">He hands it over, the ‘voice’ is ecstatic</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">did he do her wrong, the only gift for her?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">saddened he returns to his den<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">His eyes catch a red; untouched, yet thornless</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">the richest; the fullest; the brightest</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">The best still lay there, waiting, for him to give to her</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /></p> </div>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-13732805775058936292009-12-29T02:34:00.000-08:002009-12-29T02:37:29.450-08:00The Christmas weekend was the best I've ever had :) in so many ways.<br />I'm so deeeeeeply in love with life now that I'm sure it'll help me sail through some, if not all, difficult times that are yet to come in 2010.<br /><br />I just need to get a control over my extreme emotions.blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-88292110373116046702009-12-16T01:12:00.000-08:002009-12-16T03:14:12.836-08:00The curse<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSbVK2FjRrw9ifV9WQLvtKCq5U1xjXd1gSN5biBtdYBp9IShpPDL4eokjlW2vPYhO2q_ii3H5mVP7nGH1IUqLe0Kyh36CHNCP2GKM62VOiWuZA4Yt8Pm70siRLJSTexv_nHCionifKPVT/s1600-h/haunted-castle-lindsay-clark.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415761039315168210" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 150px; height: 200px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSbVK2FjRrw9ifV9WQLvtKCq5U1xjXd1gSN5biBtdYBp9IShpPDL4eokjlW2vPYhO2q_ii3H5mVP7nGH1IUqLe0Kyh36CHNCP2GKM62VOiWuZA4Yt8Pm70siRLJSTexv_nHCionifKPVT/s200/haunted-castle-lindsay-clark.jpg" border="0" /></a> It was a soundless night<br />Leaves rustled, werewolves howled<br />The sun masked and moon guffawing<br />Four shadows quietly prowled<br /><br />Gargantuan and sinister<br />The shadows stealthily moved up and down<br />A massive prison they guarded each minute<br />On the fringes of Bracketia town<br /><br />It was a curse that lay on them<br />A curse that meant they knew not their names or purpose<br />“You will be shadows of no form or use”, cried the witch<br />“Until the day you find your crux”<br /><br />Inside the prison lay a little girl<br />Captured for stealing a stale piece of bread<br />Her brother was dying and needed her right then<br />His life now dangled by a thread<br /><br />She had to escape, and escape now!<br />So risking all, she called out to the four<br />“Why are you shadows and not like one of us?<br />And guarding us, is that your only chore?”<br /><br />The shadows had never been spoken to<br />And each silent day made them grow more fierce<br />But the little angelic voice lured their souls, and how<br />the shadows dropped their guard and spears<br /><br />“We do not know who we were or are<br />But we guard the prisons with all our might<br />Our memories have been wiped out, and our bodies stolen<br />we’re now just shadows in the moonlight”<br /><br />“hihihi, but I love talking”<br />whispered the giggly fat first shadow in a hush<br />“I love explanations, and giving all possible details<br />It gives my shadowed soul a bloodless rush”<br /><br />“For eg, he’d say “You’re a thief””<br />“But that’s just not the whole bad story is it?<br />But “you’re a thief (and in the future a likely murderer)”<br />Now this sounds worthy of a writ!”<br /><br />“Ha!” Said the second shadow<br />“unnecessary exclamations and unnecessary additions<br />Have you little girl, heard of such atrocious language?<br />And he believe he was a writer with a mission!”<br /><br />“Atrocious language he tells me!<br />It ought to be ‘he believe[s]’ and not ‘he believe’<br />But I’m open, loquacious and not reticent at all<br />Unlike this cold ‘Closed Mr. Steve’ ”<br /><br />The little girl smiled, and laughed<br />at the shadows’ childish bickerings and verbal battles<br />“the shadows seem friendly and nice to me<br />Absolutely nothing like their dark exteriors that rattle”<br /><br />The third shadow rose from the others<br />A giant squibbly form, reminiscent of a child’s curls<br />Bellowing out loud he said “Shut up!”<br />“We should be wary of over-friendly little girls”<br /><br />“I have the height of a pixie,<br />What harm can I do to you or your brothers?<br />My trial’s two days after tonight's full moon,<br />Sigh…the thought makes my soul shudder”<br /><br />The shadow which lay quiet till now<br />Came up to the front, joining the two verbose ones<br />“he’s angry with what we are, that’s all he is<br />From all that is pleasing, he runs”<br /><br />“But I know he has immense wisdom & tolerance.<br />For when the judges ask his choice of sentences<br />A series of options, all equal in comparison<br />{100 years, life imprisonment, death}, he says”<br /><br />“He also has a penchant for music<br />For he often joins staves and simultaneously played lines of music<br />So although he’s loud, and scariest amongst us shadows<br />I am the Nastiest, as most prisoners pick”<br /><br />“I reveal what’s thought, and the unspoken<br />What’s lost, what’s hidden and what’s not<br />I judge what’s more, what’s less, what’s big or small<br />I am the leader of us shadows lot”<br /><br />“My grandpa once told me a story”, said the girl<br />About how Bracketia lost it’s writing flair<br />Of four brothers who served to fill in and accentuate<br />lines written out of zero care”<br /><br />“It’s a story that passed down in our family<br />And to speak it out to anybody, we’re forbidden<br />But since you’re shadows and do not have a body<br />I’m sure the rule would not apply then”<br /><br />“So these four brothers had a magical gift<br />The Bracket family as they were called<br />Round, Square, Curly and Angle Bracket<br />All writing problems they easily solved”<br /><br />“But alas, the town of Bracketia once<br />participated in a “Writing” battle of the towns<br />The Bracket family represented us and won, of course<br />But left on others a displeased frown”<br /><br />“The witch of Hyphenia was angry<br />And she caught the four brothers by deceit and sham<br />And turned them into forms still unknown…<br /><br />Wait, maybe you’re those brothers; Damn!”<br /><br /><br />The shadows stepped back startled<br />A jolt went right through where their hearts had once been<br />And the memories came flooding into their shadow minds<br />Their purpose of life they had now seen<br /><br />Something happened, the mist lifted<br />The guffawing moon seemed to now smile in a mime<br />The girl was the crux, the revelations the ones<br />which freed the shadows of their no-crime<br /><br />Four handsome brothers stood in their places<br />Watching the prison walls dissolve and disappear<br />Bracketia would return to the normalcy it once had<br />Its people would write once again without fear<br /><br />So each brother has a specific purpose<br />They still correct and beautify what we write and speak too<br />So next time you use a round, square, curly or angle bracket<br />Just call out to the brothers, I’m sure they’ll help you </div><p></p><p>(Inspiration: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bracket">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bracket</a>)</p>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-14065186668405398362009-12-10T06:02:00.000-08:002009-12-11T20:23:32.207-08:00What's right<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5yfgp_oa4bjkKgKUK675vojsUMAWsmbveETFfsF-x2QrY4df6gSjHd09sG-K02QCCVrUXhGqwhFsMRPuwEf3oZz1aReBBi4ETpZfuasUc4Rgbkm8SQx34qpFMC3PwrFngd6WjYrEAhgV/s1600-h/coffee.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5yfgp_oa4bjkKgKUK675vojsUMAWsmbveETFfsF-x2QrY4df6gSjHd09sG-K02QCCVrUXhGqwhFsMRPuwEf3oZz1aReBBi4ETpZfuasUc4Rgbkm8SQx34qpFMC3PwrFngd6WjYrEAhgV/s200/coffee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414200564106650274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p align="center">I wake up and smell the coffee<br />Ready, the newspaper, reading glasses<br />I reach out, my right hand trembles<br />My left hand supports<br /><br />It is difficult, I touch the glasses<br />Difficult to grip, to hold<br />I get it close to my face, and I maneuver<br />My face fits it perfectly<br /><br />Now the cup of coffee<br />The plate rattles, coffee spills onto my shirt<br />A sip, two sips, and more<br />The right one does it well<br /><br />The morning over, the lunch, a stroll<br />Cricket, tennis, the evening news on television<br />The world, changes each day<br />If only the remote would stay still<br /><br />Month end, I am the man, I pay<br />A pen, the chequebook, I dread<br />Each month, a worse tremble, a worse signature<br />Yet, the scribble pleases me in a childlike way<br /><br />My wife, my children with theirs<br />An outing, a picnic, a wedding<br />That little voice within, “I hope I can be steady”<br />But they love, she loves, I live<br /><br />Doctors help, fail, no real cure<br />Nerves berserk, no control<br />But, I’m a whiz, I quiz, I reason, I debate<br />So what if the right one’s gone a little wrong<br /><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Dedicated to my grandma (dadi) who passed away and my grandpa (nana) who’s the ‘mental mathematics’ whiz. Parkinson’s really squeezes out a lot of confidence from within. There is no complete cure, and the small things we do each day becomes a feat for them. Tying the naada of a pajama, shoelaces, brushing teeth, combing hair.....</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">But I love them, the way she was and the way he is.</span></span><br /></div>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-48749239941902911412009-12-09T21:10:00.000-08:002009-12-10T12:13:09.009-08:00I wish I could paint<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9KO3gzFnixt3bzCed2EAwBFZRmUf5AWAw7E8Ldp_UfuPgjbHu7Nhpb5Qsi2VIwnytgYvw-Q7CCeG_y9Eil-LBcoPUs3Fn1IjRxpjgq3ok5J51i22BZCgnhTlxOGaftvJcU2eRfG41kwE9/s1600-h/Honesty+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9KO3gzFnixt3bzCed2EAwBFZRmUf5AWAw7E8Ldp_UfuPgjbHu7Nhpb5Qsi2VIwnytgYvw-Q7CCeG_y9Eil-LBcoPUs3Fn1IjRxpjgq3ok5J51i22BZCgnhTlxOGaftvJcU2eRfG41kwE9/s400/Honesty+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413702512612236546" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(came across this while on a blog-blog visit. Liked it, hence, put it up.)<br /><br />......I also wish I could be a singerblank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-86380371306079393502009-12-07T02:56:00.000-08:002009-12-11T20:16:44.129-08:00Hansel and Gretel: A twist in the tale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCplC5S-0epJHMiCC7TwtdvHgJoc8g5jLf6Bn4gYcO5p5KP0EnSSKyqSTBNAP7ISmRYwKNzsr1dVGviuBT3gOZILJI6sNMnzfWFkmnFJfmNQthv94oI7_dFV2e31HQFWnPx0SCG_cAxF-/s1600-h/hansel_gretel_t.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCplC5S-0epJHMiCC7TwtdvHgJoc8g5jLf6Bn4gYcO5p5KP0EnSSKyqSTBNAP7ISmRYwKNzsr1dVGviuBT3gOZILJI6sNMnzfWFkmnFJfmNQthv94oI7_dFV2e31HQFWnPx0SCG_cAxF-/s400/hansel_gretel_t.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414198729034952818" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89o18sr2rJFsOBwYCMQKOiaL4nPkTPFXRfD9OAKAP7XqXXbwD2YCgSXvb_kVDXNyP29ZUAa_HrvS1J-78BZCcocewCXIEvLlreRcqnyIaEpBZoNnAFASeZTxlgVCdqAy_6vJWGTIWSTu6/s1600-h/hansel-and-gretel-rackham.jpg"></a><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Brothers grimm, they once created<br />the story of Hansel and Gretel<br />I always felt it was way too overrated<br />too much masala to make it sell</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">But then I sit and scratch my head<br />wondering how they cooked up the plot<br />For had they met a bong instead<br />an insane touch it would’ve surely got</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">So here’s the bong version of the duo<br />a story with a little twist<br />I hope the story has that, what you call a ‘flow’<br />a little plagiarism just might assist</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">A sleeveless blouse, and dhakaai shaari<br />A giant bindi on her forehead<br />The stepmother’s attire was really fiery<br />Sheddho bhaat she swore by, unlike the story’s bread</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">“Another drought! My hurt hearts badly”<br />The stepmom cried aloud<br />“I know, oh my dear shonamonee<br />Let’s throw our cheeldren out”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">So out went little Hanshail and Greytail<br />Onto the crowded streets of Kolkata<br />The stepmom’s plan would surely never fail<br />All details were in her mota khata</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">“Do not Whorry, my leetal sis<br />I have counted all the men<br />All the men I saw shamelessly piss<br />On eleven walls, no actually ten”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">“When ma leaves us, we will follow,<br />The mark of these freshly wet walls<br />Just a little pain you need to now swallow<br />Get home we will, don’t you now fall.”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">So, through a million legs and fish stalls<br />Hanshail steered through<br />But what was this, now all the walls<br />had that wetness on them too!</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">The poor duo was now lost and hungry<br />thoroughly confused with the route<br />till they came upon a woman, so angry<br />that Greytail hid under a bundle of Jute</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">“Who is she”, thought Hanshail aloud<br />“She seems so horrid and sly”<br />“She looks like a witch and burps so loud”<br />No wonder the name plate says “Mukho-pad-dhyay”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">“But we’ll still ask her if she can give us,<br />something to drink and eat<br />But if she starts to create too much fuss<br />We’ll make a fast retreat”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">So in they went, and knocked at the door meekly<br />Waiting to see what lay in wait<br />But the woman ushered them in rather politely<br />Creating a doubt of whether to like her or to hate</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">The walls were brown, made of shondesh<br />The floor of boiled starch<br />And Gur made up the idols of gonesh<br />Everything else was ilish maachh!</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Greytail started greedily hogging<br />And Hanshail wasn’t far away<br />Food everywhere and noone stopping<br />This was a heavenly stay.</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">The woman was evil, and extremely wicked<br />Luring them this way<br />“Fatten them and put them to bed.<br />A fine dinner they’d be on Sunday.”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">But alas, hypermyopic like all bongs are<br />The woman could hardly see<br />“are the children now fat like my ambassador car?”<br />frequently wonder, would she</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">And Sunday came, the pot was ready<br />She worked with an extra zeal<br />The shorshe prepared, her hands now steady<br />she got ready for her scrumptious meal</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Hanshail and greytail knew of the scheme<br />This was the moment they dreaded<br />A push and it ended the woman’s dream<br />although loudly she pleaded</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Running as fast as they could they escaped<br />The brother sister duo<br />Jumping, running, they were so jaded<br />Where was home, was now their woe</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Then they met a little duck<br />Who said she knew the way<br />“I’ll give you a ride for some 200 bucks”<br />“that’s the deal, so simply pay”</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">So fleecing the kids, homeward she flew<br />On scotch, the bong father was high<br />And after a robindro shongeet with the crew<br />The duck stood up to say goodbye</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">But being the bongs that they proudly were<br />The happy family caught the duck<br />Patla jhol they made of her<br />Putting an end to all her luck</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">So I end it here, the fairy tale<br />I’m really out of rhyme<br />A writer’s block or a complete fail<br />I’ll write some other time.<br /></span></p><br /><p></p><p>P.S.: The words are not misspelt. They are mostly written the way most us bongs pronounce it. e.g. "My hurt hearts = My heart hurts", art would rhyme with hurt.. and so on.. </p><p>P.P.S.: Hope the bongs enjoy this :P</p><p>P.P.P.S.: Inspiration- all the jokes abhishek cracked on bongs</p><p><br /></p><p>Image: Greg Baldwin<br /></p>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-26341709424446445162009-12-06T04:31:00.000-08:002009-12-06T04:35:56.047-08:00A beauty parlour; Some conversations<div style="text-align: center; font-family: lucida grande;">“Did you hear Mrs. Thakkar’s young daughter is pregnant?”<br />“Oh you mean the wife of the infidel, alcoholic lieutenant?”<br />“No, no, that’s the other Mrs. Thakkar who lives in South Delhi”<br />who has a teen daughter, known for an appearance rather slovenly”<br />“Oh, the one, who has that smelly, ogre-like lover?<br />“Ya! with teeth all crooked, and a head that’d look better under a cover”<br />“No wonder they weren’t included in Mrs Khanna’s list of party invitations<br />With daughters like these, they’ve forever scarred their reputation”<br /><br />......................................<br /><br />“Payal spends a lot lately, wonder where she gets all that cash”<br />“Haha, it’d be better if she used all of it to get rid of her moustache!”<br />“Those ugly blackheads on her nose, makes me sick when I look at her<br />and to think I HAVE to see her face in school, today, tomorrow and day after.”<br />“Have you seen Roshni’s arms and legs, aren’t they horrifyingly hairy?<br />She doesn’t even do her eyebrows, imagine, that’s like totally scary!”<br />“Yeah, even Rachna, I wonder if she’s ever visited the parlour<br />“Unsightly sensibilities, all these girls, I’m glad we’re way way smarter!”<br /><br />.......................................<br /><br />“I love giving money for charity, that’s the least I can do, can’t I?”<br />Like I recently helped those orphaned kids, by donating a lakh to CRY.”<br />“Well, I donated 5 lakhs, since being rich has with it responsibilities”<br />and oh those kids love me so, and treat me like a celebrity!”<br />“Oh, my husband once took it on him, to change some street kids’ fate<br />and so they went viewing their country, in his grand private jet”<br />“We give them food, we give them clothes, we give them all our money<br />yet they crib, moan and shout, and say we’re all a bunch of phonies!”<br /><br />........................................<br /><br />“Did you see the black dress, that Ronita wore to the party?”<br />“Yeah, showing off her cleavage; she got drunk little miss smarty!<br />“Not that, I meant it’s the same black dress she wore even the last time<br />tchah! What a revolting thought, I’d NEVER commit such a crime!”<br />“She’s got neither a good body, nor a rich dad to flaunt<br />So how does she always manage a guy, on all her silly jaunts?!”<br />“She needs a serious makeover, my maid looks better than her!”<br />“But she can’t be really helped, it’s useless, so why even bother... ”<br /></div>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-58900508894222565942009-12-03T01:34:00.000-08:002009-12-11T19:56:10.425-08:00Tweedle dumbs<div style="text-align: center;">Of lawls and gawds, there was a hunch-backed stud boy<br />Tweedle dumb his name, the comp his only toy<br /><br />Buzz and ping he would, on Fb, orkut and twitter<br />Rain and sunshine, his butt huge, his fingers were getting fitter<br /><br />Twenty friendship requests he’d send each precious day<br />But twenty one rejects he’d get back; his days were always grey<br /><br />And then one day he found a very sexy lass<br />Watching her profile pic, he let out all his gas<br /><br />He sighed and sighed, and sighed and sighed<br />Sweat beaded up on his snake like hide<br /><br />She accepted the request, he jumped with ecstacy<br />He was in that thing called love, his brain went fuzzy<br /><br />He pried through all her pouting photos, single and group<br />Watching her every click and hi, now he’d constantly snoop<br /><br />Hacking her passwords, her days and her dreams<br />Tweedle dumb stalked her, in a manner rather grim<br /><br />The sexy lass dumped his friendship via a status update<br />Tweedle dumb fumed, broke his chair and spit at his fate<br /><br />He stalked her more, made morphed nude pics of hers<br />And blackmailed to send them to all her fb brothers<br /><br />Crying and crying the sexy lass ran<br />The fastest she could to her wise old gran<br /><br />“Tweedle dumb”, roared the giant lady with a tiny pet crow<br />“If you snoop and stalk, I will make your nose grow and grow”<br /><br />“You send the photos to me and I shall burn them away”<br />“If I hear of your antics again, I shall stuff your mouth with poisoned hay”<br /><br />“Ha!” said Tweedle, you are an old, ugly hag<br />Do not mess with me, or I shall choke you with a rag<br /><br />Tweedle went his way and opened his fb account<br />‘Click, click’ and he was on the day’s tenth spying count<br /><br />He wrote to her “Come to me and we shall be happy”<br />If you do not, I’ll make your life real real crappy<br /><br />The final click on ‘comment’, and his nose felt really weird<br />With a sudden jolt, his nose was as long as the hermit’s beard<br /><br />‘Wham! Wham! Wham!’, he hit his nose<br />Hoping it would get, if not normal, then at least close<br /><br />He wrote another comment, ‘I love you, and I want you’<br />His nose now touched the ground, and he rushed to the loo<br /><br />‘Burn the photos!!!’ Gran’s voice boomed<br />Or else prepare well to see your life get doomed<br /><br />“I will not listen to you old hag!” screamed the sick brained man<br />“Ok” said Gran, “then watch your fingers grow each time you plan”<br /><br />Tweedle rushed to his toy, glued to the chair he started scheming<br />But ‘SwOOOOOsh’ and his fingers grew, his nails now gleaming<br /><br />“Ouch! I can’t type! My fingers hurt and now bleed pus!”<br />Tweedle dumb jumped up and down creating quite a ruckus<br /><br />“Old Gran help me, I shall not stalk, snoop or pry!”<br />“Just get me out of this mess”, Tweedle let out an anguishing cry<br /><br />“Ha ha ha!!, Tweedle you are really very dumb!”<br />“You do not listen to what I say and then break down into a crumb”<br /><br />“Take the photos Gran, take them all away!”<br />“If I ever repeat this heinous act, then stuff me with the hay”<br /><br />“I shall make your nose grow back and let your fingers stay<br />And give you another chance, but I will have the last say”<br /><br />“If I hear another complain, a whine or see another tear<br />I shall rip your soul apart, and the other similar tweedles shall die of fear”<br /><br />“Actually let me cast a spell to make sure all you tweedles behave<br />Not a mere fb block, around which all the tweedles find a way”<br /><br />“When another tweedle strikes, this Gran will surely rise<br />Be scared all you tweedles, stop those random hellos and hi’s”<br /><br />“So, Bling Blang Bloong! When the clicks boom”<br />“Let the tweedles wear their nose so long, that they’re never a fitting groom”<br /><br />“And, Bling! Blang! Bloong! When the clicks boom<br />Let their fingers die out right then, and bring close their doom”<br /><br />Tweedle dumb sighed, and cried the next 365 days<br />“I will not stalk, I promise, just give me peace”, he’d pray<br /><br />And although the tweedle dumbs of today still stalk, snoop and spy<br />Gran lies in the dark, her claws itching to make them cry<br /><br />So of rofl's and lols, there was a hunch-backed stud boy<br />Tweedle dumb his name, nobody does he now annoy<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAvzFtsW27cJMbDd3FkP1Ce5GQ0inxLbCX_4-r-HzR86R2Gn93P8TvIkwQHT5sMwmLWvtdOqOwwXEqmOgc1G-jmq9QjIBnfeXnI55HlH7x3kOMHtjy-IDGgb7iLYLocutwIfSN4soNewu/s1600-h/long+nose.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 117px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAvzFtsW27cJMbDd3FkP1Ce5GQ0inxLbCX_4-r-HzR86R2Gn93P8TvIkwQHT5sMwmLWvtdOqOwwXEqmOgc1G-jmq9QjIBnfeXnI55HlH7x3kOMHtjy-IDGgb7iLYLocutwIfSN4soNewu/s400/long+nose.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410942462801163746" border="0" /></a></div>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-7520885571412054182009-12-01T23:21:00.000-08:002009-12-10T06:31:33.330-08:00FirefliesFireflies, and a night<br />a math textbook, scribbled notes<br />a song playing too loud<br />to shut out, what is deafening<br /><br />Today, tonight<br />a broken pot, a burn of white<br />a door not too strong, trying<br />to shut out, what is blinding<br /><br />A lunch, a dinner<br />a scream, a smack<br />a pull of the hair, little hands scared<br />to stop, what is bleeding<br /><br />An exam night<br />a scattered math note, a torn book<br />a burn, an attempt<br />to stop, what is beating<br /><br />A drunken day, a drunken night<br />a smack again, a lustful force<br />an act of horrifying domination<br />to shut, what is creating<br /><br />An owl, another night<br />a rebellion, a rise<br />a little fear, a lot of courage<br />to let out from within, what is seething<br /><br />A morning, the creeping night<br />a plan, a sense of hatred<br />a wait for that one impetus<br />to root out, what is poisoning<br /><br />that night, a starry night<br />again a hit, again a fall<br />again a pull of the hair; and then a shot<br />to kill, what is killing<br /><br />Fireflies, and a night<br />a math textbook, scribbled notes<br />a song, a mother’s hug<br />to love, what is loving<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zUmm1BzwEYWMjebje2XMImXvIkDmQz5S-a8ycHrMVd7j-aTWhqAswnVF3QAMhu_GtZb_31SLPI0YNwyA1L1DkTZDHpMz5uGKokORe7Zlt4uVf4BMzRdbp1Jsg6gB_SR-2hLrM2hpw5Np/s1600-h/domestic-violence2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zUmm1BzwEYWMjebje2XMImXvIkDmQz5S-a8ycHrMVd7j-aTWhqAswnVF3QAMhu_GtZb_31SLPI0YNwyA1L1DkTZDHpMz5uGKokORe7Zlt4uVf4BMzRdbp1Jsg6gB_SR-2hLrM2hpw5Np/s400/domestic-violence2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410541592714355522" border="0" /></a>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-75765233312839726572009-12-01T19:20:00.000-08:002009-12-03T03:48:19.971-08:005 years, 11 months and a week later...5 years, 11 months and a week later...<br />1) I feel happy<br />2) I feel happy<br />3) I feel happy<br /><br />and I hope this stays.blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-75935667709561282962009-11-30T02:47:00.000-08:002009-12-03T03:48:40.941-08:00EMS Paper, the flower storyEMS Paper today.<br /><br />I had (or perhaps we all had) this antaryaami feeling that Suresh Jain sir would give us a rather weird looking flower shaped incomprehensible that standard "explain BRIEFLY with a DIAGRAM" question.<br /><br />Last night as I prepared, fighting my sleep and my boredom, I stared at a slide. It had Four circles, overlapping each another. At the centre was a box. Said something about arbit stakeholder management gyaan. The four circles had these written:<br />CC, CG, CSR, CS.<br /><br />Ok, I knew what CSR was (haven't the seniors and teachers harping on how everyone is deeeeeply into CSR these days?).<br />CC???<br />CG???<br />CS???<br /><br />In case you wonder (Corporate governance, Corporate Sustainability and Corporate competitiveness). <br /><br />I rattofied (or tried to, because I couldn't understand a word of the flower). The Four CC's were good. So were the Four horizontal and vertical arrows. But the diagonal arrows? What the hell did they mean?<br /><br />Ok, what was the title of the diagram? What was it that I was reading?<br /><br />Today, I told DDT (or Aditi), I have this feeling that flower diagram will come in the exam. "So do I", said Aditi. She continued "But I tried to learn it, and I remembered your words of wisdom during the IIA exam. There's no point in trying to rattofy something when you know it will <span style="font-weight:bold;">just</span> not enter your brains. So I dropped it."<br /><br />Great, my words of wisdom!<br /><br />Classroom, before the exam<br /><br />Priyanka "This arrow has @#$$@$%^&^%$#@#$%^%$#"<br />Tarika "No No I think$#$%%^%$##$"<br />Priyanka "Then what did the words below that arrow say?"<br />Tarika "..........."<br />Kopal; "Arey, what was the topic of the slide?"<br /><br />(I still couldn't figure out what the arrows said!<br /><br />The question paper... Question 5 (or was it 6?)<br /><br />Explain "The 4CR multi-dimensional corporate responsibility perspective" using a DIAGRAM.<br /><br />Damn!!!<br /><br />Answer sheet: Four circles and four arrows. <br /><br />Suresh Jain sir "Paper to easy tha na."<br />Me: "Haan sir, pata nahin, papers to easy hi hote hain"<br />Sir: "Direct questions the"<br />Me: "Sir woh 4 CR wala nahin aata tha, pata tha aayega, par nahin aata tha"<br />Sir: "Woh to kitna easy tha"<br />Me: "Easy to tha sir, aur gole banaye bhi hain, par galat hain"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvz3lHKcVRXAAIDgDFZkflzGpcDR059vMjZAsU-fnlEcMW_A54UX7zgAYCB_5H5O2LfPI7yu1sgfntI2i-XRPy2NsbEcO9lJ3KpDeTJ2H73lSTNfwbM8s4T80SI_hmOvXTgFvgGLPEvMH/s1600/sfdfds.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvz3lHKcVRXAAIDgDFZkflzGpcDR059vMjZAsU-fnlEcMW_A54UX7zgAYCB_5H5O2LfPI7yu1sgfntI2i-XRPy2NsbEcO9lJ3KpDeTJ2H73lSTNfwbM8s4T80SI_hmOvXTgFvgGLPEvMH/s400/sfdfds.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409850547756281554" /></a>blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-60053672745562247552009-11-28T22:49:00.000-08:002009-12-10T06:31:02.261-08:00A crush, a kiss, a storyThe results were out. My name was right at the bottom of the list. At least I had made it!<br /><br />A game of truth and dare, I chose dare. "Ask him (pointing at the smartest guy in school) to give you a lift home." As school ended, the entire class was looking at me, sure that I would fail, yet again. I bit my nails during the last class, biting too much, and the pain slowly filling me.<br /><br />"Abhishek!" He stopped his two wheeler. "Ummm.. I uh, I was wondering.." He looked on, that patient look that I see only on my dad's face. "You want a lift?" I was stunned. How did he know? Those asses of the boys in my class must've told him! "Well, ya, only if it is ok with you, I mean I could go in the bus, but these guys asked me to, you know, well, I.." (He let out a slight laughter)<br /><br />"Come on, these people do this to almost every new girl". So I wasn't the only one they had done this to? Did this mean the bike of his had seen many other girls getting a lift? All those daydreams I had of him dropping me home, him getting mesmerized, inviting me for a cup of coffee in the evening were shattered. For some reason, he did not seem so appealing anymore.<br /><br />I went on and sat behind him. The ride was silent, with the occassional honking and two of my class guys following us to see where we end up. Finally they gave up their chase, I was home. "You're rather quiet." "Yes, I guess. I really do not talk to strangers much" He was slightly taken aback, probably because he expected me to go all shy and say well..hmm..ya..(I was so annoyed!)<br /><br />Auditions for a play and I was selected. So was he, but his was a major role. I was just one of the many who had two lines to say, towards the end of the play. Everyday I would wait for my turn, wait, get irritated, speak, and go home. Someone spread the rumour that I could sing, and I was out of the minor role and doing the singing! I was paranoid. What would everyone think? I sang only for my ears.<br /><br />Abhishek came up to me on the final day of rehearsal (I had been avoiding him every day). "Why do you run away the moment I come? Have I done or said anything wrong?" Everything you've done is wrong! You broke that "amazing first crush in a new school" image that I had harboured since it was decided that I would go into a new school!<br /><br />"Uh? no. Not really" "I love it when you sing" "Thank you" (I was blushing like a maniac). "How about a cup of coffee?" What? after six months? "Ok"<br /><br />We started dating. He told me of the six months he spent wondering what he'd said wrong that first 'lift' day. From what he told me, he had never given a new girl a lift on his vehicle for a dare.<br /><br />The second thing I would dream about, after getting the guy on whom you have the "amazing first crush in a new school" to ask me out, was the first kiss.<br />My parents were out, and had left me alone for the first time. I picked up the phone and the quintessential "Umm, My parents are out.. Do you want to come over??..."<br /><br />I closed my eyes, the first kiss had to be magical. Otherwise I would end up hating every romantic movie I had seen. We kissed. Am I doing it right? Should I keep my lips closed, or open it a little? Should I hold his hands? Ah maybe like this. Three seconds and it was all over. The questions took ten seconds and the kiss a mere three. I was numb, wanting to kill myself for ruining the first kiss. He was smiling like a new born who had been just tickled to death, pulled me close to him and kissed again. My mind went blank, the bell rang.<br /><br />I was in my shortest shorts that day, hoping to give Abhishek a chance to admire my legs. And as I opened the door, my dad stood. He'd left something important and had come home. "Thanks for the notes, Shreya" He vanished! My dad was quiet, took his 'important stuff' and went away.<br /><br />This continued, stolen glances, holding hands while lunch-ing, playing footsie.<br />And this footsie got me into a fix. One day as I went on with the usual ritual of looking at him shyly, and pulling up my chair closer to the table so that my feet would find his, I got the wrong guy. Anirudh looked at me. I was oblivious and I continued. Abhishek was smiling that wicked smile of his and I knew something was amiss. Anirudh kept calling me each day, his mother was the chemistry teacher and I couldn't not take his calls. Abhishek did not like it much.<br /><br />Boards, and everything went haywire. Abhishek's mom banned him from meeting his friends, mine forbade me to go for tuitions without my brother doing a check on where I go, who I interact with..<br /><br />For days we would not talk and my crush-turned-love-affair was crushed.<br /><br />A new college, a new beginning? I met many guys, but they had that I am a dilli wala, 'I am a stud' aura which I detested. And two years later I got a mail. This is how it read.<br /><br />Dear Shreya<br /><br />How are you? Things are going good for me. I am in NIT Trichy, third year and having an amazing college life. I heard your parents shifted to Chennai, and I assume you would be coming home sometime during your breaks. I hope you do. I will be interning at a media firm this summer, so if you do come, we could meet up, that is, if it's ok with you.<br /><br />Regards<br /><br />Abhishek<br /><br />Two years, and he remembers me now? I will not meet him, for sure.<br /><br />"So, how's college life" "It's decent" "How's Delhi" "It's decent" "Ok, how's the love life?" "It's decent" "What about you, Abhishek?" "I don't have any" "Oh, I lied too" "Why" "Just.." "Ok" "Ok"....<br /><br />He professed the 'deep rooted love' he had for me, and I said I was never in love with him, and I was merely using him in school to get the other females jealous. I had always meant to dump him, humiliate him, and dump him...<br /><br />Well, no, I did not say any of that.<br /><br />"I wish to kiss you, may I?" My goodness, why was he being such a super gentleman and getting me all nervous? But I was ready this time. Three articles on "how to be a good kisser" and one "things not to do when you kiss" and I was ready. A friend's place in Chennai, with the friend out to get some stuff to eat, this was the best chance. My eyes closed and I waited. Nothing. "Hello" (AAARRRGHH that irritating phone call!) Rashi came back. I was upset. The next day I went out with him and gave him the cold "I will answer only in monosyllables" attitude.<br /><br />We sat on the beach, Rashi uttering nonsense about some arbit movie she had recently seen. "Look, that lighthouse, something's wrong" Abhishek pointed. Rashi turned the other way to look. Abhishek turned my face towards his, and kissed....<br /><br />"What Abhishek, there's nothing there" I was blushing like crazy! Finally that kiss, the kiss I had been waiting for all my life<br /><br />Thus, the story ends. The Kiss, and happiness ever after...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CzCvfrZVpiGD9wmNXHPRYDsz5qyIIQuxYoukU-xH1E6e8ek7Cd0qveGcfS8CFzrFtrtTlfFIA1FUooyOniLjVNuKW_VjIrGrCKGvNuMoGWM8DDvBCnewhEM5gBmtvQ5ppIfukq4rgxWl/s1600/69377588.d0VAg8P7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 106px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CzCvfrZVpiGD9wmNXHPRYDsz5qyIIQuxYoukU-xH1E6e8ek7Cd0qveGcfS8CFzrFtrtTlfFIA1FUooyOniLjVNuKW_VjIrGrCKGvNuMoGWM8DDvBCnewhEM5gBmtvQ5ppIfukq4rgxWl/s400/69377588.d0VAg8P7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409443651357872530" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(This work is entirely fictitious. Any resemblances whatsoever to any person living or dead is coincidental)blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-74364850452841605622009-11-28T05:14:00.000-08:002009-11-29T00:47:27.705-08:00A random walk...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0thjkjqL87EzBEL9dEwBrxwv9TB-KMMF9wExpFloIwVDts19TNmSui701GAx7OOT4pZVVkf6yFt1hM6rV3kWXTcW9NzQpOgwvea68epFpdU2VL_Wg98AtTF2V7fiXPDypflM6iKIV92b/s1600/06.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 189px; height: 334px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0thjkjqL87EzBEL9dEwBrxwv9TB-KMMF9wExpFloIwVDts19TNmSui701GAx7OOT4pZVVkf6yFt1hM6rV3kWXTcW9NzQpOgwvea68epFpdU2VL_Wg98AtTF2V7fiXPDypflM6iKIV92b/s400/06.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409444479980902850" /></a><br />A random walk, a day's work well done<br />I see the eyes, the ruffled hair,<br />in an attire fit for a laugh<br />Everyday a glimpse, and a repulsive thought<br />Growing in her belly a life, or maybe two<br /><br />A random walk, a day's work half done<br />the belly bigger, her eyes smiling, <br />those soiled hands reaching out<br />The repulsion wearing off, growing on it, perhaps sympathy?<br />Sitting on the pavement she laughs<br /><br />A random walk, a day's work still half done<br />the sight of pandals, the bells,<br />the songs in praise of goddess Durga<br />She sits on the pavement, seven months after<br />the night which ripped her innocence<br /><br />A random walk, a day's work incomplete<br />children run, priests sing, women gossip<br />the belly grows, chest bigger, <br />waiting for that one glimpse of hope<br />I pray for mercy, and her well being<br /><br />A random walk, a day's work well done<br />the belly a gentle flab, hair still wild<br />a newborn smiles<br />lullabies fill the nights, laughter shines<br />an ngo snatches away her only piece of pride<br /><br />A random walk, a day's work done<br />the face marked by the innocent smile, probably a laugh <br />unruly hair spills over<br />Sitting on the pavement, passersby glance and snigger<br />Will there be another such night?blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-78070078132599856112009-11-28T05:08:00.001-08:002009-11-28T11:19:42.684-08:00Wonder...I take a sip of the steaming cup of coffee I hold now, and wonder about:<br /><br />1) Where will I be in two month's time?<br />2) Will I be doing what I really want to? AM I doing the right thing?<br />3) Should I be doing what everybody is doing, earn a fat paycheck and be happy? Will I be happy then?<br />4) That one CWS mail. Did it change anything in me, for me?<br />5) Why do I keep going further north, when all I want to go is down south (read Bangalore).<br />6) I hope my life turns out the way we saw it together.<br /><br />Sunrise tomorrow, a new day. These are confusions I'd like to get rid of, or maybe not.blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-70920497235059693522009-11-25T21:29:00.000-08:002009-11-25T21:32:06.864-08:00And I'm backI lost the inspiration to write. But it's back now :)<br />Courtesy nobody. However, I need to go back to what I was. Music, writing, and art. Things I had let go off for some reason,a nd it was just yesterday I realized that when I have nobody, these things will make me live my days happily. <br /><br />Exams from tomorrow. Sigh. So I end it hereblank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926995910927441758.post-48177829967344957852009-11-25T21:27:00.000-08:002009-11-25T21:29:31.736-08:00I see you<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cadmin%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults ext="edit" spidmax="1026"> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout ext="edit"> <o:idmap ext="edit" data="1"> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I watch from the balcony, the workers screaming at each other, a load of cement passing from one hand to the next. I watch that one robin sit on that one branch of an almost naked tree that stands in the middle of the road on the divider. I tilt my head to listen to the sound of the next squirrel running up the wall with a tuft of dog hair in its mouth, probably to cozy up his bed on this cold winter day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My life is one of a dog. Nature’s almost given up on the beauty she once possessed, so I make do with all the tiny little tid bits she has left for all of us to savour one last time. I am four and a half years old now, and I have finally started communicating with the humans I stay with. But they coochie coo me and more than often fail to understand that all I want is to share the happiness I feel in the world. They cry, they scream, they lose their temper over a car cleaner not doing their jobs well enough. But I see the young 5 year old boy down the street playing with a piece of stone and using it like a bomb and screaming, “I am Kasab”. What was the term that’s become so popular these days? Oh yes, “slumdog millionaire”. I have a feeling this little child will grow up to be one for sure, probably not by virtue of being a contest winner, but surely as a politician of the country. Ah yes, my human owners. I often see the unhappiness in their eyes. A boyfriend’s not talking, the daughter’s being rude, the husband is not the greatest conversationist, yet I stay by their side, knowing that the next time one of them turns hysterical because of another petty reason, I can calm them down. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A year back, terrorists took siege of the best hotels in <st1:city st="on">Bombay</st1:city> (and yes, I will use <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Bombay</st1:city></st1:place> and not Mumbai). I heard about a dog being shot at the CST and it being rescued and now being well taken care of. Since years and years, terrorists have taken siege of the environment. But the dogs, cats, and minks being shot are seldom rescued. We’re shot each day as the temperatures rise, as the SO2 in the air rises, as the smog in the winter mornings blur my vision and sense of smell. But I’m a part of the terrorist world too. I feed on Pedigree, a branded food for dogs, when I should be perhaps eating what has naturally been provided by Mother Nature. But what has been provided by Mother Nature?<span style=""> </span>Hasn’t this been the question we’ve not answered yet? We’ve had many answers, but each answer has been the selfish claim of one man or one nation to ensure that the gifts are his. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The world realizes today it’s a huge mistake to turn a deaf ear to all of this. But realization and words are as good as the promises the tom cat in my alley contesting the alley election makes (which are sometimes better than the human politicians I must say). I will probably live for another 6 years, or maybe 7, or maybe 8 years more. But, I do know that the day I can see the horizon, the stars, the moon, the crickets, the bats, the owls, the mice, the sparrows, the kingfishers clearly, without anything blocking my vision or smell or hearing power, I’ll die a peaceful dog.</p> blank_confusionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12534441881824168179noreply@blogger.com0