25th May : The day dawned bright and clear. Young, eager and enthusiastic, we sprung forth with unbounded energy and enthusiasm looking at our future with doe-eyed adoration through baby-pink frosted glasses. Some, on the other hand, like yours sincerely, having blanched at the prospect of 6 hour classes after a year of cozy hibernation, could look only at breakfast as a worthwhile future. My tested belief in a hearty breakfast as the only solution to armageddon being yet un-failed, I proceeded to MICAfe and was overwhelmed to see cornflakes with hot and cold milk. And now I was sure, that at MICA anything was possible. So with this bright belief when I spotted a bowl full of a brown-chocolatey powder, I positively sang out loud. Imagine, I thought, they even give us Bournvita. (Refusal to grow up is not an uncommon phenomenon, specially in circumstances when age stares you right in the face). Heaping two massive spoons of 'Bournvita' into a tiny cup of milk, I sat down to drown my tastebuds in chocolate, only to discover that it was (why in the blazes was it not obvious to me?) - COFFEE!
So with 2 spoons of sheer black coffee pounding through my veins, I stepped into the class and stepped out only after having being asked, not-so-politely by the faculty to zip my mouth, roll my tongue back in and keep my hand firmly out of vertical air space. Coffee can make you hyperactive.
Also, it's 'vein'ophillic. It sticks right in and decides to make even incorrigible shirkers into enthusiastic workers. Want to avoid workaholicism? Avoid caffeine.
Coffee made me determinedly decide to turn my room from a natural bakery-oven to a human friendly habitat. That innocent endeavour ended up sending warning bells to Noah and his Arc, after I successfully drenched all my sheets in water and hung them from the windows. I later happened to see that the room was almost submerged and water was pouring out into the corridor and cascading like a gentler version of the Niagra Falls from the first floor onto the ground floor. Ofcourse I was alerted only by the plaintive cries and frantic queries of an attendant. Coffee also makes you blind to the minor irritants of life.
Coffee is a typical woman - stimulating beginnings, troublesome endings.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Life and Dell!
Life, is tough to live.
Particularly when you live under the constant strain of ensuring that your day involves the much taxing activity of doing nothing and in the midst of doing nothing you have to thwart your parents' frantic and worrisome efforts to make you do something. It is even more stressful to plot and scheme to ensure that days in the immediate future are encompassed in the ruddy glow of that idyll of nothingness. No wonder all this strenuous, creative workout makes the good, ol' occupant of the cranial cavity feel older and wiser than its years and the squirming grey cells exist on the verge of being addressed in the singular, than plural (a lone grey cell?).
Well, this pleasant meditative stupor of my existence was torn asunder on an early May morning when I was pulled out of bed to find myself straddling a rather bulky cardboard box on which was written - DELL!! Yipeeeee! My lappie had arrived, and a glossy, happy red it was!
For many a day I observed it with a veneration that not too many of my electronics inspire or witness. And those of you who saw the individuality I had lent to my MP3 player and cell phone must be eagerly awaiting the baptism of my laptop. You shall not be disappointed :D
Ma Chere - "Cherry" (pronounced 'Sh'erry :P), neighbour's envy, owner's pride, distinctly individualized by the emblazoned 'P.D.'! Thank you, thank you, I know you all love my art :D
And IF anybody feels the need to comment on my need for a cursive writing book, you are as good as dead!
Particularly when you live under the constant strain of ensuring that your day involves the much taxing activity of doing nothing and in the midst of doing nothing you have to thwart your parents' frantic and worrisome efforts to make you do something. It is even more stressful to plot and scheme to ensure that days in the immediate future are encompassed in the ruddy glow of that idyll of nothingness. No wonder all this strenuous, creative workout makes the good, ol' occupant of the cranial cavity feel older and wiser than its years and the squirming grey cells exist on the verge of being addressed in the singular, than plural (a lone grey cell?).
Well, this pleasant meditative stupor of my existence was torn asunder on an early May morning when I was pulled out of bed to find myself straddling a rather bulky cardboard box on which was written - DELL!! Yipeeeee! My lappie had arrived, and a glossy, happy red it was!
For many a day I observed it with a veneration that not too many of my electronics inspire or witness. And those of you who saw the individuality I had lent to my MP3 player and cell phone must be eagerly awaiting the baptism of my laptop. You shall not be disappointed :D
Ma Chere - "Cherry" (pronounced 'Sh'erry :P), neighbour's envy, owner's pride, distinctly individualized by the emblazoned 'P.D.'! Thank you, thank you, I know you all love my art :D
And IF anybody feels the need to comment on my need for a cursive writing book, you are as good as dead!
Why God made siblings
So you all think that 'Hum Do, Hamaare Do' is the Indian government's last ditch propaganda to inspire the teeming millions to have fewer babies? To have TWO babies only, to be more precise?
Ha! You are all so very wrong. It is the Indian governments propaganda to encourage the fast turning nuclear families, to not go solo and have ATLEAST two babies, if not more.
It is a conspiracy, deeper, darker and more sinister than any held in the hallowed portals of the Da Vinci code ; a conspiracy to take us away from our innate human nature of competing for survival ; a conspiracy to bring about lasting world peace.
Now I might usually be an ordinary bean, but the logic of this strategy is crystal clear to me. Think of yourself in a real bad day - real bad. You run your bike over your own toe in the morning, get late for office in the bargain and then can't pass the twenty-fingernails-intact identification test and are handed over to the police as an imposter and tresspasser, who then feel you closely resemble the most-wanted convict on their list. Whew! Now how you get out of this situation is upto your imagination, but if you ever do manage do get out, it would be natural to suppose that you would NOT be feeling your peaceful best.
You might want to punch the next person on the road in the face, who might decide to run over his neighbour who might... err be tempted to generally aggravate the situation. The point I am driving at, my friends, is that if for the want of a nail a kingdom can be lost, for the want of control in homicidal tendencies, the next world war can start.
And this is precisely why God made siblings. Because if you simply had a sibling who by the natural course of being a sibling would know the best way to irk you, you would not be tempted to vent your aggression on your neighbour. That privilege would be bestowed fairly and squarely on your sibling, who by now would be an auberginish tint, much to your peace of mind.
So my friends, the only solution to lasting world peace - make sure your progenies have loads of siblings to bully and bash, for that is what God made them for! 'Hum Do Hamaare Do' - at the very least :D.
Editor's Note : Since a lot of questions are being asked about the safety of the author's sibling in her caring hands, she would like to clarify that she does love her brother. And it has been 8 years since she last sat down on top of him and beat him up (mainly because since then, the chances of her emerging out of an encounter looking like an egg plant have increased). And this post was NOT TARGETED AT HIM and she feels a benign sisterly affection towards him at the point of writing this post.
Ha! You are all so very wrong. It is the Indian governments propaganda to encourage the fast turning nuclear families, to not go solo and have ATLEAST two babies, if not more.
It is a conspiracy, deeper, darker and more sinister than any held in the hallowed portals of the Da Vinci code ; a conspiracy to take us away from our innate human nature of competing for survival ; a conspiracy to bring about lasting world peace.
Now I might usually be an ordinary bean, but the logic of this strategy is crystal clear to me. Think of yourself in a real bad day - real bad. You run your bike over your own toe in the morning, get late for office in the bargain and then can't pass the twenty-fingernails-intact identification test and are handed over to the police as an imposter and tresspasser, who then feel you closely resemble the most-wanted convict on their list. Whew! Now how you get out of this situation is upto your imagination, but if you ever do manage do get out, it would be natural to suppose that you would NOT be feeling your peaceful best.
You might want to punch the next person on the road in the face, who might decide to run over his neighbour who might... err be tempted to generally aggravate the situation. The point I am driving at, my friends, is that if for the want of a nail a kingdom can be lost, for the want of control in homicidal tendencies, the next world war can start.
And this is precisely why God made siblings. Because if you simply had a sibling who by the natural course of being a sibling would know the best way to irk you, you would not be tempted to vent your aggression on your neighbour. That privilege would be bestowed fairly and squarely on your sibling, who by now would be an auberginish tint, much to your peace of mind.
So my friends, the only solution to lasting world peace - make sure your progenies have loads of siblings to bully and bash, for that is what God made them for! 'Hum Do Hamaare Do' - at the very least :D.
Editor's Note : Since a lot of questions are being asked about the safety of the author's sibling in her caring hands, she would like to clarify that she does love her brother. And it has been 8 years since she last sat down on top of him and beat him up (mainly because since then, the chances of her emerging out of an encounter looking like an egg plant have increased). And this post was NOT TARGETED AT HIM and she feels a benign sisterly affection towards him at the point of writing this post.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
MyART
Amongst the first of my amateur forays into MS Paint and I am as proud as a lark of her untidy nest!
If you open your third eye and probe with sub-conscious instincts, you can feel the deep, mystical metaphysical meaning of my abstract art. Yes, it HAS a meaning!! :)
Return from Out-of-depth land!
Here's a hurray to me!
And a hurray to all my loyal readers who frantically clasped and unclasped their hands and knotted all twenty fingers praying for my safe return from the land of the Out-of-depth.
I jiggle all twenty dactyls (to prove my victorious return with not even a finger missing!)and venture forth into the state of gay abandon in which I am usually resident, but which has been pining for my presence of late.
I however feel immense pain to announce that my evil, despodent alter ego took advantage of my absence to launch this blog and make it resemble dark, dismal Gothic land. I mount my steed-ly pen and declare that this shall be immediately attended to and we shall make this a lively place to visit!
So come ye recreant knights - to our new quest!
And a hurray to all my loyal readers who frantically clasped and unclasped their hands and knotted all twenty fingers praying for my safe return from the land of the Out-of-depth.
I jiggle all twenty dactyls (to prove my victorious return with not even a finger missing!)and venture forth into the state of gay abandon in which I am usually resident, but which has been pining for my presence of late.
I however feel immense pain to announce that my evil, despodent alter ego took advantage of my absence to launch this blog and make it resemble dark, dismal Gothic land. I mount my steed-ly pen and declare that this shall be immediately attended to and we shall make this a lively place to visit!
So come ye recreant knights - to our new quest!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
A Bonfire of my Words
I sit here,
Warming the frozen fragments of my soul,
On a bonfire of itself.
For what are these pieces that fly around me?
Mere shreds of torn paper?
Or a web of words woven by my soul,
On emotional crests and troughs,
Through zeniths, nadirs, summits and abysses,
There was only one recourse for my wretched soul -
To plough on through weeds of words and nurture the wasted garden,
That languished underneath.
Years 'pon haggard years,
Had those loose reams of precious words marked,
Yet with heartless fingers today,
I betrayed my companions of years past.
My fingers hurt and bore stray marks,
Of a struggle to let loved ones leave.
They were constant till the end,
With their company in adversity.
How many times in the times bygone,
Had I built up my castles of words,
Even as all around me,
To pieces fell my world.
And I darted around, wounded,
An arrow stinging my breast,
Yet filling my castle with puppets,
Their strings entwined in my fist.
My helplessness with my destiny,
Stopped right at the threshold there,
And the puppets grinned my unsmiled smiles,
And they shed my unwept tears.
It was my world of retreat,
Into my imagination's cocoon,
Stories, characters, feelings,
Beaded in strings of my words.
Today I bid them farewell,
And shed my lonesome tears,
It's not a catharsis, this fire;
But their death - a punishment.
Tis to add to the pain and take it to the peak,
And let it finally end.
So they glower amber, flicker and burn,
Smouldering remains, of the ashes of my soul.
Warming the frozen fragments of my soul,
On a bonfire of itself.
For what are these pieces that fly around me?
Mere shreds of torn paper?
Or a web of words woven by my soul,
On emotional crests and troughs,
Through zeniths, nadirs, summits and abysses,
There was only one recourse for my wretched soul -
To plough on through weeds of words and nurture the wasted garden,
That languished underneath.
Years 'pon haggard years,
Had those loose reams of precious words marked,
Yet with heartless fingers today,
I betrayed my companions of years past.
My fingers hurt and bore stray marks,
Of a struggle to let loved ones leave.
They were constant till the end,
With their company in adversity.
How many times in the times bygone,
Had I built up my castles of words,
Even as all around me,
To pieces fell my world.
And I darted around, wounded,
An arrow stinging my breast,
Yet filling my castle with puppets,
Their strings entwined in my fist.
My helplessness with my destiny,
Stopped right at the threshold there,
And the puppets grinned my unsmiled smiles,
And they shed my unwept tears.
It was my world of retreat,
Into my imagination's cocoon,
Stories, characters, feelings,
Beaded in strings of my words.
Today I bid them farewell,
And shed my lonesome tears,
It's not a catharsis, this fire;
But their death - a punishment.
Tis to add to the pain and take it to the peak,
And let it finally end.
So they glower amber, flicker and burn,
Smouldering remains, of the ashes of my soul.
Thrissurpuram - an alternative perspective
What makes an experience so very different for men and women?
Let me explain.
Thrissurpuram is the famous, much celebrated, much televised and publicized annual festival which draws crowds from all over the world. It being made to look like a once-in-a-lifetime tourist bonanza, i fought against my first impulse to experience it live - on TV. So there we set off, eager-beavers, in the sweltering, blazing heat of Kerala with the Sun at its summit, right at noon time.
What does one expect to see? Caparisoned elephants in all their glory, experience a ritual unique to this culture, be one with the crowd and feel the throb of excitement pound all our veins with the rising tempo of the drums. But expectations have to contend with reality.
So what did the men have to contend with? Grounds packed and bursting shoulder to shoulder and back-to-front with swelling multitudes of people. We call this the 'real India' experience and try to feel at one with our brethren - one amidst the mingling sweat, stifling heat where not even a casual whisper of a breeze can wift in to provide reprieve because there is simply no space; one amidst the collective lack of oxygen and fear of asphyxiation; one amidst the rising and falling waves of nausea and sweat drenched chiffon chunnis and cotton shirts; one in our resilience to brave all this and stand together to soak in the 'puram'.
And what did the women have to contend with? Besides all that the men valiantly bore up with, the women had the added test of harassment to pass. Jostling, groping, squeezing, pushing, feeling, touching; you might fight and scratch and elbow and hit, but what can you do between a dozen men on all sides resolutely fixed upon getting their fingers into one of your orifices. Not that it starts this way. In such a packed crowd, where you have been foolish enough to venture on the absurd quest of 'experiencing culture', it begins with the supposition that there is just no place for straying hands all around to rest, except on YOU! What are you and your anterior and posterior, but a simple handrest! But as the the drums pick up the tempo, a tribal primitive frenzy possesses the crowd, and it is all no longer the law abiding, genteel, civilized crowd that entered, but a savage, primaeval, opportunistic crowd tearing, ripping, jostling to get at its share of flesh.
This is how different an experience can be for a man and a woman.
I wonder how many women really saw and absorbed the paraphernalia of decked elephants and their acrobatic mahouts twirling the ornate umbrellas? How many of them left with wide-eyed horror and a seething humiliating rage and left to pour out their fury with futile words on their blogs?
Let me explain.
Thrissurpuram is the famous, much celebrated, much televised and publicized annual festival which draws crowds from all over the world. It being made to look like a once-in-a-lifetime tourist bonanza, i fought against my first impulse to experience it live - on TV. So there we set off, eager-beavers, in the sweltering, blazing heat of Kerala with the Sun at its summit, right at noon time.
What does one expect to see? Caparisoned elephants in all their glory, experience a ritual unique to this culture, be one with the crowd and feel the throb of excitement pound all our veins with the rising tempo of the drums. But expectations have to contend with reality.
So what did the men have to contend with? Grounds packed and bursting shoulder to shoulder and back-to-front with swelling multitudes of people. We call this the 'real India' experience and try to feel at one with our brethren - one amidst the mingling sweat, stifling heat where not even a casual whisper of a breeze can wift in to provide reprieve because there is simply no space; one amidst the collective lack of oxygen and fear of asphyxiation; one amidst the rising and falling waves of nausea and sweat drenched chiffon chunnis and cotton shirts; one in our resilience to brave all this and stand together to soak in the 'puram'.
And what did the women have to contend with? Besides all that the men valiantly bore up with, the women had the added test of harassment to pass. Jostling, groping, squeezing, pushing, feeling, touching; you might fight and scratch and elbow and hit, but what can you do between a dozen men on all sides resolutely fixed upon getting their fingers into one of your orifices. Not that it starts this way. In such a packed crowd, where you have been foolish enough to venture on the absurd quest of 'experiencing culture', it begins with the supposition that there is just no place for straying hands all around to rest, except on YOU! What are you and your anterior and posterior, but a simple handrest! But as the the drums pick up the tempo, a tribal primitive frenzy possesses the crowd, and it is all no longer the law abiding, genteel, civilized crowd that entered, but a savage, primaeval, opportunistic crowd tearing, ripping, jostling to get at its share of flesh.
This is how different an experience can be for a man and a woman.
I wonder how many women really saw and absorbed the paraphernalia of decked elephants and their acrobatic mahouts twirling the ornate umbrellas? How many of them left with wide-eyed horror and a seething humiliating rage and left to pour out their fury with futile words on their blogs?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Why "C.C."??!!
Clamouring Cauldrons. (CC)
Simply absurd, simply me.
Why?
Awright, i agree it's not the classiest or wittiest name to have, but besides my love for alliterations, CC will be a reflection of the constant churning within that characterises the conundrum called emotional complexity - which is the differentiating factor between 'developed', multicellular homo sapiens and unicellular amoebae.
So all you smart, discerning readers who are tempted to pass this off as teenage angst - you are right. Since i am not a protozoa, i DO suffer from teenage angst, EVEN in my twenties.
And maybe, just maybe, when you feel low and your brain reverberates with the clanging and clamouring of a myriad cauldrons, and you ache for lost loves and yearn for lost ones; when you feel a pain for growing distances and falling bridges; when you see figures fading at the horizon as move on along the trajectory of life; when life seems bleak, and dark and lonesome - maybe then you'll understand 'why'.
Simply absurd, simply me.
Why?
Awright, i agree it's not the classiest or wittiest name to have, but besides my love for alliterations, CC will be a reflection of the constant churning within that characterises the conundrum called emotional complexity - which is the differentiating factor between 'developed', multicellular homo sapiens and unicellular amoebae.
So all you smart, discerning readers who are tempted to pass this off as teenage angst - you are right. Since i am not a protozoa, i DO suffer from teenage angst, EVEN in my twenties.
And maybe, just maybe, when you feel low and your brain reverberates with the clanging and clamouring of a myriad cauldrons, and you ache for lost loves and yearn for lost ones; when you feel a pain for growing distances and falling bridges; when you see figures fading at the horizon as move on along the trajectory of life; when life seems bleak, and dark and lonesome - maybe then you'll understand 'why'.
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