[Story starts here]
There was a brightly colored tent with a board on it that read "Psychic Reading". Two women sat at a table right outside the tent, across from each other. One of them was a gypsy woman, her hair covered with a red cloth that was tied to a knot at the back of her head. She had her eyes closed, her palms locked and was muttering something that was too whispery to be comprehensible but yet had a tranquilizing effect. She was clearly the psychic in question. The woman seated across from her was resting her chin on one of her palms, with the little finger between her teeth. Her face was so plain that if you could fashion a face that represented an average over the faces of all the women in the country, you would end up with hers.
Between the two women, at the centre of the table, was the little box. It was a square wooden box with the most splendid lid Sarah had ever seen. Along the four edges of the lid were intricate and colorful drawings of mythical and supernatural beings of all kinds from across cultures - from gargoyles to chinese dragons to cherubs. There was a neat 'Z' shaped crack in the middle that let a hairline-thin streak of sunlight into the box. Something on the inside seemed to reflect the sunlight back through the crack, making the 'Z' look like a strike of lightning. The wood itself had a very dusty look about it, making the box look even more enigmatic.
The psychic opened her eyes slowly and smiled at the other woman. "Place both your palms on the box so your aura seeps in and then ask your questions", she said.
The plain lady did as she was told. "Can you tell me about my previous birth? What was I?"
The psychic placed her palms over the other lady's and again went into her muttering ritual. A few seconds later, she lifted her hands and asked the other lady to do the same. She then tenderly lifted the box's lid and took out an oval shaped mirror. She studied it closely for a few moments and then started talking in a slow, dragging tone. "A Roman woman", she said and paused a few seconds before she continued, "married off into an aristocratic family as a part of a political move. Your husband was a vicious man. You killed him. No one ever knew that it was you. "
"What else? Did I have any children? Did I have a lover? What did I look like?"
The psychic took on the questions, referring to her mirror every few minutes. But Sarah had stopped listening to the conversation. All her senses were focussed on the box. She decided to wait a little longer.
A quarter of an hour passed. The plain lady's psychic reading session came to a close. She seemed visibly happy with what she had learnt of her past life from the psychic. She made her payment and left. The gypsy woman got up from her chair, smiling at Sarah as she went into the tent with her new earnings, leaving the box on the table. Next minute, the box was in Sarah's pocket and a minute after that, Sarah was a long way off from the tent.
As she got close to home, she touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Then she felt her other pocket and made sure the two wallets and the watch she picked were safe.
[Continued here.]
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The Little Box - Part I
Outcome of another short story prompt - to write one that begins "She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled."
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She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Then she felt her other pocket and made sure the two wallets and the watch she picked were safe.
Sarah was only nine but she was already adept at the art that her father had mastered a few decades ago. She went to school and she knew she was going to be a doctor some day. But picking pockets was something her father did for a profession and she, for a weekend hobby. When Sarah was seven, Dan had mulled over whether he should let his daughter know of his true vocation. He finally decided he would tell her - he wanted her to know the truth. He did not intend for her to take part in any of it, but she insisted. He resisted in the beginning, but ultimately gave in, justifying his decision with the reasoning that they could do with the extra money. And so began her weekend pick pocketing travails.
That day her exploits had been at the Gypsy Fair that had come to town. It was pretty crowded at the fair grounds, as you would expect, and that made a perfect setting for Sarah's drill. Being only thirteen, she was struck by awe for what the fair had to offer. She decided to enjoy herself for a while in the web of excitement that engulfed the place, before she commenced on her stint. She walked around from one stall to another - there were craft stalls tended to by women in long flowy skirts and dangling earrings, there was a face painting stall for children, there were food stalls that wafted rich smells into the crisp air. Now and then some gypsy women would gather together to perform a dance for the onlookers, or some gypsy men performed tricks like swallowing fire or juggling knives. There were even pony rides and merry go rounds. Sarah let an hour pass by, ambling through the fair, cheerfully nibbling on a pink cotton candy.
She then got on to work. Her first victim was a thin, dark man who walked with a quick-paced funny strut, always leaving his wife two steps behind him. At first he didnt seem a likely candidate, given his wife was constantly right behind him but Sarah decided to follow them nevertheless on grounds of her self-devised rule number 7: People who acted all-knowing were almost always easy victims - and the guy fitted the "act all-knowing" description to the T. She got her chance when he was trying on sunglasses while his wife was checking out earrings at the adjacent jewellery stall. She deftly slipped out his peeping wallet from his back pocket as she walked by. She never came to know when he noticed his missing wallet since he decided not to buy any sunglasses from the stall. He ushered his wife to walk on, as he declared "its all cheap stuff here". By that time, Sarah had moved on to looking for her second victim.
It happened to be a blonde, fashionable girl with huge dark glasses, pointed heels and a small handbag with long handles. A rich dad's only-daughter, with an entourage of three fawning friends. She was walking alongside her friends with her handbag slung over her shoulder. The handbag had its mouth wide open since she was holding on to only one of its handles. Her small but florid wallet inside visibly had a large wad of money. As Sarah clasped the wallet and drew it out, she realized there was something else in the handbag that was coming along. She worried it might cause a tug at the handbag and alert attention, but that didnt happen. It - an ornate watch - came out effortlessly, along with the wallet.
Satisfied with her spoils for the day, Sarah had just started to head home, when she spotted the box.
[Continued here.]
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She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Then she felt her other pocket and made sure the two wallets and the watch she picked were safe.
Sarah was only nine but she was already adept at the art that her father had mastered a few decades ago. She went to school and she knew she was going to be a doctor some day. But picking pockets was something her father did for a profession and she, for a weekend hobby. When Sarah was seven, Dan had mulled over whether he should let his daughter know of his true vocation. He finally decided he would tell her - he wanted her to know the truth. He did not intend for her to take part in any of it, but she insisted. He resisted in the beginning, but ultimately gave in, justifying his decision with the reasoning that they could do with the extra money. And so began her weekend pick pocketing travails.
That day her exploits had been at the Gypsy Fair that had come to town. It was pretty crowded at the fair grounds, as you would expect, and that made a perfect setting for Sarah's drill. Being only thirteen, she was struck by awe for what the fair had to offer. She decided to enjoy herself for a while in the web of excitement that engulfed the place, before she commenced on her stint. She walked around from one stall to another - there were craft stalls tended to by women in long flowy skirts and dangling earrings, there was a face painting stall for children, there were food stalls that wafted rich smells into the crisp air. Now and then some gypsy women would gather together to perform a dance for the onlookers, or some gypsy men performed tricks like swallowing fire or juggling knives. There were even pony rides and merry go rounds. Sarah let an hour pass by, ambling through the fair, cheerfully nibbling on a pink cotton candy.
She then got on to work. Her first victim was a thin, dark man who walked with a quick-paced funny strut, always leaving his wife two steps behind him. At first he didnt seem a likely candidate, given his wife was constantly right behind him but Sarah decided to follow them nevertheless on grounds of her self-devised rule number 7: People who acted all-knowing were almost always easy victims - and the guy fitted the "act all-knowing" description to the T. She got her chance when he was trying on sunglasses while his wife was checking out earrings at the adjacent jewellery stall. She deftly slipped out his peeping wallet from his back pocket as she walked by. She never came to know when he noticed his missing wallet since he decided not to buy any sunglasses from the stall. He ushered his wife to walk on, as he declared "its all cheap stuff here". By that time, Sarah had moved on to looking for her second victim.
It happened to be a blonde, fashionable girl with huge dark glasses, pointed heels and a small handbag with long handles. A rich dad's only-daughter, with an entourage of three fawning friends. She was walking alongside her friends with her handbag slung over her shoulder. The handbag had its mouth wide open since she was holding on to only one of its handles. Her small but florid wallet inside visibly had a large wad of money. As Sarah clasped the wallet and drew it out, she realized there was something else in the handbag that was coming along. She worried it might cause a tug at the handbag and alert attention, but that didnt happen. It - an ornate watch - came out effortlessly, along with the wallet.
Satisfied with her spoils for the day, Sarah had just started to head home, when she spotted the box.
[Continued here.]
Synesthesia
A most interesting phenomenon I came across today: Synesthesia
Per wikipedia: "Synesthesia is a neurologically-based phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. In one common form of synesthesia, known as color synesthesia, letters or numbers are perceived as inherently colored, while in ordinal linguistic personification, numbers, days of the week and months of the year evoke personalities. In spatial-sequence, or number form synesthesia, numbers, months of the year, and/or days of the week elicit precise locations in space (for example, 1980 may be "farther away" than 1990), or may have a (three-dimensional) view of a year as a map (clockwise or counterclockwise)."
I am in awe at the byzantine ways of the brain!
Per wikipedia: "Synesthesia is a neurologically-based phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. In one common form of synesthesia, known as color synesthesia, letters or numbers are perceived as inherently colored, while in ordinal linguistic personification, numbers, days of the week and months of the year evoke personalities. In spatial-sequence, or number form synesthesia, numbers, months of the year, and/or days of the week elicit precise locations in space (for example, 1980 may be "farther away" than 1990), or may have a (three-dimensional) view of a year as a map (clockwise or counterclockwise)."
I am in awe at the byzantine ways of the brain!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
"It hit the house"
I came across a fiction writing exercise somewhere. The task was to write a piece based on or featuring or inspired by this sentence: "It hit the house". I took on the exercise and the story below is the outcome :)
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Mrs Sobers shoved me out of the house.
I had been with them for about 6 months. Her son brought me home one bright summer day and told Mrs Sobers I would be staying with them from then on. Mrs Sobers tried to sound enthusiastically welcoming. I could tell right then that she wasnt really excited about having me stay with them. But it wasnt until later that I realized that she actually detested me. I also figured why - she was jealous how attached her son was to me - we went out together every evening, I spent my nights by his side and just palming me brought a smile to his face every single time.
During my first week at their house, she flashed a mechanical smile whenever she saw us nestled together. In a matter of weeks, the smile turned into a scrowl, a scorn or a scream. She was adept at finding some reason to blow off her top and scream everytime she spotted us being chummy. She did smile at me on rare occassions (only when her son was around to see) when she wanted to patch up a tiff with her son, but it was as affected a smile as smiles can get. She also tried to keep us away from each other by sending him off to run errands whenever she got a chance. I chose to endure and forgive - I was just happy to be with Gary.
As things got worse still, in ways I dont wish to put to words, I should have expected it to happen. It did - on a cold and rainy October evening. She decided that was all she would have of me and forced me out of the house. I waited outside wishing her son would come running out to hoist me back in. He didnt. I dont blame him. Mrs Sobers had him pinned with her yells. They were more menacing than ever before. I could hear them from outside.
No one came for me that entire night. I found shelter under a large shrub, and sat there wet, dirty and huddled up.
Two more days in abandon. Long enough to unfold and inflate feelings of pent up anger against her. Painful enough to resolve to seek vengeance. Paulo Coelho, in his book, 'The Alchemist', said, "When you really want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it". I believe in it. I wanted to avenge my abuse and I only had to wait for the universe to work out the plan for me.
Fate is merciful and the universe is fair - my journey to revenge started just a day later.
Early in the morning of the third day, someone spotted me rundown and took me home. I went readily - I knew he was to be my tool for revenge. He was away most of morning that day, but he came back home in the evening. I tried to look my best - I needed to entice my tool into doing my job. He took me out the same evening to meet a friend of his.
"Dude, look what I got", he said to his friend, referring to me.
"Cool, dude! Nice ball! Where did you get it from?", his friend reacted.
"I found it, man. Under some bushes near that foreigner people's house where my mom works."
"Cool, lets use this ball then, its newer than the one we use."
"Ya, has a nice seam, will swing better. I bat first. You batted first last time."
"ok ok"
I almost blushed in excitement that the moment was not too far away.
The game of cricket began.
Murali's first throw was an illegal delivery ('no-ball', as they call it). Sunil played defensive and blocked me on the second.
Third time lucky, they say. The shot was a slog and I soared. Higher and higher every second... until I had cleared the tree tops... until I could see Mrs. Sobers' house.
I hung there for a second. Just long enough for a glimpse at the two agape mouths below. Then I swooped towards my target. I gathered momentum as I recollected how she flung me out and let the rain slush gather on me.
I plunged through the fiberglass bay window and shattered her most cherished possession in the house - her ultra expensive copper and white porcelain Ming vase.
Revenge is sweet they say. So it is.
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Mrs Sobers shoved me out of the house.
I had been with them for about 6 months. Her son brought me home one bright summer day and told Mrs Sobers I would be staying with them from then on. Mrs Sobers tried to sound enthusiastically welcoming. I could tell right then that she wasnt really excited about having me stay with them. But it wasnt until later that I realized that she actually detested me. I also figured why - she was jealous how attached her son was to me - we went out together every evening, I spent my nights by his side and just palming me brought a smile to his face every single time.
During my first week at their house, she flashed a mechanical smile whenever she saw us nestled together. In a matter of weeks, the smile turned into a scrowl, a scorn or a scream. She was adept at finding some reason to blow off her top and scream everytime she spotted us being chummy. She did smile at me on rare occassions (only when her son was around to see) when she wanted to patch up a tiff with her son, but it was as affected a smile as smiles can get. She also tried to keep us away from each other by sending him off to run errands whenever she got a chance. I chose to endure and forgive - I was just happy to be with Gary.
As things got worse still, in ways I dont wish to put to words, I should have expected it to happen. It did - on a cold and rainy October evening. She decided that was all she would have of me and forced me out of the house. I waited outside wishing her son would come running out to hoist me back in. He didnt. I dont blame him. Mrs Sobers had him pinned with her yells. They were more menacing than ever before. I could hear them from outside.
No one came for me that entire night. I found shelter under a large shrub, and sat there wet, dirty and huddled up.
Two more days in abandon. Long enough to unfold and inflate feelings of pent up anger against her. Painful enough to resolve to seek vengeance. Paulo Coelho, in his book, 'The Alchemist', said, "When you really want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it". I believe in it. I wanted to avenge my abuse and I only had to wait for the universe to work out the plan for me.
Fate is merciful and the universe is fair - my journey to revenge started just a day later.
Early in the morning of the third day, someone spotted me rundown and took me home. I went readily - I knew he was to be my tool for revenge. He was away most of morning that day, but he came back home in the evening. I tried to look my best - I needed to entice my tool into doing my job. He took me out the same evening to meet a friend of his.
"Dude, look what I got", he said to his friend, referring to me.
"Cool, dude! Nice ball! Where did you get it from?", his friend reacted.
"I found it, man. Under some bushes near that foreigner people's house where my mom works."
"Cool, lets use this ball then, its newer than the one we use."
"Ya, has a nice seam, will swing better. I bat first. You batted first last time."
"ok ok"
I almost blushed in excitement that the moment was not too far away.
The game of cricket began.
Murali's first throw was an illegal delivery ('no-ball', as they call it). Sunil played defensive and blocked me on the second.
Third time lucky, they say. The shot was a slog and I soared. Higher and higher every second... until I had cleared the tree tops... until I could see Mrs. Sobers' house.
I hung there for a second. Just long enough for a glimpse at the two agape mouths below. Then I swooped towards my target. I gathered momentum as I recollected how she flung me out and let the rain slush gather on me.
I plunged through the fiberglass bay window and shattered her most cherished possession in the house - her ultra expensive copper and white porcelain Ming vase.
Revenge is sweet they say. So it is.
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Monday, April 14, 2008
Coming to terms with the real world
Been a few years now since I stepped out of my parents' home and set foot into the "real world". And I am still teetering my way through it. The protective walls of pre-reality life's lessons I built around me are still crumbling as I scramble about clearing up the mess and trying to re-build the wall with new bricks of wisdom. Blocks of wisdom that give myriad shades of grey to my wall. Pieces of wisdom that sometimes dont exactly fit in with each other, leaving spaces in my wall.
Building the wall is exhausting, especially when you want to build one that is pre-eminent. It gets to me sometimes and a slack sets in. Soon enough, the wall becomes brutally unstable. The wall that was almost undiscovered when steady is soon at the converging end of countless pointed fingers. But soon after is when I am usually thankful in life for the few who rush in, not to use their fingers to point but to use their hands to hold it up for me.
Sometimes I climb up the wall, sit on it and look outside at other people's walls. Each time I find the world more labyrinthine than I could ever imagine it to be. I do this more often these days just to remind myself that my wall is more normal than I could ever imagine it to be.
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[This blog post was a resultant of practicing a writing exercise :)]
Building the wall is exhausting, especially when you want to build one that is pre-eminent. It gets to me sometimes and a slack sets in. Soon enough, the wall becomes brutally unstable. The wall that was almost undiscovered when steady is soon at the converging end of countless pointed fingers. But soon after is when I am usually thankful in life for the few who rush in, not to use their fingers to point but to use their hands to hold it up for me.
Sometimes I climb up the wall, sit on it and look outside at other people's walls. Each time I find the world more labyrinthine than I could ever imagine it to be. I do this more often these days just to remind myself that my wall is more normal than I could ever imagine it to be.
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[This blog post was a resultant of practicing a writing exercise :)]
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Creating a genius
-- Driving my car one day, my friend sitting next to me... a sudden ramming into the breaks somehow set off a spirited discussion between us about kinetic friction and inertia and other mechanics of motion...
-- I watched the movie 300 recently. Hunk-watch-excitement aside, I was intrigued by the non-fantasized parts of the spartan lifestyle and the Battle of Thermopylae depicted in the movie. Soon after the movie, I caught up with the real, whole story of spartan history on wikipedia...
(Apart from flaunting the tiny undercover geek in me) why are these of any significance? - Well, these are hand picked instances of how much excitement I have been getting oflate from learning and discussing such topics... which is interesting because these (physics and world history) were my least favorite subjects in school.
Not that I did not bother to leaf through my physics or history textbooks in school - I did... and did it well. But the motivating factor was almost always scoring points in exams.
But now, I could devour all my physics and history text books in zest... in an unrequitted love for knowledge.
So, I have been wondering why this cognition-thristing-me did not happen 10-15 years ago... and in general about what it takes to impart this kind of a passion for knowledge in students early in their lifetime... what it takes to create a genius... what it takes to create many geniuses.
Dont most of us remember that one teacher who imbued us with a profound passion for his/her subject? So does the answer lie in making more great teachers?
I have stared at pages of laplace transforms or details on the second battle of panipat wondering what in "real life" anyone could possibly do learning all that. Is it about having us realize early-on how real they really are?
If some kid did have the learning-lust, would he/she score as well in exams as would his textbook-cramming counterpart? Maybe not. In all probability, the learning-luster would have wandered off to realms beyond his/her textbooks, and fall behind on the kind of questions which you could answer only if you had read the 4th word on the 7th line of the 52nd page of the textbook. Should the evaluation system change to credit the avant-gardist?
My recent interest was further piqued by books such as 'The Cartoon Guide to the History of the Universe' and 'A Short History of Nearly Everything' that convey much the same principles and facts as did our school textbooks, but in a much more fun manner. Should textbooks be re-written to make them more engaging?
I can ramble on and conjure up ten other ideas for spawning prodigies... but I would love to help.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Lesser Beings
Unalienable feelings tell me that right at this moment I should have been hanging upside down from a tree or licking myself clean or sleeping standing up or guarding eggs, instead of wasting my time wording this rant. God made a eleventh-hour decision to make me "civilized" and so here I am - inadept at climbing a tree, cringing at the thought of my own saliva on my own skin, able to day-dream but unable to sleep standing, unqualified to lay eggs..... but totally appreciative of our incessant use of grey cells for mindless inventions of unnecessary mechanisms to help us do even more pointless things. But once in a while, like now, lightning strikes and for a brief moment as I stand semi-dazed, I look at myself and think "This was not what was meant to be".
Ironically, this time the lightning strike was induced by a creation by a few saner ones of the civilized kind: a movie called 'Animals are Beautiful People' (a fantabulastic movie for an animal lover, but still makes for a good watch just by virtue of being hillarious). A flurry of feelings convince me that we are plumetting headlong down the evolution trench instead of moving up the ladder, as we claim it to be. While I wont deny that it is partly because I should have been born in a zoo, it sounds pretty rational to my constantly tornado-ing human mind too. I noodle over thoughts ...
Ironically, this time the lightning strike was induced by a creation by a few saner ones of the civilized kind: a movie called 'Animals are Beautiful People' (a fantabulastic movie for an animal lover, but still makes for a good watch just by virtue of being hillarious). A flurry of feelings convince me that we are plumetting headlong down the evolution trench instead of moving up the ladder, as we claim it to be. While I wont deny that it is partly because I should have been born in a zoo, it sounds pretty rational to my constantly tornado-ing human mind too. I noodle over thoughts ...
- Isnt it all wrong that we need to be taught 'right' and 'wrong' all our lives, and right is not just instinctive like it is for every other creature?
- Why do we have the need to seek meaning in things that are just intrinsically beautiful like love and life and happiness?
- Which of God's beings but us are so tired of work that our ultimate dream is 'retirement'?
- When you sit beside someone of your kind and dont have anything to say (and there is no idiot box around), so often the silence is "uncomfortable".
- Being disloyal comes naturally, while no other creature can even be taught disloyality.
- Suicide?
- Every-day life is so bad that we all feel the need for regular vacations to "escape" from every-day life? We are one of the few creatures that can actually see the zillion bright and happy colors around us, but still are one of the unhappiest.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Apologies encompassed
To those who I hurt
But never wanted to:
I dint know any better then
What else could I do?
I had to learn somewhere,
I'm just sorry it was with you.
But never wanted to:
I dint know any better then
What else could I do?
I had to learn somewhere,
I'm just sorry it was with you.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Settled Scores
I tore up all the letters that I had tucked away neatly in that special nook in my cupboard. I threw the rubble into the drain and waited to see the words dissolve into a somber murk. It was over... finally over (- at least for now - somethings just keep coming back to haunt you).
It wasnt easy... parting with what you hold cherished never is. I had managed to put it off until then, convincing myself with puerile reasons. But ultimately, it had to be done - it was the "right" thing to do and the world seems to think that is reason enough to do it.
A week has passed since then. The bitterness of the parting has waned as if the emotions were never true. All that remains is a sense of relief - relief that I have paid my bills for the month, even if it meant parting with my cherished, hard-earned money. The nook in my cupboard starts filling up with unopened mail.
It wasnt easy... parting with what you hold cherished never is. I had managed to put it off until then, convincing myself with puerile reasons. But ultimately, it had to be done - it was the "right" thing to do and the world seems to think that is reason enough to do it.
A week has passed since then. The bitterness of the parting has waned as if the emotions were never true. All that remains is a sense of relief - relief that I have paid my bills for the month, even if it meant parting with my cherished, hard-earned money. The nook in my cupboard starts filling up with unopened mail.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Finding Home
I waited by my window
to see him walk by
Hoping one day
to catch his eye.
My fingers curled
tight around the rail
As his familiar form
had my eyes trail.
My heart beat
to the rhythm of his tread
As he walked unmindful
to my feelings unsaid.
For weeks and months
I watched him from my window
Till one day he stopped coming
But never did my desire mellow.
Sitting on my doorstep
one lovely morning
I was sipping at my cup
of coffee and whipping.
It happened in a flash
And there he stood fine
with his eyes firmly locked
right onto mine.
My eyes welled
I felt wetness on the brim
I knew he longed for me
Much as I yearned for him.
He came sat by my side
His hands touched my skin
The thrill was boundless
Like it was almost sin.
My heart pained in the pleasure
I left him and ran indoor
wholly unable to bear
feelings never felt before.
He followed me in
Just as him I started to miss
Then I set supper for us
while he got set to make me his.
As he lapped up his milk
and rubbed my leg against his neckline
I knew he was mine,
My very own pet feline.
to see him walk by
Hoping one day
to catch his eye.
My fingers curled
tight around the rail
As his familiar form
had my eyes trail.
My heart beat
to the rhythm of his tread
As he walked unmindful
to my feelings unsaid.
For weeks and months
I watched him from my window
Till one day he stopped coming
But never did my desire mellow.
Sitting on my doorstep
one lovely morning
I was sipping at my cup
of coffee and whipping.
It happened in a flash
And there he stood fine
with his eyes firmly locked
right onto mine.
My eyes welled
I felt wetness on the brim
I knew he longed for me
Much as I yearned for him.
He came sat by my side
His hands touched my skin
The thrill was boundless
Like it was almost sin.
My heart pained in the pleasure
I left him and ran indoor
wholly unable to bear
feelings never felt before.
He followed me in
Just as him I started to miss
Then I set supper for us
while he got set to make me his.
As he lapped up his milk
and rubbed my leg against his neckline
I knew he was mine,
My very own pet feline.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Veiled wounds
A lovely evening, a charming hostess
Glitterring guests, flush and famous.
Sweet wine, sparkling crystal,
Delightful music, airy and ageless.
Satin on every shoulder, aroma in every breath,
Flowers in baskets, of every color in the palette.
Mirrors on walls, art on domes
And bloodstains under the carpet.
Glitterring guests, flush and famous.
Sweet wine, sparkling crystal,
Delightful music, airy and ageless.
Satin on every shoulder, aroma in every breath,
Flowers in baskets, of every color in the palette.
Mirrors on walls, art on domes
And bloodstains under the carpet.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
A fragrant fleet
I have hardly ever had a friend or a foe who hasnt taught me a thing or two. But there are others still who I have hardly known but yet did not fail to leave a mark on me. These people have blown into my life and darted out of it as I only stood looking... but not without leaving their fragrance behind... forever. A tribute to them and to those moments.
You may not remember me
I must be one of a thousand.
I cannot forget thee
The fragrance has not weakened.
You stirred me, you swayed me,
But you will never know.
It is something I truly felt
But never told you so.
My memories dont summon you often.
You dont make my everyday.
But you will make a story that
My children will know some day.
You wont fly into me again,
For that I dont feel sorry.
I know you blew away for
You were never meant to be.
You may not remember me
I must be one of a thousand.
I cannot forget thee
The fragrance has not weakened.
You stirred me, you swayed me,
But you will never know.
It is something I truly felt
But never told you so.
My memories dont summon you often.
You dont make my everyday.
But you will make a story that
My children will know some day.
You wont fly into me again,
For that I dont feel sorry.
I know you blew away for
You were never meant to be.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Pinnacle of piousness!
My friend's boyfriend's uncle was coming to visit them. So she scurried home several hours in advance to "purify" their home, in preparation. Here goes a true story from the famous uncle's legend: He was once visiting a family friend. While using their bathroom, he noticed a Victoria Secret catalog in one of their bathroom shelves. He promptly took it to the trash, feeling very honored to have helped a friend to become more "holy" and "virtuous"!
Even funnier is when you let you imagination run wild and picture what people would do to "clean up" if he were visiting their home.. LOL! I hope my friend's home doesnt get incarcerated in a month-long purification ritual because he spotted pills on an old shopping bill or "carmen electra" in the search history on their PC :p
What terror are tornados and thieves, when you have uncles like these :p
The next day.
Of course I did ask my friend how things turned out with the visit and what "scandalous" things he helped them renounce. "Hmm.. no.. no such happened", she said. Just as I was getting disappointed that all this hype was in vain and that I lost a good story, she continued: In an effort to find something to do that was far fetched from any controversy, my friend suggested that they all go see this documentary, "An Inconvinient Truth" (In case you havent heard, it is a documentary on Al Gore's efforts to raise awareness on the issues concerning global warming - a very informative and entertaining piece of work). The uncle promptly decided against the idea because he did not *believe* in global warming! According to his orthodox religious beliefs, nature is God and cannot be affected by any of human's activities.
Howizdat for a story! Me likeyyyyyy :D
Even funnier is when you let you imagination run wild and picture what people would do to "clean up" if he were visiting their home.. LOL! I hope my friend's home doesnt get incarcerated in a month-long purification ritual because he spotted pills on an old shopping bill or "carmen electra" in the search history on their PC :p
What terror are tornados and thieves, when you have uncles like these :p
The next day.
Of course I did ask my friend how things turned out with the visit and what "scandalous" things he helped them renounce. "Hmm.. no.. no such happened", she said. Just as I was getting disappointed that all this hype was in vain and that I lost a good story, she continued: In an effort to find something to do that was far fetched from any controversy, my friend suggested that they all go see this documentary, "An Inconvinient Truth" (In case you havent heard, it is a documentary on Al Gore's efforts to raise awareness on the issues concerning global warming - a very informative and entertaining piece of work). The uncle promptly decided against the idea because he did not *believe* in global warming! According to his orthodox religious beliefs, nature is God and cannot be affected by any of human's activities.
Howizdat for a story! Me likeyyyyyy :D
Sunday, April 02, 2006
"Oh so true..." s
"I need help when I have a fake smile, not genuine tears..."
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects." -Robert A. Heinlein
yake artha balige (Why should there be a meaning to life?)
yake artha nalege (Why should there be a meaning to our tomorrows)
artha ondu yaake beku
arali naguva hoovige (Why search for meaning in something implicitly beautiful - like a flower in bloom) - Dr. N.S. Laksminarayana Bhatta
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects." -Robert A. Heinlein
yake artha balige (Why should there be a meaning to life?)
yake artha nalege (Why should there be a meaning to our tomorrows)
artha ondu yaake beku
arali naguva hoovige (Why search for meaning in something implicitly beautiful - like a flower in bloom) - Dr. N.S. Laksminarayana Bhatta
Monday, March 06, 2006
Behold the balloons
I wondered
All these people I see
Some known, some unknown
What do they think of me?
I wished
White balloons of thoughts
Popped from their heads
And showed me what I wanted to see.
I guessed
I would then inspect
How many people found me quirky
And how many found me pretty.
I conceived
Darting out those thoughts
That I knew were misled or those
That portrayed my person untruly.
I realized
I am me to noone but me
And it would take forever
Did I go on a balloon bursting spree.
I poised
Content the balloons are nowhere
And that things are just fine
The way they were meant to be.
All these people I see
Some known, some unknown
What do they think of me?
I wished
White balloons of thoughts
Popped from their heads
And showed me what I wanted to see.
I guessed
I would then inspect
How many people found me quirky
And how many found me pretty.
I conceived
Darting out those thoughts
That I knew were misled or those
That portrayed my person untruly.
I realized
I am me to noone but me
And it would take forever
Did I go on a balloon bursting spree.
I poised
Content the balloons are nowhere
And that things are just fine
The way they were meant to be.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Gold-plated problems
Someone I know was cribbing to me about how it had been two months since he ordered his new BMW and it was yet to arrive. Meanwhile he had to make do with driving his poor old Honda. I voiced my most-concerned-sounding "oh that is bad" and dint voice my "Vaat ye peter" (translates to "Now that you have advertised your very depressing situation, I need to head back home in my second-hand bicycle" - with due apologies from singara chennai's lord labakdaas language to all he whose parents named him 'Peter'). Petering around, he was; but it got me thinking about how most of our problems are "gold-plated" at one level or the other. These are problems we have because we are well-off enough to have them.
For the rest of this blog entry, I could give you a motivational talk about how to think positive and be grateful for one'ssecond-hand bicycles problems. But I realize that in the time that I struggle and fish for words of inspiration to fill three sentences, Oprah would have dished out three talk shows on the topic and three volumes of "The 420 habits of highly problem-free people" would have been published.
So.. I choose to play light and list all those high-end peterings-of-the-problemings that I have said/heard. Join in, readers :)
1. "I am in this big fix as to which of my admit-offers I should accept - MIT, CMU or Stanford. "
(observer's inner voice: "Hmm.. so sad you dint get an admit offer from Aminjikarai Village Community College")
2. "Oh! Dont even ask my pathetic score - I missed a centum in Math by 1 point"
(observer's inner voice: "Shoot! And I was thinking I had a bad score when I've managed to pass the exam!")
3. Typical interview scenario.
Interviewer: "So, tell me - what would you say your one big weakness is?"
Interviewee: "I work too hard. I love my work so much that I dont take a second's break till I have completed the task at hand."
(observer's inner voice: "Sahi Jawaab! But sorry mister, but we only hire people who dont like to work at all.")
(Me: Cant blame the interviewee. What is the point of such questions in interviews anyways when all you can expect to hear is well-prepared, concealed boasting masquerading as self-denigration.)
Finally, a mindful moral of a mindless blog-entry, to make up for the motivational talk that I did not give: While the BMW story is not true anyway (I made it up to give me a head-start on the writing), the rest were not quoted as a mockery (despite the seeming spite in the "observer's inner voice"). My reason for picking on these instances is to provide an exaggeration to put forth my point: To someone else, our genuine problems could sound as as frivolous as those. If we could read into the lives of people around us, we would realize that most of our own problems are gold-plated on a comparative scale.
For the rest of this blog entry, I could give you a motivational talk about how to think positive and be grateful for one's
So.. I choose to play light and list all those high-end peterings-of-the-problemings that I have said/heard. Join in, readers :)
1. "I am in this big fix as to which of my admit-offers I should accept - MIT, CMU or Stanford. "
(observer's inner voice: "Hmm.. so sad you dint get an admit offer from Aminjikarai Village Community College")
2. "Oh! Dont even ask my pathetic score - I missed a centum in Math by 1 point"
(observer's inner voice: "Shoot! And I was thinking I had a bad score when I've managed to pass the exam!")
3. Typical interview scenario.
Interviewer: "So, tell me - what would you say your one big weakness is?"
Interviewee: "I work too hard. I love my work so much that I dont take a second's break till I have completed the task at hand."
(observer's inner voice: "Sahi Jawaab! But sorry mister, but we only hire people who dont like to work at all.")
(Me: Cant blame the interviewee. What is the point of such questions in interviews anyways when all you can expect to hear is well-prepared, concealed boasting masquerading as self-denigration.)
Finally, a mindful moral of a mindless blog-entry, to make up for the motivational talk that I did not give: While the BMW story is not true anyway (I made it up to give me a head-start on the writing), the rest were not quoted as a mockery (despite the seeming spite in the "observer's inner voice"). My reason for picking on these instances is to provide an exaggeration to put forth my point: To someone else, our genuine problems could sound as as frivolous as those. If we could read into the lives of people around us, we would realize that most of our own problems are gold-plated on a comparative scale.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
When life is listless and times are torturous....
inspiration comes super-size in the form of south Indian cinema. For all those who have been struck by the great misfortune of not having had the opportunity of reveling in its resplendence, South Indian cinema abounds in...
what technology is yet to see: Hypersonic positron emission triggered by the static generated due to triboelectric effect between the epithelial cells and the terminal hair follicles of Namma Captain Sir!
what Keats and P.B. Shelly died without hearing: http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=KIcA4aV86Sg
what technology is yet to see: Hypersonic positron emission triggered by the static generated due to triboelectric effect between the epithelial cells and the terminal hair follicles of Namma Captain Sir!
what Keats and P.B. Shelly died without hearing: http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=KIcA4aV86Sg
Monday, November 28, 2005
Pieces of Life
If everybody you have ever met in life came together, would they be able to piece together every single bit of your life?
Jeffrey Archer answered it in part, I believe - "Everyone has had an experience that if they wrote about, it would appear to others as pure fiction".
Jeffrey Archer answered it in part, I believe - "Everyone has had an experience that if they wrote about, it would appear to others as pure fiction".
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Single is saddening?
A friend emailed me yesterday. She had recently got engaged to some guy after having given the nod based on two telephone conversations - both of which, I am fairly sure, were the "lets see how much we can impress each other" kind. And here I am, paranoid about the eventual yes I might have to give some guy after my alloted 6-months to assess our compatibility. To satiate your curiosity about the "6-month ultimatum": it was a compromise between my hypothesis that you should live with someone for a while to be anywhere close to "assessing" compatibilities with them(which I did not dare to voice out loud using these exact words and when I tried a subtler, less forbidden version it came out sounding a soap-opera-ish "It takes a long time to really get to know someone") and the general parental 3-step strategy of 'look at resume - talk once - walk once'. We finally reached upon the 6-month-concensus after I convinced them that I will conform to their norms - just that the walk would be a long one. And they gave in, fearing that if they dint, the walk would turn into a run, and the run, into a run-away. While that sure was nostalgic to many, funny to a few, and insipid to the rest, the purpose of this entry is to disorient you in other ways. But I promise to chew on this topic some other day.
Reverting back to my friend, she and her fiance are now in the "getting to know each other" mode. And she is thoroughly enjoying having someone to fuss over her - quite fair: what more can one ask for than dedicated servicing? In her email to me, she had written "I hope you find your guy soon too - so that you can enjoy like I am enjoying." I was aghast. When did a single life become so agonizing that finding a partner was like the ultimate salvation from the excruciating pain? This is not a sole instance. After congratulating him on his new job, my college-mate's professor told him "Now, in a few months, I am sure you will want to be married". If he was prophesizing, wow, that is something; but if he was voicing his vote for escaping from single life, man, he should read this blog entry!
I am sure it cant get better than having a loving, committed partner to enjoy the bounties of life with. But being single does not mean you are down in the depressed dumps either.
Being single and independent is a liberating feeling. 1) While it is definitely relieving to have someone to descend all your worries upon and lay-back in the comfort that there is someone to divide your agony in half, it is bliss to grab it in full, solve it in solitary, and lay-back in the pride of achievement. 2) As cheesy as it may sound - you have a soul-mate in you who loves you exactly the way you love yourself - isnt this also what you look for in a third-party life-partner who lives in a different (and if you are lucky, a Brad-Pitt-ish looking :p) body? So how bad can it be to live for and live by yourself for a little bit of your life? [3) And then of course, you have all the time in the world to write desultory blogs on obscure topics to be read by other singles.]
Apart from those vaguely convincing set of reasons, I have my personal favourite. I want to establish a "me" before becoming a "we". There are things that I want to and need to learn by myself before I can do a combined-studies with my life-partner - there are things that one cannot learn once bonded in a life-long hookup (and maybe that is for the good, you think?). I have nothing against marriage - its a lovely institution and one that I will gladly be a part of pretty soon. But being single is an institution too - if you can call anything that teaches you, an institution.
"Sure thing!", I wrote, when I replied to her email, "I'm next in line :)"
Reverting back to my friend, she and her fiance are now in the "getting to know each other" mode. And she is thoroughly enjoying having someone to fuss over her - quite fair: what more can one ask for than dedicated servicing? In her email to me, she had written "I hope you find your guy soon too - so that you can enjoy like I am enjoying." I was aghast. When did a single life become so agonizing that finding a partner was like the ultimate salvation from the excruciating pain? This is not a sole instance. After congratulating him on his new job, my college-mate's professor told him "Now, in a few months, I am sure you will want to be married". If he was prophesizing, wow, that is something; but if he was voicing his vote for escaping from single life, man, he should read this blog entry!
I am sure it cant get better than having a loving, committed partner to enjoy the bounties of life with. But being single does not mean you are down in the depressed dumps either.
Being single and independent is a liberating feeling. 1) While it is definitely relieving to have someone to descend all your worries upon and lay-back in the comfort that there is someone to divide your agony in half, it is bliss to grab it in full, solve it in solitary, and lay-back in the pride of achievement. 2) As cheesy as it may sound - you have a soul-mate in you who loves you exactly the way you love yourself - isnt this also what you look for in a third-party life-partner who lives in a different (and if you are lucky, a Brad-Pitt-ish looking :p) body? So how bad can it be to live for and live by yourself for a little bit of your life? [3) And then of course, you have all the time in the world to write desultory blogs on obscure topics to be read by other singles.]
Apart from those vaguely convincing set of reasons, I have my personal favourite. I want to establish a "me" before becoming a "we". There are things that I want to and need to learn by myself before I can do a combined-studies with my life-partner - there are things that one cannot learn once bonded in a life-long hookup (and maybe that is for the good, you think?). I have nothing against marriage - its a lovely institution and one that I will gladly be a part of pretty soon. But being single is an institution too - if you can call anything that teaches you, an institution.
"Sure thing!", I wrote, when I replied to her email, "I'm next in line :)"
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