I bet you all must be pitying me about my sad plight living in Bihar and now in Haridwar. But Haridwar seems to be pretty darn good. Well except for the fact that there is no Non-vegetarian food (Not even eggs) available for a radius of about 8km and there are no PYTs roaming around (Pretty young things – for all the ignorant). I live in the wilderness in the industrial belt in a place called Ranipur in Haridwar.
This weekend was a 2-day holiday for me. One of course was the usual Sunday and the other was the Mahatma’s birthday that fortunately fell on a Monday (Bless his soul) giving me a 2-day weekend. (No Saturdays are not off J ) So we decided to take off higher up north into the Himalayas. You would have to forgive my childish excitement as this was the first time I was touring this part of our great motherland. We hit the road at about 9 am on Sunday and headed out towards Dehradhun. That is about 50 km from where I am. Nothing great about that. The next stop was at a place called Mussoorie Jheel – a modest 2000 m (6500ft) above sea level I think. Here there is an artificial lake with paddle boats. Not too exciting.
But what caught my attention was a faded board that said "Paragliding". The board looked really ancient and I wondered whether they were still in operation. Well I told me colleagues that I would check it out and return. They volunteered to come and cheer me on. J So we walked down the narrow part in the mountains and saw this huge parachute strung out over the cliff. It was so on! Going towards the edge I saw that there was a small artificial platform where there was this girl strapped to the parachute and an instructor, both waiting for the wind. My heart was hammering as I looked over the cliff into nothingness below.
Well I then paid up and stood for my turn. A strong gust of wind took them over the cliff the parachute blossoming above and a heart thumping, breath stopping ride all the way down. As soon as they were back, it was my turn. I could hardly hear what my colleagues were saying because of the blood thumping in my ears blotting out all the sound. The harness was fitted over me and I clamped the helmet over my head. The sound of the thumping grew louder.
I waited for the wind.
As I looked back over my shoulder past my instructor, I saw a faded advertisement for a popular cola; the tagline – "Life ho tho aisi". Seriously man!!
I was suddenly very helplessly pulled off my feet and backward. Looking up I saw the orange and white parachute blooming over me. The instructor was yelling at me to run. I picked up my feet and (sorry for the cliché) ran like the wind J without a second thought. Closer towards the end of the cliff. It was so darn crazy!
When all of a sudden… there was silence… and nothing below me.
We were airborne. There was a lovely feeling of floating over the air. I could see the people below like ants. I was flying. I noticed the mountains in the distance and around me. The sky was azure and wind gentle. The valley sloped away smoothly into the horizon.
As we got closer to the ground, the wind dropped a little. I felt as though I was in a free fall when the chute caught the air again. There was this loud roaring sound as we so closer towards the ground. The instructor was giving me a landing lesson mid air as we were about to touch down!! I touched down in a perfect 10 landing J What an awesome high!
White water rafting seems to be next… Watch this space!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
My kinda drug - Mumbai!
My kinda drug - Mumbai!
Since there is so much going around about my beautiful city, I feel compelled to add my point of view too.
Mumbai is not a city.... It is a NARCOTIC! I shall tell you why...
You come to this city, a stranger from a foreign land. Any place out of Mumbai is foreign to us. No matter whether you have come in by plane, train, bus or even with a sack of clothes ties to the end of a stick, walking over the bridge at Vashi or trundling over the one at Thane. You may have even come in by boat or handcuffed in the back of a police van. No matter how you come or where you come from the moment you enter this island city you become a Mumbaikar; or a Mumbaite as some would like to call it. You don't have to wait 5 years or even 5 minutes to be called a Mumbaite and be treated like one. You already are one.
The first thing that you notice about the place is the amount of people and the speed and the synchronization at which we all move. I remember this friend of mine from Delhi, who had recently arrived in Mumbai saying "Man! Where the heck have all these people come from?" You may be amazed at the pace the city moves with as it seemingly ignores the slow you. You may feel left behind. I urge you to stand on any railway station in the morning waiting to get into a train to go to Churchgate. You are slow.... people are whizzing past you. Suddenly as the train stops, you notice the mass of humanity pouring out and then feel the surge and strength of the people getting in. You are swept off your feet and suddenly you are in the train. Not so slow now are you? Still not satisfied? But you have felt the first dose/shot of the drug. The effects are bad. The people in the train are all sticking to you and pushing you. You cannot stand it. You are nauseated. You stumble off at Churchgate and go about your business.
You wonder how you are going to manage this. This didn't seem like such a good idea after all. Or was it that you were transferred here? At night you are alone and the city is still abuzz. Trust me it never sleeps. The second day goes by... you are exhausted and frustrated by night.... Then comes the third and the forth..... it is the weekend. Well... well... a day of rest finally! You have it all wrong there. The city wakes up to a weekend of partying. So many places... so many people... as usual there is space for all. Everyone is accommodated. You are beginning to enjoy the high. It is two weeks that you are here and you are hooked on to the city. The pace of life gives you the high. The people give you the high. When you are late for work, everyone pulls you into that moving Churchgate fast. Then you realise that you are not alone. You chat and laugh with complete strangers in the train. Whatever happened to what your parents told you about not talking to strangers? All of a sudden you are not alone. You have realised that people are as friendly as anyone can be. Any part of the day or night there are people willing to lend you a patient ear. You can never be lost and more importantly you can never be alone!
There was this time I had to go someplace and didn't know how. I just asked a passerby on the street at Fountain and he said he was going the same way. Well I had a new friend for 10 mins. I have never met him since. Another time, while I was going back home from work, a friend and I got off the company bus at Bandra east. I was so annoyed at having had my sleep in the bus disturbed, but I had to go home and didn't really want to sit in the bus. This well dressed man comes up to us and asks us if we have change for a 100. I didn't but my friend did. He thanked us and told us that he would have otherwise had to pay the auto-rickshaw guy a 100 bucks for a 20 rupees journey. He asked us where we were going and it turned out that we were going the same way. So he offered us a lift in a friends car. In my sleep all I noticed was a shiny black 'big' car. I got in and promptly dozed off on the plush leather seats. I woke up when we reached and then realised that a complete stranger had given us a lift in a spanking new Mercedes. I have made many many more such friends. And I shall make many more too!
Live in the city and move with the flow to understand and I guarantee that you will be addicted. Once you are hooked on, there is no known cure or rehabilitation. But then who would want stop feeling the pulse of life in him. Feel it eating bhutta at Juhu, feel it in the splash of waves breaking over Marine drive, feel it in the people who come forward with nothing to ask back in calamities, feel it in the throb of Mumbai's lifelines... the local trains, the buses, the streets, the chai shops, the skyscrapers, the slums, the elevators, feel it everywhere. It is a city that you don't live in... it lives in you. It is the place at the end of the beanstalk that you dream about at night. It is a mess in the monsoons and oppressive in the summers - the only two distinguishable seasons made apparent by the lack of rain in the latter. It is a place where people in suits and auto rickshaw drivers dine at the same table. It is the friend about whom you wondered how you lived your life without. It is your solace when you are down and kick in the seat of your pants telling you to get up and move on. The smell might leave you holding your breath often and the speed will leave you breathless always. Feel Mumbai... it is already inside your veins. You are already addicted.
Just like the Eagles sang in 'Hotel California' "You may check out anytime you like, but you can never leave"
Since there is so much going around about my beautiful city, I feel compelled to add my point of view too.
Mumbai is not a city.... It is a NARCOTIC! I shall tell you why...
You come to this city, a stranger from a foreign land. Any place out of Mumbai is foreign to us. No matter whether you have come in by plane, train, bus or even with a sack of clothes ties to the end of a stick, walking over the bridge at Vashi or trundling over the one at Thane. You may have even come in by boat or handcuffed in the back of a police van. No matter how you come or where you come from the moment you enter this island city you become a Mumbaikar; or a Mumbaite as some would like to call it. You don't have to wait 5 years or even 5 minutes to be called a Mumbaite and be treated like one. You already are one.
The first thing that you notice about the place is the amount of people and the speed and the synchronization at which we all move. I remember this friend of mine from Delhi, who had recently arrived in Mumbai saying "Man! Where the heck have all these people come from?" You may be amazed at the pace the city moves with as it seemingly ignores the slow you. You may feel left behind. I urge you to stand on any railway station in the morning waiting to get into a train to go to Churchgate. You are slow.... people are whizzing past you. Suddenly as the train stops, you notice the mass of humanity pouring out and then feel the surge and strength of the people getting in. You are swept off your feet and suddenly you are in the train. Not so slow now are you? Still not satisfied? But you have felt the first dose/shot of the drug. The effects are bad. The people in the train are all sticking to you and pushing you. You cannot stand it. You are nauseated. You stumble off at Churchgate and go about your business.
You wonder how you are going to manage this. This didn't seem like such a good idea after all. Or was it that you were transferred here? At night you are alone and the city is still abuzz. Trust me it never sleeps. The second day goes by... you are exhausted and frustrated by night.... Then comes the third and the forth..... it is the weekend. Well... well... a day of rest finally! You have it all wrong there. The city wakes up to a weekend of partying. So many places... so many people... as usual there is space for all. Everyone is accommodated. You are beginning to enjoy the high. It is two weeks that you are here and you are hooked on to the city. The pace of life gives you the high. The people give you the high. When you are late for work, everyone pulls you into that moving Churchgate fast. Then you realise that you are not alone. You chat and laugh with complete strangers in the train. Whatever happened to what your parents told you about not talking to strangers? All of a sudden you are not alone. You have realised that people are as friendly as anyone can be. Any part of the day or night there are people willing to lend you a patient ear. You can never be lost and more importantly you can never be alone!
There was this time I had to go someplace and didn't know how. I just asked a passerby on the street at Fountain and he said he was going the same way. Well I had a new friend for 10 mins. I have never met him since. Another time, while I was going back home from work, a friend and I got off the company bus at Bandra east. I was so annoyed at having had my sleep in the bus disturbed, but I had to go home and didn't really want to sit in the bus. This well dressed man comes up to us and asks us if we have change for a 100. I didn't but my friend did. He thanked us and told us that he would have otherwise had to pay the auto-rickshaw guy a 100 bucks for a 20 rupees journey. He asked us where we were going and it turned out that we were going the same way. So he offered us a lift in a friends car. In my sleep all I noticed was a shiny black 'big' car. I got in and promptly dozed off on the plush leather seats. I woke up when we reached and then realised that a complete stranger had given us a lift in a spanking new Mercedes. I have made many many more such friends. And I shall make many more too!
Live in the city and move with the flow to understand and I guarantee that you will be addicted. Once you are hooked on, there is no known cure or rehabilitation. But then who would want stop feeling the pulse of life in him. Feel it eating bhutta at Juhu, feel it in the splash of waves breaking over Marine drive, feel it in the people who come forward with nothing to ask back in calamities, feel it in the throb of Mumbai's lifelines... the local trains, the buses, the streets, the chai shops, the skyscrapers, the slums, the elevators, feel it everywhere. It is a city that you don't live in... it lives in you. It is the place at the end of the beanstalk that you dream about at night. It is a mess in the monsoons and oppressive in the summers - the only two distinguishable seasons made apparent by the lack of rain in the latter. It is a place where people in suits and auto rickshaw drivers dine at the same table. It is the friend about whom you wondered how you lived your life without. It is your solace when you are down and kick in the seat of your pants telling you to get up and move on. The smell might leave you holding your breath often and the speed will leave you breathless always. Feel Mumbai... it is already inside your veins. You are already addicted.
Just like the Eagles sang in 'Hotel California' "You may check out anytime you like, but you can never leave"
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Bus ride in Chennai!
So what if I thought that Chennai was a bad place. I mean it is all you guys fault for telling me this... Yeah Ms. AR I ain't talking about you. You are going to have to forgive me for that ok? Ok ok that is not fair... You can't hold me to a Nalli sari.
So like I was saying... Chennai is good. Well it actually helped that you lowered my expectations so much, so when I actually came to tambi-land it was actually good. Rather is actually good. I mean the language barrier is really bad. I managed to learn to be able to speak a respectable amount of Hindi, only to come here and find out that our dark-skinned, coconut loving brethren consider Tamil to be out national language. I mean they would like it so. Something to do with the Dravidian race. I won't get into those specifics now. But that is the scene. I shudder to think that this country would miss this brilliant engineering mind (Of course I am talking about me! A shameless example of self glorification and promotion ;-) ) as I would not have passed out of school. I remember my language teacher telling my mother (in a very maharashtrian accent), "You see Mrs. G., your son is knaat making anyee ephort. With a leetle more ephort he can do whonders. See his marks in the other phaphers. (Yawn!) Maybe you can tape the lessons… now-a-days all of us that tape-player (What is she saying). Baba re… my children-s play that at a so very high bholume. (She hasn't studied any 'eengleesh'but is trying to shove this down my throat.) They are listenings to this EPH-YUM the whole day. I tell you, I go mad bhen my husbands (how many does she have!!) is not at home. (Get back to the point!) You tape the lessons and you tell him to play it in his two-in-one (yeah right and subject my whole family to 'nidradevichi's aaradhana' like they don't get enough of the stuff from her.) Or if he has the whalkmen, he can leesten to it in that (What did I ever do to her!! Considering leaving home and leaving for foreign soil here. I can imagine myself 'Huckleberry Finn'-style with my belongings in a bedsheet tied to the end of a stick walking away from a burning pyre of my language books. Yeah add 'Bad Boys' to the soundtrack)"
Coming back… (I know I digress a bit ), as degrading as this may sound to the tamilian dudes and dudettes, to me this sounds like my tongue is on a combination of Speed and Ecstasy while my lips are paralyzed and my esophagus is tied down by weights. Or the classic tin paint can with stones and you guide the conversation with a vigorous stirring of these pebbles with a wooden stick. I am trying though, (No of course not... I ain’t stirring anything in a can in front of these "Tamil tigers" - What if some bad word comes out of the can? ) but that is about all… I know that 1=ohne, 2=runde (or something…) and so on… (Well actually that is pretty much all).
I get into a bus, determined to travel cheaply. I tell the conductor 'Abhi-ra-ma-pu-ram' (of course I was reading it out of a paper. You think I would have not taken Biology just for the sake of the long words and remembered that one. No way Jose!) So he says to me “Mudal stop illai adata stop?" And I go like "Huh?" "Abhiramapuram", I say more confidently. I point to myself and repeat very slowly trying out in my best tamilian accent (I figure that adding a few uh and ahs in the word may just do the trick) So it actually comes out as "Abhi-uh-rama-ah-puram-uh" He has this exasperated look on his face and then he says " Adhu Teriyun Paityam. yende stop sollu?". I bet he is swearing at me now. So I look at him and say "ME-ABHIRAMAPURAM-GO" And at the last word I make this plane-taking-off like motion with my right hand. (I suddenly am thinking to myself that this dude isn't Chinese or eastern. Ah screw it!) I don't care" To which he replies, " Valladariya... addi konnupduen.... " People around are smiling. He bares his teeth in a 'funny' way but it looks like he is gonna take a bite out my neck. Guess he is pretty damn sure that I don’t know Tamil. I back off and just give him some money "Take it my good man but don't bite – shoot I mean…" my head is screaming. He gives me a scrap of yellow paper with noodles all over it (Yeah the writing looks like that) and the number 4.50 on it. Yeehaaw!!! I am on my way. Oh-oh! New problems… When do I get off? So I look at the shop boards which, through small mercies that I am very grateful for, have the addresses written in English. There goes Arumbakkam (that took me about half a kilometer to read, yeah roughly about 25 shops to read) I told you I was smart.
So I am standing inside the bus. The bus is divided down the middle into men's and women's zones, the latter's zone being on the left of the bus. Now the seats on that side are empty but no one is sitting down. Well as any self respecting visitor to Rome, I do as they do and not sit there. But this is defying logic. Anyways I somehow find the place and have arrived at my destination, sweating at the thought of going back by bus. Well later may room-mate tells me that had I sat down there, in all probability I would have been beaten up. So much for cosmopolitanism… here in Chennai.
Watch this space for my travails with the Rickshawwalas!
So like I was saying... Chennai is good. Well it actually helped that you lowered my expectations so much, so when I actually came to tambi-land it was actually good. Rather is actually good. I mean the language barrier is really bad. I managed to learn to be able to speak a respectable amount of Hindi, only to come here and find out that our dark-skinned, coconut loving brethren consider Tamil to be out national language. I mean they would like it so. Something to do with the Dravidian race. I won't get into those specifics now. But that is the scene. I shudder to think that this country would miss this brilliant engineering mind (Of course I am talking about me! A shameless example of self glorification and promotion ;-) ) as I would not have passed out of school. I remember my language teacher telling my mother (in a very maharashtrian accent), "You see Mrs. G., your son is knaat making anyee ephort. With a leetle more ephort he can do whonders. See his marks in the other phaphers. (Yawn!) Maybe you can tape the lessons… now-a-days all of us that tape-player (What is she saying). Baba re… my children-s play that at a so very high bholume. (She hasn't studied any 'eengleesh'but is trying to shove this down my throat.) They are listenings to this EPH-YUM the whole day. I tell you, I go mad bhen my husbands (how many does she have!!) is not at home. (Get back to the point!) You tape the lessons and you tell him to play it in his two-in-one (yeah right and subject my whole family to 'nidradevichi's aaradhana' like they don't get enough of the stuff from her.) Or if he has the whalkmen, he can leesten to it in that (What did I ever do to her!! Considering leaving home and leaving for foreign soil here. I can imagine myself 'Huckleberry Finn'-style with my belongings in a bedsheet tied to the end of a stick walking away from a burning pyre of my language books. Yeah add 'Bad Boys' to the soundtrack)"
Coming back… (I know I digress a bit ), as degrading as this may sound to the tamilian dudes and dudettes, to me this sounds like my tongue is on a combination of Speed and Ecstasy while my lips are paralyzed and my esophagus is tied down by weights. Or the classic tin paint can with stones and you guide the conversation with a vigorous stirring of these pebbles with a wooden stick. I am trying though, (No of course not... I ain’t stirring anything in a can in front of these "Tamil tigers" - What if some bad word comes out of the can? ) but that is about all… I know that 1=ohne, 2=runde (or something…) and so on… (Well actually that is pretty much all).
I get into a bus, determined to travel cheaply. I tell the conductor 'Abhi-ra-ma-pu-ram' (of course I was reading it out of a paper. You think I would have not taken Biology just for the sake of the long words and remembered that one. No way Jose!) So he says to me “Mudal stop illai adata stop?" And I go like "Huh?" "Abhiramapuram", I say more confidently. I point to myself and repeat very slowly trying out in my best tamilian accent (I figure that adding a few uh and ahs in the word may just do the trick) So it actually comes out as "Abhi-uh-rama-ah-puram-uh" He has this exasperated look on his face and then he says " Adhu Teriyun Paityam. yende stop sollu?". I bet he is swearing at me now. So I look at him and say "ME-ABHIRAMAPURAM-GO" And at the last word I make this plane-taking-off like motion with my right hand. (I suddenly am thinking to myself that this dude isn't Chinese or eastern. Ah screw it!) I don't care" To which he replies, " Valladariya... addi konnupduen.... " People around are smiling. He bares his teeth in a 'funny' way but it looks like he is gonna take a bite out my neck. Guess he is pretty damn sure that I don’t know Tamil. I back off and just give him some money "Take it my good man but don't bite – shoot I mean…" my head is screaming. He gives me a scrap of yellow paper with noodles all over it (Yeah the writing looks like that) and the number 4.50 on it. Yeehaaw!!! I am on my way. Oh-oh! New problems… When do I get off? So I look at the shop boards which, through small mercies that I am very grateful for, have the addresses written in English. There goes Arumbakkam (that took me about half a kilometer to read, yeah roughly about 25 shops to read) I told you I was smart.
So I am standing inside the bus. The bus is divided down the middle into men's and women's zones, the latter's zone being on the left of the bus. Now the seats on that side are empty but no one is sitting down. Well as any self respecting visitor to Rome, I do as they do and not sit there. But this is defying logic. Anyways I somehow find the place and have arrived at my destination, sweating at the thought of going back by bus. Well later may room-mate tells me that had I sat down there, in all probability I would have been beaten up. So much for cosmopolitanism… here in Chennai.
Watch this space for my travails with the Rickshawwalas!
Monday, May 29, 2006
Coupling again...
Not that I am running out of ideas to write but this is kick ass!
Coupling again...
Oh, because it's got naked women in it! Look, I like naked women! I'm a bloke! I'm supposed to like them! We're born like that. We like naked women as soon as we're pulled out of one. Halfway down the birth canal we're already enjoying the view. Look, it's the four pillars of the male heterosexual psyche. We like: naked women, stockings, lesbians, and Sean Connery best as James Bond. Because that is what being a bloke is. And if you don't like it, darling, join a film collective. I want to spend the rest of my life with the woman at the end of the table here. But that does not stop me wanting to see several thousand more naked bottoms before I die. Because that's what being a bloke is. When Man invented fire, he didn't say "Hey, let's cook!" He said: "Great! Now we can see naked bottoms in the dark!" As soon as Caxton invented the printing press we were using it to make pictures of - hey! - naked bottoms. We've turned the Internet into an enormous international database of... naked bottoms. So, you see, the story of male achievement through the ages, feeble though it may have been, has been the story of our struggle to get a better look at your bottoms. Frankly, girls, I'm not so sure how insulted you really ought to be.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Coupling...
I got this from a Coupling Episode....
We are men. Throughout history we have always needed, in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves. It so happens in this modern age that our caves are fully plumbed. The toilet for us is the last bastian, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man space left to us. Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do, and who gives a d**n about the smell. But that for us is happiness because we are men. We are different. We have only one word for soap. We don't own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop. We do not own magazines for the photographs of celebrities with all their clothes on. When we have conversations we actually take it in turns to talk. We have not yet reached that level of earth shattering boredom and inhuman despair that we would have a haircut recreationally. We don't know how to get excited about really, really boring things like ornaments, bath oil, the countryside, vases, small churches. We do not even know what, what in the name of God, is the purpose of potpouri. Looks like breakfast, smells like your auntie. Why do you need that? So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot, this fortress of solitude. You girls, you may go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. We do not pass comment. We do not make judgment. That is your choice. But we men will always walk the toilet mile alone.
We are men. Throughout history we have always needed, in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves. It so happens in this modern age that our caves are fully plumbed. The toilet for us is the last bastian, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man space left to us. Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do, and who gives a d**n about the smell. But that for us is happiness because we are men. We are different. We have only one word for soap. We don't own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop. We do not own magazines for the photographs of celebrities with all their clothes on. When we have conversations we actually take it in turns to talk. We have not yet reached that level of earth shattering boredom and inhuman despair that we would have a haircut recreationally. We don't know how to get excited about really, really boring things like ornaments, bath oil, the countryside, vases, small churches. We do not even know what, what in the name of God, is the purpose of potpouri. Looks like breakfast, smells like your auntie. Why do you need that? So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot, this fortress of solitude. You girls, you may go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. We do not pass comment. We do not make judgment. That is your choice. But we men will always walk the toilet mile alone.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Finding...
You dont know when
You dont know how
You fear it so
It comes to you anyhow
You seek it not
Of its thoughts you deny
It passes you in the street
You turn a cold blind eye
A touch on your shoulder
You smile and turn
With beseeching eyes it begs
Ever so gently do you spurn
For your conscience is mum
Of the wrong you undertake not
And you envision the fable
That you live without
Truth is what you uphold
Deceit into the dust
But the soft gentle calling
Seems wont to betray the trust
With infinite patience
It watches in wait
Unpining and knowing
For this is the defining trait
For this takes its time to mature
Like all the best wine does
And the heady feeling that succeeds
Is the part that it loves
For some their tongue may wag
Others cry out their soul
But the worst to be are those
That let one slip, in control
It could wait for this one
It would wait for long
It should wait forever
Just for it only to belong
You dont know how
You fear it so
It comes to you anyhow
You seek it not
Of its thoughts you deny
It passes you in the street
You turn a cold blind eye
A touch on your shoulder
You smile and turn
With beseeching eyes it begs
Ever so gently do you spurn
For your conscience is mum
Of the wrong you undertake not
And you envision the fable
That you live without
Truth is what you uphold
Deceit into the dust
But the soft gentle calling
Seems wont to betray the trust
With infinite patience
It watches in wait
Unpining and knowing
For this is the defining trait
For this takes its time to mature
Like all the best wine does
And the heady feeling that succeeds
Is the part that it loves
For some their tongue may wag
Others cry out their soul
But the worst to be are those
That let one slip, in control
It could wait for this one
It would wait for long
It should wait forever
Just for it only to belong
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Division Bell
Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun
Today I heard The Division Bell 5 times. And I am sure that I shall hear it at least once more before I sleep tonight. The first time after you wake up at 12 noon on a thoroughly gloomy day and feel like one of those ... well ... those "Floyd" days. Switch on your comp and speakers and queue up Division Bell (Yeah today didn’t feel like "The Wall" day at all) listening to the riffs on A Great Day for Freedom and then to Cluster One. What better way to start the day. Well I thought I'd have lunch after that. You think so??? Of course not! Listened to the whole album before I even thought of getting up from my bed including High Hopes twice. I was slowly getting into the zone. This is feeling real real good. Nothing is bothering me. Who says you need alcohol? Who talks about dope at this moment? The peace was immense. As Sumit says... "You are now in the zone" There is no getting out of it if you don’t want to... Who would ever want to? Wafting with the breeze, listening to the rain on the softening earth outside, hearing the voices of someone somewhere... in fact anyone... anywhere... tapering out... then that complete disconnectivity... disjointedness, disatriculatedness, dismembered sounds stirred into a slow and soothing garble... the sweet sound of laughter suddenly bring a smile to my face. Inhaling the intoxicating smell of the dank earth and the wind dotted with water on your face, touching your parched lips and shut eyes. Nothing matters anymore... nothing at all. Did it ever?
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
You and your worries are "poles apart" and the rain just "keeps talking"There is a heady spell over you, lost and found (what?), Zooming in and out of reality, losing consciousness to a deep, deep, dark, luring,
There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I'll sit in the corner
No one can bother me
I think I should speak now (Why won't you talk to me)
I can't seem to speak now (You never talk to me)
My words won't come out right (What are you thinking)
I feel like I'm drowning (What are you feeling)
I'm feeling weak now (Why won't you talk to me)
The void of sleep beckons... Darkness opens her arms... Sheltered from the rain and the breeze
Resplendent in black
Solemn presence
Kindly always watching
Yet unmoving
Her svelte style
Her knowing smile
With her gentle hand
You call her darkness
The newspaper slips from between my fingers and makes a shushing sound as it graces the floor. In the corner the dust swirls... lazily round and round. Seems that the evening wind is not only eddying my senses. Round and round. The dust flies... Enter Sandman... Nah! "Take it back'
She might take it back, she could take it back some day
Sleepy now... more than that actually… more like... I don't know what. I don’t want to think... I just want to write on and on and on... But there are no more words, no more syllables, no more sentences, no more nothing, no more no more...
From morning to night I stayed out of sight
Didn't recognize I'd become
No more than alive I'd barely survive
In a word... overrun
No more... An…
Where were you???
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun
Today I heard The Division Bell 5 times. And I am sure that I shall hear it at least once more before I sleep tonight. The first time after you wake up at 12 noon on a thoroughly gloomy day and feel like one of those ... well ... those "Floyd" days. Switch on your comp and speakers and queue up Division Bell (Yeah today didn’t feel like "The Wall" day at all) listening to the riffs on A Great Day for Freedom and then to Cluster One. What better way to start the day. Well I thought I'd have lunch after that. You think so??? Of course not! Listened to the whole album before I even thought of getting up from my bed including High Hopes twice. I was slowly getting into the zone. This is feeling real real good. Nothing is bothering me. Who says you need alcohol? Who talks about dope at this moment? The peace was immense. As Sumit says... "You are now in the zone" There is no getting out of it if you don’t want to... Who would ever want to? Wafting with the breeze, listening to the rain on the softening earth outside, hearing the voices of someone somewhere... in fact anyone... anywhere... tapering out... then that complete disconnectivity... disjointedness, disatriculatedness, dismembered sounds stirred into a slow and soothing garble... the sweet sound of laughter suddenly bring a smile to my face. Inhaling the intoxicating smell of the dank earth and the wind dotted with water on your face, touching your parched lips and shut eyes. Nothing matters anymore... nothing at all. Did it ever?
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
You and your worries are "poles apart" and the rain just "keeps talking"There is a heady spell over you, lost and found (what?), Zooming in and out of reality, losing consciousness to a deep, deep, dark, luring,
There's a silence surrounding me
I can't seem to think straight
I'll sit in the corner
No one can bother me
I think I should speak now (Why won't you talk to me)
I can't seem to speak now (You never talk to me)
My words won't come out right (What are you thinking)
I feel like I'm drowning (What are you feeling)
I'm feeling weak now (Why won't you talk to me)
The void of sleep beckons... Darkness opens her arms... Sheltered from the rain and the breeze
Resplendent in black
Solemn presence
Kindly always watching
Yet unmoving
Her svelte style
Her knowing smile
With her gentle hand
You call her darkness
The newspaper slips from between my fingers and makes a shushing sound as it graces the floor. In the corner the dust swirls... lazily round and round. Seems that the evening wind is not only eddying my senses. Round and round. The dust flies... Enter Sandman... Nah! "Take it back'
She might take it back, she could take it back some day
Sleepy now... more than that actually… more like... I don't know what. I don’t want to think... I just want to write on and on and on... But there are no more words, no more syllables, no more sentences, no more nothing, no more no more...
From morning to night I stayed out of sight
Didn't recognize I'd become
No more than alive I'd barely survive
In a word... overrun
No more... An…
Where were you???
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Makhaud!
Havent written anything of great consequence here for a while... ok probably never. So I thought that on this great dull saturday (on which I had a class by the way... that was a guest lecture... which I also attended... Yeah instead of sleeping) that I would write something here for just the heck of it. Well I have been here (in Kharagpur - a.k.a. KGP) for a long time now. Well a perceptively long time now and it gets to you sometime. The life here is awesome! That is not the problem. Nor is the weather (Which by KGP standards is awesome) cool breezes all day, a searing heat ONLY in the afty and lovely evenings. Maybe it is just the fact that I miss the best place on earth - Mumbai. Trust me once you are hooked to that city no amount rehab can get that out of your veins. Well it is the spring feeling too. Which leads you to think that there is a problem and what is the problem. Frankly... I don't know. Just feel a little makhaud (makhaud is a feeling of bored in this context). Frankly you know this feeling when you get to philosophising about life. Now you usually don't do this if you are someone like me. The weather is awesome for a game of football or what they call footer here in KGP. But I sort of messed up my leg playing the first match. What irritates me the most is the fact that I cannot play any more matches and I am supposed to rest. I cannot stay in my room for more than 8 hours on any normal day and here I am supposed to rest in my room. Just not happening. It is a beautiful day to just walk around, but I can't because I have to hobble. Ok now it is not as bad as it may sound and this news should obviously not reach my home. Anyways... I shall just head back to my room and sleep the rest of the day off. Maybe listen to some Iron Maiden.. The wickerman seems to be an awesome song for the moment, and of course Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green day... fantastic song, queue up Mama I'm coming home (Ozzy) with a little Paradise Lost (Small town boy). Actually more of Paradise lost (Got a good gothic twinge to it). Metallica???? Hmmmmnnn... Nah.... nopes not even Enter Sandman or the Unforgiven 2. Rammstein is way to heavy for such a beautiful day. Moster magnet is nice though.
You're stone monolithic
I smell it on your breath
You gotta 'bout nothin' to say
Keep spending all your money
And love yourself to death...
Very inappropriate... sounds good for the moment.
Nightwish.... Gethsemane
Enchantment has but one truth
I weep to have what I fear to lose
And Nemo
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I`d give my everything
Awesome tune and brilliant voice...
You're stone monolithic
I smell it on your breath
You gotta 'bout nothin' to say
Keep spending all your money
And love yourself to death...
Very inappropriate... sounds good for the moment.
Nightwish.... Gethsemane
Enchantment has but one truth
I weep to have what I fear to lose
And Nemo
Oh how I wish
For soothing rain
All I wish is to dream again
My loving heart
Lost in the dark
For hope I`d give my everything
Awesome tune and brilliant voice...
Friday, February 10, 2006
Boozzahs!!!!
Really sorry about no posts here. (ok I heard some of you say who cares - but being the kind and generous should that I am ;-) I shall overlook it.) The thing is that a lot of funny and crazy things happen here, but I don’t think I can put them up. No of course not.... they are not the censored kind (Wherever did you come up with that) Well there are a few parties and lots of Bhaat (IIT lingo for talking) (of course when everyone’s spirits are high and the world is a friendlier place) I mean I can never understand why they say that you should not drink and go to work.... Wouldn’t the atmosphere be more friendly (No I haven’t tried) When it comes to such issues I have to clarify, lest you get the wrong ideas :-)
I remember my first drink... It was at a near and dear ones place.... There was this bottle on the table. Not a Jack Daniels, nor even something as humble as an Old Monk. It was this regular 2 litre Pepsi bottle (These guys should pay me for putting their name here :-) In it was a colourless liquid. We shall call it water for the time being (Ok I know that you guessed it Sherlock) So I pick up this bottle and ask if it was for the kids (Yeah there were small kids in the house, tiny ones to be precise). Well the near-and-dear one says no... and takes off. I pay no heed to the smirk...
Well so I opened the cap and guzzled the "water" like there was no tomorrow. (I was thirsty and no I am not making this up for the blog to be more entertaining). Well the rest is history... There almost wasn’t any tomorrow. That was pure and neat country (or as we call it in Mumbai - Narangi) liquor. After about 3 swallows that "elixir of life" tasted horrid and burnt. So I rush to the sink and I spew what was left in my mouth all over the sink. I took a deep breath and tried to extinguish the fire in my chest and in my stomach.
I later "heard" that even tequila shots don’t do that to you.
Like the theory of the heating rod, I have a lot of theories on booze too.
1. You talk a lot
2. You puke a lot
3. Most of your dirty secrets come out (No I obviously don’t have any. And no I don’t want to drink with you if that is your intention)
4. You actually get the courage to ask someone out.
5. You walk all zig-zag.
6. You get to be YOURSELF. (No I am the same either wise - did I just say that)
7. You believe that you can fly (Yeah my near-and-now-not-so-dear one lives on the 6th floor)
8. And you never remember anything the next day.
9. And oh yeah.. you get a mother of all hangovers (Whatever that is supposed to be... ;-))
... and many more.
So I sneaked onto the couch (after about 3 glasses of water, 2 of milk and 2 bananas (no this was not at the time of my breakfast) Just did it to try and put out the fire so to speak) and went to sleep.Yeah this was also a theory of mine... When you are drunk you sleep a lot. (Please don’t try and connect it simultaneously with talking and hurling - That is simply disgusting) Although I am pretty sure that the events take place in the following sequence: talking, proposing (For the romantically inclined), Fighting (for the warrior in you), puking and then sleeping. Do correct me if I am wrong.Now it is burning so much that I cannot get sleep. So that theory went out of the window. And I was not hurling (I was mighty pleased at that theory being disproved. Thought that I had some capacity), but I tried and remembered all that happened after that. As you can see that you have a very detailed description. Well lets just say that a lot of my theories got disproved at that time and we shall consider it as a very valuable contribution to the field of science called boozeism. (No I am sure that alcoholism is different)
So that was my first time....
I remember my first drink... It was at a near and dear ones place.... There was this bottle on the table. Not a Jack Daniels, nor even something as humble as an Old Monk. It was this regular 2 litre Pepsi bottle (These guys should pay me for putting their name here :-) In it was a colourless liquid. We shall call it water for the time being (Ok I know that you guessed it Sherlock) So I pick up this bottle and ask if it was for the kids (Yeah there were small kids in the house, tiny ones to be precise). Well the near-and-dear one says no... and takes off. I pay no heed to the smirk...
Well so I opened the cap and guzzled the "water" like there was no tomorrow. (I was thirsty and no I am not making this up for the blog to be more entertaining). Well the rest is history... There almost wasn’t any tomorrow. That was pure and neat country (or as we call it in Mumbai - Narangi) liquor. After about 3 swallows that "elixir of life" tasted horrid and burnt. So I rush to the sink and I spew what was left in my mouth all over the sink. I took a deep breath and tried to extinguish the fire in my chest and in my stomach.
I later "heard" that even tequila shots don’t do that to you.
Like the theory of the heating rod, I have a lot of theories on booze too.
1. You talk a lot
2. You puke a lot
3. Most of your dirty secrets come out (No I obviously don’t have any. And no I don’t want to drink with you if that is your intention)
4. You actually get the courage to ask someone out.
5. You walk all zig-zag.
6. You get to be YOURSELF. (No I am the same either wise - did I just say that)
7. You believe that you can fly (Yeah my near-and-now-not-so-dear one lives on the 6th floor)
8. And you never remember anything the next day.
9. And oh yeah.. you get a mother of all hangovers (Whatever that is supposed to be... ;-))
... and many more.
So I sneaked onto the couch (after about 3 glasses of water, 2 of milk and 2 bananas (no this was not at the time of my breakfast) Just did it to try and put out the fire so to speak) and went to sleep.Yeah this was also a theory of mine... When you are drunk you sleep a lot. (Please don’t try and connect it simultaneously with talking and hurling - That is simply disgusting) Although I am pretty sure that the events take place in the following sequence: talking, proposing (For the romantically inclined), Fighting (for the warrior in you), puking and then sleeping. Do correct me if I am wrong.Now it is burning so much that I cannot get sleep. So that theory went out of the window. And I was not hurling (I was mighty pleased at that theory being disproved. Thought that I had some capacity), but I tried and remembered all that happened after that. As you can see that you have a very detailed description. Well lets just say that a lot of my theories got disproved at that time and we shall consider it as a very valuable contribution to the field of science called boozeism. (No I am sure that alcoholism is different)
So that was my first time....
Smart System Admin
Check this out... A smart system admin....
Mr Baker, As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your consistent and annoying harassment of myself and my co-workers during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true genetic wastes of our time. Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I know about Unix, and you were apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth time.
You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will. You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.
Seeing as this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts.
When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own.
I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favourites list", which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favourably by the administration. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your mothers b-day", you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a ketchup bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow.
One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never **** with your systems administrators, because they know what you do with all your free time.
Sincerely,
Name Omitted
Mr Baker, As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your consistent and annoying harassment of myself and my co-workers during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true genetic wastes of our time. Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I know about Unix, and you were apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth time.
You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will. You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.
Seeing as this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts.
When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own.
I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favourites list", which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favourably by the administration. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your mothers b-day", you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a ketchup bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow.
One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never **** with your systems administrators, because they know what you do with all your free time.
Sincerely,
Name Omitted
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