gardenal sin

and then He shouted, the apple was a curse
your race shan't ever be pure
the fall has begun to an end much worse
than death, for knowledge hasn't cure

your sin is tall, your love the deepest pit
my guinea little rodents, look, that's it
creation is for me, you are blasphemy now
get off my lawn, go, don't fake the bow

the apple lay still, a brain whirred on
lone and bereft but a hefty intellect
and as if a spark then hit right home,
Newton got up and took a bow and left

the pineapple pirate

sinking ships
with
stout fat pricks
that
never know why
they're
dying just shy
of
moatfuls of gold
that
wait since old
for
pirates to lay
their
metal and clay
on its
shining studs
and
clang their buds
and
dance and swim
in
bottles of whim.

oh!
i know why
the
moat went dry
on
them so close
with a
cruel fire hose
and
burnt them toast
just
beyond the coast
of
murmurs and riches
hidden
doors and switches
scary
invisible ditches
and
mad barking bitches.

the pirate dead
had
an artist's head
it
loved to write
sure
however trite
an
inspiring sight
but
an awful plight
for
the pirate himself
as
he sought an elf
to
get his sock
out of
the writer's block.

the pirate's men
the
stout fat hen
had
no great ear
but
when they hear
the
pirate screech
his
romantic streak
in a
poignant pose
on the
mast when those
poor
souls would scramble
and
stumble entangle
then
everyone knows
its
poetry not prose.

one fine eve
with a
heart in bereave
the
pirate got out
and
made a pout
in
thoughts so deep
he
struggled to keep
his
head afloat
and
about the boat
when
then his thoughts
made a
U-turn to trot
and
hop and jumped
at the
sky and pumped
such
divine kicks
to his
soul in licks
that
he joyously jumped
and
.. fake humped
and
went inside
in
powerful stride
and
came out in tights
with a
handful of kites.

the stout fat pricks
then
didn't know the tricks
that
love plays on men
and were
happy by then
that
poems weren't kites
though they
hated the tights
but the
pirate didn't care
and he
flicked his hair
and
cried like a man
for
his sweetheart susanne.

the pirate thought
he
had to, he ought
to
confess his heart
lest
the moment depart
and he
got out a ring
with
finesse and zing
and
pouted to kiss
his
ring for the miss
and with
an intense fight
tied
it to the kite.

The rest is easy
the
gods went sleazy
at the
man in tights
a
pirate flying kites
and
touched the ring
with an
electric thing
that
touched the ship
in a
crazy trip
and
the poet and kin
got
kicked in the shin
and
burnt to toast
well
just beyond the coast.

lovers, amen.

An understanding of the popular text about a dumpty egg, Mr. Humpty

A certain Mr. Humpty Dumpty, with the proportions and measurements of a large egg in general, one day figured it would be cool to sit on a wall. Well, he thought, what the hell. It must've been a good view it is hoped, what with all the king's army, soldiers and horses around. You could wonder how such a tense atmosphere would provide for a cool view, so to say, but what can you say about an egg's wish..

Precisely. Nothing.

So Mr. Humpty, while enjoying the view and the action, must've either done something stupid or embarrassing in view of the general mood of the event, or maybe just went out on a limb to look closely at the details of the ensuing action. But hey, God didn't foresee such a creative wish on the part of that species and Mr. Humpty's evolutionary family tree had not provided him with the faculty of a limb. And hence the absence of such a limb, and also the fact that gravity is such a nasty bitch, Mr. Humpty enjoyed a perfectly natural windy free fall from an innocent wall in the middle of a war.

A fall was provided by the ground, after the fall from the wall. And it broke poor Mr. Humpty's heart. He couldn't bear such a travesty to have fallen on him. Why, it wasn't his fault if his genealogy hadn't been as creative! Fuckin' ancestors, he thought.

And the weirdest of all things then happened, as if we weren't already uprooting some fences of imagination here. All the king's horses, and all the king's men, well, stopped and came over. Mr. Humpty the egg seemed to be broken and they must've felt it inhuman as well as inhorse to not help a poor egg in distress which they might've eaten away the next day anyway, if they had survived the war that is.

And behold, what can you say about such things. They tried, and sweated, and the horses' hooves must've felt really useless, but the fact remained that despite the shiny evening spent in helping an egg instead of warring, they just couldn't put Mr. Humpty Dumpty together again.

Yeah that's it. Really.

I wonder what they did after.

Other than feeling generally useless and lying about on the ground like wasted lives and pondering on the futility of evolution in general.

India TV the awesome

India TV is like those mirrors in amusement parks that make you look funny no matter how repressed or melancholic you may be in real life. India TV is the Himesh Reshamiya of news reporting, the Kanti Shah of film making. India TV is the voice and face of that progressive strata of the public that has the taste, time and need for "fun" over and above the regular trinity of food, shelter and clothing. India TV, incredibly, is both niche and populist. Let me explain how:

You see, the lower economic class watches India TV with interest and possibly restrained belief. The middle class watches it with incredulity, and occasional bouts of laughter. The upper middle class will talk about it with animated hatred and yet stop for a few half-a-lip smiles during channel surfing. And in fact might even use it as a patience test. And finally, the relevant portions of the higher economic class keep a tab on it to understand the genius behind the whole idea of it, and in turn understand its vast audience as a potential customer base.

It is my belief that everything genuinely good basically derives from undiluted honesty. And India TV has to be, deep inside, an honest idea to achieve such a layered appeal. It is funny, without trying to be funny. It is incredulous, all the more so because it seems to not know of the same. It is, basically, for everyone interested, a powerful object of interest. I think that says it all.


(written for a journalism course application)

Where are my keys?

In your pocket.
Of the other pant.
In the cycle.
With a 5th year.
Or 4th year, if aplicable.
Or 3rd, if applicable.
In C-302, Patel Hall. He is a collector.
Somewhere on 2.2, running away for freedom.
With you, in a parallel multiverse.
Nowhere. Not every lock has a key.
In the Kingdom of God.
At the wrong place at the wrong time. Always.
• 6 ft under the ground, on a skeleton's middle finger.
On the Tree of Wishes. Go ask it.
In your imagination alone. There are no keys.
With the Pope. Just Kidding.
Inside your CPU. Who knows.
In the keychain, wherever that is.
• On an ego trip again.
In the hands of the Dark Lord. God save the earth.
In denial.
• In the lock. And the lock in the key. It's a spiritual symbiotic relationship.
In the keyhole. Looking at you. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
In a dark puddle in stormy rain on the edge of the earth, calling out for Momma.
Waiting in hiding for you to find it and go Boo!
Right under your nose. But go ahead and buy new ones anyway, sure.
In a different state of mind today.
Not inside the box, apparently. Think outside it.

The Rise And Fall Of The Apple

Apples have been falling on the ground since before humans were mean to each other. Since before the first law of thermodynamics, and even before Archimedes jumped out of the bathtub. But never, I repeat, never was it a problem. Because nobody cared. Nobody noticed. Anonymity was just fine for the apples. And life was good. Falling with a healthy thump, and sticking in the marshy ground with pride, claiming their space and sitting on it fat and plump.

But along came Newton. And ruined it all.

This is a story of an Apple's fight against the Law of Gravitation, the story of one apple's fight against the whole of scientific community, those arrogant windbags who think they know apples.

This is the story of the Apple that hung from a tree branch, right above the crossroads of History, and said "I have a dream".

"I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of anywhere.


Thirty two point five score years ago, a stupid man, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, discovered the Law of Gravitation. This momentous decree came as a great blow to the self-respect of millions of proud Apples who had been living their lives with great satisfaction and freedom of choice since the Sixth Day of Creation.

Now countless years later, the Apple is still not free. Countless years later, the life of the Apple is still sadly determined by the manacles of the Earth's mass and the chains of the Gravitational Constant. Countless years later, the Apple lives on a lonely island of determinism in the midst of a vast ocean of unexplained phenomena. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.


In a sense we've come knocking at the educated world's conscience to prove a point. When the man in that garden under an Apple tree wrote those demeaning words of the Law of Gravitation, he was signing a humiliating profanity to which every dignified Apple was hence to be subjected. This law was a belittling generalisation that all apples, yes, small and large, educated and illiterate, would guaranteed fall to the ground same as every other. It took away the Apple's "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Free Will." It is obvious today that the scientific community has taken for granted this really-very-stupid law; and instead of honoring our volition to life, given the Apples a stringent rule, a law of motion through that sacred space between the revered tree branch and the holy ground.

But we refuse to believe that this horrifying generalisation is a law. We refuse to believe that there aren't Apples who don't fall, but jump, of their own accord, in their own free path. Who here hasn't heard of the great lunges of Dapple, the Apple. And who hasn't heard since birth the stories of the daring, the adventurous Red Hot Balls, whose stunts in mid-air were an astonishment to the most experienced of flying apples. And so, we've come to prove a point, a proof that will give us henceforth the riches of freedom and the respect of complexity.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind Appledom of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of predictability or to take the tranquilizing acceleration of 9.8 meter per second square. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate, anecdotal out-of-syllabus boxes in the corner of a page in a physics book chapter to the esteemed befuddling titles of research papers. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of us God's favorite fruits. Now is the time to prove that Eve was right, in choosing us.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in my Branch of Birth.

I have a dream that one day on the colored pages of Resnick & Halliday, the rotund curvaceous apples of a proud red color, and the quarks and mesons will be able to sit down together in the star-marked questions and the Appendices in the end.


I have a dream that one day even the Newton biographies, those books sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into a story of the greatest false positive ever.


I have a dream that my four red neighbours will henceforth live in a world where they will not be judged by the value of their mass but by the content of their character.


I have a dream today!


I have a dream that one day, down in CERN, with its vicious scientists, with its Chief and his lips wet with meaningless words like 'Higgs Boson' and 'Heisenberg's Uncertainty' -- one day right there in CERN, little red apples and enthusiastic interns will be able to join hands and churn out sponsored research papers about fast colliding apples.


I have a dream today!


I have a dream that one day every Apple shall be unique, and every fall and landing shall be eccentric, the Apple's individuality will be recognized, and the Apple that fell on Newton's head will be vindicated; 'and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all carbon shall see it together.'


This is our hope, and this is the faith that I fly down to the Ground with."

Thus another one walked the line, the acceleration, and fast bit the dust, exactly at t=under-root(2h/g).

(Part 5/5) The Best Days Of My Afterlife

(Part 1/5) The Day I Died
(Part 2/5) The Day Of The Sermon
(Part 3/5) The Day I Sat Down And Wrote This
(Part 4/5) The Day God Had A Plan

____________________________________

Dated: The Day I Got Frustrated With Death, The Universe and Everything


Now, God is a huge being. Its been what, some countless years since he stood on that stage and told us newly deads about the infinities of boredom and pointlessness. He was growing, atleast physically. Infact, He was now too big for anybody, or any combination of them thereof, to lift up or transport anymore. All He did, hence, was sit in seclusion, working and toiling away at his "salvation apparatus" in secret.

It was curious. Everything and everybody in all of heaven was curious. About the Apparatus. About what God was upto suddenly after millennia of sitting around being a beacon of optimism, reverse pessimism to be precise, to all of dead ones. But God did not let a sigh out of his mouth that would betray his intentions. There was no blueprint, no written plan or specification that he was working with, and no rest either. But still, at the end of it, in their heart of hearts, people knew one thing. There was one thing they held on to their chests with tight clenched fists. The knowledge that there was no escape. That however what may happen, you can't die again, and while you exist, you'll always have to think about and somehow spend the next moment, ad infinitum.

Years passed, and a violent sound struck the air one day. Continued churning of something heavy and clunky. I shut my ears with my hands but the sounds only increased. The bee broke its motionlessness. The elephant sighed. And then the elephant sighed again. A crowd formed and walked towards the sound, I joined them. The printer got excited and behaved like a TV news reporter, and gurgled out garbage. There were murmurs flying back and forth, against the background of the clanks and clatter from the direction of the sound.

A gasp escaped the open mouths of all except God and the printer. For God it was, that Great Gargantuan Tortoise, the Massive Titanic Turtle, who was up there standing at a slant on His hind-legs and about to be toppled by the machine, the Salvation Apparatus that He built himself! A silence ensued when God moved, through the air, in slow motion, with dumbfounded eyes watching, and racing hearts and motionless tongues, through the silent unsaid gasp that hung in the air, and toppled. He toppled. And rocked.

On that semicircular, hard shell of His, smooth like Motion itself, God slept rocking like a baby on its swing, peaceful and idle. Smiling imperceptibly. Sleeping. Cocooned in the comfort, that nothing could change now. There would not be another decision to make. No options to choose from. For once and for final, he was really free from thinking. Nothing can matter anymore. For nothing can bring him back on his feet, nothing can undo this final surrender. Complete bondage, captivity that can never be undid, brought him his freedom. Salvation.

And I stood watching. Mesmerized. Wishing with all my being. Wishing with every bit of my whole being, that I were a Turtle too. The best days of my afterlife were over.

(Part 4/5) The Best Days Of My Afterlife

(Part 1/5) The Day I Died
(Part 2/5) The Day Of The Sermon
(Part 3/5) The Day I Sat Down And Wrote This

____________________________________

Dated: The Day God Had A Plan


I soon graduated to better things to do. I would turn a tap on and wait for the water to finish so there would be no water left and all heaven would break loose. I would wait for endless units of time with an evil grin on my curled lips but something even more exciting would usually catch my attention and I would leave, the tap on. My sheep count was now a 13 digit prime number, but I liked the number so much that I stopped counting further. I had already made brilliantly detailed graffiti on all the walls behind the secretive hidden doors all about the place. It was mostly reproductive organs. The depressingly maniacal bee wasn't so depressing anymore. It was exciting to watch it sit unmoving on the same precise spot for a span of 30 years, or some such big number. The spell was broken when the elephant had to go to pee, just for fun really, no necessity, maybe check if it still worked, and he was about to step right on the bee and then sigh, but the bee somehow managed to step aside, for it was painful to get hurt and not die. The elephant sighed anyway and went on. I saw him come back when the bee had already broken her previous sitting-still record.

Even through these hectic times, I did keep a check on the tap. It kept running. Everything is infinite here. Even the pages of the printer. It keeps spewing out something or the other, all the time. Even empty pages when it has nothing to say really.

Though my afterlife had many twists and turns, wars and victories, battles of the mind, and epic tales of love, passion and revenge, I still felt something was missing. Something important. Like the whole point of it, somehow. So I decided I would go talk to someone about this. God, I figured, would be the most appropriate choice to start with, apart from the fact that his misery always upped my spirits.

God, this time round, seemed actually to be enjoying himself in whatever he was busy with. Disappointed, I asked him what he was doing. He said, "Shhh". I thought about it for a while and decided he was just bullshitting me, so I asked him again. He replied,
"Fine. I'm thinking of salvation. Suicide, practically. And I am preparing the required apparatus."
  "Suicide?! But what will happen to all of life! All of living beings, animal life, humanity, printers, christians, all the people!!"
"They'll keep jumping in the frying pan for all I care. I doubt if anybody will even notice."
  "But how will you die? You can't die! Can you really kill yourself? You could, all this while?"
"No."
  "Phew. Thank God. My whole afterlife was just going to be rendered pointless."
"It is."
  "I know but, you know, you're worse right."
"Yeah."
  "So what are you planning then, there's no escape man. I've tried everything already, even boredom. It doesn't kill."
"Shhh."
  "Ok I'll ask again. So what are you planning then, there's no escape man. I've tried everything already, even boredom. It doesn't kill."

God didn't reply. He wasn't bullshitting. He just kept at it, some big levers and ropes it seemed.

____________________________________________

(Part 5/5) The Day I Got Frustrated With Death, The Universe And Everything

(Part 3/5) The Best Days Of My Afterlife

(Part 1/5) The Day I Died
(Part 2/5) The Day Of The Sermon
____________________________________

Dated: The Day I Sat Down And Wrote This

The Orientation Programme got over with the stupid Art of Living workshop by Jesus. We told him dude we know your stuff already, you have no idea how big you are in the Frying Pan, but that only charged him up more. Still hasn't forgotten the high of being the Son of God.

The workshop ended and with it pretty much everything. Now there was nothing to do. Ever. Time, people don't realize, is Evil. And if too much of it makes you a devil's workshop, an infinity of it makes you attempt to kill yourself an infinite number of times, but you don't die. You can't die. And you're looking for the son of a #@$^% whose fault it all is. One such time when I was really angry, I saw God himself slouching at a distance, and doing something very intently. It made me angrier, and I wanted to barrage him with questions and accusations and all the new creative expletives I had made up in my existential outrages. And so I went to him. I stood in front of him, with my hands folded and my eyes peeling his hard skin off in my mind. And the Tortoise turned his eyes to me slowly. He took millenia to do this. And looked at me straight, his eyes had the frustrated skin-peeling quality too, but as if they were shut inside a serene glass wall. Now when I had his attention, I actually looked at what it was that he was doing. He was playing dice. And by playing dice, I only mean throwing dice, picking them up, and repeating. Ad infinitum. I was somewhat shocked by this, truth be told, that here was God himself, and all he had with him to do is play dice? And then God, as if he really was the omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient thing that he is made out to be, or maybe he just saw in my eyes what countless others must've approached him with before, slowly with great effort said to me, "And I even know what's going to turn up in the dice. Every. Single. Time."

That was all. That was all I needed to hear, I had my enlightenment then and there. I know because my ears twitched, and they never do. My enlightenment, the knowledge that brought me to peace for a long long time to come, was simply that, "God had it worse".

Until now I was only frustrated about how there was nothing to do, and even if there was, it wouldn't be able to, any amount of it, fill up the infinity I had in my hands. And that made me more frustrated. But God broke this chain. Now I was actually looking for things to do. Now I shut my mind to the endless, and concentrated on the moment at hand. And started doing something, anything, however trivial, and it never felt bad because God had it worse.

I think I spent a year trying to twitch my ears consciously, like they did on the Day of Enlightenment. I couldn't. It really was enlightenment, then.

____________________________________________

(Part 4/5) The Day God Had A Plan
(Part 5/5) The Day I Got Frustrated With Death, The Universe And Everything

(Part 2/5) The Best Days Of My Afterlife

(Part 1/5) The Day I Died
______________________

Dated: The Day Of The Sermon 

Holy Shit. God is a Giant Tortoise!

Today was the first day of my afterlife, and God entered the stage, while we sat in anticipation. His size made it really hard for the organizers to carry him on to the stage, and he seemed pretty amused by this fact. Kept making inaudible jokes I couldn't hear from here, but most of them ended with a butt-slap as the punchline.

And then he spoke.

"Congratulations, Loodlings. You are in Heaven!

(Waits for Applause)

(Smacks a disappointed lip)

Impressive. But I should still warn you about a few things. You're in heaven, and you'll always be. You just jumped from the frying pan onto the kitchen floor. You'll feel liberated initially. As if you know higher dimensions to reality now, something more than just getting fried in the pan. You'll roam about the place excitedly, looking for secrets and hidden doors, spend time skating in the Sink, and in general feel jealous (of the very, very, much kind) of the terrorist lot. But once you've been through the negligible, exactly zero, percentage of your eternal afterlife here in Heaven, you'll soon realize: that the place is small, that all the hidden doors open into a wall (trust me, I made them), that the Sink is actually one-dimensional (and you were a douche to ever enjoy it in the first place), and that you can't get laid here. There are only 72 virgins we've got, and they're all reserved, sorry.

Infinities suck, and you have no idea because you didn't have to deal with them. Now you will, deal with an eternal afterlife I dare you. Your death is gone and done with, there is no escape anymore, and there is nothing even to escape from. Life's hard, but Afterlife's infinitely boring. I'll appreciate recreational ideas here to fill up this stupid infinite time, though there's really no point trying to do that of course, mathematically or otherwise. And then, your recreational ideas will all probably involve retarded ways to avoid the heat of the frying pan. Please don't bother me with them, or anything else at all. I created you guys so I could see retarded creatures jumping on a fuckin' hot frying pan and trying to make themselves feel life's good. But it's getting boring of late, I think I'll just increase the temperature a bit. Anyway I'm sure that'll be boring too, and I'll still be left with an infinity to spend.

Hmmm. I wonder what's the point of my existence. Sigh."

____________________________________________

(Part 3/5) The Day I Sat Down And Wrote This
(Part 4/5) The Day God Had A Plan 
(Part 5/5) The Day I Got Frustrated With Death, The Universe And Everything

(Part 1/5) The Best Days Of My Afterlife

Dated: The Day I Died

I think I'm still in transition, since I'm receiving email as well as all my porn feeds. But the amount of spam is increasing beyond belief, I guess more people want to enlarge stuff before landing in heaven for an eternity, and then again money isn't really such a dear thing anymore.

Though a few restrictions are already in place on us (yeah I've got friends moving with me here - a chronically sighing elephant, a depressingly maniacal bee, and a rather excited printer). Restrictions like, you can't say Hell, you'll have to replace it with Hall whenever you mean it. Though you can still type it, without getting slapped by the fat pink lady and getting muted for half an hour. Muted for real, mind you, like no voice comes out and shit. But its really not fair, since the printer's not getting slapped.

The fat pink lady (She is pink, mind you, not her dress) just announced that she thinks we're gonna land in another few moments of Time (she thinks), that she thinks will pass soon. If you ask me, I think we're already there and she's just fooling with us. Just hasn't got her fill of the slaps I suspect. She mentioned something like orientation or some programme and bullshit that's going to start once we get there. God will apparently come and lecture us newbie deads. And then there'll be a compulsory Art of Living workshop to attend, though I wonder what's the point of that now anyway. Traditions are just hard to break I guess.

Here comes she charging in from the door of light. You won't believe what she's got tattooed on the palms of her hands; "Talk to me." on the left one, and "Here I come!" on the right one. Very ironic, I would say. I think somebody said Hell or some shit, and is going to get a good long indifferent slapping now. What, why's she turning to me? Hell, why's she accelerating! What did I say I'm just typing away in peace, o' hel- (slap)


**** ** *** *

..

.

_____________________________

(Part 2/5) The Day Of The Sermon
(Part 3/5) The Day I Sat Down And Wrote This
(Part 4/5) The Day God Had A Plan 
(Part 5/5) The Day I Got Frustrated With Death, The Universe And Everything

A jump from the 33rd Floor

Floor    Brain
Roof     I Hate You All!
33        Finally
32        Wow
31        Whoa
30        This is fast
29        My ears!
28        Lets try some aerodynamic stunts
27        Is it working?
26        It hurts
25        This one?
24        Boring
23        There's my car, wow I can see it from here
22        Damn its taking too long
21        Hit me hit me hit me
20        Hit me hit me hit me hit me
19        this is pretty fast huh..
18        Will it hurt?
17        damn its too fast
16        why was i dying, again?
15        why was i
14        dying, again????
13        wait..
12        i can't recall!
11        what!
10        Why can't I
9        #$%#ing
8        recall!!
7        I
6        Want
5        To
4        Know
3        Why
2        I'm
1        DYING!!
0        Fuck.

Open Letter From SN: Laments of an IIT girl

I am from SN, the Hall. And I am here to help.

(Dramatic Pause)

So whats the deal, you say. I'll tell you the deal. The deal is that you are a douche. The deal is that you have no clue in all heavens about me, and you, yes you, are just way too many for anybody's good. And I will today, once and for all, break it down in easy and simple soul-friendly terms in the hope of getting the few of you with brains to atleast understand this... this thing we have between us.

I was a regular girl in school. Had always been, pretty much, though there were things you could say put me away from the other regular girls I knew. And I was happy, pretty much, you know. Life was easy and smooth. Like a nicely flowing river. And then I came to Kgp. (sound of crashing waves and islands sinking)

The first thing I noticed about you, in the first week itself, was that you were mostly a huddle. And that a huddle's voice is lower than the volume of a lone standing specimen. And that that's almost always because, atleast in first year, the huddle is only talking about me, the generalized SNite. In class, in Tikka, Nescafe, lab, even in Toat on SF nights. I mean what is your fixation with me, I'm just a regular girl!

You have eyes, o' boy have you eyes. All of you, collective, are like one big mass with all those innumerous eyes that are always looking, and communicating. And then one day I could see you looking from a distance. You were probably there for a long time, confused. You started walking towards me. I averted my eyes but kept looking angularly. You were approaching fast, but instead of looking at me you were walking as if on a fast-forwarded evening walk in a park, trying to look about casually on both sides and loosening up the walk. You had come close, I was ready to casually turn my head towards you with a casual smile on the face that would say nothing and yet be appropriately inviting. You were looking about more anxiously now, and I don't think you knew that I was watching. All ready for a warm casual conversation with a charming-looking you, I turned my head smoothly to you, you were exactly appropriately close, but still hurried and anxious, and as I noticed, at an angle to your previous direction and still walking. And you kept walking, looking down, as if casually, and walked past me. I was staring at your face and you probably didn't even know. I kept looking intently with wide eyes as you in your nervous hurry, turned an awkward corner somewhere and went away. And I thought, "Whatever man".

It was clear from day one, that even my batchmates were easily 2 or 3 years junior to me. I was more comfortable with your seniors, they talked easy, knew more, and didn't think talking to me casually was a big deal. Or atleast, didn't seem to show it. I was part of a few societies, and I went through the same ordeal a hundred times, of a batchmate trying to strike up a casual conversation. I really don't get why a person has to try to look casual, I mean we're all casual in real life really, aren't we? Apparently not. Real life takes a twisted bend in Kgp.

I loved my Hall. There were these few awesome people I knew and that was enough for me to love it. It was fun, mess table bhaat, secret huddled conversations in packed rooms on matters of no importance whatsoever, bad jokes, Patel bashing, generalising a few people to represent their halls, banda-bandi gossip, hushed slut hating, learning to swear, and the senior guys. The senior guys, the good rare few that is, but in existence very much. They were open, knew stuff, sometimes handsome, sometimes even actually talkable, and mostly bandi-less. Perfect people to casually talk to. And talk I did. The first summer vacations are a wonderful time if you're talking to someone over the phone, very casually only, ofcourse. I mean the actual girlfriend-boyfriend sort of stuff wasn't really for me, if you know what I mean. That's just gossip fun.

The second year started out hectic. I am not a sucker for grades but I, you know, like them in general if I can do something about it. So there was the department, the new people, the irritating batchmates, even weirder dep seniors and ofcourse the few people I was in touch with. OP was fun from this side, not much but whatever. And the gossip! I'll repeat, the gossip! She's going out with him, and he just proposed her, and they're definitely going to break up, though that's not all we talk about, by a long long shot. And then that stupid ridiculous part of the gossip spectrum that actually involved me. I heard of atleast 6 guys who were apparently my boyfriends, and I didn't even know 3 of them, I swear. Then there's the totally-uncalled-for closed room controversial stuff. Things happen, and you take them for what they are. Upsetting, but then... yeah so there are a few catches in Kgp. Fine, move on.

I knew this guy from earlier, I mean I'd seen him around but didn't, you know, really know him or anything. Really nice chap. I mean, really. And we were talking, casually, and I suddenly realised. I hadn't even thought of it you know! How could he, this extremely likeable, actually understanding, seriously decent looking guy, think of us that way! I mean I'm just a regular girl!

Those were happy times. I'm sure I stepped on a few hearts but come on, most of them deserved to be crushed anyway, and the few nice ones, its not like I'm some goddess of some sort, they'll find better ones I'm sure. So I said yes to him, the senior who didn't feel like a senior at all. Happy times. That's all I'll say about it. Happy times.

But it wasn't for long. There was stuff that just wasn't happy as I would have liked. And then ofcourse, Kgp is not the smoothly sailing ship on a mad stormy ocean. Its the ocean. And you're a fish. Things change. People change. But maybe its just that... that fourth year's a bitch.

So it didn't live for very long, whatever it was. I mean I tried, he did too. It just, shit its so cheesy I don't even want to say it, but it just wasn't meant to be. Yeah. And I was alone. You can hardly ever be alone in Kgp, and yet somehow, I was suddenly all alone, in the real sense of the word. So much time with just one person makes you pretty much a custom person. You don't fit the average size anymore. But I had friends. I knew people, I talked to interesting, promising guys. Life tried to fill up again. But nothing ever again will sweep me off my feet I guess. And whatever I do, they just don't gossip like that about me anymore. Sigh.

I noticed you again. You had grown. You were actually different, though I could still see the original nervous, awkward you on a closer look. And you still didn't have a girlfriend. But there was progress. You were more in your element now, as if you were perfecting your act of yourself. You were even talking to girls, casually too I might add. Juniors ofcourse, who would go through the same wave function as I did and so on forever.

I have gone through so much in these last few years that its hard to remember clearly the time before it. So much of life, excitement, and bubble, and then the anticlimax of an absolutely bored final year. Through it all, through all of the tikka and vegies, the chem top and the 2.2, the boredom and the sleep, through cal and shankarpur, and through the Netaji and Kalidas, I lived a full life. And at the end of it, after it was all over and I could look back and wonder, I basically learned just one thing.

That I'm just a regular girl, and you're a douche. I mean, do you even take a bath?

Umbrella Maintenance

Umbrellas are of various colors. For example, Brown, Black, Red, Pink, and Green. An Umbrella may be an open umbrella or a closed umbrella. It has nothing to do with their states of mind. Despite the myths, an Umbrella is not particularly happy when its raining, but definitely and most particularly hates frequent rains, unexpected drains, and miscreant opening and closing. Also, it hates any kind of water touching its insides.

You may notice sometimes that an umbrella may act difficult. Maybe it doesn't open when you just left the shade and entered the rain. Now that is just plain teenage embarrassment. Look about you, is there a flush pink umbrella acting royally indifferent nearby? That is it, the cause of the embarrassment and the failure. There is a time-tested, rather sick, but working solution for this. Just take your umbrella back in, find a dark corner, stroke it appropriately and you will see it rising with flying colors. Now that you have it high and mighty, go ahead, walk into the rain, zoom and flash, and declare that you've arrived. Though not too fast, mind you.

You may also sometimes notice that an umbrella, though its usually considered a good thing under normal circumstances, may act tough and stubborn sometimes. It resists a hurried closing. An umbrella at its flair, showing off in style, is hard to tame and cut back and close, especially if there is audience around, the pink one, that is. The best way to deal with such stubborness and hard-headedness is to give your umbrella a good share of opening everyday, preferably in the rain. And to keep under wraps and covers otherwise, which basically hinders its opportunistic vision and keeps it cool and calm.

After a good long stint in the rain, a wet umbrella may want to drool for a long time, even though it has long since been closed. It is advised to please let it. And then to wipe it dry and cover in the wraps. Read and follow the instructions for a long durable life. Store in a cool and dark place. Keep safe from children.

Lastly, in conclusion, please let your umbrella have a good time, while simultaneously keeping it in check. There are laws in some countries against any deviant behaviour from the standard and accepted umbrella-rain relationships, despite the very natural tendency of an umbrella to playfully strike or rub against another. There may also be restrictions on the usage routine, depending on the laws of the land. Please check the instruction manual, and the constitution of your country, for a longer life. Thank you.

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Mera Pyaara Pink Patel

Manliness is overrated. So is the color pink. And so is the effect of one on the other.

A hall is known by its second years and what it makes of them, rather than the color of its walls. Appearances, as has been proven recurringly since the inception of the Hall, or Time, are deceptive. You may enter a bright white sparkling corridor and think it's a corridor to Heaven, or the insides of the White House, or Anup Bishnoi's Heart, or maybe a wormhole through space. But it could be any of those. You see, a pink Patel is, similarly, a deceptive visual.

A roar in the common room undoubtedly sounds as ferocious still as it did without the sheep thinking of the pink walls outside. It's, you see, just an arbitrary meaningless fact. That the tradition of a most traditional Hall of Residence, though, has been interfered with, is a most inexplicable event. I mean, who really thought of it? And who agreed? And who in heavens did let this mindless blasphemy, totally unimportant and irrelevant though it may be, really happen? Or maybe nobody really had a choice so to speak, this was just destiny waiting to happen, since a long long time.

A Pink Patel is still a Proud Patel. Notice the brilliant, totally inspirational use of apt and awesome alliteration right there. That's the stuff of legendary jingles that motivate a thousand generations. Of patelians. Yo Patel.

Wait, what? Ah, right right. Umm, what?

I was about to throw the tie down on the bed when the microwave beeped. I got a bit confused due to the suddenness of it all and didn't exactly know what to do, went half way to the kitchen and thought why was I still carrying the tie with me? And in the sudden realisation, to counter the shameful stupidity I had shown, threw the tie down right away. It fell to the floor. I think I felt stupid again but I couldn't stop because of the microwave beeping really loud. It suddenly dawned that despite the repeated sharp sudden sounds of the beep, it really wasn't a matter of any urgency. That the beeps just meant that I was free to come and eat the hot food any time now. That revelation was irritating, now that I had come all the way to the kitchen and with an innocent tie still on the ground somewhere on the way. I felt sorry, and went back to it and picked it up. But now I didn't know what to do with it, because the bed and the beeping microwave were on opposite directions now. I would have to choose where to go first now, and I hate making such decisions, specially those with only two options. I stood there for sometime, thinking about the decision to be made but mostly just stuck nervously in the suddenness of the moment, why did everything have to happen all at once. And suddenly the beeps stopped. That was like god's interference or something, seriously, and suddenly everything made sense. I didn't have to go to the microwave anymore because it wasn't calling for me anymore, and I had the tie right there in my hand and the bed right in my view waiting for me. Everything was crystal clear and I lunged for the bed. I reached it, threw the tie on it with grandeur, thanked the god, and sat down smiling with satisfaction. I don't know what I was intensely contemplating but suddenly a slew of sharp sounds filled in my mind and broke the delicate chain of thought. The microwave was beeping again, o' god what do I do now!

ladai ladai maaf karo, dash dash dash dash dash

("dash" is used as the proverbial beep here, this being a kid channel and all)

Vinayak Pathak, as we all know by now, is totally famous on the internet, totally. Why, he is such a meme! Nevermind the feminine sound of that word.

Now this very honorable subject of our little discourse here has recently been tainted by this man here. This... man, for the lack of a better word, is known to be a ghastly dastly manipulative schemer. A schemer of no better conscience than, say, an evil paper boat. Censuring any elaboration of that inappropriately explicit analogy in public interest, we tell you, in the next few scrolls, the complete truth about the dash son dash dash bitch that is, dash dash dash dash Dash.

He:

1. has an extra ball in the bag [citation needed]

2. is really proud of his humility [1]

3. loves a mouthful of Truth [one day you shall know, one day]

4. has been known to approach men from behind, if you know what I mean, and push them off the cliff, with the final words, "Boo." [true story]

5. has evolved an extra helping hand [just trust me ok]

References:

[1] - Dash: "I'm really proud of my humility."

As were to be the unfortunate events to unfold, our simultaneously cute and sexy protagonist, V, approached, platonically ofcourse, the Greatly Sleazy One, dash Dash, and asked for some utterly innocent, absolutely natural, lifestyle advice regarding the future prospects of, well, so to say, getting a girl. And what followed then is a total and naked display of shameless evil stripping away the last of the camaraderie, the sacred brotherly bond of the user and the used between a senior and a junior, respectively, from the face and chest of the earth. A scheming plot to bring down the chances, the prospects, and the sex appeal, of the Cutest One, that one with the nose proud and long, and the One with the Question Mark burnt on his forehead.

Hence it is that we, in all the sacred spirit of justice, try to bring out the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, about this victimized angel of manhood.

He, the symbol of male endeavor,:

1. is gentle.

2. is a symmetric kind of a person.

3. can just turn away and run, when optimal.

4. will make a good computer one day. Or a good barber.

5. does have that extra hand on the shoulder. It automatically waves Hi to people on the road. Pretty nifty.

So guys... just keep away ok. And girls, listen up. You have been missing out, really. And you should totally go out with this guy. Trust me.

THUD. .

Like a pink alien in springtime, I wander around all fuzzy and pink. A blue elephant in a fat flying bottle just missed me barely, from somewhere far away where he sits and reminisces, while his tired autopilot screeches and steers the bottle through a dizzy lane that bends and burns and bores like hell.

I seem to have recovered well from the unfortunate Dentrite Entanglement Accident last month, or last week, or however much it is to you from where you sit. So yeah, like a pink alien, which I am by the way, I keep sniffing about the road, hit a few Coke cans with my will (which is working fine now thanks for asking), and settle for an icecream.

The icecream was gay, not that I find anything wrong with it. But a gay icecream doesn't respond very well to the licks. Too well, actually. And they're really hard to swallow. As in, all pepped up for it. Gross. So I don't really see a point, really, you know what I mean? Too bloody small I say! Why can't they make 'em bigger and everybody will be able to see one and presumably lead happier lives.

Like you know, when the Battery died, no one really gave a shit. No you didn't I know, no one did. But I knew, I knew that someday we were all going to die because of that. But how clever, oh so very bloody clever of them to have named a day of the week on it. SomeDay just came and went. Nobody died. Nobody gave a shit, and then he was dead. And then nobody did anymore. I gulped the Humiliation, and then Realisation down. You are supposed to take them in order, or there may be gastric disorders. Maybe psychological too, but who cares about them after they put Happiness into every commoner's budget.

So yeah, the days of the week. And then the fetish started. SomeDay, ThatDay, TheDay, WhataDay, ShobhaaDay, ToDay, BirthDay, LauDay, YesterDay, and what not. And the commies even put in a MayDay, so they don't have to wait so long for it. Though I really fail to see the logic since all they do when it comes, is wait for the next one. You know its not normal when a month has a one-to-one correspondence with a week. Just like you know its not normal when its not normal. And hence it is not I say.

So yeah the Battery. It died. Moving on, did you notice the speeding blue elephant in a fat flying bottle approaching me from behind? I didn't. And he didn't miss me. Though he later will. But what good will that be to anyone. There is a right time for everything. Even for

Quotes by Famous People

Hi. - Oscar Wilde

Hieeee - Girl

I'm Wilde, - Oscar Wilde

I'm Oscar Wilde - God

He's lying - Oscar Wilde

I'm God - Manoj

I'm Oscar Wilde - Anonymous

I'm Anonymous - Oscar Wilde

I'm recursive - This Statement

Hieeee - Girl

Make love, not war - Anonymous

Ok I'm NOT Anonymous - Oscar Wilde

He's lying - Anonymous

He's not - Anonymous

Cheater! You can't quote as me! - Anonymous

Ofcourse I can, you're Anonymous. - Oscar Wilde

No ofcourse you can't. I'm dumb. - Oscar Wilde

What! You can't quote as me! - Oscar Wilde

Ofcourse I can, you're Oscar Wilde! - Anonymous

Hieeee - Girl

Hallelujah! - Pope

I'm out - Oscar Wilde

He's not - out

He's not - not

Oh damn - not

Oh damn - not

Byeeee - Girl

21 ways to climb a tree.

1. Try climbing it.
2. Call Superman.
3. Fall from a height more than that of the tree.
4. Make sure you fall from directly above the tree.
5. Whisper like you're saying something to it and jump when it bends to listen.
6. Use The Force.
7. Say it aloud like you mean it.
8. Believe in Barack Obama. Ho sakta bhaaya.
9. Wear pants as long as the tree and stand straight.
10. Concentrate. There is no Tree.
11. Take a lift.
12. Look at a snake on the ground, get startled, jump with fear, hang from a branch shaking.
13. Stare the tree down. Then climb.
14. Bribe it.
15. Threaten to piss on it.
16. Disguise like a monkey so it would let you.
17. Hit the iron when it's hot.
18. Grow smaller trees near it and climb them in order of height.
19. List out 21 ways to climb a tree.
20. Cheater, you never got here!
21. Oh damn, Loop Counter!