A New Mystery

"Even with nothing in my hands

I feel like making a hundred new plans

I feel like meeting the new heights

I feel like fleeing to a new world of mine

Even with no one by my side

I know I can maintain my stride

I know i'll end up being solo

I know but, my life will never be hollow

Balancing light and dark in both my hands

I look past the hazy woodlands

When in search for my pre written destiny

All I find is another brand new mystery. "

For all that happens for a reason

Words dry up

Response ends

Love becomes a trickle

And turns out like a prickle

What once was easy

Now becomes a crazy

The heart craves for familiarity

But there is only new dissimilarity

While walking away is hard

So is staying on

But you need to

Cuz you are frayed

Stick to your decision

Be strong, this shall pass like a season

And once it finally ends, remember

It happens for a reason.

Credits: Preeti shenoy

Much Love, yet a Broken Heart!

Peace out!

Guest Stuffing

We must have heard of turkey but have you heard of “Guest stuffing”? This is supposedly a well-known practice for anyone who grew up in India of forcing the guest to eat until the guest is an inch away from throwing up. This is considered as a great hostly thing to do. Leaving any food that the host gratuitously pushed on to your plate is considered very barbaric.

Anyways, for New Year, I visited my cousin’s family in Bangalore for a day and this is my proper visit ever since I was back from my many travels. When I arrived at his place, on agreed upon time – like an idiot, he was not home. His dad assured me that he would return soon and insisted that I waited.

My uncle’s friend was also waiting there and it was considered so indecent of me to leave that place while, Mr. R, an interesting guy, interested being a euphemism for creepy. There was no end to his questions. He seemed to have an axe to grind against young Indians. He didn’t sound like an average curious George; he sounded more like a lawyer arguing for my death sentence. Several questions followed that reiterated the accusations against me. Finally, he gave me a shocking sympathy for not being a software engineer. *face palm*. After serious identity crises over there, I took a quick move inviting everyone for dinner.

On the other side, my aunt is on a spree of dumping her kitchen delicacies in front of us and almost squeezing it in the mouths. It felt as if she is making an adjustment for draught in Ethiopia. My cousin’s wife is a tamilian and she is at her best in serving us all the south Indian delicacies. The dinner featured South Indian delicacies Idly, Sambar, Vada, lemon rice, coconut rice and some varieties of sweets. You won’t believe this is all made as my welcome. Just then my cousin entered with a dozen full of food parcels that contained rotis, some two varieties of paneer curries and some snacks. Who under the sun would think this is my diet while I am watching my calories. My dinner plate came pre-configured with 4 idlies, 2 rotis and some curries and chutneys. Damn, I didn’t want to fill myself with idlies. Then I thought: Ok, not to worry. If I go easy on the lemon rice, I can do some well-deserved justice to the Rasmalai.

I polished off the idlies and rotis with the deftness of an experienced South Indian. *plop* *plop*. Two vadas magically appeared on my plate. I looked up in horror. The spatula wielding hostess was standing right next to me with a bowl menacingly full of vadas. “Oh, you are young, you can eat two more” she dismissed my horror with a wave of the spatula. I begged the hostess to control her effervescing hospitality. I was even scared to utter a word because my uncle’s friend is also sharing the same table with me and asking me questions like if I knew how to use a broom, if I knew how to cook other than pushing off this amazing food.

I ate the bonus vadas too. As I was serving myself a carefully measured portion of lemon rice, I heard the host guffaw. “Don’t eat like a bird. That is why you are so thin.” Before I could fully comprehend the ominousness of his statement, the host moved with dizzying alacrity and before I knew, a lemon-rice-heap of the size of Gibraltar was sitting on my plate. I am sure a tear trickled down my cheek as bid farewell to any remaining hopes of getting to the Rasmalai.

I laboriously finished the lemon rice. I was so full that I could not even laugh at the bed wet jokes of my childhood. But, like a wounded soldier crawling towards home country, I reached out for the Rasmalai. I had them in a cup and was about to eat when I heard, “What? You are already having dessert?” *Plop* There was Sambar on my plate. “I saw you didn’t eat Sambar.” At which point, I gave up. The silver lining was that the hostess gave me my Rasmalai to-go. And now I am writing this between my regular breaks to the washroom!

Btw – Happy New Year , 2015

For Better or....

Howdy Folks!

I’m alive. Surprise!

People all over the world are clutching their falling pants and wiping their runny noses while trying to hold back tears of joy. That’s all I’m going to say about my vanishing act and my subsequent return today. I’m back. Let’s not read too much into that.

I read my own blog yesterday, the dusty old posts forgotten by all, hiding in the ether. Words buried in old web pages, unseen by anyone except the odd spam bot. I am simultaneously embarrassed and jealous. Embarrassed because I was an idiot. Jealous because, well, I used to be a fun idiot. I used to think of such strange and wonderful things that just do not occur to me anymore. As though the little spinning pinwheel that is inside my soul, powering my imagination and coherence, is slowly being worn away. Soon it will be but a little pile of confetti.

However, to be frank, I am excited about the whole stuff happening around: D. At least I am in a place where I don’t have to laugh for jokes like this - My laziness is like the number 8. Once it lies down, it becomes infinite. In fact I am living in a live entertainment world. Trust me, my inner voice has a better tone of humour than these made up jokes. Try it by walking in front of me sometime.

Now-a-days, I am living on a motivation of spending my remaining life in a comatose state without uttering a single syllable just like Mr. Singh. Before you people used your impermissible levels of intelligence in guessing my profession, lemme tell you, I am not a LIBRARIAN. Adding much to my amusement, wherever I go, I end up bumping into couples and little freakily bawling kids. In such worst conditions, if ever I can still hear but highly prefer not to hear is Ekta Kapoor type bahus who are roaming in this free nation. For that matter,any saas-bahu Jodi.

Talking about it, everyone ought to get married unless they have a really good reason not to, like becoming the nun or if they are in a coma or are in under daily dosage of Ekta Kapoor. I researched long to find out the reasons that hypothesized women to get married which is supposedly their life’s biggest dream.  The most realistic one seems to be that they seem to get the urge to merge for all sorts of silly reasons like being in love, but the most plausible one could be that they have managed to locate that one specimen in the male population who is not a complete jerk.

It boggles my mind whenever I see all the forces come under cooperation and willingness to get a person hitched. Research tells us that these forces spend one hundred and forty four hours a week, on average, either in contemplation or in discussion of this stuff.  When I say forces, it refers to the family, extended family, friends, friends’ friends, colleagues and trust me even the servant maids.

Well, there are seven billion people on this planet. Statistically half of them are men. The probability of finding that one handsome, loving and sensitive male out of the pack is pretty high. It’s a different matter however that I might never run into him because he’s likely under scientific observation in a laboratory in MIT. Just in case if you are lucky you bump into him too but these same rational forces I referred too with make their best to project him as any other jerk.

So this excessive enthusiasm and the pains of bitter disappointments of those frogs that turned into princesses kept me extremely busy. Hence, no updates but I promise to visit once in a while with a new post.

The Victim

On this pier walking past the memories
that conjure up deluged with the remnants of love
far away secluded
for me
the world looks so plebeian
dancing to three powers that made it a mere marionette
no disdain
no love
no care
no fear
apathy it is
the power reminds me how mortal we are
how assiduously we follow the rythm
I leave this place dry with no blood and a story to tell
without a kindred one to abdicate my throne to.
His sable eyes look through- perplexed with the
equable climate,floundering helplessly he finally
reaches the sacred place where
the inscriptions of blood speak !!
from the stench of failure came a catharsis
genesis of a contempt for lives caught in the vale of love
a blinding light which rose above me showing the face behind its facade.
"sucess" the inscription read !!!
doors opened to the road flanked by graves on both sides
every epitaph read the same as I walked on
the path intrepid
"The Victim "

Adventures of Demented Teacher

Couple of days back, just before the recess break began, I was suppose to give a tutorial to100 students. Little to my exaggeration, surprisingly I  had that good attendance for an Algebra class. I was bored teaching the same shit, no surprises there watching the students doze off. Suddenly out of nowhere, a Gtalk window pops out saying 'Motuuuuuuuuuuu' (fatso). It was my roomie who pings me to say that a pink pair of tongs were on her bed and asked if it was mine. I replied in a word taking no choices and chances as the projector has the desktop. She chuckles and asks,” wore something na aaj!”

All of the sudden, the suffering of Algebra has become super hilarious recreation class.

That bitch chatted for like 5 minutes non-stop while the projector connections are too tight to disconnect. All the while everybody in that lecture hall was laughing his/her ass off. First time in my life, I had to adjourn my class 45 mins early and get out. Next day I go to my class and I see my name plate replaced with PINKY and people started calling me the same out of the blue.

I was really embarrassed that day but when I look back and write this was one of the funniest things which happened to me and of course I have a semester to deal with it!