Raghu looked at the bus. The driver had not yet climbed in. Still some more time before he bid goodbye to this city - he had spent the last one year of his life here . And what had he got in exchange? Some wonderful memories, that he could treasure for a lifetime. Might it have been different if he had shown some more courage? His mind wandered back to the beginning.
It was his first day in office. He was just getting accustomed to the newness of it all, when he had seen her. He had been struck dumb by her loveliness. She was not extraordinarily beautiful - but something about her face seemed to touch a chord in his heart. Was this what they called love at first sight?
Her name was Chandni. She sat in the next cubicle. The next two weeks were like heaven on earth. He used to catch her eye often, his mouth open in wonder when she laughed at something. She had noticed him staring at her several times - smiled sometimes as if in invitation to go and talk to her. But he had never quite mustered the courage. Raghu had never felt like this with any girl before. When Chandni appeared he got tongue tied, a sort of dim witted fool.
One month after he had joined, someone had told him the news. It was the office gossip. Chandni was married. It should have broken his heart. But strangely enough , it didnt. In fact , it didnt cool his ardour one bit. He still felt the same pure love for her. Everyday, he would search for her face as he entered office. All the while, in his heart of hearts he knew that there was only heartbreak in store for him.
And that was why he had finally decided to leave. For a strange land. Bidding goodbyes to the friends he had made and a silent farewell to the beloved who didnt know she had a lover.
Honk! Honk! The sound of the horn snapped Raghu out of his reverie. The driver was in his seat and had started the engine. The passengers were slowly getting on to the bus. Raghu took out his mobile and searched for Chandni's name in his phone book.He had her number - just never called her. Somehow, it had never seemed right. After all, she had never given him the number. But surely, this moment was different. Shouldnt he at least call her and say goodbye. He would have given his life at that moment to know if she cared. The moment passed. The decision had been made and now he had to stick to it.
It was better it ended this way.
"Sir, Are you waiting for someone"? , asked the conductor. "No, no one is coming", said Raghu as he got on to the bus.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Sachin Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai?
I hold myself to be a very liberal person - I can take any kind of criticism ( I usually give as good as I get ). What I dont like is anonymous comments which ridicule others on my blog. One rotten comment can spoil the whole blog atmosphere.
Most of the people who comment on this blog are those who I do not know personally ( my personal friends usually let me know their opinions on the post through emails. The more tolerant of these start with eda , poda , thendi etc )
I dont mind any such. More are welcome. Only condition - they are directed at me or my post. What I wont accept is the cloak of anonymity being used to make degrading remarks of a personal nature.
And so I have decided to go in for comment moderation.
What is acceptable:
Any criticism as long as its not personal ( and believe me , I give a whole lot of leeway here eg "Your blog sucks" *will* get posted).
What is NOT acceptable:
Comments of a personal nature, lewd/degrading remarks, sweeping statements about race/religion etc . You get the idea.
Most of the people who comment on this blog are those who I do not know personally ( my personal friends usually let me know their opinions on the post through emails. The more tolerant of these start with eda , poda , thendi etc )
I dont mind any such. More are welcome. Only condition - they are directed at me or my post. What I wont accept is the cloak of anonymity being used to make degrading remarks of a personal nature.
And so I have decided to go in for comment moderation.
What is acceptable:
Any criticism as long as its not personal ( and believe me , I give a whole lot of leeway here eg "Your blog sucks" *will* get posted).
What is NOT acceptable:
Comments of a personal nature, lewd/degrading remarks, sweeping statements about race/religion etc . You get the idea.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
My Tryst with Vegetarianism
And now Ladies and Gentlemen - for the good news. I have become vegetarian. Yes , you heard it ( rather , read it ) right the first time. No more meat , eggs or fish for me. ( Unlike some people I know who consider egg to belong to the veggie class, heh heh , you know who I am talking about ). No Sir, no half measures for me, me going the whole hog ( Aiyyo, that word had me drooling over visions of steaming hot pork fry ).
And before the smart asses among you snigger about Hare Rama Hare Krishna or new found love for my fellow Earthlings or road to salvation etc, let me tell you it was nothing romantic like that. Iam on a course of Ayurvedic medicines. And any fool will tell you ( I didnt know BTW ) that ayurvedic medicines and non-veg food are a strict no-no. The price one pays for ignorance. Now I find myself cut off from nonveg for one month.
Now in my house, my mother is the menu decider. So it seemed only correct that I inform her of this momentous decision.
The conversation went something like this
Me : Mother , Iam taking ayurvedic medicines for a month, so only veg food for me during that period.
Mother : What a pity. We are having chicken curry tonight.
Me : Ohhhhhhh.
Mother : Dont you worry. I will prepare some nice rasam for you
Me: No no. Dont go to all that trouble. Anyway, better not to take such decisions after sundown. I will start my medicines course from tomorrow.
Next day , there was no other option than to bid goodbye to the chicken legs, the mutton chops , the fish fries , the chilly beefs ( Control Sachin control , you are drooling again ) etc etc. And that as they say, was that.
Whats the big deal , you ask? I will tell you what the big deal is. I have now been on this diet for two whole days ( no less ) and its truly seemed an age. And its even more tortuous when I watch my friends digging into the chicken kabab and chilly chicken and me staring down on my plate desperately trying to protect my eyes from this nauseating vision ( wondering all the while how the hell do I keep the crunching sound out of my ears), and what do I find on my plate? - a couple of drumsticks and some potatoes looking up at me trying to look their comforting best.
Come to think of it, this torture doesnt have to last one whole month. Just increase the arishtam intake from three spoons to five and the kashayam from two to four. Dont think kashayam ( yuck!!) will cooperate though :(.
p.s : I have been reliably informed by two experts that the consumption of alcoholic drinks and ayurvedic medicines is mutually compatible. Only issue is that the area of expertise of these experts is drinking. Any independent confirmation will earn the undying gratitude of a thirsty throat.
And before the smart asses among you snigger about Hare Rama Hare Krishna or new found love for my fellow Earthlings or road to salvation etc, let me tell you it was nothing romantic like that. Iam on a course of Ayurvedic medicines. And any fool will tell you ( I didnt know BTW ) that ayurvedic medicines and non-veg food are a strict no-no. The price one pays for ignorance. Now I find myself cut off from nonveg for one month.
Now in my house, my mother is the menu decider. So it seemed only correct that I inform her of this momentous decision.
The conversation went something like this
Me : Mother , Iam taking ayurvedic medicines for a month, so only veg food for me during that period.
Mother : What a pity. We are having chicken curry tonight.
Me : Ohhhhhhh.
Mother : Dont you worry. I will prepare some nice rasam for you
Me: No no. Dont go to all that trouble. Anyway, better not to take such decisions after sundown. I will start my medicines course from tomorrow.
Next day , there was no other option than to bid goodbye to the chicken legs, the mutton chops , the fish fries , the chilly beefs ( Control Sachin control , you are drooling again ) etc etc. And that as they say, was that.
Whats the big deal , you ask? I will tell you what the big deal is. I have now been on this diet for two whole days ( no less ) and its truly seemed an age. And its even more tortuous when I watch my friends digging into the chicken kabab and chilly chicken and me staring down on my plate desperately trying to protect my eyes from this nauseating vision ( wondering all the while how the hell do I keep the crunching sound out of my ears), and what do I find on my plate? - a couple of drumsticks and some potatoes looking up at me trying to look their comforting best.
Come to think of it, this torture doesnt have to last one whole month. Just increase the arishtam intake from three spoons to five and the kashayam from two to four. Dont think kashayam ( yuck!!) will cooperate though :(.
p.s : I have been reliably informed by two experts that the consumption of alcoholic drinks and ayurvedic medicines is mutually compatible. Only issue is that the area of expertise of these experts is drinking. Any independent confirmation will earn the undying gratitude of a thirsty throat.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Of Black Tongues and Other Mishaps
Today I had a conversation with a friend about kari nakku.This friend is planning a trip shortly and I happened to mention in jest that if something untoward were to happen, I would lay a wreath on this friend's grave. Now , this friend did not share my lighthearted take on this and was plainly offended. And this got me thinking ( no mean feat, those who know me will agree ).
An incident that happened in Chennai some years back sprang to memory. A friend ( who for want of a better name we will call Mr Puli ) and I were going somewhere by bus. Mr Puli happened to remark that it was a wonderful thing that there were no bus strikes in Chennai. An off-the-cuff remark you would say, one which did not deserve a comment much less valuable bytes of storage in my memory all these years. Patience , dear reader , patience. To continue from where I left off ( those who know me will vouch that I can go tangentially any time which is apt to confuse the enraptured listeners waiting with bated breath for the nuggets of wisdom to fall from my pearly lips ) ...uh oh where was I ?
Oh yes, the bus trip. So we continued on the trip, reached our destination ,did some shopping and were ready to return ( see , I can be curt and to the point if I want to). And here , gentle readers, ( Editor's note: Hold on tight. Shocking surprise coming up ) you will Iam sure get the shock of your lives when I tell you with an Alfred Hitchcocksque air that there were no buses to board due to a lightning strike. And from that day on we had a new term - Puli yude nakku. Which brings us to the end of the narrative on Black Tongues.
On to Other Mishaps. This is another incident when I and Mr Puli were returning by bus from office. Since we were housemates , one of us would get the tickets. On the day in question, unluckily for me , Mr Puli got the tickets. Now just before reaching our bus stop , there was a speed breaker. Unknown to me Mr Puli had used the drop in the bus speed at the bump to hop lightly off the bus. I continued on merrily till the bus stop, where I got down and was greeted with elation by a crew of ticket checkers.
What did I have to fear? I waited for the passengers to get down, among which would be my dear friend Mr Puli with the tickets, seeing which the ticket checkers would stop looking at me like I was a you-know-what and fawn on me respectfully like I was a you-know-who . I waited. and waited. and waited. The bus was nearly empty and then I realized how Buddha must have felt when he attained Nirvana. For you see, light ( tubelight probably, since it took so long ) finally dawned on me. Mr Puli had disappeared. AWOL. There was nothing to do. I had to swallow the righteous indignation I was spewing out and pay the fine.To add insult to injury , I could hear one of the passengers commenting loudly "Thiruttu rascal" , "Thiruda" etc - in short showing off his by-no-means-limited vocabulary. I contented myself with giving him a dirty look and walked away in dignified silence ( not too easy when you consider I had just been picked for ticketless travelling ).
p.s : The story doesnt end here, you dear readers will be pleased to note. By a happy coincidence, I was carrying the house keys. Needled with this affront on my pride, I headed straight for the barber shop. And one hour later ( what was the hurry anyway :) ), when I f-i-n-a-l-l-y reached home, Mr Puli was still waiting outside.
An incident that happened in Chennai some years back sprang to memory. A friend ( who for want of a better name we will call Mr Puli ) and I were going somewhere by bus. Mr Puli happened to remark that it was a wonderful thing that there were no bus strikes in Chennai. An off-the-cuff remark you would say, one which did not deserve a comment much less valuable bytes of storage in my memory all these years. Patience , dear reader , patience. To continue from where I left off ( those who know me will vouch that I can go tangentially any time which is apt to confuse the enraptured listeners waiting with bated breath for the nuggets of wisdom to fall from my pearly lips ) ...uh oh where was I ?
Oh yes, the bus trip. So we continued on the trip, reached our destination ,did some shopping and were ready to return ( see , I can be curt and to the point if I want to). And here , gentle readers, ( Editor's note: Hold on tight. Shocking surprise coming up ) you will Iam sure get the shock of your lives when I tell you with an Alfred Hitchcocksque air that there were no buses to board due to a lightning strike. And from that day on we had a new term - Puli yude nakku. Which brings us to the end of the narrative on Black Tongues.
On to Other Mishaps. This is another incident when I and Mr Puli were returning by bus from office. Since we were housemates , one of us would get the tickets. On the day in question, unluckily for me , Mr Puli got the tickets. Now just before reaching our bus stop , there was a speed breaker. Unknown to me Mr Puli had used the drop in the bus speed at the bump to hop lightly off the bus. I continued on merrily till the bus stop, where I got down and was greeted with elation by a crew of ticket checkers.
What did I have to fear? I waited for the passengers to get down, among which would be my dear friend Mr Puli with the tickets, seeing which the ticket checkers would stop looking at me like I was a you-know-what and fawn on me respectfully like I was a you-know-who . I waited. and waited. and waited. The bus was nearly empty and then I realized how Buddha must have felt when he attained Nirvana. For you see, light ( tubelight probably, since it took so long ) finally dawned on me. Mr Puli had disappeared. AWOL. There was nothing to do. I had to swallow the righteous indignation I was spewing out and pay the fine.To add insult to injury , I could hear one of the passengers commenting loudly "Thiruttu rascal" , "Thiruda" etc - in short showing off his by-no-means-limited vocabulary. I contented myself with giving him a dirty look and walked away in dignified silence ( not too easy when you consider I had just been picked for ticketless travelling ).
p.s : The story doesnt end here, you dear readers will be pleased to note. By a happy coincidence, I was carrying the house keys. Needled with this affront on my pride, I headed straight for the barber shop. And one hour later ( what was the hurry anyway :) ), when I f-i-n-a-l-l-y reached home, Mr Puli was still waiting outside.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Sheila's Diary - An Extract
Nov 1: Dear Diary, Guess what? I have decided to start keeping an entry of my day to day happenings. This was suggested by Dr Prasad at the hospital. He suggested it since off late I have been having problems with memory loss, nausea , giddiness etc. This was the reason I went to see Dr Prasad in the first place. Such a nice man. In fact he has referred me for an appointment with Dr Mathur for tomorrow. Seems Dr Mathur is a renowned expert in his field.
Nov 2: Went to see Dr Mathur. Such a change from that nice man Dr Prasad. The fellow seemed too curious - asking me about my close friends etc. Really if Dr Prasad had not insisted, I would stop seeing this jerk. But Dr Prasad has made me promise that I will stick to my appointments.
Nov 5: Really, how wrong can one be with first impressions. Behind Dr Mathur's rough exterior is a kind man who seems to really want to help me. I told him about my best friend, Sanjay. Really there was no stopping me once I started. I went Sanjay this and Sanjay that. Dr Mathur was wearing his little smile all the time. Little does he know.
Nov 8: Today was another day of talking to Dr Mathur about Sanjay. Dr Mathur wanted to meet him. I had to explain to him that Sanjay is a really shy person who does not mingle freely with others. Really a sweet chap once you get to know him, but an introvert.
Nov 10: Today I told Dr Mathur about the other person in my life, Sunil. Not a very nice man to know - really short tempered , freaks me out sometimes. But I dont need to be afraid- I know his little secret. I was almost laughing out loud today at the session. It was so funny - Dr Mathur was asking me so many mundane questions , and all the while I had this knowledge of Sunil's dirty little secret. Dont worry Sunil, your secret is safe with me - after all, what are friends for?
Nov 15: Oh my God. Sunil will be so angry with me if he finds out. Really it was all Dr Mathur's fault. He needled me saying I had never done anything important and then I couldnt stop myself from speaking about the murder I had seen Sunil commit. You should have seen the look on Dr Mathur's face. He wouldnt believe me till I showed him the newspaper report about the unsolved murder last week. Dr Mathur was very disturbed - he cut short the interview then , said he had to see someone urgently.
Nov 20: They took me away today. I was kicking and screaming , telling the inspector I wanted to see my friends Sanjay and Sunil, but he just laughed. At least they allowed me to keep this diary.You better watch out Mr Inspector. Once Sunil comes to know how you have treated me...
Dr Mathur finished reading out from the diary to his class and concluded, "Students,this was an unusual case of schizophernia - unusual because I have never seen such a recorded case where the female personality is in command and the alter egos are two male personalities."
Nov 2: Went to see Dr Mathur. Such a change from that nice man Dr Prasad. The fellow seemed too curious - asking me about my close friends etc. Really if Dr Prasad had not insisted, I would stop seeing this jerk. But Dr Prasad has made me promise that I will stick to my appointments.
Nov 5: Really, how wrong can one be with first impressions. Behind Dr Mathur's rough exterior is a kind man who seems to really want to help me. I told him about my best friend, Sanjay. Really there was no stopping me once I started. I went Sanjay this and Sanjay that. Dr Mathur was wearing his little smile all the time. Little does he know.
Nov 8: Today was another day of talking to Dr Mathur about Sanjay. Dr Mathur wanted to meet him. I had to explain to him that Sanjay is a really shy person who does not mingle freely with others. Really a sweet chap once you get to know him, but an introvert.
Nov 10: Today I told Dr Mathur about the other person in my life, Sunil. Not a very nice man to know - really short tempered , freaks me out sometimes. But I dont need to be afraid- I know his little secret. I was almost laughing out loud today at the session. It was so funny - Dr Mathur was asking me so many mundane questions , and all the while I had this knowledge of Sunil's dirty little secret. Dont worry Sunil, your secret is safe with me - after all, what are friends for?
Nov 15: Oh my God. Sunil will be so angry with me if he finds out. Really it was all Dr Mathur's fault. He needled me saying I had never done anything important and then I couldnt stop myself from speaking about the murder I had seen Sunil commit. You should have seen the look on Dr Mathur's face. He wouldnt believe me till I showed him the newspaper report about the unsolved murder last week. Dr Mathur was very disturbed - he cut short the interview then , said he had to see someone urgently.
Nov 20: They took me away today. I was kicking and screaming , telling the inspector I wanted to see my friends Sanjay and Sunil, but he just laughed. At least they allowed me to keep this diary.You better watch out Mr Inspector. Once Sunil comes to know how you have treated me...
Dr Mathur finished reading out from the diary to his class and concluded, "Students,this was an unusual case of schizophernia - unusual because I have never seen such a recorded case where the female personality is in command and the alter egos are two male personalities."
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Conversation with an Optimist
Optimist He : Hey , are you going for the Office Dance?
Realist She : Of course, wouldnt miss it for the world.
He : Cool . You can be my date then.
She : Oops sorry. Iam going with Vasu.
He : Vasu? What do you want to go with that idiot for?
She : Well for starters , he *is* my husband
He : Thats my point. You are with the guy all day. Give a poor bloke a break.
She : Hmmmmm
He : So is that a date or is that a date?
She : Take a Wild Guess.
He: Great. Your place at 8 then.
Realist She : Of course, wouldnt miss it for the world.
He : Cool . You can be my date then.
She : Oops sorry. Iam going with Vasu.
He : Vasu? What do you want to go with that idiot for?
She : Well for starters , he *is* my husband
He : Thats my point. You are with the guy all day. Give a poor bloke a break.
She : Hmmmmm
He : So is that a date or is that a date?
She : Take a Wild Guess.
He: Great. Your place at 8 then.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Different Perspectives
Rahul swore softly under his breath. The swirling waters of the Ganga flowing down below seemed to be holding a sort of magnetic attraction for him. Pity it had to end this way. But there was no other option. He had tried his best. The past few weeks had been a torture - wearing a smiling face so none would suspect, all the while his heart tearing apart with grief. In a sense, it was almost a relief that it was going to end today. If he had the chance, would he have chosen differently. Irritably , he shook his head , almost as if to clear away all these useless thoughts.For all that
was beside the point now. He had laid his bed and must lie down on it. He truly had just one genuine regret. That he and Sandhya would never be together. He smiled bitterly. To think the one person for whose happiness, he would lay down his life was suffering because of him was what hurt him most. "Till Death Do Us Part" - how many times had he enacted that scene in his mind's eye, his right hand holding a blushing Sandhya. The time for parting had truly come - except could you call it a parting when they had never been joined in the first instance.
Rahul had left a letter in his father's jacket pocket. A simple note , really. No flowery speeches, just one word. Sorry. He had read somewhere that your life flashes before your eyes during the last few moments before you meet death.Was it true? Well , time to find out. Gritting his teeth tightly , he took the plunge. Strangely enough, there were no flashbacks, just one burning thought , "Sandhya, may you always be happy".
(Let us now scan the thoughts of those Rahul held to be his near and dear ones while he lived.)
Priya , the 8 year old neighbour: Why doesnt Rahul uncle come? And whats all that crying noise, coming from Rahul uncle's house. Why is vellyamma crying so loudly? Mother is also looking so serious. Let Rahul uncle come. He will explain everything , in his kindly tone. He is the only one who does not treat me like a young child, incapable of understanding anything.
Suchitra, Priya's mother: Such a Kind chap, always willing to help out. Really , such a tragedy. Was it something to do with that girl, now what was her name , Sandhya? One hears all sorts of rumours nowadays, musnt give ear to all that one hears. But if not Sandhya, why did the poor boy do this? Whats the time now? Oh nearly eight. Must go soon , otherwise hubby dear will be back from office and no dinner. Will someone notice if I slip out now?
Kishore, Rahul's childhood friend: Really what possessed him to do this. and not giving me a hint. True , he felt that way about Sandhya, but really this. And will his death solve any of Sandhya's problems. Would he have mentioned anything about the 3 lakhs he lent me to his parents? Should I give it to them? Let them ask first.
The Father: My son, why did you do this? If I had but one inkling that this was what you had in your mind when you said this morning "It will be alright, Father". I would have accepted Sandhya as my daughter-in-law and never mind what anyone said. Cursed indeed am I that I have to attend my own son's funeral.
Sandhya: Poor Rahul, suffering so much because of me. And wearing that brave face of his when is he with me , as if I cant make out his anguish. Fie on me that I can live, knowing my lover is suffering. Tomorrow, he will get the letter I posted today and he can start a new life. You will despair at first , my lover , but understand it is all for the best. Let me take this poison and die, that my lover may live.
Epilogue: Rahul's body washed ashore on the third day. "Moonam Pakkam", murmured the old fisherman.
was beside the point now. He had laid his bed and must lie down on it. He truly had just one genuine regret. That he and Sandhya would never be together. He smiled bitterly. To think the one person for whose happiness, he would lay down his life was suffering because of him was what hurt him most. "Till Death Do Us Part" - how many times had he enacted that scene in his mind's eye, his right hand holding a blushing Sandhya. The time for parting had truly come - except could you call it a parting when they had never been joined in the first instance.
Rahul had left a letter in his father's jacket pocket. A simple note , really. No flowery speeches, just one word. Sorry. He had read somewhere that your life flashes before your eyes during the last few moments before you meet death.Was it true? Well , time to find out. Gritting his teeth tightly , he took the plunge. Strangely enough, there were no flashbacks, just one burning thought , "Sandhya, may you always be happy".
(Let us now scan the thoughts of those Rahul held to be his near and dear ones while he lived.)
Priya , the 8 year old neighbour: Why doesnt Rahul uncle come? And whats all that crying noise, coming from Rahul uncle's house. Why is vellyamma crying so loudly? Mother is also looking so serious. Let Rahul uncle come. He will explain everything , in his kindly tone. He is the only one who does not treat me like a young child, incapable of understanding anything.
Suchitra, Priya's mother: Such a Kind chap, always willing to help out. Really , such a tragedy. Was it something to do with that girl, now what was her name , Sandhya? One hears all sorts of rumours nowadays, musnt give ear to all that one hears. But if not Sandhya, why did the poor boy do this? Whats the time now? Oh nearly eight. Must go soon , otherwise hubby dear will be back from office and no dinner. Will someone notice if I slip out now?
Kishore, Rahul's childhood friend: Really what possessed him to do this. and not giving me a hint. True , he felt that way about Sandhya, but really this. And will his death solve any of Sandhya's problems. Would he have mentioned anything about the 3 lakhs he lent me to his parents? Should I give it to them? Let them ask first.
The Father: My son, why did you do this? If I had but one inkling that this was what you had in your mind when you said this morning "It will be alright, Father". I would have accepted Sandhya as my daughter-in-law and never mind what anyone said. Cursed indeed am I that I have to attend my own son's funeral.
Sandhya: Poor Rahul, suffering so much because of me. And wearing that brave face of his when is he with me , as if I cant make out his anguish. Fie on me that I can live, knowing my lover is suffering. Tomorrow, he will get the letter I posted today and he can start a new life. You will despair at first , my lover , but understand it is all for the best. Let me take this poison and die, that my lover may live.
Epilogue: Rahul's body washed ashore on the third day. "Moonam Pakkam", murmured the old fisherman.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Bond, James Bond
James Bond was a worried man. As he walked into his favourite hangout , the local bar , his mind was flitting among various thoughts. He had heard disturbing news - there was a mole in his organization , someone who had access to all his defenses.
The waiter asked,"The usual martini , Mr Bond? Shaken not stirred?". Bond was so busy with his own thoughts that he started.
"Huh, what's that?".
The waiter was a bit surprised. He had never seen the normally ice cool Mr Bond of Universal Exports so perturbed. He repeated the question. Bond at the moment just wanted to be left alone.
"If I want a drink , I will ask for it , so bugger off", he cried shrilly. The bar crowd was stunned. The Prince of Monrovia, sitting at the next table, licked his lips in anticipation. Well well well, he thought, so our Mr Bond is not his cool self today. Maybe I can get back the mini fortune I lost to him at cards yesterday.
Abruptly , Bond rushed out of the bar. He found himself facing the heavy London evening traffic. He missed the quaint car Q had arranged for him. It had broken down one week back. He had been promised a replacement , but nothing had happened. Bloody bureaucrats, he thought, cursing the system.
He looked at the groups of children rushing to watch the next show of the Daniel Craig starrer , Casino Royale. For a moment , he felt a wave of pity for them. They thought his life was just guns, fast cars and attractive ladies with all shades of hair colour. They didn’t know , he was a marked man. He looked at the giant Daniel Craig poster staring down at him. The fellow was quite goodlooking, he had to admit. But at least he had actors to do all the stunts for him, Bond though bitterly , fingering the long scar that had left the right side of his face hideous to look at.
Irritably, he shook his head. This would never do. There was a dangerous enemy on his trail, an enemy who had only two days back killed his lover from his latest adventure. He needed to watch every step. But had he left it too late? Would some blunder from the past catch up with him?
There was no report on his latest enemy in the MI-6 files. But Google had given him a wealth of information. ( He had started relying on Google ever since that goof-up in Bohemia, when to his surprise, he found that the building marked on MI-6 maps , that he was supposed to bomb , did not exist. He had got out of that tricky situation by relying on Google Earth ). Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he recalled the close shave.
"This will never do , Mr Bond", he mocked himself. Google had told him that he now faced an implacable enemy, an unrelenting foe which would not relent till he had been destroyed. The ease with which his former lover ( his heart ached everytime he thought of the lovely , desirable Irene ) had been destroyed was warning enough. He must get to M , fast. Maybe he would have a solution. How many times had M saved him before? Maybe the man could work a miracle this time as well.
He caught the tube and rushed to MI-6 headquarters. He rushed into Miss MoneyPenny's cabin and pressed the intercom to M's office.
"Whos that?" , it was a relief to hear that familiar voice.
"Bond, Sir, James Bond"
"Come in James", said the kindly voice.
Bond entered M's office. M was shaken to see his 00 agent so pale.
"Sit down ,James. Tell me , whats the problem".
"Sir, Have you heard of AIDS?".
The waiter asked,"The usual martini , Mr Bond? Shaken not stirred?". Bond was so busy with his own thoughts that he started.
"Huh, what's that?".
The waiter was a bit surprised. He had never seen the normally ice cool Mr Bond of Universal Exports so perturbed. He repeated the question. Bond at the moment just wanted to be left alone.
"If I want a drink , I will ask for it , so bugger off", he cried shrilly. The bar crowd was stunned. The Prince of Monrovia, sitting at the next table, licked his lips in anticipation. Well well well, he thought, so our Mr Bond is not his cool self today. Maybe I can get back the mini fortune I lost to him at cards yesterday.
Abruptly , Bond rushed out of the bar. He found himself facing the heavy London evening traffic. He missed the quaint car Q had arranged for him. It had broken down one week back. He had been promised a replacement , but nothing had happened. Bloody bureaucrats, he thought, cursing the system.
He looked at the groups of children rushing to watch the next show of the Daniel Craig starrer , Casino Royale. For a moment , he felt a wave of pity for them. They thought his life was just guns, fast cars and attractive ladies with all shades of hair colour. They didn’t know , he was a marked man. He looked at the giant Daniel Craig poster staring down at him. The fellow was quite goodlooking, he had to admit. But at least he had actors to do all the stunts for him, Bond though bitterly , fingering the long scar that had left the right side of his face hideous to look at.
Irritably, he shook his head. This would never do. There was a dangerous enemy on his trail, an enemy who had only two days back killed his lover from his latest adventure. He needed to watch every step. But had he left it too late? Would some blunder from the past catch up with him?
There was no report on his latest enemy in the MI-6 files. But Google had given him a wealth of information. ( He had started relying on Google ever since that goof-up in Bohemia, when to his surprise, he found that the building marked on MI-6 maps , that he was supposed to bomb , did not exist. He had got out of that tricky situation by relying on Google Earth ). Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he recalled the close shave.
"This will never do , Mr Bond", he mocked himself. Google had told him that he now faced an implacable enemy, an unrelenting foe which would not relent till he had been destroyed. The ease with which his former lover ( his heart ached everytime he thought of the lovely , desirable Irene ) had been destroyed was warning enough. He must get to M , fast. Maybe he would have a solution. How many times had M saved him before? Maybe the man could work a miracle this time as well.
He caught the tube and rushed to MI-6 headquarters. He rushed into Miss MoneyPenny's cabin and pressed the intercom to M's office.
"Whos that?" , it was a relief to hear that familiar voice.
"Bond, Sir, James Bond"
"Come in James", said the kindly voice.
Bond entered M's office. M was shaken to see his 00 agent so pale.
"Sit down ,James. Tell me , whats the problem".
"Sir, Have you heard of AIDS?".
A Hasty Decision
He saw her standing by the railing, her back turned to him. There was something familiar about the figure. Could it be? Yes , it was her. Swapna. The girl he, Rohit, had proposed to one week back. He went nearer. Her whole body seemed to be shaking. He was so near now he could almost touch her. Almost , but not quite. "Swapna", he called her softly. She didnt seem to hear. And then the memories came flooding back.
He remembered asking her out to Coffee Day the previous Monday.
"What for" she had asked, flashing that winsome smile at him.
"Theres something I need to tell you". Her eyes had clouded briefly at that - or was that just his imagination, his nervous heart playing tricks on his mind?
They reached Coffee Day. He gave the order , "One Cappucino and One Hot Chocolate". She smiled softly, maybe at the fact that he remembered her favourite drink. It had been after all nearly 3 months now since they had gone out together.
The order came. He just couldnt bring himself to speak.She broke the silence.
"What was it you wanted to tell me"?
He started. There was something he couldnt quite place in her tone of voice. Almost as if she knew what it was he was going to say. All the talk he had practised for weeks was forgotten.
"Will you marry me, Swapna? " , he asked.
There was that look again in her eyes. For the life of him he couldnt make out what it was. Pity, hopelessness, pride all mingled into one.
She got up pushing away her untasted cup of coffee.
"You know it cant be Rohit", she said and walked out of his life.
He had been heartbroken then, not knowing what to do with his life. He had run around like a mad man. That had been one week back. Strangely enough, one week hence, now that he was so near her , he didnt feel that despair. His mind was empty, devoid of all feelings, at peace with itself. He realized why her body was shaking. She was sobbing softly.
"Rohit, Rohit". He started. Could it be? Was she really uttering his name? He was about to grab her into his arms , when there was a call from behind, "Swapna , where are you? ". He turned. It was her father. Her father did not even look at him. Swapna hugged her father and broke into heart breaking sobs.
"There , there my dear", her father patted her head, "Dont blame yourself for what happened".
And then it all came back to him. The mad rush from Coffee Day, back to office and in that brief moment of madness, the plunge from the eighth floor window. And then , blessed darkness.
He remembered asking her out to Coffee Day the previous Monday.
"What for" she had asked, flashing that winsome smile at him.
"Theres something I need to tell you". Her eyes had clouded briefly at that - or was that just his imagination, his nervous heart playing tricks on his mind?
They reached Coffee Day. He gave the order , "One Cappucino and One Hot Chocolate". She smiled softly, maybe at the fact that he remembered her favourite drink. It had been after all nearly 3 months now since they had gone out together.
The order came. He just couldnt bring himself to speak.She broke the silence.
"What was it you wanted to tell me"?
He started. There was something he couldnt quite place in her tone of voice. Almost as if she knew what it was he was going to say. All the talk he had practised for weeks was forgotten.
"Will you marry me, Swapna? " , he asked.
There was that look again in her eyes. For the life of him he couldnt make out what it was. Pity, hopelessness, pride all mingled into one.
She got up pushing away her untasted cup of coffee.
"You know it cant be Rohit", she said and walked out of his life.
He had been heartbroken then, not knowing what to do with his life. He had run around like a mad man. That had been one week back. Strangely enough, one week hence, now that he was so near her , he didnt feel that despair. His mind was empty, devoid of all feelings, at peace with itself. He realized why her body was shaking. She was sobbing softly.
"Rohit, Rohit". He started. Could it be? Was she really uttering his name? He was about to grab her into his arms , when there was a call from behind, "Swapna , where are you? ". He turned. It was her father. Her father did not even look at him. Swapna hugged her father and broke into heart breaking sobs.
"There , there my dear", her father patted her head, "Dont blame yourself for what happened".
And then it all came back to him. The mad rush from Coffee Day, back to office and in that brief moment of madness, the plunge from the eighth floor window. And then , blessed darkness.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Remembering Macha
Manjunath Shanmugham. ( 23/02/1978 - 19/11/2005)
IIM Lucknow graduate , IOC employee, killed for threatening to seal a petrol pump selling adulterated fuel.
He spoke out when he could have kept quiet.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Whisky and Coconut milk Dont Mix
Today I was reminded of an incident that happened a long time back - to be precise around 11 years back.It seems very funny now but looked set to end in tragedy at the time. Just goes to prove my point that Time is the best healer. I was doing my first year in Engg at the time. It was vacation time and I was at my cousin's place. I was 18 then and my cousin was all of 17 years of age.
We had a desire one evening - to partake of some whisky. We had located the mother lode - where my cousin's elder brother used to keep his liquor supply safely ( or so he thought ) stashed away. We waited that night till everyone was asleep , and then got out the bottle from the hiding place. It was almost full - just around 2 pegs missing. We had , I think , around 2 pegs each. ( That being my first time, I was unable and uninterested in keeping exact count ) . Anyway when we were done , we found the whisky level in the bottle to be alarmingly low. Now here lay a problem - both of us being students , our stock of pocket money was something that would have made the beggars at Mahe Railway Station blush. Replacing the bottle with a new one ( thus ensuring we could have some more gos at the old bottle ) was a very attractive idea. Unfortunately , like most such ideas, this one was definitely not practical. Our bade bhaiya was at the time a teacher in a local parallel college. His own monetary supplies being low, having him discover the missing whisky was decidely risky from a personal safety point, for us.
I will always maintain that some of the best ideas come under the influence of drinks. True, these ideas seem pathetic under the cold reasoning of sober daylight, but what the heck, thats why we drink , right. My cousin had the idea of bringing the bottle to its original level , by mixing some water. In a momentary flash of brilliance , I suggested adding some karingali vellam ( karingali is a powder much like jeera which is usually boiled with drinking water giving it a reddish brown colour ) so the whisky didnt lose its lustrous colour and look diluted. The blending operation was a tricky one - we had to ensure the original colour was retained ( so some strong karingali powder was required) , while at the same time ensuring the resultant product , did not have a karingali flavour. You will appreciate the difficulties we faced when I tell you that while the operation was in progress, there had been an unfortunate power cut and we were at the mercy of candle light.
To continue, we made up some of the deficit in the bottle by mixing karingali vellam and then went to the bathroom for a supply of fresh water. It was at this moment that I had my second flash of brilliance of the night ( above average by my standards and can only thank the whisky which by this time was playing havoc with my nervous system ). Instead of the tap water that my cousin was planning to desecrate this bottle of soma rasa with, I suggested using some bottled water kept in the fridge. We went to the fridge , took out a bottle of water , brought the whisky bottle to its original level and kept it back in its original hiding place - remembering to replace the strand of hair bade bhaiyya had placed to catch any pilferers. After this we went to bed for a well deserved rest.
We woke up , bright and fine in the morning, the doings of the previous night a distant memory. Our first inkling of the disaster that lay ahead came in the morning , when my aunt asked us if any of us had seen the coconut milk bottle she had kept in the fridge. I forgot to mention earlier that after topping up the whisky bottle, we had used the remaining contents of the fridge bottle to quench our parched throats ( no doubt , the readers with a scientific bent of mind will
appreciate that hard liquor causes dehydration and any person having two drinks for the first ever time can be excused if his taste buds do not tell his disoriented grey cells that the liquid making its way down his dry throat is not plain water ). We laughingly told my aunt that perhaps we *had* drunk the coconut milk in mistake. There the matter rested, or so we thought.
After some time, my uncle came to us and enquired about the unseemly smell that seemed to be pervading the whole house. We eagerly joined in the hunt for the guilty party - eagerly that is , till our by-now-sensitive noses led us uncomfortably close to the hiding place of the whisky bottle. And now , the cat was out of the bag. We learnt that day , to our cost, that whisky mixed with coconut milk causes a chemical reaction which releases gases compared to which the smell of rotting eggs (Hydrogen Sulphide if memory serves ) is like that of the freshly bloomed jasmine flowers. The only thing that saved us that day was that it was in bade bhaiyya's interest as much as ours that the bottle remained undiscovered - for what thief reports a theft at his own house to the police. What followed was gut wrenching - for even bade bhaiyya , hardened drinker that he was, could not bear that foul smelling potion pass his lips. And so we arranged a funeral for the erstwhile liquor bottle ( preferring the Christian/Islamic tradition of burial to the Hindu one of cremation ). You will believe me , Iam sure, when I tell you that there was not a single dry eye ( among the six eyes ) that attended the last rites.
We had a desire one evening - to partake of some whisky. We had located the mother lode - where my cousin's elder brother used to keep his liquor supply safely ( or so he thought ) stashed away. We waited that night till everyone was asleep , and then got out the bottle from the hiding place. It was almost full - just around 2 pegs missing. We had , I think , around 2 pegs each. ( That being my first time, I was unable and uninterested in keeping exact count ) . Anyway when we were done , we found the whisky level in the bottle to be alarmingly low. Now here lay a problem - both of us being students , our stock of pocket money was something that would have made the beggars at Mahe Railway Station blush. Replacing the bottle with a new one ( thus ensuring we could have some more gos at the old bottle ) was a very attractive idea. Unfortunately , like most such ideas, this one was definitely not practical. Our bade bhaiya was at the time a teacher in a local parallel college. His own monetary supplies being low, having him discover the missing whisky was decidely risky from a personal safety point, for us.
I will always maintain that some of the best ideas come under the influence of drinks. True, these ideas seem pathetic under the cold reasoning of sober daylight, but what the heck, thats why we drink , right. My cousin had the idea of bringing the bottle to its original level , by mixing some water. In a momentary flash of brilliance , I suggested adding some karingali vellam ( karingali is a powder much like jeera which is usually boiled with drinking water giving it a reddish brown colour ) so the whisky didnt lose its lustrous colour and look diluted. The blending operation was a tricky one - we had to ensure the original colour was retained ( so some strong karingali powder was required) , while at the same time ensuring the resultant product , did not have a karingali flavour. You will appreciate the difficulties we faced when I tell you that while the operation was in progress, there had been an unfortunate power cut and we were at the mercy of candle light.
To continue, we made up some of the deficit in the bottle by mixing karingali vellam and then went to the bathroom for a supply of fresh water. It was at this moment that I had my second flash of brilliance of the night ( above average by my standards and can only thank the whisky which by this time was playing havoc with my nervous system ). Instead of the tap water that my cousin was planning to desecrate this bottle of soma rasa with, I suggested using some bottled water kept in the fridge. We went to the fridge , took out a bottle of water , brought the whisky bottle to its original level and kept it back in its original hiding place - remembering to replace the strand of hair bade bhaiyya had placed to catch any pilferers. After this we went to bed for a well deserved rest.
We woke up , bright and fine in the morning, the doings of the previous night a distant memory. Our first inkling of the disaster that lay ahead came in the morning , when my aunt asked us if any of us had seen the coconut milk bottle she had kept in the fridge. I forgot to mention earlier that after topping up the whisky bottle, we had used the remaining contents of the fridge bottle to quench our parched throats ( no doubt , the readers with a scientific bent of mind will
appreciate that hard liquor causes dehydration and any person having two drinks for the first ever time can be excused if his taste buds do not tell his disoriented grey cells that the liquid making its way down his dry throat is not plain water ). We laughingly told my aunt that perhaps we *had* drunk the coconut milk in mistake. There the matter rested, or so we thought.
After some time, my uncle came to us and enquired about the unseemly smell that seemed to be pervading the whole house. We eagerly joined in the hunt for the guilty party - eagerly that is , till our by-now-sensitive noses led us uncomfortably close to the hiding place of the whisky bottle. And now , the cat was out of the bag. We learnt that day , to our cost, that whisky mixed with coconut milk causes a chemical reaction which releases gases compared to which the smell of rotting eggs (Hydrogen Sulphide if memory serves ) is like that of the freshly bloomed jasmine flowers. The only thing that saved us that day was that it was in bade bhaiyya's interest as much as ours that the bottle remained undiscovered - for what thief reports a theft at his own house to the police. What followed was gut wrenching - for even bade bhaiyya , hardened drinker that he was, could not bear that foul smelling potion pass his lips. And so we arranged a funeral for the erstwhile liquor bottle ( preferring the Christian/Islamic tradition of burial to the Hindu one of cremation ). You will believe me , Iam sure, when I tell you that there was not a single dry eye ( among the six eyes ) that attended the last rites.
Friday, November 17, 2006
This Oven is Not For Me
Angeethi is a restaurant famous for its North Indian food in Bangalore. I got good food reviews about this restaurant from a couple of friends. Thats why when the time came to go for a team lunch, I decided to go for this place. I called them up and made a reservation for 12 people on a Friday afternoon at 12 pm.
Now you know what Bangalore traffic is like. We started for this place and by an unfortunate quirk of fate ( read traffic jam ) we reached Angeethi at 12:45 pm. And there was this big hulk standing in the lobby informing me of the pleasure he felt when he decided to unilaterally cancel our reservation, since they had a policy of waiting only for 15 minutes. He also was kind enough to give me a lecture on the advantages of punctuality.
Before you dear readers come down with your moral sledgehammer on me , let me give my point of view. I accept that reaching 45 minutes late was inexcusable ( even by India's allowed slack time standards this was a bit extreme ). But I was not informed of the "15 minutes" policy when I made the booking, nor did they have the common decency of informing me when they decided to cancel. Now this is a bit hard to stomach. To reach this place , we had to walk 15 minutes after getting down from our vehicle near Brigade Road. This being a Friday afternoon , we could not reasonably expect to find a place in any other good restaurant. ( That we were able to get seats in Ebony is beside the point ).
For those of you aware of my short tempered side, it would seem inexplicable that I left the place without punching that d***head on the nose ( excuse the language ) .The thought did cross my mind, I assure you. The only thing that saved him was his six foot frame and a chest to match. Only an Evander Holyfield can take panga with Mike Tyson - or so I consoled my grieving heart.
The Angeethi guys might be better cooks than me , but I sure can teach them some manners.
Let the hate mail pour in.
Now you know what Bangalore traffic is like. We started for this place and by an unfortunate quirk of fate ( read traffic jam ) we reached Angeethi at 12:45 pm. And there was this big hulk standing in the lobby informing me of the pleasure he felt when he decided to unilaterally cancel our reservation, since they had a policy of waiting only for 15 minutes. He also was kind enough to give me a lecture on the advantages of punctuality.
Before you dear readers come down with your moral sledgehammer on me , let me give my point of view. I accept that reaching 45 minutes late was inexcusable ( even by India's allowed slack time standards this was a bit extreme ). But I was not informed of the "15 minutes" policy when I made the booking, nor did they have the common decency of informing me when they decided to cancel. Now this is a bit hard to stomach. To reach this place , we had to walk 15 minutes after getting down from our vehicle near Brigade Road. This being a Friday afternoon , we could not reasonably expect to find a place in any other good restaurant. ( That we were able to get seats in Ebony is beside the point ).
For those of you aware of my short tempered side, it would seem inexplicable that I left the place without punching that d***head on the nose ( excuse the language ) .The thought did cross my mind, I assure you. The only thing that saved him was his six foot frame and a chest to match. Only an Evander Holyfield can take panga with Mike Tyson - or so I consoled my grieving heart.
The Angeethi guys might be better cooks than me , but I sure can teach them some manners.
Let the hate mail pour in.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
An Offering To the Gods ( Vol 2 )
When Fate frowns at me , shows me the lows
Then I start counting my blessings
I reach her, stop , my cup of joy overflows
Free from despair, my heart sings
If I had the chance, for but one desire
It would be to watch over her as she sleeps,
So gentle , so delicate , so fragile
Drink in the sweet breath she exhales
The Fates have only happiness written in her account
Thats the promise I make myself every night
Just one thing I ask for in return
That she be with me in the dark, hold me till the light
When I feel I just cant take it any more
She beckons me close, holds me in her arms
Burying my face in her hair,holding her tight
She is the Only one I will ever need
Hold her soft face in my warm hands
Give my very life , to remove a crease from her brow
Having found her ,Nothing more I ask for from Life
Would go to the ends of the earth, to rid her sorrow
How could Fate have given me so much happiness
I have got more than my fair share
Taking her for myself, Will the deities be upset , the poor sods
For her name is Anjali, which means 'An Offering to the Gods'
Then I start counting my blessings
I reach her, stop , my cup of joy overflows
Free from despair, my heart sings
If I had the chance, for but one desire
It would be to watch over her as she sleeps,
So gentle , so delicate , so fragile
Drink in the sweet breath she exhales
The Fates have only happiness written in her account
Thats the promise I make myself every night
Just one thing I ask for in return
That she be with me in the dark, hold me till the light
When I feel I just cant take it any more
She beckons me close, holds me in her arms
Burying my face in her hair,holding her tight
She is the Only one I will ever need
Hold her soft face in my warm hands
Give my very life , to remove a crease from her brow
Having found her ,Nothing more I ask for from Life
Would go to the ends of the earth, to rid her sorrow
How could Fate have given me so much happiness
I have got more than my fair share
Taking her for myself, Will the deities be upset , the poor sods
For her name is Anjali, which means 'An Offering to the Gods'
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Did You Hear?
Think everyday I will unburden my heart
Bare to you my deepest secret
I see you and struggle for words
Did you hear what I left unsaid
A picture is worth a thousand words
What use for words when eyes doth speak
Not strong enough to call a spade a spade
Did you hear what I left unsaid
I catch your eye every once in a while
Do not know if I should smile
Or turn away blushing , still my heart craved
Did you hear what I left unsaid
I know I deserve you not, still desire
So lovely , so graceful, moulded by what fire
Silent my mouth, loud my heart cried
Did you hear what I left unsaid
Bare to you my deepest secret
I see you and struggle for words
Did you hear what I left unsaid
A picture is worth a thousand words
What use for words when eyes doth speak
Not strong enough to call a spade a spade
Did you hear what I left unsaid
I catch your eye every once in a while
Do not know if I should smile
Or turn away blushing , still my heart craved
Did you hear what I left unsaid
I know I deserve you not, still desire
So lovely , so graceful, moulded by what fire
Silent my mouth, loud my heart cried
Did you hear what I left unsaid
Friday, November 10, 2006
Whats in a Name?
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet ". Splendid thoughts indeed , expressed by the greatest playwright of all , Shakespeare. But Iam sure Rahul Gandhi would disagree.
For what the Congressmen gleefully call the Nehru Gandhi dynasty has nothing at all to do with the Mahatma. Not many "politically aware" Indians are aware that Feroze Gandhi ( father to Rajiv and Sanjay ) was actually born Feroze Ghandi. Why the nomenclature change then - I will leave that to the conspiracy theorists. However the fact remains that most Indians today still believe that the Gandhis of today are related to the Mahatma. It is this belief coupled with misguided notions of 'How can we not vote for the hand that feeds us' ( The Congress' symbol is the hand ) and plain old habits which will ensure the Congress plays a premier role in national politics for years to come.
For what the Congressmen gleefully call the Nehru Gandhi dynasty has nothing at all to do with the Mahatma. Not many "politically aware" Indians are aware that Feroze Gandhi ( father to Rajiv and Sanjay ) was actually born Feroze Ghandi. Why the nomenclature change then - I will leave that to the conspiracy theorists. However the fact remains that most Indians today still believe that the Gandhis of today are related to the Mahatma. It is this belief coupled with misguided notions of 'How can we not vote for the hand that feeds us' ( The Congress' symbol is the hand ) and plain old habits which will ensure the Congress plays a premier role in national politics for years to come.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Whats the Frigging Problem?
I know I made a blooper
Just dont know what it is
My mind sneers , aint it just super
Who knows what my crime is
Was never good at playing games
'Nere va nere po' is my philosophy
Why is it this way with the dames
Mind reading was never my forte
Enough of this , my heart cries out
What for , do you now blame me
Decide, do we now grow apart
How will I know if you dont tell me?
Just dont know what it is
My mind sneers , aint it just super
Who knows what my crime is
Was never good at playing games
'Nere va nere po' is my philosophy
Why is it this way with the dames
Mind reading was never my forte
Enough of this , my heart cries out
What for , do you now blame me
Decide, do we now grow apart
How will I know if you dont tell me?
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Fallen Angel
I respected you for your honest opinions, knowledge of topics vast
set you up on a pedestal so high, should have known twas too good to last
Am now faced with a hard choice, to choose between my principles and emotions
Did God feel thus when he cast down Lucifer from the heavens
I would have gladly accepted a plain face with a kind heart
Instead Fate gave me a poisonous tongue, from its blows my eyes did smart
A hideous heart hiding behind a smiling face, took me long to know
I lost a friend, my country lost a patriot, why it had to be so
Tis easy to be a fanatic, for someone's blood babble
Much harder to raise your voice, be heard over the murderous rabble
For the mob sees every one with its coloured vision
Brother kills brother, blinded by religious division
How does one turn out like this, join hands with infamy
Peer pressure , the company you keep, the excuses are many
The time to choose is now, let reason clear your vision cloudy
You can still turn back ,your hands are not yet bloody
Forget not the innocent millions in your search for a hated few
What person with hatred in his heart can admire the morning dew
One person can make a difference and every man should try
Lets work for the day when every eye in this country will be dry
set you up on a pedestal so high, should have known twas too good to last
Am now faced with a hard choice, to choose between my principles and emotions
Did God feel thus when he cast down Lucifer from the heavens
I would have gladly accepted a plain face with a kind heart
Instead Fate gave me a poisonous tongue, from its blows my eyes did smart
A hideous heart hiding behind a smiling face, took me long to know
I lost a friend, my country lost a patriot, why it had to be so
Tis easy to be a fanatic, for someone's blood babble
Much harder to raise your voice, be heard over the murderous rabble
For the mob sees every one with its coloured vision
Brother kills brother, blinded by religious division
How does one turn out like this, join hands with infamy
Peer pressure , the company you keep, the excuses are many
The time to choose is now, let reason clear your vision cloudy
You can still turn back ,your hands are not yet bloody
Forget not the innocent millions in your search for a hated few
What person with hatred in his heart can admire the morning dew
One person can make a difference and every man should try
Lets work for the day when every eye in this country will be dry
Farewell to Mediocrity
Resolve this day to do your best,
For if a thing is worth doing it is worth doing well
No matter what you do be it big or small
Its done by you , say it proudly standing tall
Its easy to do the right thing in public, when all will judge
Difficult when you are alone, only have your Conscience as a judge
For if you lie to yourself , even though none see you
How can you be true to others, when you dont know the real you
Let me always speak up for what I believe is Right
Though it be against the opinion of the majority as it might
What care I for ridicule, contempt or slight
My eyes are opened, they still search for light
O God ,May I never judge a person on factors extraneous
What matters to me his race ,his creed , the colour of his face
As long as his heart is in the right place
Tis the only way out of this hideous maze
*Inspired by Dr A P J Abdul Kalam's "Ignited Minds"
For if a thing is worth doing it is worth doing well
No matter what you do be it big or small
Its done by you , say it proudly standing tall
Its easy to do the right thing in public, when all will judge
Difficult when you are alone, only have your Conscience as a judge
For if you lie to yourself , even though none see you
How can you be true to others, when you dont know the real you
Let me always speak up for what I believe is Right
Though it be against the opinion of the majority as it might
What care I for ridicule, contempt or slight
My eyes are opened, they still search for light
O God ,May I never judge a person on factors extraneous
What matters to me his race ,his creed , the colour of his face
As long as his heart is in the right place
Tis the only way out of this hideous maze
*Inspired by Dr A P J Abdul Kalam's "Ignited Minds"
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