Confined by the precincts of its existence, perched on the saddle of the evening breeze, it sways and waltzes, gleaming in the strokes of sun. Suddenly betrayed by the flirty breeze, it hurtles down, crashing on the spiky grass, succumbing to the call of mortality.When the little kid, who was trying to get hold of it, opens up his closed fist, all he finds is the vestiges of a carefree, uninhibited soap bubble.
Moving from the ashes of the bubble to the realms of the human nature, its quite startling to see how the mind perceives things which it believes or rather, which it wants to believe. Nothing wrong with believing things, for with belief springs hope; hope propels action and action engenders the fruits of our sweat. Problem arises with the mind “wanting” to believe, which for most of the time begets false hope, rearing futile actions leading to salty sweat. If mind and heart be addressed as two discrete entities toying with the human will, then “wanting to believe” syndrome is an outgrowth of the overpowering heart over the subdued mind. But the omniscient mind is assured of the last laugh.
This state of mind clouded with want, floats as an Illusion bubble only to be pierced by the arrow of reality. Illusion, though evanescent, might leave an indelible mark, if we sometimes fail to see, that the cup is half empty.
This piece of writing was borne out of the boredom of two grad students who set out on penning with the theme “evanescent”, who are in thirst of adventure and relief from the grind of groundhog days.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Multiple Loginoema
Disclaimer: The author of this blog does not attest to any of the findings reported here, which has come out of his normal musings and faithfully pledges to complete insanity and sobriety.
Currently, National Destitute of Health (NDH), during a press conference, were inundated with questions, regarding their recent findings in the “Journal of Degenerative Diseases” . The authors of the paper, along with the grad student from the University of Mailissippii, revealed that the findings were based on their real-time studies, hence precludes any margin of errors that might undermine their research and career.
Their findings reveal a new kind of disorder, which they call it, Multiple “Login”oema (ML). People with ML are diagnosed to have a wide variety of symptoms: boredom, restlessness, insecurity, anxiety, hallucinations of world thinking about them, which creates an insane urge in them to check their emails. Once every 1 hour, by current standards of Login Counter, which works on the principle of Geiger Muller Counter, are termed normal, but when the situation deteriorates, where the login rate is once every 300 heart beats, which is detected using an electromailogram (EMG), then the patients develop, what the medical fraternity call it hyper loginoema -a chronic situation.
Though pharmaceuticals like, Walkbaxy, Pmiser, Cow Pharma, Lovertis, Richkid in U.S. are striving to counteract this disorder, their pill remains to be elusive, as their results are based on Computer simulated studies. U.K., which has lifted the ban on testing on our predecessor, might have come up with a solution, if not for the computer illiterate monkeys. So training these monkeys have been outsourced to India and China, and companies like Monkeysys and MCS (Monkey Consulting Services) have benefited a lot, evident from their second quarter results. Until the scientists find a cure, the doctors only reply to the kins of the hyper loginoema patients is TIG (Trust in God).
Currently, National Destitute of Health (NDH), during a press conference, were inundated with questions, regarding their recent findings in the “Journal of Degenerative Diseases” . The authors of the paper, along with the grad student from the University of Mailissippii, revealed that the findings were based on their real-time studies, hence precludes any margin of errors that might undermine their research and career.
Their findings reveal a new kind of disorder, which they call it, Multiple “Login”oema (ML). People with ML are diagnosed to have a wide variety of symptoms: boredom, restlessness, insecurity, anxiety, hallucinations of world thinking about them, which creates an insane urge in them to check their emails. Once every 1 hour, by current standards of Login Counter, which works on the principle of Geiger Muller Counter, are termed normal, but when the situation deteriorates, where the login rate is once every 300 heart beats, which is detected using an electromailogram (EMG), then the patients develop, what the medical fraternity call it hyper loginoema -a chronic situation.
Though pharmaceuticals like, Walkbaxy, Pmiser, Cow Pharma, Lovertis, Richkid in U.S. are striving to counteract this disorder, their pill remains to be elusive, as their results are based on Computer simulated studies. U.K., which has lifted the ban on testing on our predecessor, might have come up with a solution, if not for the computer illiterate monkeys. So training these monkeys have been outsourced to India and China, and companies like Monkeysys and MCS (Monkey Consulting Services) have benefited a lot, evident from their second quarter results. Until the scientists find a cure, the doctors only reply to the kins of the hyper loginoema patients is TIG (Trust in God).
Saturday, August 26, 2006
F -
Cobwebs in my blog – Words failed me.
Actor Surya getting married – Jyothika failed me.
Snail pace of my research – Science failed me.
Lack of inspiration – Nature failed me.
Depleting imagination – Creativity failed me.
My Running nose – Immune system failed me.
Landed spat on facing ground – Grass failed me.
Living like an island – Orkut failed me.
Reminiscing my past – Present failed me.
So bad that have I have allowed so many things to fail me, for which I am responsible for, hence I fail myself.
Actor Surya getting married – Jyothika failed me.
Snail pace of my research – Science failed me.
Lack of inspiration – Nature failed me.
Depleting imagination – Creativity failed me.
My Running nose – Immune system failed me.
Landed spat on facing ground – Grass failed me.
Living like an island – Orkut failed me.
Reminiscing my past – Present failed me.
So bad that have I have allowed so many things to fail me, for which I am responsible for, hence I fail myself.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Of cornflakes and bread
On January 1st 1892, the Ellis Island, topologically positioned on the mouth of the Hudson River, was swarmed with immigrants from Europe. Never would have Annie Moore, the first immigrant through the Ellis Island, realized that her ribbon-cutting would set the pace for millions to come to the Land of opportunities, decades later. Come August, the holy month of Indian Independence, scores of raw talent leave the shores of the Indian soil, on an 8000-mile sojourn, with great hopes of metamorphosing their dreams from a slithering caterpillar to a soaring butterfly.
Done with the check-in, as we turn around with a hanging pouch and clinging cabin bag, to mentally photograph the waving and blessing parents and friends, we have set the clock of longing to tick. Walking through the maze to get to our seats, the moment of anticipation ends with the old couple as our co-passengers. Obligingly, we take the window seat, only to realize how big a mistake it was, when we dash our away into the restroom of the transit airport and spend 1 hour, only to be stalled by the megaphone auctioning our name for the last time to our final destination.
After another grueling 10 hours of being cornered in a 3x3 feet space, bored of watching the rerun movies, munching fruits and leaves like cows, as we touch the tarmac of the land of opportunities, a dint of our homeland and our people flash by in a flicker. Our emotional rollercoaster is subdued by our sudden adrenaline surge of not being able to locate our pickups. Sensing our new sneakers, crumpled new jeans and flashy T-shirt, with a disappointment writ all over the face, for misinterpreting our name for a girl, a casual hand picks up our luggage and says “Dude, let’s go.” Right there, we have taken our first step to our dreams, on the paths of Issac Asimov and Albert Einstein.
Done with the check-in, as we turn around with a hanging pouch and clinging cabin bag, to mentally photograph the waving and blessing parents and friends, we have set the clock of longing to tick. Walking through the maze to get to our seats, the moment of anticipation ends with the old couple as our co-passengers. Obligingly, we take the window seat, only to realize how big a mistake it was, when we dash our away into the restroom of the transit airport and spend 1 hour, only to be stalled by the megaphone auctioning our name for the last time to our final destination.
After another grueling 10 hours of being cornered in a 3x3 feet space, bored of watching the rerun movies, munching fruits and leaves like cows, as we touch the tarmac of the land of opportunities, a dint of our homeland and our people flash by in a flicker. Our emotional rollercoaster is subdued by our sudden adrenaline surge of not being able to locate our pickups. Sensing our new sneakers, crumpled new jeans and flashy T-shirt, with a disappointment writ all over the face, for misinterpreting our name for a girl, a casual hand picks up our luggage and says “Dude, let’s go.” Right there, we have taken our first step to our dreams, on the paths of Issac Asimov and Albert Einstein.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Grad sine wave function
Nadal squashed the Roland Garros hopes of Federer, asteroid 2004-XP-14 made a near-kissing rendezvous with earth, back with a vengeance, Federer vanquished the Spaniard at Wimbeldon, NASA had a delayed launch, but they still did it, of course some unknown country to me, by name Italy penalty-kicked their way to FIFA World Cup’06, I would have continued updating myself with the latest happenings if not for the yellow stickie to-do list – an external hard drive to my corrupted and ageing RAM, which resurfaced from its retreat from a huge pile of books, dated June 6, 2006. So took a pen to strike off my accomplishments, but as luck would have it, my pen ran out of ink after the first strike. Who knows me more than my pen, after nearly two months, it’s so pathetic to find laundry as my only accomplishment.
So Lady Guilt was the internal force that stepped in my roller coaster ride of entertainment, and set the inertia of work in motion. Day in and Day out, I slipped into the sleeve of a true grad student, toiling or rather toying with the idea of completing my first project. After two and half years, my project’s crush on me seemed to have grown into a full blown relationship, that its not willing to let go of me. Though I have appeased lady Guilt with the sweat of my brow, she left her legacy for her twin brother, Mr. Frustration to haunt me with my failing experiments. Like Superman’s Fortress of solitude, I flew to the synagogue of caffeine – Starbucks to meditate. My synagogue turned out to be mausoleum, after my accidental encounter with my fellow alien scientists, who were not only bragging about their recent publications, but also discussing my country’s economic and scientific policies, not to forget their analysis of missile launch in Korea and their to-be strategic allies in the third World War.
Leaving them with thanks for the update, it was quite a revelation on the imbalance of my academic and worldly state of affairs. A sinusoidal wave with work at the crest and world affair at the trough, the alternating moments of inertia, is what seems to be pedaling my cycle of graduate life.
So Lady Guilt was the internal force that stepped in my roller coaster ride of entertainment, and set the inertia of work in motion. Day in and Day out, I slipped into the sleeve of a true grad student, toiling or rather toying with the idea of completing my first project. After two and half years, my project’s crush on me seemed to have grown into a full blown relationship, that its not willing to let go of me. Though I have appeased lady Guilt with the sweat of my brow, she left her legacy for her twin brother, Mr. Frustration to haunt me with my failing experiments. Like Superman’s Fortress of solitude, I flew to the synagogue of caffeine – Starbucks to meditate. My synagogue turned out to be mausoleum, after my accidental encounter with my fellow alien scientists, who were not only bragging about their recent publications, but also discussing my country’s economic and scientific policies, not to forget their analysis of missile launch in Korea and their to-be strategic allies in the third World War.
Leaving them with thanks for the update, it was quite a revelation on the imbalance of my academic and worldly state of affairs. A sinusoidal wave with work at the crest and world affair at the trough, the alternating moments of inertia, is what seems to be pedaling my cycle of graduate life.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
shower POWER
It’s so amazing to think of how this small lump of tissue, in my case vacationing in the cranium, works (for others). Just like everybody, I wish I could say working in the cranium. But facts are facts, though I tend to ignore the reality and try to cover it up with a black Cashmere sweater, and suffocate it with a Nautica Winter Jacket, it forces it way out to tell me, holding a placard which reads “ Dude, I am on vacation.”
I take solace in the fact that vacationism didn’t spare the great physicist Mr. Einstein when he argued with a carpenter, persuading him to carve another small entrance for the kitten in a cathouse built for its mother. Albert missed out on the “relative” large hole. It goes to show how brains are wired according to the scholarship of the individual – a software architect flowing with logic, statistician brimming with analysis, artists swaggering with creativity.
Apart from the scholarship, brain tickles to the environment too. Mr.Buddha was struck with a lightening of reality under the cool shady resort of the Bodhi tree, shameless Archimedes became buoyant in a bath-tub before he took on a naked Marathon shouting Eureka!. Well as for me, my brain comes out of vacation either in the shower or at Starbucks. Sad it doesn’t tickle in a classroom or in the conference room.
Archimedes proved shower theory, so no qualms about it. But Starbucks, I am not so sure. Is it the aroma of caffeine that’s stimulating my brain or the sleeveless blonde girl, leaving her lipstick imprints on the coffee cup, that’s seducing my mind to work. Until I prove my Starbucks theory, with synergistic effort from the blondie, I have to be content to hold all my academic endeavors in the shower.
I take solace in the fact that vacationism didn’t spare the great physicist Mr. Einstein when he argued with a carpenter, persuading him to carve another small entrance for the kitten in a cathouse built for its mother. Albert missed out on the “relative” large hole. It goes to show how brains are wired according to the scholarship of the individual – a software architect flowing with logic, statistician brimming with analysis, artists swaggering with creativity.
Apart from the scholarship, brain tickles to the environment too. Mr.Buddha was struck with a lightening of reality under the cool shady resort of the Bodhi tree, shameless Archimedes became buoyant in a bath-tub before he took on a naked Marathon shouting Eureka!. Well as for me, my brain comes out of vacation either in the shower or at Starbucks. Sad it doesn’t tickle in a classroom or in the conference room.
Archimedes proved shower theory, so no qualms about it. But Starbucks, I am not so sure. Is it the aroma of caffeine that’s stimulating my brain or the sleeveless blonde girl, leaving her lipstick imprints on the coffee cup, that’s seducing my mind to work. Until I prove my Starbucks theory, with synergistic effort from the blondie, I have to be content to hold all my academic endeavors in the shower.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
set language life
I guess we are all aware of the Venn diagrams – I enjoyed learning the “SET LANGUAGE” not because of its mathematical wonder, but because I used to get 1 rupee coin to draw the circles, which at the end of the day will meltdown to a stick ice cream. I owe my elevation from a pauper to a thirteenaire (the chapter was done in 13 days) to the Venn diagrams, not to forget the various reasons that I had to come up for my daily swindling.
Never thought about it until today, when I realized that it could be a barometer of my routine. Well here is the mathematical depiction
Set A = Week 1 {sleeping, reading, lab, blogging, crosswords, lab}
Set B =Week 2 {Reading, lab, blogging, sleeping, crosswords, lab}
(AUB) = {Reading, lab, blogging, sleeping, crosswords, lab}
(A∩B) = {Reading, lab, blogging, sleeping, crosswords, lab}.
Can life get more pathetic than this? Groundhog week, in session I guess. As I look back at my 2.7 decades of existence, nothing unusual or adventurous has happened. Followed the regular middle class stream of attending schools, colleges and still going strong in the ministry of education. The regular drab of lab, walk, same Starbucks, same cappuccino, same lakeside ponderings, I find myself no different than the washing machine which times its cycle to perfection.
Except for a few, I think the Homo sapiens as a whole follow the general pattern of birth, education, job, and death. Just like we pride ourselves being the architect of engineering marvels that serve us, my contention is that, we in a way are some human machines, product of some higher intelligence, put to test in the lab of the universe.
Wish each day had its own adventure to look forward, so that my
(AUB) is not equal (A∩B).
Never thought about it until today, when I realized that it could be a barometer of my routine. Well here is the mathematical depiction
Set A = Week 1 {sleeping, reading, lab, blogging, crosswords, lab}
Set B =Week 2 {Reading, lab, blogging, sleeping, crosswords, lab}
(AUB) = {Reading, lab, blogging, sleeping, crosswords, lab}
(A∩B) = {Reading, lab, blogging, sleeping, crosswords, lab}.
Can life get more pathetic than this? Groundhog week, in session I guess. As I look back at my 2.7 decades of existence, nothing unusual or adventurous has happened. Followed the regular middle class stream of attending schools, colleges and still going strong in the ministry of education. The regular drab of lab, walk, same Starbucks, same cappuccino, same lakeside ponderings, I find myself no different than the washing machine which times its cycle to perfection.
Except for a few, I think the Homo sapiens as a whole follow the general pattern of birth, education, job, and death. Just like we pride ourselves being the architect of engineering marvels that serve us, my contention is that, we in a way are some human machines, product of some higher intelligence, put to test in the lab of the universe.
Wish each day had its own adventure to look forward, so that my
(AUB) is not equal (A∩B).
Thursday, June 22, 2006
contemplation on FILE anagram
Accused of being an aimless arrow, abstractly romantic or rather precisely morontic, I have taken an offbeaten path from the regular 3-4 paragraphs to contemplate on
LIFE
- It’s a Mac Powerbook G4 crippled of a DEL key to rewrite the past, but gifted with a SHIFT key to the future.
-It’s a Motorola Razor edge without free daytime minutes to waste but all night hours to dream.
-It’s an apple’s ipod devoid of too many playlists to play, but great songs to sing along.
-It’s a Parker without a refill for living but enough ink to sketch our course.
-It’s a Da Vinci code without a Tom Hanks , but quite a puzzle for us to do the decryption.
Can life get more materialistic than this, which once revolved around Pizza, Levis, Castle (food, clothing and shelter). However its a Roberto Benigni's LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL
LIFE
- It’s a Mac Powerbook G4 crippled of a DEL key to rewrite the past, but gifted with a SHIFT key to the future.
-It’s a Motorola Razor edge without free daytime minutes to waste but all night hours to dream.
-It’s an apple’s ipod devoid of too many playlists to play, but great songs to sing along.
-It’s a Parker without a refill for living but enough ink to sketch our course.
-It’s a Da Vinci code without a Tom Hanks , but quite a puzzle for us to do the decryption.
Can life get more materialistic than this, which once revolved around Pizza, Levis, Castle (food, clothing and shelter). However its a Roberto Benigni's LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Guilt free Sunday
When everything comes with an RFID tag (Radio frequency Identification), right from the library books to our entry to secured buildings, how come this guy strolls around without it. If he had been tagged, he wouldn’t have had the guts to barge in through the window, penetrate my comforter, and pierce my eyelid with his warm streaks of rays. Lazily, peering out of my comforter at the sundial, I was astonished to wake up with the minute hand and the hour hand vertically slicing the entire circle in two halves . Me, waking up at 6.A.M. on a Sunday is once in a blue “sun” occurrence.
Wading my way with an air of arrogance and casting a condescending look at all my lazy roomies who are still snuggled in their comforters, I slipped out of my apartment. Fresh morning breeze, which was flirting with the trees overlooking my appt, found a new crush in me. As always, I try to do the movie inspired scenes of embracing myself with crossed arms and rubbing, to warm myself. Listening to the chirping sparrows, looking at the scurrying squirrels with walnuts, and the seeking sun trying to take a peek at me through the canopy, filled me with a sense of fulfillment. Little Madhavan in me inspired another movie stunt of flinging my arms up in the air and yawn with a high-pitched squeak. Bad stunt indeed, for the stagnating rainwater over our roof hit me without a warning.
Finishing my morning chores, I continued my Sunday Morning after the intermission. Seated on the staircase and holding a hot frothing cup of coffee, I savored the steam rendering waviness to the house and trees in front, while the fragrance of chicory complementing the morning effect. More complementing would have been, if my girl hugged me from behind, throwing her arms around my neck, rubbing her cheeks against my 5’o clock shadowed cheeks, and pleading me for a bed coffee. As I slide a second cup in front, her “Chow Chweet” turns into a childish glower for want of more sweetness in her coffee to which I retort, “Try me”
Getting back to reality, things are not as black and white as they seem to be. It would have been more enjoyable if my romanticism and movie inspired stunts were not bombarded with thoughts of my research work, its related anxieties, or the empty future begging me for attention. My roommate once put them in words as, “Guilt free pleasure is a rare commodity and quite a lavish luxury.” Undeniable facts for the grad student, by the grad student and of the grad student. Though there are miles to go before I sleep, I think I will cross the bridge when it comes, what with double treat of French Open finals and World Cup Soccer in Germany vying for attention.
Until my next Guilt-free Sunday
Merci
Guten Tag.
Wading my way with an air of arrogance and casting a condescending look at all my lazy roomies who are still snuggled in their comforters, I slipped out of my apartment. Fresh morning breeze, which was flirting with the trees overlooking my appt, found a new crush in me. As always, I try to do the movie inspired scenes of embracing myself with crossed arms and rubbing, to warm myself. Listening to the chirping sparrows, looking at the scurrying squirrels with walnuts, and the seeking sun trying to take a peek at me through the canopy, filled me with a sense of fulfillment. Little Madhavan in me inspired another movie stunt of flinging my arms up in the air and yawn with a high-pitched squeak. Bad stunt indeed, for the stagnating rainwater over our roof hit me without a warning.
Finishing my morning chores, I continued my Sunday Morning after the intermission. Seated on the staircase and holding a hot frothing cup of coffee, I savored the steam rendering waviness to the house and trees in front, while the fragrance of chicory complementing the morning effect. More complementing would have been, if my girl hugged me from behind, throwing her arms around my neck, rubbing her cheeks against my 5’o clock shadowed cheeks, and pleading me for a bed coffee. As I slide a second cup in front, her “Chow Chweet” turns into a childish glower for want of more sweetness in her coffee to which I retort, “Try me”
Getting back to reality, things are not as black and white as they seem to be. It would have been more enjoyable if my romanticism and movie inspired stunts were not bombarded with thoughts of my research work, its related anxieties, or the empty future begging me for attention. My roommate once put them in words as, “Guilt free pleasure is a rare commodity and quite a lavish luxury.” Undeniable facts for the grad student, by the grad student and of the grad student. Though there are miles to go before I sleep, I think I will cross the bridge when it comes, what with double treat of French Open finals and World Cup Soccer in Germany vying for attention.
Until my next Guilt-free Sunday
Merci
Guten Tag.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Dream Works Production
The chandelier lights are soft. The red velvet carpet endowing an air of stateliness to the proceedings, rosewood furniture cushioning the elite personalities of the gathering. Midway through the vibrations in the air, “ The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences is proud to honor this year’s youngest Nobel Laureate in Chemistry Dr. Narendran, recognizing his contribution ….”, I button my suit, cast an accomplishing glance at the my parents and girlfriend, walk down the aisle, return with a memento and a cash prize, that for once will make my wallet happy. As I try to wipe out the champagne on my suit, result of the slip between the cup and the lip, I felt a sense of chill running down my spine. I wake up to the trickling water, courtesy – my roomie, “ Dude lets go to weekly pilgrimage – the Walmart.” What an insult to a Nobel Laureate!!!!!
DREAMS – a virtual “n” dimensional space for which we don’t require a visa at the port of entry. The space with no boundaries, where our imaginations are as wild as our obviousness, taking a ride on the Pegasus, and of course the regular ingredients of white clouds and plumes of white smoke to add to our dream sequence. (Yeah! You are right. I do watch a lot of Tamil movies.). From time immemorial, we all have been playing the Tom and Jerry game, chasing our dreams, with hope as our adrenalin.
Ironically, all our dreams have a strain of uncertainty that transforms it into a mirage. But I guess, we owe a lot to Mr. Uncertainty, who spices our life with drama and adventure. If not for him, we wouldn’t be so anxious to open a Fortune cookie to see what’s in store for us, (in bed). But however uncertain it might be, its always DREAMZ UNLIMITED!!!
DREAMS – a virtual “n” dimensional space for which we don’t require a visa at the port of entry. The space with no boundaries, where our imaginations are as wild as our obviousness, taking a ride on the Pegasus, and of course the regular ingredients of white clouds and plumes of white smoke to add to our dream sequence. (Yeah! You are right. I do watch a lot of Tamil movies.). From time immemorial, we all have been playing the Tom and Jerry game, chasing our dreams, with hope as our adrenalin.
Ironically, all our dreams have a strain of uncertainty that transforms it into a mirage. But I guess, we owe a lot to Mr. Uncertainty, who spices our life with drama and adventure. If not for him, we wouldn’t be so anxious to open a Fortune cookie to see what’s in store for us, (in bed). But however uncertain it might be, its always DREAMZ UNLIMITED!!!
Monday, May 29, 2006
Caught the Miss.
Being infested with the vagaries of life, I slithered to a state of reclusion. Sitting on a grass carpet, I couldn’t help but notice the evening breeze flirting with the lake water. Not far away from where I was seated, I heard a fluttering noise. It was a piece of paper shouldering a heavy stone like Atlas holding the world, badly in need of Hercules to set him free.
Out of nowhere, a sparrow swooped down and darted away with a earthworm that was taking its evening stroll on the paper. A deathbed indeed!! for the earthworm. Sadly, before the paper could breathe its freedom from the worm, a bubblegum landed with a big thud, delaying its emancipation. As though God was listening to its prayer, a baseball rolled over, carrying with it the holy glue.
A blonde girl walking by, created a stir in my paper mate, who started to flutter more than ever. Finally with the wind as its rescuer, it broke loose of its master and flew to her back. Paper does have hormones, I guess. When I saw the highlighted word “FREE” I started to follow her, trying to read, my head dancing to her tunes.
She sensed her new companion and shoved the paper off, not forgetting to give me a stare. I was more interested in the contents of the paper than her looks that I started to follow the paper’s ascent to the top of the tree. Got the necessary info of venue, date and time. As I was waiting for its descent, a gal came running, snatched the paper from the air, scribbled some numbers wrapped around a stone and threw it at a bus where a boy lunged out of the window only to miss it. Her beauty subdued my seething cauldron of emotions.
Take a guess where I landed. A free ballroom dance for 1 month. First come, first serve basis. And with the girl who snatched my paper patch. His miss, my Catch.
Out of nowhere, a sparrow swooped down and darted away with a earthworm that was taking its evening stroll on the paper. A deathbed indeed!! for the earthworm. Sadly, before the paper could breathe its freedom from the worm, a bubblegum landed with a big thud, delaying its emancipation. As though God was listening to its prayer, a baseball rolled over, carrying with it the holy glue.
A blonde girl walking by, created a stir in my paper mate, who started to flutter more than ever. Finally with the wind as its rescuer, it broke loose of its master and flew to her back. Paper does have hormones, I guess. When I saw the highlighted word “FREE” I started to follow her, trying to read, my head dancing to her tunes.
She sensed her new companion and shoved the paper off, not forgetting to give me a stare. I was more interested in the contents of the paper than her looks that I started to follow the paper’s ascent to the top of the tree. Got the necessary info of venue, date and time. As I was waiting for its descent, a gal came running, snatched the paper from the air, scribbled some numbers wrapped around a stone and threw it at a bus where a boy lunged out of the window only to miss it. Her beauty subdued my seething cauldron of emotions.
Take a guess where I landed. A free ballroom dance for 1 month. First come, first serve basis. And with the girl who snatched my paper patch. His miss, my Catch.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
:-) :-) :-) :-)
Life has its own way of teasing its survivors, sometimes being ruthless and merciless, and at other times swathing them in glory, and swashbuckling moments. So on a day when life came galloping on a winged Pegasus and swooped me down with its three-pronged spears, just like the “word of the day”, I sensed that I am the “Prey of the day”.
When, all I felt was even the light at the end of the tunnel was a neon glow of a fast train hurtling down the tracks with my image at its crosswire, something lifted my spirits. It pulled me back from the jaws of death, tranquilizing my mind sloshed in turmoil. I owe my presence, my reincarnation and my rising like a Phoenix from the ashes to her all soothing, hypnotizing, innocent SMILE that has left me yearning for more.
Undeniably, action speaks a thousand words and one can find no better example of such non-verbal portrayal than in the flicks of the much-famed Indian director, Mr.Mani Ratnam, where his entire film dialogues can be etched on nanoparticles. If not for his duo with P.C.Sriram, Madhavan’s bunny smile could never have swooned and swept the Indian girls off their feet, or that’s what they think (being swept).
Smile, a five-lettered word that has the power to humble the five elements of the universe can be a silent harbinger of a heavenly relationship that can sustain the little hearts. Holding a rose on one hand and his heart on the other, as our lover boy spurts out those magical words to his beloved, it’s only her smile that’s going to keep his heartbeat tick for both of them.
When, all I felt was even the light at the end of the tunnel was a neon glow of a fast train hurtling down the tracks with my image at its crosswire, something lifted my spirits. It pulled me back from the jaws of death, tranquilizing my mind sloshed in turmoil. I owe my presence, my reincarnation and my rising like a Phoenix from the ashes to her all soothing, hypnotizing, innocent SMILE that has left me yearning for more.
Undeniably, action speaks a thousand words and one can find no better example of such non-verbal portrayal than in the flicks of the much-famed Indian director, Mr.Mani Ratnam, where his entire film dialogues can be etched on nanoparticles. If not for his duo with P.C.Sriram, Madhavan’s bunny smile could never have swooned and swept the Indian girls off their feet, or that’s what they think (being swept).
Smile, a five-lettered word that has the power to humble the five elements of the universe can be a silent harbinger of a heavenly relationship that can sustain the little hearts. Holding a rose on one hand and his heart on the other, as our lover boy spurts out those magical words to his beloved, it’s only her smile that’s going to keep his heartbeat tick for both of them.
Monday, May 08, 2006
WALK to WALK
Assuming a span of 60 years before we have a lift-off, the spectrum of Homo sapiens immunized from impoverishment, enjoy the privilege of spending half their life being nurtured in a school of thought. Never in our tender age, would we have realized that a walk along with our parents grappling their index fingers, repeating after them, A for apple, B for boy,.. would one day lead the road to take a WALK on one of the most unforgettable moments in our life- the Graduation Day.
Yet to accomplish many things, with my graduation and me poles apart, I decided to step into the shoes of the black gown clad intellectuals just to capture their musings before the final moments of their degree conferral. Seated along with equally accomplished peers, a sense of overwhelming happiness would have rushed in, only to be lulled by the gentle spicing of the Philharmonic. After scanning for the familiar faces and match-lit conversations, mind would have wandered to the humble beginnings where they had to start from scratch, their one –step rise on a near 90 degree slope hill tripped down by 2 step setbacks, conviction to stay afloat in the sinking submarine, racing against time to meet the deadlines,…the flashes of the past suddenly takes a back seat with the marching of the faculties to the tune of Edward Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance March No 1.
Walking down the aisle, receiving the degree and tossing the tassel from one side of the mortarboard to the other, the verve of accomplishment can never be captured in a 24mm lens or be elegantly put down in words.You live only once to experience it.
Yet to accomplish many things, with my graduation and me poles apart, I decided to step into the shoes of the black gown clad intellectuals just to capture their musings before the final moments of their degree conferral. Seated along with equally accomplished peers, a sense of overwhelming happiness would have rushed in, only to be lulled by the gentle spicing of the Philharmonic. After scanning for the familiar faces and match-lit conversations, mind would have wandered to the humble beginnings where they had to start from scratch, their one –step rise on a near 90 degree slope hill tripped down by 2 step setbacks, conviction to stay afloat in the sinking submarine, racing against time to meet the deadlines,…the flashes of the past suddenly takes a back seat with the marching of the faculties to the tune of Edward Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance March No 1.
Walking down the aisle, receiving the degree and tossing the tassel from one side of the mortarboard to the other, the verve of accomplishment can never be captured in a 24mm lens or be elegantly put down in words.You live only once to experience it.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Memoirs of my Tryst with nature
If time machine is the only wagon that can take us to the Middle Age or the Old Stone Age in a quest to explore the various civilizations, I beg to differ. A quiet place and a calm mind can take us down the memory lane in a flash. I tend to travel back and forth, revving my SILENCEdes, letting in my past memories sedate my present.
As images unfolded in tranquility, I was sucked in by the gravity of the situation. About a year ago, near the fag end of Spring 2005, I saw her on my way to the workstation. Though I always felt an air of swagger around her, perched on top of her wooden castle, my heart would start pounding, palm bleeding with sweat, rippling tsunami in the gut. Days flew into months, me playing a waiting game for her first move.
One fine morning I decided to let go of my feelings for her and move on with life. But by quirk of fate, I was hit by her dewy tears. Sensing a glimmer of hope for my unrequited love, I stood there under her shadows just in case if she needs to lean on. After few hesitations, she opened her heart out revealing how her sibling succumbed to nature’s fury, her static life in the branched ivory tower and so on. As she was pouring out, I realized that all her flamboyance and pride were just a façade to veil her trials and tribulations.
What started out as a crush grew into a very serious relationship, she sloughing off her regular green jersey and donning a red one to impress me, minor quibbles between us and what not. All seem to go well for us until one fine day her parents revealed to me that she is counting her days and that they will be all gone before the winter sets in. She made no effort to conceal her impending grave and our eyes were locked in tears. Head down with a heavy heart, I started to walk writhing in pain.
Next day, as soon as she saw me, she broke loose from her wooden castle and descended down only to be swept away by the wind. I had to sprint like hell to retrieve her. Holding her in her final moments, with a quivering voice and a failing heart, she whispered that she would be back next spring and left me weeping. Until I see her again, may her soul rest in peace in the casket of my organic chemistry book. Amen.
As images unfolded in tranquility, I was sucked in by the gravity of the situation. About a year ago, near the fag end of Spring 2005, I saw her on my way to the workstation. Though I always felt an air of swagger around her, perched on top of her wooden castle, my heart would start pounding, palm bleeding with sweat, rippling tsunami in the gut. Days flew into months, me playing a waiting game for her first move.
One fine morning I decided to let go of my feelings for her and move on with life. But by quirk of fate, I was hit by her dewy tears. Sensing a glimmer of hope for my unrequited love, I stood there under her shadows just in case if she needs to lean on. After few hesitations, she opened her heart out revealing how her sibling succumbed to nature’s fury, her static life in the branched ivory tower and so on. As she was pouring out, I realized that all her flamboyance and pride were just a façade to veil her trials and tribulations.
What started out as a crush grew into a very serious relationship, she sloughing off her regular green jersey and donning a red one to impress me, minor quibbles between us and what not. All seem to go well for us until one fine day her parents revealed to me that she is counting her days and that they will be all gone before the winter sets in. She made no effort to conceal her impending grave and our eyes were locked in tears. Head down with a heavy heart, I started to walk writhing in pain.
Next day, as soon as she saw me, she broke loose from her wooden castle and descended down only to be swept away by the wind. I had to sprint like hell to retrieve her. Holding her in her final moments, with a quivering voice and a failing heart, she whispered that she would be back next spring and left me weeping. Until I see her again, may her soul rest in peace in the casket of my organic chemistry book. Amen.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Missing CPU
First thing, does it really exist? If it does, is it functioning the way it should? Is it of the right size to perform its routine? Is it shrinking? These are my ways of questioning the existence of a small lump of grey flesh tethered with thousands of neurons, with cranium as its place of abode, which the medical fraternity calls it “Brain”. My schoolteacher, college professor, my friends, even my parents used to ask me “ Do you have brains?” With all my innocence and ignorance, I used to say “ Sorry I am not willing to share it.” Never felt that they were asking me a rhetorical question.
From time to time, when I tend to knock the door of the skull mantle with knuckles, my auditory senses would pick up a hollow resounding signal just like an empty vessel, confirming that God forgot to plug in my CPU. If HE is the architect of my current handicap probably I guess a one-to-one talk could help resolve the issue. Even to put forward my case and prosecute HIM, I need some analytical thinking.
Above ramblings and suicidal blaming game are spewing out of my piled up dormant antipathy towards my academic ancestors- the likes of G.N.Lewis, J.J.Thompson, Linus Pauling, and not to forget the great Albert who rollercoasted his way to glory using only 10% of his grey matter. Adding fuel to my incapacitated mind are my fellow peers from IIT, IIM, Stanford and other Ivy league schools who strut with an air of flamboyance, not to be left behind are the underage over achievers who are hell bent on questioning my mere existence.
From time to time, when I tend to knock the door of the skull mantle with knuckles, my auditory senses would pick up a hollow resounding signal just like an empty vessel, confirming that God forgot to plug in my CPU. If HE is the architect of my current handicap probably I guess a one-to-one talk could help resolve the issue. Even to put forward my case and prosecute HIM, I need some analytical thinking.
Above ramblings and suicidal blaming game are spewing out of my piled up dormant antipathy towards my academic ancestors- the likes of G.N.Lewis, J.J.Thompson, Linus Pauling, and not to forget the great Albert who rollercoasted his way to glory using only 10% of his grey matter. Adding fuel to my incapacitated mind are my fellow peers from IIT, IIM, Stanford and other Ivy league schools who strut with an air of flamboyance, not to be left behind are the underage over achievers who are hell bent on questioning my mere existence.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
I think not what they think
Depleting creativity, draining reasoning, funneling analysis, recurring boredom, inability to think outside the bun, has all motivated me to the following limerick.
As my parents watch me grow up
Parents thinking: My son will be great
Me thinking: Keep thinking.
Standing behind a girl in queue
Me thinking: Hips hypnotize me
She thinking: You can’t screw me.
Standing in front of a mirror
Me thinking: Tom Cruise
gnikniht eM : Cruise Tom
My advisor thrashing me
Advisor thinking: You Stupid, Jackass indeed
Me thinking: Just following the lead.
Watching a 10 pointer go by
Me thinking: I am there for you
She thinking: I am never for you.
Praying to God
Me thinking: HE is listening
HE thinking: Go to Hell
Deep slumber in bed
Me dreaming: Natalie Portman
She dreaming: Some other men
After reading this
You thinking: Bull shit
Me thinking: So do I
As my parents watch me grow up
Parents thinking: My son will be great
Me thinking: Keep thinking.
Standing behind a girl in queue
Me thinking: Hips hypnotize me
She thinking: You can’t screw me.
Standing in front of a mirror
Me thinking: Tom Cruise
gnikniht eM : Cruise Tom
My advisor thrashing me
Advisor thinking: You Stupid, Jackass indeed
Me thinking: Just following the lead.
Watching a 10 pointer go by
Me thinking: I am there for you
She thinking: I am never for you.
Praying to God
Me thinking: HE is listening
HE thinking: Go to Hell
Deep slumber in bed
Me dreaming: Natalie Portman
She dreaming: Some other men
After reading this
You thinking: Bull shit
Me thinking: So do I
Saturday, April 01, 2006
" ********** "
As I mentally hitchhiked and traveled back down the memory lane, a slew of images raced like trees running past a moving train. I was able to sense the disappointment writ all over my parents, as they watched me grow from a cute little angel to an uncouth brat. Hey who can defy nature’s will of increasing entropy (disorder). I am sure we all carry huge sack of adventures only to be reenacted by the next generation with more vigor and ferocity.
Of the many sepia tainted images, the old Tamil movies of the 60’s and 70’s seem to have strong nerve connections in my hard drive. Probably the long grueling hours that I had put up with my grandma, before she could allow me to watch Giant Robot, might be the reason for those tattoos in my ROM. Though there were these torturous 16 -20 bits of musical extravaganza, some of the, out-of-the-context dialogues were enjoyable. For e.g., when the villains are exchanging smuggled goods, one guy would say “Kaka Pachai”, (the crow is green), for which the other guy would reply “Amavasaiku Pournami” (honeymoon for the guy full moon) and once code words fall in place, they exchange hands.
Slowly I did realize the fact that even today unknowingly we are all playing the code game of “Kaka Pachai” (the crow is green) as we punch in those alpha - masking star-spangled passwords for almost everything –bank accounts, secured entrance, missile launch, parental control, and email accounts. With email accounts from all possible vendors, the difficulty lies in remembering the passwords, not to forget the alphanumeric username. I guess I would have answered at least a 100 secret question to get a new password. Probably, once the speech recognition software is implemented in full force, we might end up whispering our passwords like the Hogwarts School of Harry Potter. Until then, just let’s be muggles, forgetting our password and retrieving it , logging in every 2 hours to delete the spam and letting others know that we are alive with our forwards.
Of the many sepia tainted images, the old Tamil movies of the 60’s and 70’s seem to have strong nerve connections in my hard drive. Probably the long grueling hours that I had put up with my grandma, before she could allow me to watch Giant Robot, might be the reason for those tattoos in my ROM. Though there were these torturous 16 -20 bits of musical extravaganza, some of the, out-of-the-context dialogues were enjoyable. For e.g., when the villains are exchanging smuggled goods, one guy would say “Kaka Pachai”, (the crow is green), for which the other guy would reply “Amavasaiku Pournami” (honeymoon for the guy full moon) and once code words fall in place, they exchange hands.
Slowly I did realize the fact that even today unknowingly we are all playing the code game of “Kaka Pachai” (the crow is green) as we punch in those alpha - masking star-spangled passwords for almost everything –bank accounts, secured entrance, missile launch, parental control, and email accounts. With email accounts from all possible vendors, the difficulty lies in remembering the passwords, not to forget the alphanumeric username. I guess I would have answered at least a 100 secret question to get a new password. Probably, once the speech recognition software is implemented in full force, we might end up whispering our passwords like the Hogwarts School of Harry Potter. Until then, just let’s be muggles, forgetting our password and retrieving it , logging in every 2 hours to delete the spam and letting others know that we are alive with our forwards.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
On a scale of ..............
There are moments in life when things take a turn and go in the direction opposite to where it was intended to go. Moments spent on nurturing an inane feeling that the whole galaxy is up against me with the stars realigning themselves, plotting to push me into a black hole are innumerable. A long walk, under the roof of the blue sky with wind as my mute companion, serves as a panacea for my woes.
The blue robin chirping an aria with the orchestra of sparrows and swallows, the dried leaves scampering in the blowing wind, water ripples racing against each other, all tranquilizes the mind. The regained serenity gives way to racy statistics as my mind churns out a number on a scale of 10 on the sight of an approaching girl. Starting with 10 pointer, at a distance of 300 feet, generally a linear regression follows with decreasing distance, as the blemishes become more perceptible to the superficial mind. But not today, at least not for the damsel that seem to have captivated my mind by her heavenly beauty.
Clad in a black turtleneck to go with her blue jean, I am being swept off my feet by her beauty with every waning distance. Her broad forehead, her blonde hair, chubby cheeks housing a dimple, small yet full lips, most of all her smile that has put me under a spell. Wait a minute, is she is smiling at me? Should I respond back with a smile? Never in the history of charm scale, has a 5 pointer evinced interest from 10 pointer.
Instead of cramming in so many thoughts into my brain, had I listened to my auditory senses, neither would have I missed a 10 pointer dude running from behind nor be heart-broken at the sight of their PDA (public display of affection). Patting myself from the bruises inflicted by a 10 pointer, I go about realigning my scale, screening out all the stunners and zeroing on gorgeous 15 pointers on a scale of ..................
The blue robin chirping an aria with the orchestra of sparrows and swallows, the dried leaves scampering in the blowing wind, water ripples racing against each other, all tranquilizes the mind. The regained serenity gives way to racy statistics as my mind churns out a number on a scale of 10 on the sight of an approaching girl. Starting with 10 pointer, at a distance of 300 feet, generally a linear regression follows with decreasing distance, as the blemishes become more perceptible to the superficial mind. But not today, at least not for the damsel that seem to have captivated my mind by her heavenly beauty.
Clad in a black turtleneck to go with her blue jean, I am being swept off my feet by her beauty with every waning distance. Her broad forehead, her blonde hair, chubby cheeks housing a dimple, small yet full lips, most of all her smile that has put me under a spell. Wait a minute, is she is smiling at me? Should I respond back with a smile? Never in the history of charm scale, has a 5 pointer evinced interest from 10 pointer.
Instead of cramming in so many thoughts into my brain, had I listened to my auditory senses, neither would have I missed a 10 pointer dude running from behind nor be heart-broken at the sight of their PDA (public display of affection). Patting myself from the bruises inflicted by a 10 pointer, I go about realigning my scale, screening out all the stunners and zeroing on gorgeous 15 pointers on a scale of ..................
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Remember, Remember, the month of December
Of all the months in a year, it is the month of December that I always long for in Madras (India). The month of Marghazi as known in Tamil fills my mind with nostalgic memories of the days that I spent. Snuggled up comfortably to the warmth of a comforter in the cold days of the month, the aroma of the hot coffee that my mother brews, tantalizes and stirs me to my feet. Since bed coffee is an anathema in our home, I rush to the decontamination chamber, pep my teeth with Pepsodent, purge my body with saturated fatty acids and come out drying my hair.
Starting with the first sneeze of the day, I follow the trail of my mother to the street, where the artistic display of her Kolam (Rangoli) becomes the envy of our neighbors. Sipping my coffee and teasing my mother of her art portrayal, I stand in the street –allowing myself to be drawn into the essence of the holy morning. The cold fangs of morning breeze while sketching goose pimples on my body, brings along with it a waft of the cow dung that no axe can compete.
While the morning suprabatham from the nearby temple lulls me into a sublime state of mind, the rhythmic clinging anklets of my neighbor girl, who passes by carrying a pot of water, puts me under a trance. As my head involuntarily follows her trail, my eye catches a glimpse of my father at a distance carrying the morning milk and I turn the other way sulking.
Filled with images of the morning procession of Marghazi troupe singing Thirupavai, the small kid rolling the bicycle tire with a bamboo stick while competing with the guy launching the morning newspaper like missiles, the next door lad falling helplessly after losing his balance in his bicycle and engineering grad students carrying their drafter and hurrying towards their college bus, I walk into the kitchen to find a platter of steaming idli drenched in Kothambali speckled sambar, seasoned with few drops of Ghee. With coconut chutney to add to the proceedings, my mom transposes me to an island of heaven.
Rejected many a times by the towering Indian Institute(s) of Technology, here I am 15,000 km away from the paradise munching granula bars and cornflakes for breakfast, competing against myself to get better everyday. But till my next vacation to my country, the memories of small yet special moments in my life will still linger.
Starting with the first sneeze of the day, I follow the trail of my mother to the street, where the artistic display of her Kolam (Rangoli) becomes the envy of our neighbors. Sipping my coffee and teasing my mother of her art portrayal, I stand in the street –allowing myself to be drawn into the essence of the holy morning. The cold fangs of morning breeze while sketching goose pimples on my body, brings along with it a waft of the cow dung that no axe can compete.
While the morning suprabatham from the nearby temple lulls me into a sublime state of mind, the rhythmic clinging anklets of my neighbor girl, who passes by carrying a pot of water, puts me under a trance. As my head involuntarily follows her trail, my eye catches a glimpse of my father at a distance carrying the morning milk and I turn the other way sulking.
Filled with images of the morning procession of Marghazi troupe singing Thirupavai, the small kid rolling the bicycle tire with a bamboo stick while competing with the guy launching the morning newspaper like missiles, the next door lad falling helplessly after losing his balance in his bicycle and engineering grad students carrying their drafter and hurrying towards their college bus, I walk into the kitchen to find a platter of steaming idli drenched in Kothambali speckled sambar, seasoned with few drops of Ghee. With coconut chutney to add to the proceedings, my mom transposes me to an island of heaven.
Rejected many a times by the towering Indian Institute(s) of Technology, here I am 15,000 km away from the paradise munching granula bars and cornflakes for breakfast, competing against myself to get better everyday. But till my next vacation to my country, the memories of small yet special moments in my life will still linger.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Why WHEN
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday (come on not a Sex and the City ad), January, month, year, decade, history, period, past, present, future, millennium, and many more words with various permutation and combination of 26 letters of the English alphabet all relate to one of the dimensions of space – TIME. The moment we navigated our way out of the mother’s womb, we are tagged to the atomic clock classifying us under one of the 12 zodiac signs, the second hand ticking our countdown to the grave. Even on our mortal remains, the stamp of time is etched on our tombstone. In between our entry and exit, we remain a dormant slave, working our ass off to the ticks of time.
If the concept of time was not in the agenda when Adam ate that apple, first of all, we would have been spared of all the birthday bums, A.M. or P.M. wouldn’t have existed, so is A.D. or B.C.. For the inquisitive minds who speak the questioning language of what, where, why, the word “when” would be out of question. The esoteric subject of astronomy with all its light years would have been in oblivion. The only other subject apart from Math to have numbers – History, would not have found a place in the curriculum.
If it were not for time, the film fanatics would have been spared of the scene where the doctor comes out of the emergency room, shaking his baldhead and saying “Had he been brought 2 minutes ago..” or the lover girl frowning at her boyfriend for being late for the date. The scene, of villain walking off with a smirk while his timed bomb ticks to blow off in the background and the concept of timing in comedy would have been extraneous.
Lastly, if not for the existence of time, you wouldn’t be feeling guilty and kicking yourself for wasting time, reading this blog and losing 2-3 minutes of your lifetime.
If the concept of time was not in the agenda when Adam ate that apple, first of all, we would have been spared of all the birthday bums, A.M. or P.M. wouldn’t have existed, so is A.D. or B.C.. For the inquisitive minds who speak the questioning language of what, where, why, the word “when” would be out of question. The esoteric subject of astronomy with all its light years would have been in oblivion. The only other subject apart from Math to have numbers – History, would not have found a place in the curriculum.
If it were not for time, the film fanatics would have been spared of the scene where the doctor comes out of the emergency room, shaking his baldhead and saying “Had he been brought 2 minutes ago..” or the lover girl frowning at her boyfriend for being late for the date. The scene, of villain walking off with a smirk while his timed bomb ticks to blow off in the background and the concept of timing in comedy would have been extraneous.
Lastly, if not for the existence of time, you wouldn’t be feeling guilty and kicking yourself for wasting time, reading this blog and losing 2-3 minutes of your lifetime.
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