Posts
Little noises that twitter and ring in my ear, make me look at the lining that seperates the filter on own my cigarette and the white cigarette paper stuffed with tobacco, it will soon burn out and will be tipped off with one slight gesture of my fingers, maybe blown away by the wind and finally be mixed with the sands of time.
The filter (butt) however would remain with all the stain it stopped from entering my char filled lungs and be kicked and rolled around, there is a seperation that made this to be. Even while i was carried on this thought, the car tyres screeched and had to stop as the color ahead of me turned to RED, another car just passed and again there was a degree of seperation that I saw, which stopped me to pass ahead. Again it was for some good.
After that all that I looked at had a seperation it had. Some for measurement, rules, safety. One day I think it will be torned apart and we all will be able to swish past wihtout the S-E-P-E-R-A-T-I-O-N
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Something in the WaY
Knock knock.. just another day when my roomie knocks on my door and makes me to seperate from the dear sleep with whom I was involved in a rather romantic night. Just like any relationship.. we parted and my heart was not heavy, nor was my chest choking for breath.. One glimpse to the cute pic that she had first handed to me made me pass; from past to present in a jiffy of seconds.
My heart skipped a beat and I felt a lump of something which filled inside me, made me fall back on the already squeezed bed sheet. I could feel the stench filled in the room which was familiar with cigarette whiffs and the left over's from the day before.A squeeze on the already "raped" tooth paste tube blesses us with a drip of toothpaste which lazily lies onto the already over used tooth brush. The mirror smudged with water stains and balckened silver, shows my own reflection. My hazy vision tries and gets a glimpse of all my teeth to do that I have been doin from the time i could start chewing. Moving the hairy tool in wierd angles and filling my mouth with calcium aided foam, while another call to go sip on the opium of dawn rushed in. Rebin always has a shrill tone when he shouts. So i had to succumb.
The stairs seemed never ending as I pulled myself down it, trying to make my ear drums accustomed to the song ensuing as a result of the morning call from the T.V. Antony sat there crude in his very own expression. He always lived in a different world and this was the only time when his otherwise neatly combed hair could be seen out of its place. He was not interested in the liquid opium which accelerated our digestive system to remove the waste from our body. Any invite would be acknowledged with a big "no", which seemed more like
"Guys, get a life"
Rebin was already out and had unlocked his car and was trying to see if his hair was all in place, he dressed up as if he could go all the way to a party from there. I slid myself into the side seat, hearing Rebin react to our not so social neighbours. There were piles of work material that they had carefully strewn carelessly all around. We were the only people troubled by this, since the road ended right in front of the house we stayed. A fish monger sat in our path trying to add on to the already crowded area where Rebin tried hard to turn his car without any scratches. A twenty metre reverse drive and we were ready for our opium.
"Vikli the dog", looked at me with real emotional eyes. It had mixed feelings of helplessness, of a strange lost feeling, and another feeling which it always had, that of hunger. We ignored it as usual.
The liquid opium stall was like the stock markets, busy with homo sapiens at this time of the day. People trying hard to place their order, others trying to get on a conclusion on whether Sachin has to stop play or if the notorious Kerala external affairs minister's son should be arrested. A beggar roamed around the tea stall in hope of getting a crumb of "appam" or a free tea. An auto driver just rushed in with his loud acknowledgement to the person preparing the "hot tea". The man responds trying to juggle with his tea glass and the huge "tea kit". He nearly spills the hot water on the person standing next to him, who jumps off in time and gives a rather crude look at both the auto driver and the "tea man".
While I was in my chappals, puffing on a cigarette i had just bought,Rebin sipped on his hot tea and was giving his familiar chuckling laughter. He was feeling funny at the way a transport bus whiffed passed us with two heroes dangling on the footstep in a rather acrobatic but dangerous way. The heroes had a point there, they were just trying to satiate their testosterone, triggered by the gleeing college girls in the bus.
Sipping on my last drop of tea and squashing the cigarette butt, for a moment I felt like office really sucks. It was just that phase of a human being when he feels in one voice.. "education ruined me". Rebin's shout to get into the car brought me to reality that in half an hour i had a team meeting. Just then a school van passed us. A small girl in her neatly ironed shirt which was mostly covered by a neatly stitched pinaform looked right into my eyes and flashed a smile. It all happened in a few moments. Still she conveyed a lot. She let loose a world of happinness to me. She didnt advice me, nor did she say stories of an ivory tower with angels in it. Still i felt that within the moment my eye lashes blinked the whole world turned right around me. As i stepped into my car and saw Rebin adjusting his mirror to see if all his hair were intact, the same lump in me transformed to a jingle
Mixed with the horns and noise of the waking morn.. the jingle transformed into an anthem that rung loud in my ears .. "There is something beautiful about life.. Live it.. feel it.. meet it.. come what may love it "
My heart skipped a beat and I felt a lump of something which filled inside me, made me fall back on the already squeezed bed sheet. I could feel the stench filled in the room which was familiar with cigarette whiffs and the left over's from the day before.A squeeze on the already "raped" tooth paste tube blesses us with a drip of toothpaste which lazily lies onto the already over used tooth brush. The mirror smudged with water stains and balckened silver, shows my own reflection. My hazy vision tries and gets a glimpse of all my teeth to do that I have been doin from the time i could start chewing. Moving the hairy tool in wierd angles and filling my mouth with calcium aided foam, while another call to go sip on the opium of dawn rushed in. Rebin always has a shrill tone when he shouts. So i had to succumb.
The stairs seemed never ending as I pulled myself down it, trying to make my ear drums accustomed to the song ensuing as a result of the morning call from the T.V. Antony sat there crude in his very own expression. He always lived in a different world and this was the only time when his otherwise neatly combed hair could be seen out of its place. He was not interested in the liquid opium which accelerated our digestive system to remove the waste from our body. Any invite would be acknowledged with a big "no", which seemed more like
"Guys, get a life"
Rebin was already out and had unlocked his car and was trying to see if his hair was all in place, he dressed up as if he could go all the way to a party from there. I slid myself into the side seat, hearing Rebin react to our not so social neighbours. There were piles of work material that they had carefully strewn carelessly all around. We were the only people troubled by this, since the road ended right in front of the house we stayed. A fish monger sat in our path trying to add on to the already crowded area where Rebin tried hard to turn his car without any scratches. A twenty metre reverse drive and we were ready for our opium.
"Vikli the dog", looked at me with real emotional eyes. It had mixed feelings of helplessness, of a strange lost feeling, and another feeling which it always had, that of hunger. We ignored it as usual.
The liquid opium stall was like the stock markets, busy with homo sapiens at this time of the day. People trying hard to place their order, others trying to get on a conclusion on whether Sachin has to stop play or if the notorious Kerala external affairs minister's son should be arrested. A beggar roamed around the tea stall in hope of getting a crumb of "appam" or a free tea. An auto driver just rushed in with his loud acknowledgement to the person preparing the "hot tea". The man responds trying to juggle with his tea glass and the huge "tea kit". He nearly spills the hot water on the person standing next to him, who jumps off in time and gives a rather crude look at both the auto driver and the "tea man".
While I was in my chappals, puffing on a cigarette i had just bought,Rebin sipped on his hot tea and was giving his familiar chuckling laughter. He was feeling funny at the way a transport bus whiffed passed us with two heroes dangling on the footstep in a rather acrobatic but dangerous way. The heroes had a point there, they were just trying to satiate their testosterone, triggered by the gleeing college girls in the bus.
Sipping on my last drop of tea and squashing the cigarette butt, for a moment I felt like office really sucks. It was just that phase of a human being when he feels in one voice.. "education ruined me". Rebin's shout to get into the car brought me to reality that in half an hour i had a team meeting. Just then a school van passed us. A small girl in her neatly ironed shirt which was mostly covered by a neatly stitched pinaform looked right into my eyes and flashed a smile. It all happened in a few moments. Still she conveyed a lot. She let loose a world of happinness to me. She didnt advice me, nor did she say stories of an ivory tower with angels in it. Still i felt that within the moment my eye lashes blinked the whole world turned right around me. As i stepped into my car and saw Rebin adjusting his mirror to see if all his hair were intact, the same lump in me transformed to a jingle
Mixed with the horns and noise of the waking morn.. the jingle transformed into an anthem that rung loud in my ears .. "There is something beautiful about life.. Live it.. feel it.. meet it.. come what may love it "
Friday, August 21, 2009
None can replace
I miss u.. I miss u.. I could go on writing this a thousand times, but still the feeling wouldnt change. Every moment I could ever get to spend with you, will always be cherished, I say it or not. The pain is all in the memories, they linger not in my body but in soul.
I dont know If "soul" really exists, if it does, thats were you reside. My body has sinned and it has, but my soul has been tru always, and deep within it lingers.
I dont believe in a life after death, for me all that was here was given by you. I felt the happiness and the beauty of heaven when you were next to me. I also felt the heat and the ravages of hell when you faded into just memories...
I can with my confession, gota nothin that I know more. I dont know where to start and i do wish, you were here next to me, sometimes, just to flash a smile and answer my call, or share a tear,...
They say love brings tears, i dont believe that, for whether it was tears of joy or sadness that you have ever brought on my eyelashes, it has always felt magical. I dont know the day when I ll finally forget you. But I am sure your eyes are deep seated in me that i can run to you on every heart beat of mine ... that goes on and on.... just for you.. for I believe you ll be mine...
Forever and ever
Friday, August 7, 2009
Memory Remains
What I have feel, what I have known.. turn the pages of the dawn. Right as my legs rise from the sleep and the hangover of the day before.. my eyes half closed fight hard to be acuustomed to the world around me. The slanting sun rays are not troubling me yet.. Its just a gentle pat on my head.. I try and pull myself from the bed.. Something, felt like a strong thud koncks me back to the bed
My eyes slowly fade off for a jiffy of a second. I see it all, the very first moment, how I met her, the first smile, the first kiss, all and the last time i met her...
It all moves along my memories as if they were just some gush of wind that had caressed me as i was having a walk down the "toy road". I wake up form the feel i had and in my back ground from my already over used laptop a song plays shreekingly
" Its a new Day... Its a new beginning...."
Monday, June 22, 2009
Living on the Edge
Whats wrong with the world?? Thats a question popped again and again. Tell me what you think about the situation, admiration, complication. Seems there, are a lot of words that can be used with the popular "tion" and you feel good. I dont know whats wrong. Is it something wrong with our eyes. We see things with a difference, and to stress on, a lot of difference. Sometimes, i just feel I could go on and on on talking about life. I have lived my last twebty five years with this. Still a small kid pops up the question.... Whats life?
A pause and a further stress of my eyebrows is followed by a slur.. and then i may go on and on explaining to him what life is. Still he leaves or runs away not happy with the answer that I could provide. I bump into all type of people in my office.
Creed# 1: The serious looking kind. They have read it all, seen it all. They can talk on everything that seems to be appealing to a nerd. They do not know much about sports or movies, which soothes the souls of the ordinary kind.
They feel good talking about history and politics. I am not good in both, so most of the times its just a gape of awfullness, or a slow pause that ensues from within me
Creed #2: They dont look serious. They can talk it all. When the creed#1 comes up with something to talk, the creed#2 can respond, argue and add on. They make the cushion for the creed#1. They are aware of all things around, sports, movies,music, history or politics. They always use their hands more than their mouths. They feel maybe "action speak louder than words". Sometime's the creed#1 and creed#2 can form a quiet boring sight for the other's. Creed#1 always feels good when they get a response. They are the nerds and the creed #2 are the jerks
Creed#3: They belong to a different genre, altogther. They form the larger volume of the group. They look like mere statues when creed#1 and creed # 2 bla bla and bla. They may look interested but they whimp with suppressed ego and a lot of squashed inner respect. The creed#1 and creed #2 never bother for them. They pull in their conversations even when the creed#3 feels lost amid all that creed#1 and creed#2 calls, as conversations and others feel as mere jabbering.
Creed #4: They just dont bother. I would call them the cooler kind. They would be lost enjoying their moment to live. The days rolls in.. the heatbeats fast and they feel the youth in every moment. They feel good whatever be their surroundings.
A pause and a further stress of my eyebrows is followed by a slur.. and then i may go on and on explaining to him what life is. Still he leaves or runs away not happy with the answer that I could provide. I bump into all type of people in my office.
Creed# 1: The serious looking kind. They have read it all, seen it all. They can talk on everything that seems to be appealing to a nerd. They do not know much about sports or movies, which soothes the souls of the ordinary kind.
They feel good talking about history and politics. I am not good in both, so most of the times its just a gape of awfullness, or a slow pause that ensues from within me
Creed #2: They dont look serious. They can talk it all. When the creed#1 comes up with something to talk, the creed#2 can respond, argue and add on. They make the cushion for the creed#1. They are aware of all things around, sports, movies,music, history or politics. They always use their hands more than their mouths. They feel maybe "action speak louder than words". Sometime's the creed#1 and creed#2 can form a quiet boring sight for the other's. Creed#1 always feels good when they get a response. They are the nerds and the creed #2 are the jerks
Creed#3: They belong to a different genre, altogther. They form the larger volume of the group. They look like mere statues when creed#1 and creed # 2 bla bla and bla. They may look interested but they whimp with suppressed ego and a lot of squashed inner respect. The creed#1 and creed #2 never bother for them. They pull in their conversations even when the creed#3 feels lost amid all that creed#1 and creed#2 calls, as conversations and others feel as mere jabbering.
Creed #4: They just dont bother. I would call them the cooler kind. They would be lost enjoying their moment to live. The days rolls in.. the heatbeats fast and they feel the youth in every moment. They feel good whatever be their surroundings.
Friday, May 29, 2009
You Live what U dont
Mesmarising.. great.. awful.. sucks!!!
Life has all the adjectives that can go on with it. The race has the pace which is too fast, something tells us within ourselves, "we cant run the race". Its a rat race. I dont know why race has the simile used with rodents. I dont want to question the very thought that made up all this that it starts off in one day. Watch your time as the pendulum swings and you start counting the number of visitors for your death. It doesnt even matter how hard you try, sometimes its just a jiffy you take to make all fine. I tried so hard and gone so far but in the end it doesnt even matter. I had gone far to lose it all!!!
Sometimes i feel life is just another soap bublle thats gone in the next moment. Sometimes i feel its a chewing gum. You chew on it on and on and as it intermingles withthe saliva secreted by ourselves, the taste stays, then its sticky. You dispose it , you run away from it and still it is on and aorund sometimes sticking to your shoes, your clothes. You try to get rid of it, the more it stays close to you.Why i dono. Sometimes i feel its the music that is born from the frail frets of a bass guitar, sometimes i feel its as annoying and cumbersome as the strain on an electric huitar string.
Still i shout with all the voice i have that my chords can support that
" LIFE is GOOD"
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Emotional Atyachar
DEV D was a big hit. no questioning that. All the misery of breakups and the things that ensued portrayed in its raw form. I have had my break up too. Its more emotinal when the truth that there is no longer a voice which is going to pamper you on the other side of your mobile dawns right before you. Every song that you hear reminds you of moments spent with her. The more you try to divert ypurself away from her thoughts, the more she appears in every blink of your eye.
I never saw DEV D and resorted to drinking. In fact i drank to forget all that brought in the break ups. It was painful and addictive. Every action you did to get rid off all the pain within you drew you closer, that all the real beautiful things in life seemed meek and wasted. I felt I was a stranger to myself. Some sould in me pitied me, or was it the people around me. The genes in me kept me going. No one knew, for i never changed much in the way I carried myself; solitude killed me from toe to the last strand of my hair. "Fear of the dark" as maiden sang it long ago was gripping me. I was having fever that couldnt be cured. And the worst part was i knew it.It was killing me from inside.It was like cancer, the pain was slowly but strongly eating into me. This had no escape. I had to face the truth. I hold on to life till the last shred of the rope that puppets me in my life keeps me going.. till the last drop of blood in me is pumped to all over me.. and till my lungs breathes in the last whiff of air......
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The God I made For ME
I made him,.. I, born as the human being made him. He was made by me for me. I think about this, many a times. ITs written in the book of life that God made me and all the things around me. Its written a thousand years ago. Still it lingers within me somewhere doesnt it feel we made him for ourselves. To listne to our prayers, our complaints, our sorrows, very rarely our happiness.
We gave birth to him and the devil. From then humans had this biased feel for the right and the wrong. If there was a right, there ought to be a wrong too. So humans made the devil. Stories told of some place called hell and heaven. God sometimes i do feel I made you. Dont smite me for this o mighty smiter, coz still I have the fear in me which makes me feel that if what I say now turns out to be false I shall suffer in the fathoms of hell!!!!
split seconD of PassioN
The whiff of smoke is still caressing the innermost walls of my lungs. A meal comprising of rice and curry and a walk down the stair from the 6th floor with one of my colleagues, made me look at a carrying lady. She was looking tired and her face looked bare and blood drained. A million.. no maybe i am exagerating a ten thoughts rushed through my mind of the diffculty that god might have included in the installation of birth. I know not how many people might have really thought of the reality in the difficulty to give birth to a new born. The installation is simple, maybe just a few hours, but the acceptance of the licence agrrement is some 9 months of gruelling pain and sufferring. What lead everyone to this. Stop and think its a split second of passion.
The bitterness or the glory of creation is that it has a tinge of passsion to it. What people cover by the name lust,love, and even sex is always an ignission of passion, which lights up every creation of god or every being which evolved according to Charles Darwin. Let it be the pollination of the flowers when the flying bee's have their own share of honey before they help the flowers to pollinate or the animals who find love or the yearning of keeping their breed alive to ignite the shrapnel of passion.
So it all begins with passion. A strong feeling, a rather stronger emotion. This paves way to all the creation on Earth. How come the end copmes with a stronger emotion that many dont realize. The emotion of tears. No one leave the face of Earth without a tear being shed.
So if a woman carries a jumping embryo in her womb, I was wondering which proverb to write off before i end this blog
Let it be
"As you sow shall you reap" or "No pain no gain"
The bitterness or the glory of creation is that it has a tinge of passsion to it. What people cover by the name lust,love, and even sex is always an ignission of passion, which lights up every creation of god or every being which evolved according to Charles Darwin. Let it be the pollination of the flowers when the flying bee's have their own share of honey before they help the flowers to pollinate or the animals who find love or the yearning of keeping their breed alive to ignite the shrapnel of passion.
So it all begins with passion. A strong feeling, a rather stronger emotion. This paves way to all the creation on Earth. How come the end copmes with a stronger emotion that many dont realize. The emotion of tears. No one leave the face of Earth without a tear being shed.
So if a woman carries a jumping embryo in her womb, I was wondering which proverb to write off before i end this blog
Let it be
"As you sow shall you reap" or "No pain no gain"
Thursday, June 26, 2008
CHeee CHeee LeadERs
Chee Chee Leaders!!!
IPL was a huge success, Few would argue on this, so was everything that came along with it. The Franchises made money and the T.V ads cashed on the over breaks and the technical interruptions. Nothing was left wasted. Cricket was constricted to its last fiber to satiate all, with the juices that flowed. Cricket was involving just more than 22 men. It had the over whelming fans divided on the basis of region and their heroes. Franchises including the richest man in India to the most popular stars. Camera men struggled to get all the shots telecasted correct when the roar and noise of the crowd, intermingled with their own anticipation of the ball. Something else that caught the attention of the young and the old alike was the “Cheer girls”. From the first day of the IPL they were not left unnoticed. They had the glamour, the moves and the controversies that persuaded the media to quench their thirst.
Vijay Mallya brought in the best of the breed and though he couldn’t use much of them as his team failed in IPL, the situation had slipped into something were the cheer leaders gathered all the attention. The attention they gathered was more with controversies than with their glitz and glamour.
Our politicians have still not lost the “flame” in them. The flame of morality continues to cause palpitations in the loins of our politicians. Maharashtra’s deputy chief minister R.R. Patil, who drove Bombay’s bar dancers out of business, says the cheer girls employed at Twenty20 games and the skimpy clothes they wear are “obscene“. And typically for our politicians (remember Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses being banned on the basis of Syed Shahbuddin’s review of the book in India Today?), Patil’s threat of “action” comes without the minister examining the evidence.
“I was not present at the India-Australia match but we will go through the tapes before taking any action. I am told their performance was vulgar and their movements left nothing to the imagination,” Patil, who belongs to BCCI president Sharad Pawar’s Nationalist Congress Party leader, has been quoted by The Telegraph as saying.
Is it OK for cheer leaders to whip up excitement and keep the spirits up among spectators in a Twenty20 match, or is it not quite cricket? Are the hip-wiggling actions and jhatka-matka gyrations of the girls vulgar, or are they just a sign of the times? When the girls are not being forced to dance and prance around, does anybody have any business telling them what to do? Don’t our politicians have any better work to do, like say saving Maharashtra’s malnourished children? Or is protecting “Indian culture” from such transgressions more important than such mundane things?
The police may always be sleeping on the job, but the moral police are always on the job. Farmers are killing themselves in Vidarbha, inflation is soaring through the roof in Matunga, Maoism is penetrating Chandrapur, chauvinism is raging in Bombay… but the most important item on the agenda of Maharashtra’s politicians seems to be the “bulging breasts” and “gyrating bellies” of the cheer girls of the Indian Premier League.
Here is the truth that finds difficulty to bend its lip muscles to smile, the truth about our nation. The controversy was not just to IPL cheer leaders from Mumbai. There was more to add to the drama. There was racialism added in the most political way. After cricket these days cannot happen with controversies on racialism, and here it was
Two dark colored girls were asked to stay back from cheering for their team, though sources have it that they were hired for cheering, the irony is that Media found it difficult to frame the news here, more importantly to put the news in a politically correct manner.
Dark Skinned Girls? Talk about being politically correct. In the US the “two dark skinned girls” would be in a politically correct tone called “two African Americans”. So is the UK media going “two African Englishwomen”?
A while ago, there would have been nothing wrong if the statement read “two black girls”
But everything has to go correct politically these days. And I hope with the huge migration of Desis, one day - suppose two desi cheer girls are asked to sit out of a game because of their skin color, the media will report it as “Two tanned skinned girls”… oh wait that could mean anything. It could mean two white women who spent the last 24 hours of their life in a tanning salon.
Perhaps it would go politically correct like “two East Indian American girls”…
The argument continues here as to whether the girls were “cheer girls” or “chee chee” girls
Whatever, for the youth of the nation let the convulsions of their brain decide which is correct; At least we can hope that in the next generation we have a bunch of leaders who have more work to do, and believe in just the simple words “Live and let Live”
IPL was a huge success, Few would argue on this, so was everything that came along with it. The Franchises made money and the T.V ads cashed on the over breaks and the technical interruptions. Nothing was left wasted. Cricket was constricted to its last fiber to satiate all, with the juices that flowed. Cricket was involving just more than 22 men. It had the over whelming fans divided on the basis of region and their heroes. Franchises including the richest man in India to the most popular stars. Camera men struggled to get all the shots telecasted correct when the roar and noise of the crowd, intermingled with their own anticipation of the ball. Something else that caught the attention of the young and the old alike was the “Cheer girls”. From the first day of the IPL they were not left unnoticed. They had the glamour, the moves and the controversies that persuaded the media to quench their thirst.
Vijay Mallya brought in the best of the breed and though he couldn’t use much of them as his team failed in IPL, the situation had slipped into something were the cheer leaders gathered all the attention. The attention they gathered was more with controversies than with their glitz and glamour.
Our politicians have still not lost the “flame” in them. The flame of morality continues to cause palpitations in the loins of our politicians. Maharashtra’s deputy chief minister R.R. Patil, who drove Bombay’s bar dancers out of business, says the cheer girls employed at Twenty20 games and the skimpy clothes they wear are “obscene“. And typically for our politicians (remember Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses being banned on the basis of Syed Shahbuddin’s review of the book in India Today?), Patil’s threat of “action” comes without the minister examining the evidence.
“I was not present at the India-Australia match but we will go through the tapes before taking any action. I am told their performance was vulgar and their movements left nothing to the imagination,” Patil, who belongs to BCCI president Sharad Pawar’s Nationalist Congress Party leader, has been quoted by The Telegraph as saying.
Is it OK for cheer leaders to whip up excitement and keep the spirits up among spectators in a Twenty20 match, or is it not quite cricket? Are the hip-wiggling actions and jhatka-matka gyrations of the girls vulgar, or are they just a sign of the times? When the girls are not being forced to dance and prance around, does anybody have any business telling them what to do? Don’t our politicians have any better work to do, like say saving Maharashtra’s malnourished children? Or is protecting “Indian culture” from such transgressions more important than such mundane things?
The police may always be sleeping on the job, but the moral police are always on the job. Farmers are killing themselves in Vidarbha, inflation is soaring through the roof in Matunga, Maoism is penetrating Chandrapur, chauvinism is raging in Bombay… but the most important item on the agenda of Maharashtra’s politicians seems to be the “bulging breasts” and “gyrating bellies” of the cheer girls of the Indian Premier League.
Here is the truth that finds difficulty to bend its lip muscles to smile, the truth about our nation. The controversy was not just to IPL cheer leaders from Mumbai. There was more to add to the drama. There was racialism added in the most political way. After cricket these days cannot happen with controversies on racialism, and here it was
Two dark colored girls were asked to stay back from cheering for their team, though sources have it that they were hired for cheering, the irony is that Media found it difficult to frame the news here, more importantly to put the news in a politically correct manner.
Dark Skinned Girls? Talk about being politically correct. In the US the “two dark skinned girls” would be in a politically correct tone called “two African Americans”. So is the UK media going “two African Englishwomen”?
A while ago, there would have been nothing wrong if the statement read “two black girls”
But everything has to go correct politically these days. And I hope with the huge migration of Desis, one day - suppose two desi cheer girls are asked to sit out of a game because of their skin color, the media will report it as “Two tanned skinned girls”… oh wait that could mean anything. It could mean two white women who spent the last 24 hours of their life in a tanning salon.
Perhaps it would go politically correct like “two East Indian American girls”…
The argument continues here as to whether the girls were “cheer girls” or “chee chee” girls
Whatever, for the youth of the nation let the convulsions of their brain decide which is correct; At least we can hope that in the next generation we have a bunch of leaders who have more work to do, and believe in just the simple words “Live and let Live”
IPL... Chak DE
Mmm is it IPL or ICL.. IPl yaar. That’s the one belonging to BCCI. Ya buddy but the basic idea for IPL came from Kapil who is now with the ICL. This was the regular talk that could be heard from pantries, eateries and even toilets a few months back.
For Indians the concept was new. Though PHL had brought in some hype with hockey being more popular, the plug died quickly.IPL is said to have been designed after an intensive study of the primary sporting leagues around the world such as the NHL, NBA, NFL and EPL. What has finally emerged as the IPL design is one that has been meticulously refined to work for cricket. As importantly, the league structure has been modeled so as to flourish in the uniquely Indian context, and drive the development of grassroots talent in Indian cricket.
The very truth of Symonds playing against Hayden and Dhoni against Yuvraj was the secret mantra for IPL. There was no barrier no country, caste or language. It was just cricket. The new breed of cricket which had everything colossal with it. Be it the maximum sixes, the cash flowing in, the music or the costly cheer girls flown straight front the NFL. Everything was large about this sports extravaganza and for a nation like India where patriotism reaches at its highest point on a day of cricket, IPL was a seven course meal served hot.
The hype and hoopla over the Indian Premier League cricket continues and only gets more strident. High-profile team owners ranging from liquor baron Vijay Mallya to the country’s top industrialist, Mukesh Ambani; some of the world’s top cricketers to play in the league, and multi-crore rupee bidding have all made for some heady brew. Thousands waited outside as English auctioneer Richard Madley conducted the bidding. The glitz and glamour of bollywood was brought in. Thanks to the stylish King khan and bubbly Preity.
Indian skipper Mahendra Singh Dhoni attracted the highest price of $1.5 million (approximately Rs6 crore) in the first round of bidding for players in the Indian Premier League, ahead of international stars like Sanath Jayasuriya, Muttiah Muralitharan, Shane Warne and Adam Gilchrist. So came in all the money and all the glitz and glamour. No cricket fan could wait till April 18th when the clash would actually start. It had all the hype, attention that cricket could ever ask for. Some argued this was going to destroy cricket. They sighed “44 days of non-stop, pulsating excitement. The gentlemen’s game is now karamyudh, that is being fought between the Knight Riders, Royal Challengers, Deccan Chargers, Daredevils and all this happening in the presence of Bollywood stars, business tycoons and guess what a few cricketers are there as well.”
The debate continues and without taking a stance it’s always good to criticize the whole thing and also enjoy non stop cricket. The spirit imbibed by the game was arguably more than any sports extravaganza in India. Tickets were sold out like hot cakes and people rushed into the stadium in thousands. Women in huge number got glued to their TV sets finding more thrill in the “fast cricket” served to them than the pre scripted reality shows.
The inauguration ceremony didn’t batter the spirits expected from the T20.Vijay Mallya cashed in to give it all the glitz and glamour. Performers from all around the globe were picked up to add to the “Indian curry”. The mix of masala was perfect. Not very pungent and not too salty. It was all smacked up. Television partner Setmax brought in “Extra innings” show along with cricket. There was no Mandira Bedi this time though she was Setmax’s very own adopted female version for cricket. Instead the show had young anchors, along with veterans like Jadeja and Mpumelelo Mbangwa who is known simply as `Pommie' or `Pom’. The inaugural match saw some huge scores scored by the “Kings Men” Kolkatta Knight riders with McCullum looking like a perfect savage thrashing the ball to the fences to get his unbeaten 158 comprising of 13 sixes. So there was not just the glitz of the inauguration but also cricket.
There was cricket but there was also drama. The idea of Sachin playing a T20 match for Mumbai and opening with Jayasurya was like a dream come true both for the fans as well as the players. A groin injury caused Sachin to stay away from the initial matches. Bhajji and Sreesanth was involved in some “wrestling” though the two “brothers” patched up finally when their “Father” BCCI banned Bhajji from IPL for the season. Fair play award a new concept tried to keep cricket a gentleman’s game by giving credit to players who played it with “spirit”.Charu Sharma, the CEO of Royal Challengers got sacked for his belief that “test players would do well in T20” and was crucified by replacing him with Brijesh Patel. There were giggles, sledging and club fever. And above all there were crores flowing along with cricket.
The Drama and zeal of cricket had just begun. Some said it was end of cricket. Some protested against the IPL. Some others felt it’s the dawn of the new era of cricket. Cricket stars themselves had some interesting quotes to make
"When you go to your grave, people will remember what you did with your life rather than how much money you made." Justin Langer gets a bit philosophical while stating he's opting out of the IPL.
"There was a little element of feeling like a cow." Getting auctioned for US$700,000 got Adam Gilchrist in touch with his bovine side.
"I won't tell you what my first impression was." Says a beaming Shane Warne when asked about playing alongside his favourite foe, Graeme Smith, in the IPL.
The players talked about it, Fans waited for it. Television ads cashed on it. Businessmen utilized it. Bookies betted on it and in some stand in a packed stadium in Kolkata or Mumbai a little boy starting to love cricket sitting on his fathers lap would have looked at the stadium beaming in colors and a voice within him must have screeched
“Lights, Camera, Glamour and cricket”.
His vocal chords wouldn’t be a strong one to beat the noise and buzz in the stadium but the spirit imbibed in him by this new “Avatar” of cricket would sure make him tell stories of the change he witnessed in this game to his grand children some 40 years from now
Good or bad IPL is sure to stay. If you don’t like the form of cricket, just start accepting the beat it brings with it. For its going to rush into your blood soon, if you feel its getting on your nerves now…
For Indians the concept was new. Though PHL had brought in some hype with hockey being more popular, the plug died quickly.IPL is said to have been designed after an intensive study of the primary sporting leagues around the world such as the NHL, NBA, NFL and EPL. What has finally emerged as the IPL design is one that has been meticulously refined to work for cricket. As importantly, the league structure has been modeled so as to flourish in the uniquely Indian context, and drive the development of grassroots talent in Indian cricket.
The very truth of Symonds playing against Hayden and Dhoni against Yuvraj was the secret mantra for IPL. There was no barrier no country, caste or language. It was just cricket. The new breed of cricket which had everything colossal with it. Be it the maximum sixes, the cash flowing in, the music or the costly cheer girls flown straight front the NFL. Everything was large about this sports extravaganza and for a nation like India where patriotism reaches at its highest point on a day of cricket, IPL was a seven course meal served hot.
The hype and hoopla over the Indian Premier League cricket continues and only gets more strident. High-profile team owners ranging from liquor baron Vijay Mallya to the country’s top industrialist, Mukesh Ambani; some of the world’s top cricketers to play in the league, and multi-crore rupee bidding have all made for some heady brew. Thousands waited outside as English auctioneer Richard Madley conducted the bidding. The glitz and glamour of bollywood was brought in. Thanks to the stylish King khan and bubbly Preity.
Indian skipper Mahendra Singh Dhoni attracted the highest price of $1.5 million (approximately Rs6 crore) in the first round of bidding for players in the Indian Premier League, ahead of international stars like Sanath Jayasuriya, Muttiah Muralitharan, Shane Warne and Adam Gilchrist. So came in all the money and all the glitz and glamour. No cricket fan could wait till April 18th when the clash would actually start. It had all the hype, attention that cricket could ever ask for. Some argued this was going to destroy cricket. They sighed “44 days of non-stop, pulsating excitement. The gentlemen’s game is now karamyudh, that is being fought between the Knight Riders, Royal Challengers, Deccan Chargers, Daredevils and all this happening in the presence of Bollywood stars, business tycoons and guess what a few cricketers are there as well.”
The debate continues and without taking a stance it’s always good to criticize the whole thing and also enjoy non stop cricket. The spirit imbibed by the game was arguably more than any sports extravaganza in India. Tickets were sold out like hot cakes and people rushed into the stadium in thousands. Women in huge number got glued to their TV sets finding more thrill in the “fast cricket” served to them than the pre scripted reality shows.
The inauguration ceremony didn’t batter the spirits expected from the T20.Vijay Mallya cashed in to give it all the glitz and glamour. Performers from all around the globe were picked up to add to the “Indian curry”. The mix of masala was perfect. Not very pungent and not too salty. It was all smacked up. Television partner Setmax brought in “Extra innings” show along with cricket. There was no Mandira Bedi this time though she was Setmax’s very own adopted female version for cricket. Instead the show had young anchors, along with veterans like Jadeja and Mpumelelo Mbangwa who is known simply as `Pommie' or `Pom’. The inaugural match saw some huge scores scored by the “Kings Men” Kolkatta Knight riders with McCullum looking like a perfect savage thrashing the ball to the fences to get his unbeaten 158 comprising of 13 sixes. So there was not just the glitz of the inauguration but also cricket.
There was cricket but there was also drama. The idea of Sachin playing a T20 match for Mumbai and opening with Jayasurya was like a dream come true both for the fans as well as the players. A groin injury caused Sachin to stay away from the initial matches. Bhajji and Sreesanth was involved in some “wrestling” though the two “brothers” patched up finally when their “Father” BCCI banned Bhajji from IPL for the season. Fair play award a new concept tried to keep cricket a gentleman’s game by giving credit to players who played it with “spirit”.Charu Sharma, the CEO of Royal Challengers got sacked for his belief that “test players would do well in T20” and was crucified by replacing him with Brijesh Patel. There were giggles, sledging and club fever. And above all there were crores flowing along with cricket.
The Drama and zeal of cricket had just begun. Some said it was end of cricket. Some protested against the IPL. Some others felt it’s the dawn of the new era of cricket. Cricket stars themselves had some interesting quotes to make
"When you go to your grave, people will remember what you did with your life rather than how much money you made." Justin Langer gets a bit philosophical while stating he's opting out of the IPL.
"There was a little element of feeling like a cow." Getting auctioned for US$700,000 got Adam Gilchrist in touch with his bovine side.
"I won't tell you what my first impression was." Says a beaming Shane Warne when asked about playing alongside his favourite foe, Graeme Smith, in the IPL.
The players talked about it, Fans waited for it. Television ads cashed on it. Businessmen utilized it. Bookies betted on it and in some stand in a packed stadium in Kolkata or Mumbai a little boy starting to love cricket sitting on his fathers lap would have looked at the stadium beaming in colors and a voice within him must have screeched
“Lights, Camera, Glamour and cricket”.
His vocal chords wouldn’t be a strong one to beat the noise and buzz in the stadium but the spirit imbibed in him by this new “Avatar” of cricket would sure make him tell stories of the change he witnessed in this game to his grand children some 40 years from now
Good or bad IPL is sure to stay. If you don’t like the form of cricket, just start accepting the beat it brings with it. For its going to rush into your blood soon, if you feel its getting on your nerves now…
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
ChanGE it From The rooTS
Sometime yesterday.. listening to some music. My mind was set to wander. Yes this was voluntary this time.. enjoying the feeling of drifting in my own world. This time not bound with the string attached to me. Sages have said that humans are in bond with relations and a lot of earthly links around them. I do not know how sages get all the "wierd" ideas that they propogate and sometimes even pass it on from generation to generation. The truth i belive is that no one can comment on any natural being or thing because the cration of language is not as dynamic as the creation of nature. I dont remeber when was the last time i watched a spider making its web, and i still dont belive in the story about one Mr. Bruce who found all the time to sit and watch the spider making its web when he was losing rather miserably in the war.
I also believe that a rabbit would never sleep off and a tortoise would win over him in a race. Even worse would have been the case when an elephant could revenge on a tailor for not givin him plantain. I think first the stories have to change. Our children grow listening to all these craps and they start believing in some kind of a merry land, where the so considered losers triumph all the time without doing much. These stories grow with them and they thrive on them many times when even aesop's clan as a whole has been wiped out from the planet. Lets stop listening to all this make believe stories and let us accept the truth. the thumping of music that was vibration on my ear drum from the head phones die out and its time a grab a cup of coffee so that I am sedated more. I need more than the 80-85 DB sound that I was listening till this moment to keep me going on and on!!!
I also believe that a rabbit would never sleep off and a tortoise would win over him in a race. Even worse would have been the case when an elephant could revenge on a tailor for not givin him plantain. I think first the stories have to change. Our children grow listening to all these craps and they start believing in some kind of a merry land, where the so considered losers triumph all the time without doing much. These stories grow with them and they thrive on them many times when even aesop's clan as a whole has been wiped out from the planet. Lets stop listening to all this make believe stories and let us accept the truth. the thumping of music that was vibration on my ear drum from the head phones die out and its time a grab a cup of coffee so that I am sedated more. I need more than the 80-85 DB sound that I was listening till this moment to keep me going on and on!!!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Future fun from the past
Someone recently asked me why I would write all of the stuff I do then publish it online for anyone to read. They questioned the wisdom of my actions, stating that surely it is unwise to allow just anyone to learn all this stuff about me. After all, they said, the reader gets to find out loads about me when, aside of a few lines of code in a web server log file, I learn nothing about them. But is that really true? I mean what do you really know about me.
Chances are you know more about the regular columnist you read in your Sunday paper. In reality when it comes down to it you don't really know very much about me at all. My name is Joseph Saxon , I'm just some guy, in some town somewhere in the Inida. But I could be anyone. The thing is I don't really get very personal here. This isn't an online diary full of kiss and tell stories or benign descriptions of what I bought at the grocery store. It's a collection of thoughts and moments that may entertain me in years to come when I print out and re-read this stuff again. I
f you enjoy reading what I write, then all well and good. And of you don't, well then you're sure to find something to your taste somewhere in the great expanse of zeros and ones that is the internet. What then is my motivation for publishing this stuff in the first place? Why not just leave it on my computer where only I can see it? A good question I suppose. My answer to that is that I have no answer to that. I don't know why I would share this stuff with a world I can't see. Therapy some would say, others might argue that it's ego.
To be honest I hadn't given it much thought until the other day. I suppose maybe I am setting up personal landmarks in time. I've written diaries before and sometimes I go back and read what I did on a certain day in history. The voice of a late teenage or early twenties version of me speaks out through the pages of time and I find myself laughing at some of the dumb things I said and did. As the author back then I had no idea what would be written on the blank page of tomorrow, and as the reader now every so often I wish I could reach in and steer myself away from what I now know came next. Of course back then my youth wouldn't listen to the wise. Just as I wouldn't expect those of a similar age to listen to my words now. Those who 'knew better' and tried to throw up roadblocks ahead of me, were summarily dismissed and their roadblocks ignored. The person I was back then seems so very different to who I am now. He was highly strung and on a knifes edge all the time. It seemed that he careered through life bouncing from one obstacle to the next. How that person ever got to where I am today is in itself the source of some amazement to me. It's been years since I wrote a diary. In a box under the stairs you'll find an incomplete one from 1999.
It stops dead right around the time I get back together with a girl I had previously dated. Presumably I had a change of priorities with regards to what to do last thing at night! And despite the fact that I toyed with the idea of writing another diary, in the end, I never did. 'My IRis' is, I suppose, my modern equivalent of those journals I once kept. The articles may one day make for interesting reading again. If not for anyone else, for me at least. The format might be slightly different, but one noticeable aspect remains the same. I rarely get personal. Perhaps it's understandable that I would stay away from personal things on the web, but when I look through my old diaries I notice that I write about the world around me, rather than how I felt about it. I question why it is that I seem unable to confess even to my diary the kind of secrets that every diary keeps.
Even now I sit here wondering how on earth I have ended up writing about diaries when really I wanted to write about the fact that today marks a significant ten-year anniversary In my life. I know that in it's pages I wrote a letter to my future self. I can't recall what I wrote. Maybe little more than ten years on I should write another letter to the future. But would I take notice of the voice from the past? Perhaps. Although first I'd have to stop and listen, and as I get older and somehow 'wiser', that in itself seems like such a hard thing to do. Maybe I'd just say, "I don't know what you know, I haven't seen what you've seen. But the person I am now somehow made it to where you are, with and without you. If that sounds strange then maybe you need to ponder on it for a moment, because even though I have no idea what it is, there has to be something in that truth surely."
Or in simple terms ‘MY IRIS’ is mine own. I write it because I love to write and if you feel good reading it, it feels nice that there is something interesting about my life that interests you. IF you don’t like ‘My IRIS’ stop reading it
Chances are you know more about the regular columnist you read in your Sunday paper. In reality when it comes down to it you don't really know very much about me at all. My name is Joseph Saxon , I'm just some guy, in some town somewhere in the Inida. But I could be anyone. The thing is I don't really get very personal here. This isn't an online diary full of kiss and tell stories or benign descriptions of what I bought at the grocery store. It's a collection of thoughts and moments that may entertain me in years to come when I print out and re-read this stuff again. I
f you enjoy reading what I write, then all well and good. And of you don't, well then you're sure to find something to your taste somewhere in the great expanse of zeros and ones that is the internet. What then is my motivation for publishing this stuff in the first place? Why not just leave it on my computer where only I can see it? A good question I suppose. My answer to that is that I have no answer to that. I don't know why I would share this stuff with a world I can't see. Therapy some would say, others might argue that it's ego.
To be honest I hadn't given it much thought until the other day. I suppose maybe I am setting up personal landmarks in time. I've written diaries before and sometimes I go back and read what I did on a certain day in history. The voice of a late teenage or early twenties version of me speaks out through the pages of time and I find myself laughing at some of the dumb things I said and did. As the author back then I had no idea what would be written on the blank page of tomorrow, and as the reader now every so often I wish I could reach in and steer myself away from what I now know came next. Of course back then my youth wouldn't listen to the wise. Just as I wouldn't expect those of a similar age to listen to my words now. Those who 'knew better' and tried to throw up roadblocks ahead of me, were summarily dismissed and their roadblocks ignored. The person I was back then seems so very different to who I am now. He was highly strung and on a knifes edge all the time. It seemed that he careered through life bouncing from one obstacle to the next. How that person ever got to where I am today is in itself the source of some amazement to me. It's been years since I wrote a diary. In a box under the stairs you'll find an incomplete one from 1999.
It stops dead right around the time I get back together with a girl I had previously dated. Presumably I had a change of priorities with regards to what to do last thing at night! And despite the fact that I toyed with the idea of writing another diary, in the end, I never did. 'My IRis' is, I suppose, my modern equivalent of those journals I once kept. The articles may one day make for interesting reading again. If not for anyone else, for me at least. The format might be slightly different, but one noticeable aspect remains the same. I rarely get personal. Perhaps it's understandable that I would stay away from personal things on the web, but when I look through my old diaries I notice that I write about the world around me, rather than how I felt about it. I question why it is that I seem unable to confess even to my diary the kind of secrets that every diary keeps.
Even now I sit here wondering how on earth I have ended up writing about diaries when really I wanted to write about the fact that today marks a significant ten-year anniversary In my life. I know that in it's pages I wrote a letter to my future self. I can't recall what I wrote. Maybe little more than ten years on I should write another letter to the future. But would I take notice of the voice from the past? Perhaps. Although first I'd have to stop and listen, and as I get older and somehow 'wiser', that in itself seems like such a hard thing to do. Maybe I'd just say, "I don't know what you know, I haven't seen what you've seen. But the person I am now somehow made it to where you are, with and without you. If that sounds strange then maybe you need to ponder on it for a moment, because even though I have no idea what it is, there has to be something in that truth surely."
Or in simple terms ‘MY IRIS’ is mine own. I write it because I love to write and if you feel good reading it, it feels nice that there is something interesting about my life that interests you. IF you don’t like ‘My IRIS’ stop reading it
Adams Bone
I am a christian. I have read the Bible. It starts off sayin that God created the Earth,the fire,the stars and God created the first man Adam and when he wanted a partner God created the first woman.. EVE. This somehow made me think that woman was created for the sake of man. If Adam was happy living alone wouldnt God create woman??
I am no one to question a religious book,however maybe I am just feeling this shouldnt have been written in the Bible even if this was the truth. I personally feel woman are stronger than men. I have never shouted at a woman. Its not that I never felt to. Somehow i feel that shouting brings out the weaker side of men. If Adam couldnt exist without the company of a lady, no man can live without a female near him.
I have admired many woman for the inner strength she carries within her. My mother was someone who loved me knowing that I was a brat. Some say that woman need a man to exist, I feel that the truth is that every man needs a woman, to lean on to her. Someone who listens to him. Cuddling the child in him, Protecting the baby in him, and loving the youth in him. I have seen men shouting at woman, and I see the strength of a woman when she just listens and try to make the man feel good. If a woman shouts back at a man, he would never be able to stand it; thats were his weakness comes out.
How come our society has a presumption when it comes to gender specific tasks? Well I must admit I am being a hypocrite now…. Working in a fast moving world it is a proud feeling to see Engineers, Lab Technicians, IVF technicians, Physiotherapists etc. etc. of my the EVE clan making a mark for themselves.
In a world that has corruption and terrorism ruling, it feels nice to believe that every man creating the havoc, has once at least once felt the care and love of Gods greatest creation... 'Woman'.
Every boy 'head banging' to rock shows must have once felt the warmth of a lullaby and every rebel trying to change the world would think once before he starts that, A man can never change the world without his better part.. a Woman.
I am no one to question a religious book,however maybe I am just feeling this shouldnt have been written in the Bible even if this was the truth. I personally feel woman are stronger than men. I have never shouted at a woman. Its not that I never felt to. Somehow i feel that shouting brings out the weaker side of men. If Adam couldnt exist without the company of a lady, no man can live without a female near him.
I have admired many woman for the inner strength she carries within her. My mother was someone who loved me knowing that I was a brat. Some say that woman need a man to exist, I feel that the truth is that every man needs a woman, to lean on to her. Someone who listens to him. Cuddling the child in him, Protecting the baby in him, and loving the youth in him. I have seen men shouting at woman, and I see the strength of a woman when she just listens and try to make the man feel good. If a woman shouts back at a man, he would never be able to stand it; thats were his weakness comes out.
How come our society has a presumption when it comes to gender specific tasks? Well I must admit I am being a hypocrite now…. Working in a fast moving world it is a proud feeling to see Engineers, Lab Technicians, IVF technicians, Physiotherapists etc. etc. of my the EVE clan making a mark for themselves.
In a world that has corruption and terrorism ruling, it feels nice to believe that every man creating the havoc, has once at least once felt the care and love of Gods greatest creation... 'Woman'.
Every boy 'head banging' to rock shows must have once felt the warmth of a lullaby and every rebel trying to change the world would think once before he starts that, A man can never change the world without his better part.. a Woman.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Cubicle mania
The screen flickers and in the ambience created from the borrowed headphones my head pops out of my cucbicle to see a whole world of software engineers as they like themselves to be called, glued to their screens. An IP phone ring disturbs them for a moment like the dust particles as observed in "Brownian motion", and again they are back to work.
People here seem to believe that more than being busy the point is in making others feel that they are busy. Are we kidding anyone here? I am no one special. I follow the company rules contrict myself in a tie, wear the proper dress code and try a lot to sit glued to my chair, sometimes a thought just rushes my mind as to are we slaves to a set of rules which others call our values and culture. I think this shows the greatest nature of a human being.. adaptability. I respect this behavior in every breathing soul around me.
The people are happy, not that they are sad or worried about their plight. A closer look at every face,shows their eyes fret. It seems to have lost the life. I have not seen a single person look happy when he/she is alone. No one has the time to look out of where they sit and feel happy for the very silly truth that their lungs still hold air, and their heart pump blood. No one has to be blamed for this. When life is just lived to finish "tasks", no one can be happy that the task of life is still leading them on and on. It seems so silly when life is weighed in monetary terms.
I have tried to observe every human who share the cubicle with me. In none have I seen the life that thrives in them. This cubicle life would remain a mania and every maniac around living with a lot of inrospection that they forget to live and mere existing would be keepin them goin on, till one day the cubicle will no more need them and they will be out walkin the streets and then they may get a chance to turn their heads not to the beep of an access cards but to the chirp of a bird on atree top
People here seem to believe that more than being busy the point is in making others feel that they are busy. Are we kidding anyone here? I am no one special. I follow the company rules contrict myself in a tie, wear the proper dress code and try a lot to sit glued to my chair, sometimes a thought just rushes my mind as to are we slaves to a set of rules which others call our values and culture. I think this shows the greatest nature of a human being.. adaptability. I respect this behavior in every breathing soul around me.
The people are happy, not that they are sad or worried about their plight. A closer look at every face,shows their eyes fret. It seems to have lost the life. I have not seen a single person look happy when he/she is alone. No one has the time to look out of where they sit and feel happy for the very silly truth that their lungs still hold air, and their heart pump blood. No one has to be blamed for this. When life is just lived to finish "tasks", no one can be happy that the task of life is still leading them on and on. It seems so silly when life is weighed in monetary terms.
I have tried to observe every human who share the cubicle with me. In none have I seen the life that thrives in them. This cubicle life would remain a mania and every maniac around living with a lot of inrospection that they forget to live and mere existing would be keepin them goin on, till one day the cubicle will no more need them and they will be out walkin the streets and then they may get a chance to turn their heads not to the beep of an access cards but to the chirp of a bird on atree top
FaCE thiS
Speaking from the other side of "the big three oh!" I can say that it's not at all a big deal. I turned twenty four and discovered that in my own life being in your early mid 20s was just like being in your late teens, only without the stupid bits.
I just thought in 5 years from now I will have people around me talking of just one stuff. people will be telling me that I need to "settle down" and find a nice girl to marry because, they say, "the clock is ticking." But I can't bring myself to look at finding a wife and "settling down" in the same way as last minute Christmas shopping. The whole concept of having to get someone now "before it's too late" just seems wrong to me.
"HURRY NOW - ONLY A FEW SPOUSES LEFT - STOCKS ARE LOW - EVERYTHING MUST GO!" The idea that I have some kind of 'sell by' date is absurd to me. But when people tell me "the clock is ticking" what are they actually saying? That I'm not actually that interesting, and that if I don't get someone before I go gray and get a few wrinkles I'll have lost the only thing going for me? Are they saying that love itself only comes before you're thirty five, or that after that age we're not able to physically enjoy some aspects of 'love' that we might otherwise have had? I mean okay, the clock is indeed ticking, but hasn't this always been the case? Why the sudden need to remind me of something that has always been a reality?
I'm maybe in no hurry to simply settle down and "find a wife" just because of the fact that I am getting older than the average newly weds. It annoys me that the very people who tell me to "find a wife" because I'm "not getting any younger" are often the same people who talk about how sad it is that the divorce rate is so high and that many people get married too young. So if it's possible to get married to young, and difficult to get married later, when exactly is that perfect window of opportunity to find that 'one true love'. And if it were indeed possible to narrow down an age range that is 'ripe for the picking' doesn't that then mean that in that age group everyone is so desperate to be picked that they run the considerable risk of simply making a wrong decision?
A decision that they may spend the rest of their life regretting. No thank you very much. I'm in no hurry to just settle with the next girl that's handy. I'm not a desperate last minute shopper running around the isles of Spouse-I-Like snatching at the last remaining stock left on the shelf. I have a far more relaxed approach to the whole affair. I refuse to believe this idea that the stock of possible partners is somehow depleting to such and extent that I simply must grab one before they're all gone. I think I'll just continue on my way through life, enjoying it as more of an experience than a task. And if "the one" is out there, then maybe we're more likely to meet in the fine wine section of the supermarket rather than the "Sale must end at 35" Spouse Isle. This thought was dreadful for it is being experienced by every man nearing thirty annd every female in her mid twenties. God bless I have 6 more years from now before I have to think of all the crap.
I just thought in 5 years from now I will have people around me talking of just one stuff. people will be telling me that I need to "settle down" and find a nice girl to marry because, they say, "the clock is ticking." But I can't bring myself to look at finding a wife and "settling down" in the same way as last minute Christmas shopping. The whole concept of having to get someone now "before it's too late" just seems wrong to me.
"HURRY NOW - ONLY A FEW SPOUSES LEFT - STOCKS ARE LOW - EVERYTHING MUST GO!" The idea that I have some kind of 'sell by' date is absurd to me. But when people tell me "the clock is ticking" what are they actually saying? That I'm not actually that interesting, and that if I don't get someone before I go gray and get a few wrinkles I'll have lost the only thing going for me? Are they saying that love itself only comes before you're thirty five, or that after that age we're not able to physically enjoy some aspects of 'love' that we might otherwise have had? I mean okay, the clock is indeed ticking, but hasn't this always been the case? Why the sudden need to remind me of something that has always been a reality?
I'm maybe in no hurry to simply settle down and "find a wife" just because of the fact that I am getting older than the average newly weds. It annoys me that the very people who tell me to "find a wife" because I'm "not getting any younger" are often the same people who talk about how sad it is that the divorce rate is so high and that many people get married too young. So if it's possible to get married to young, and difficult to get married later, when exactly is that perfect window of opportunity to find that 'one true love'. And if it were indeed possible to narrow down an age range that is 'ripe for the picking' doesn't that then mean that in that age group everyone is so desperate to be picked that they run the considerable risk of simply making a wrong decision?
A decision that they may spend the rest of their life regretting. No thank you very much. I'm in no hurry to just settle with the next girl that's handy. I'm not a desperate last minute shopper running around the isles of Spouse-I-Like snatching at the last remaining stock left on the shelf. I have a far more relaxed approach to the whole affair. I refuse to believe this idea that the stock of possible partners is somehow depleting to such and extent that I simply must grab one before they're all gone. I think I'll just continue on my way through life, enjoying it as more of an experience than a task. And if "the one" is out there, then maybe we're more likely to meet in the fine wine section of the supermarket rather than the "Sale must end at 35" Spouse Isle. This thought was dreadful for it is being experienced by every man nearing thirty annd every female in her mid twenties. God bless I have 6 more years from now before I have to think of all the crap.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Spirit in ME
Still it lurks in me. fills me with some kinda spirit that keeps me smiling when I stare at all the hustle that goes below me when I stare from the fourth floor on the “beings” clasped in their ties and gripping on to their coffee cups before a worn out coffee vending machine The youth in me struggles just like the glow of a lamp sway’s to the blowing wind….I feel good closing my eyes and wandering into my college days….. the tattered jeans that never had to be washed….the black tea…The friends around ….The lazy side of life….It had its beauty in it. Then when my eyes opened I could feel the same gush of blood in me…the sweet air around me. The guitars might have played some note that made me sway to it and my heart leaps to run off to the same gallery and give a loud shout … The hushed dreams that I had seen on those steps had been pulled off….. It makes me feel there is a fire still in me that’s making me different or maybe every single person here might be having time to stop and think of his best times. Or on closer thought on his best times that are yet to come…… A flash passes by reminding of all those days. Someone just like me smiles at me…he looks similar but his attire is that of a college boy and he looks happy and with a lot of friends…sharing cigarette puffs and cracking jokes about a love failure. In between all that he is conversing he doesn’t find time to have a glimpse at me….A moment passes when his eyes catch mine and a certain gesture of acknowledgement is shown. A lump fills my heart……when I realize that he was just me in my college days….When I was not bound by the shackles of maturity…of corporate decorum.
Now though I am happy financially and feel my dreams are achieved some voice calls “Come home once again,
Come once more to where someone feels you are her own,
The jiffy that conceded had a whole lifetime in it….
You never wanted to discern what was in your trail
Still it was the path that steered you to what you are now
The storms and thorns on the path are only sweet memoirs
Do not chide now on the moments lost…
But consider that even though the group that you miss
Are not next to you their memoirs linger around you
Persuading you still in every petite thing you accomplish”
Now though I am happy financially and feel my dreams are achieved some voice calls “Come home once again,
Come once more to where someone feels you are her own,
The jiffy that conceded had a whole lifetime in it….
You never wanted to discern what was in your trail
Still it was the path that steered you to what you are now
The storms and thorns on the path are only sweet memoirs
Do not chide now on the moments lost…
But consider that even though the group that you miss
Are not next to you their memoirs linger around you
Persuading you still in every petite thing you accomplish”
BeholD the Future
I'm not one for New Year's resolutions. I might be, but I'm a little forgetful. I forget to make them, and then I forget what they were anyway. Perhaps the fact that I don't make such resolutions could be taken in some way as proof of the fact that I am essentially a happy chap. Happy enough not to require a resolution to change my life in any significant way. Or maybe not having a list of resolutions shows instead that I am lazy. It's difficult to tell. Looking ahead at 2007, I find myself amazed that we're here already.
When I was a young boy reading books about the future, complete with brightly colored illustrations, 'the future' was the year 2000. In the year 2000, the world was going to be an entirely different place filled with technologies far beyond that which surrounded me in my day-to-day life of the early 90s. It wasn't going to be 'Buck Rogers in the 25th century' or 'Star Trek', but it might just be somewhere between that and 'Space 1999' where humanity was already zipping around space interacting with funny ladies that could change into birds and other animals in a puff of cosmic magic. Back then from my animal wallpapered bedroom with my mono record player and FM radio on which I could often hear the music of Backstreet boys and all those boy bands the future, as close as it might have been, was still a long way off. I had read in a book then that the world maybe too ahead that a flashing mouse on the screen may not be recognized as “Mickey mouse”.
Cars would no longer have wheels. Instead they would float about a foot or so off the ground and whiz around almost silently. This seemed entirely possible as Luke Skywalker's dad had an old one of those cars in the recent film Star Wars. In 'the future' we would all work less, as things called computers would take on mundane tasks allowing us more time to enjoy the world and each other. Robots would replace waiters, shop assistants, and school dinner ladies. Evidence of these great leaps forward weren't hard to find either. The task of watering the garden could now be performed by sprinklers and cars were already beginning to be built by machines with giant robotic arms, freeing the men who used to have those jobs to spend more time with their families, who must surely be happier now that dad no longer has to go to work. At the time I quietly hoped that dad's job back home might be taken by a robot soon too. That way we would see more of him than the brief moment where he said goodbye in the morning and goodnight in the dusk. And here we are, 2007. Seven years after the “millennium”.
The floating cars, the inter-orbital flights, they never "arrived. But we do have the internet, and the ability to have face to face conversations with people all over the world. Heck, it might even be argued that some shop assistants have indeed been replaced by robots that are yet to be programmed with emotion and humor. But all in all, the future still seems a long way off. While there are some gloomy prospects on the near horizon what with Iraq, climate change, and other such concerns, I think maybe as this new year begins, I might just go out and find myself a children's book about 'the future'. A book full hope, excitement and brightly colored illustrations of the years ahead. Something to remind my adult self of the wonder that sometimes escapes us all as we grow older and more based in the reality of our today’s rather than the fantasies of those tomorrows we can't yet see.
When I was a young boy reading books about the future, complete with brightly colored illustrations, 'the future' was the year 2000. In the year 2000, the world was going to be an entirely different place filled with technologies far beyond that which surrounded me in my day-to-day life of the early 90s. It wasn't going to be 'Buck Rogers in the 25th century' or 'Star Trek', but it might just be somewhere between that and 'Space 1999' where humanity was already zipping around space interacting with funny ladies that could change into birds and other animals in a puff of cosmic magic. Back then from my animal wallpapered bedroom with my mono record player and FM radio on which I could often hear the music of Backstreet boys and all those boy bands the future, as close as it might have been, was still a long way off. I had read in a book then that the world maybe too ahead that a flashing mouse on the screen may not be recognized as “Mickey mouse”.
Cars would no longer have wheels. Instead they would float about a foot or so off the ground and whiz around almost silently. This seemed entirely possible as Luke Skywalker's dad had an old one of those cars in the recent film Star Wars. In 'the future' we would all work less, as things called computers would take on mundane tasks allowing us more time to enjoy the world and each other. Robots would replace waiters, shop assistants, and school dinner ladies. Evidence of these great leaps forward weren't hard to find either. The task of watering the garden could now be performed by sprinklers and cars were already beginning to be built by machines with giant robotic arms, freeing the men who used to have those jobs to spend more time with their families, who must surely be happier now that dad no longer has to go to work. At the time I quietly hoped that dad's job back home might be taken by a robot soon too. That way we would see more of him than the brief moment where he said goodbye in the morning and goodnight in the dusk. And here we are, 2007. Seven years after the “millennium”.
The floating cars, the inter-orbital flights, they never "arrived. But we do have the internet, and the ability to have face to face conversations with people all over the world. Heck, it might even be argued that some shop assistants have indeed been replaced by robots that are yet to be programmed with emotion and humor. But all in all, the future still seems a long way off. While there are some gloomy prospects on the near horizon what with Iraq, climate change, and other such concerns, I think maybe as this new year begins, I might just go out and find myself a children's book about 'the future'. A book full hope, excitement and brightly colored illustrations of the years ahead. Something to remind my adult self of the wonder that sometimes escapes us all as we grow older and more based in the reality of our today’s rather than the fantasies of those tomorrows we can't yet see.
LIFT ME--just for people from Bhavani
Its a competition out there!!! I found something very interesting these days. Its common to every UST employee and every one has to be in it at least once ................... Every day.
You don’t have to give your brain so much of thought I am talking about the "lift". There are so many interesting things about this metallic room. It starts of daily morning when a huge crowd gathers in front of it….waiting for it to be merciful, amongst the rush of the eventful hours most of the time it is full. The dejected face of the client maybe an inspiration for this metallic being to rush to the top floor The first thing that can be noticed is that people have responded well to this phenomenon in a clever way as human’s always do. Even if their target is the top floor they rush into the lift even when it’s going down, I myself do this…Its how you batter the competitive world and make sure of your own "little" space. The face of a person who waits at the -1 floor is a sight to watch. He looks totally confused as to where this populace belongs to, when none budges from their place and a clever man standing next to the controls shuts the door quickly. Once inside the lift many have to come face to face with their greatest foe and the only solution is to flash a smile that is never meant. A stylish mobile phone in the lift is never in a silent mode. The proud owner surely flashes it out of his pocket and holds it in a manner that every one can see. His face glows with pride and accomplishment. An average mobile is usually fidgeted in the fingers or hidden behind a shawl or never attended to. People get into the lift with different wishes though their target is the same. For some it will be a hungry stomach that’s making them rush to food. For others an angry PM might have already called him twice when he was away with his friends. For others it will be a girlfriend who has been waiting anxiously. The females in the lift take their stand as if they are in a private bus. The rear portion of the lift is reserved for them and a helpless man trying to get a foot there is acknowledged with a stare. A Good Samaritan who pulls in more people is surely getting the hatred of all in the lift. I have always wondered what would be the feeling of a person when he is the only one left out of the lift while the luckier one’s get their space in it. I have observed them…sometimes it’s a blank grin. Others just turn of their faces…And rarely trying to get over a strange feeling he/she just utter something to the luckier friends who are inside. The strange phenomenon that occurs sometimes in the lift is the black out….
Once the door closes its totally dark and only whispers and the floor indicator can be sensed Anyway this thing goes up and down carrying with it humans and a lot of human emotions…Next time when you are in just gaze around for all this….You will like it. For it’s a place where there is a mix-up of so many human’s in such a small consign
You don’t have to give your brain so much of thought I am talking about the "lift". There are so many interesting things about this metallic room. It starts of daily morning when a huge crowd gathers in front of it….waiting for it to be merciful, amongst the rush of the eventful hours most of the time it is full. The dejected face of the client maybe an inspiration for this metallic being to rush to the top floor The first thing that can be noticed is that people have responded well to this phenomenon in a clever way as human’s always do. Even if their target is the top floor they rush into the lift even when it’s going down, I myself do this…Its how you batter the competitive world and make sure of your own "little" space. The face of a person who waits at the -1 floor is a sight to watch. He looks totally confused as to where this populace belongs to, when none budges from their place and a clever man standing next to the controls shuts the door quickly. Once inside the lift many have to come face to face with their greatest foe and the only solution is to flash a smile that is never meant. A stylish mobile phone in the lift is never in a silent mode. The proud owner surely flashes it out of his pocket and holds it in a manner that every one can see. His face glows with pride and accomplishment. An average mobile is usually fidgeted in the fingers or hidden behind a shawl or never attended to. People get into the lift with different wishes though their target is the same. For some it will be a hungry stomach that’s making them rush to food. For others an angry PM might have already called him twice when he was away with his friends. For others it will be a girlfriend who has been waiting anxiously. The females in the lift take their stand as if they are in a private bus. The rear portion of the lift is reserved for them and a helpless man trying to get a foot there is acknowledged with a stare. A Good Samaritan who pulls in more people is surely getting the hatred of all in the lift. I have always wondered what would be the feeling of a person when he is the only one left out of the lift while the luckier one’s get their space in it. I have observed them…sometimes it’s a blank grin. Others just turn of their faces…And rarely trying to get over a strange feeling he/she just utter something to the luckier friends who are inside. The strange phenomenon that occurs sometimes in the lift is the black out….
Once the door closes its totally dark and only whispers and the floor indicator can be sensed Anyway this thing goes up and down carrying with it humans and a lot of human emotions…Next time when you are in just gaze around for all this….You will like it. For it’s a place where there is a mix-up of so many human’s in such a small consign
terror in terrorism
What made the terrorists feel it was moral to commit suicide and murder over 5,000 people at the trade center? What made Hitler feel it was moral to murder 6,000,000 Jews? He went to a seminary to be a Catholic priest. He knew the Ten Commandments. What made Magellan feel it was moral for him after going around the Strait of Magellan and meeting and getting supplies from friendly Indians to then kill over 200 of them? He had a priest on board the ship. What made the Pope feel it was moral to order the murder of over 100,000 during the 30-year war. The general who had captured a town said he was having problems. The Pope had ordered him to kill all the Protestants but everyone was saying they were Catholic.
The Pope sent back a message to kill everyone. God would know who was of Catholic faith and send them to heaven and those Protestants to Hell. What makes the KKK so violent and able to feel it is moral to torture, murder and commit other acts of terror against Catholics, Jews and Blacks? Why didn't the commandment Thou Shall Not Kill stop these mean cruel, very religious people form killing? They all knew this commandment by heart. What is the real foundation of terrorism? What produces terrorists? It has to do with utopia feelings, Hell and fundamentalist religious beliefs where every word of the Bible, Koran or other holy book is believed to be absolutely true. Unless we consider attacking these beliefs, we will continue to have terrorists and lots of horrid immorality against innocent, hard working, moral, kind, caring people. Let’s start with Hell. "If you believe good, kind, moral, just, loving people are going to be tortured in Hell, forever, for not believing in Jesus, than you are a masochist, a schizophrenic and very religious. You've lost your sense of what is rational, moral, logical and just. You need psychiatric help To be able to be a terrorist -- whether it is the Pope, Magellan, a KKK member, Hitler, or Osama Bin Latin’s men -- you must look at those who don't have your religious beliefs as sub-human and who ought to be killed.
You have to believe in Hell as a real place with hurting, pain, flame and everlasting torture. You must believe your God or Allah (what ever your god is called) so hates those who do not believe in him, that he would send them to be tortured forever. You must believe the world would be a wonderful utopia if only everyone believed in your god or Allah. You must believe if everyone believes as you do, god or Allah would be so very happy that he would make this a fantastic wonderful world. Literal belief in Hell makes a person a masochist, a schizophrenic. He should have added a terrorist or a potential terrorist. Possibly the only way to reduce the number of terrorists is to put out the flames of Hell through every form of propaganda possible. If Jesus or Allah sends people to be tortured forever they are infinitely immoral, monster gods or Allah that no one should believe in.
We must teach that Hell hath no furry. John Lennon wrote a song in which he dreamed of a world with no religion in it. No god to kill for. No religion to die for. More time to help others. Less time to spend in prayer. No hating others because they don't believe in the right god or the right Hell. No one killing for religious reasons.
The Pope sent back a message to kill everyone. God would know who was of Catholic faith and send them to heaven and those Protestants to Hell. What makes the KKK so violent and able to feel it is moral to torture, murder and commit other acts of terror against Catholics, Jews and Blacks? Why didn't the commandment Thou Shall Not Kill stop these mean cruel, very religious people form killing? They all knew this commandment by heart. What is the real foundation of terrorism? What produces terrorists? It has to do with utopia feelings, Hell and fundamentalist religious beliefs where every word of the Bible, Koran or other holy book is believed to be absolutely true. Unless we consider attacking these beliefs, we will continue to have terrorists and lots of horrid immorality against innocent, hard working, moral, kind, caring people. Let’s start with Hell. "If you believe good, kind, moral, just, loving people are going to be tortured in Hell, forever, for not believing in Jesus, than you are a masochist, a schizophrenic and very religious. You've lost your sense of what is rational, moral, logical and just. You need psychiatric help To be able to be a terrorist -- whether it is the Pope, Magellan, a KKK member, Hitler, or Osama Bin Latin’s men -- you must look at those who don't have your religious beliefs as sub-human and who ought to be killed.
You have to believe in Hell as a real place with hurting, pain, flame and everlasting torture. You must believe your God or Allah (what ever your god is called) so hates those who do not believe in him, that he would send them to be tortured forever. You must believe the world would be a wonderful utopia if only everyone believed in your god or Allah. You must believe if everyone believes as you do, god or Allah would be so very happy that he would make this a fantastic wonderful world. Literal belief in Hell makes a person a masochist, a schizophrenic. He should have added a terrorist or a potential terrorist. Possibly the only way to reduce the number of terrorists is to put out the flames of Hell through every form of propaganda possible. If Jesus or Allah sends people to be tortured forever they are infinitely immoral, monster gods or Allah that no one should believe in.
We must teach that Hell hath no furry. John Lennon wrote a song in which he dreamed of a world with no religion in it. No god to kill for. No religion to die for. More time to help others. Less time to spend in prayer. No hating others because they don't believe in the right god or the right Hell. No one killing for religious reasons.
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