My fellow countrymen,
It is with heavy heart and shaking fingers that I write to you this letter. Rough times are ahead. For almost 3 years we have been fighting, and we have survived. The enemy has grown bigger, better, more formidable with every fight. But we have not budged, and neither will we now. Cuz, you my people, are free men.
I know you are scared. Afraid of what the future has in store for you. But you shall not be ashamed of your fear. It's only human to be scared. But let not you fear down you. Let not the fear weaken your spirits. For your spirits are your weapons against the unknown. No battle can be won with dampened spirits. Promise me my friends, that you shall not give in to despair, you shall not give in to your fear. Cuz, you my people, are free men.
So, my people, it is time to unite under a single roof and let the world hear you. No matter how brutal or strong the enemy is. No matter how deadly are its stings or how cunning is his brain. You shall not give in without a fight. It might leave you wounded, scratched, bruised, limping or crippled. It might even take your life. But it cannot take your freedom. Cuz, you my people, are free men.
A soldier.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
The Journey 3: THE ROAD
CLAIMER: The following peice of literature is 99.88% fact and 0.12% exaggeration. This is no fiction.
I am on the station. Silently cursing everybody. It was 2 full days in a smelly train, amongst smelly people. I had not bathed. Hell I didn't even took a crap on the train. I had not slept for more than 10 hrs in the 2 days, in installments. My throat is dry as cotton. I buy a bottle of water. Greedily drink the full bottle. Tastes like ORS, without the sugar. I curse the vendor. Son of a bitch. The voice echoes in my head. I had spotted a few acquaintances on the train. I am trying to find them. They are not here. Maybe they are already outside. I exit the station, and there they are, about 10 people, from my college. Where were you all this time when I was struggling to find something to save myself from dying of boredom? I scream inside my head.
Outside the station it was a totally another mightier crisis waiting for us. Bloody autowallahs and their bloodier autos. Smell of booze 24 hours a day. A wreck of an automobile. They talk in half Assamese and more often than not make no sense. This happened that night at least 4 times.
Me : Bhaiya, IIT chaloge?
AW(Autowallah) : Kahan?
Me : IIT!
AW : Wo kahan ko hai?
Me : North Guwahati, Bramhaputra cross karke.
AW : Kitne log hain?
Me : 3. (How much can you fit in this hole.)
AW : 800 rupay hone se hoga.
Me : 800 to jyada hai.
AW : 800 se kam main hone se nahi hoga. Then something about night, petrol costs, police. I am
already over to the next bloody booze smelling guy.
This one guy has a loading taxi, thinks he is the king of the jungle.
Me : Bhaiya IIT chaloge?
LTW(Loading Taxiwallah) : Nahi.
Me : Kya?
LTW : Abhi neend aa raha hai bhaiya. Abhi nahi jaayega.
Me : Arey chal lo bhaiya. 10 bande hain.
LTW : (thinking...thinking...thinking...thinking...after 3 minutes....) 10 minute sone se chalega.
Me : Arey late ho raha hai. Kitne loge batao?
LTW : 5000 rupay hone se hoga.
Me : 500 main chal loge???
LTW : 500 nahi 5000.
Me : Bhaiya 1500 main to ghar se yahan tak pahunch gaya.
LTW : To nahi chalega. Sone do.
Me : Asshole.
We were back on the road, searching frantically, for a ride. With our bags n stuff. I spotted an autowallah sleeping in his auto at a distance. Went upto him. Woke him up. "*&%@#$", he shouted. I tried not to look scared and followed the same routine. 250 he said. For three of us. He's way drunk. I thought. Me and two other guys, who will be named B and C from now on, ditched the other crowd and boarded the auto, almost crying in joy at our luck. Little did we know what luck had in store for us that night.
So we are in the auto, cramped up in whatever space there was, in very uncomfortable positions. Awkward, but relieved. At least we will get some sleep. The auto is going considerably slow. Or maybe that has something to do with my mind all messed up due to all that exhaustion and sleep deprivation and (feeling like shit)tion. Few more minutes, I spot out a pattern. This is not my mind's handiwork. The guy is searching for petrol pumps. He slows down when he spots one, everything is closed, even pumps. Now I am scared. We will be stranded on the road in the middle of the night. I rememberd what my mom told me before leaving," Beta, guwahati is not safe. Don't go to the city after 5." I start praying. That's something I do only when I am in some kind of trouble. Maybe thats why most of my prayers are blocked right at God's answering machine.
The disaster unveiled. Destiny struck. Shit happened. Bottomline : WE WERE SCREWED!!!!!!! The bloody auto stopped. 2 in the night. On a lonely road. My prayers became more frantic. We all got out of the auto. We had a clear view of his unclean face for the first time. He stank of liquor, but was walking quite sober for someone that drunk.
AW : Ek minute ruko bhaiya. Mai dekhta hai.
B : Zaldi dekho bhaiya.
AW : (Checks the petrol tank) Bhaiya petrol nahi hai.
Me : Ab kya karenge?
AW : Mere paas petrol hai. 2 minute rukne se ho jaayega.
He got a bottle of petrol from his cabinet. Poured in the tank. We all were back in the hellhole. The auto made a sound that sounded like a man on his deathbed coughing his lungs out. A few minutes, we were out on the road again. He opened its rear and tried some stuff. 5 minutes later, we were still on the road. We should try to help, C said, and went to his side. No matter how late in the night it was or how scared I was, the sight of him trying to work around the engine was really funny. It was hot. The engine, I mean. One look at his face and we knew that this was going to be bad. Real bad. The expression on his face pretty much resembled mine when I am trying Rubic's Cube.
B : Bhaiya dhakka maarne se start ho jayegi.
AW : Arey meri gaadi hai. Isko dhakka nahi chahiye. Mujhe pata hai.
He asked for water. We had some with us. Gave it to him. He poured it on the engine. It vanished into thin air. He said he wanted more water and left. We were alone. In the night. On a lonely road. Waiting, for a drunk dirty auto driver who could pretty much be an ULFA operative, on a mission to kidnap three students for whatever reasons they have. Needless to say, we were scared.
Suddenly we heard roars. I cannot find a more suitable word describing the sound that those bikes were making. They were police bikes, three of them, with six policemen on them. At least the ULFA trouble is passed, we thought. They stopped their bikes, and came to us. I swear they were as drunk as the auto driver. And encountering cops in the midnight in India is as good as encountering thugs. This had not in any way decreased the level of fright in our hearts. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" One of them said in a rather rowdy way only used by Indian Policemen and Australian cricketers. We explained the whole situation to them. As proficient as they were in hindi, we tried our best to explain.
B : "Bhaiya IIT ke student hain. Ghar se aaye hain. Taxi kharaab ho gayi hai. Driver paani lene gaya hai."
Policewallah 1 : "Ki aase?"
C : "Bhaiya IIT ke student hain. Ghar se aaye hain. Taxi kharaab ho gayi hai. Driver paani lene gaya hai."
Policewallah 2 : "OI OI TEE? Wo to Shillong main hai na."
I knew right then this was going to end bad, real bad. But by good fortune or just by chance, there was one of them who had heard of our college. He asked for the ID cards, we showed them to him. He did some 'aase aase' to other khakhi clad monsters and they were off again. Never any offer to help or any assistance with the junk of an auto. But we were relieved, soon as we saw the driver running to us with the water in a bottle. We were back in the hole, as best as we could, as he poured the water on the engine and came to the driver seat. A key moved, a spark ignited, a few hopes raised, a few hearts prayed, an engine gurgled, an auto moved, but only an inch, before it stopped. And all the dreams and hopes were crashed. I yelled out all the profanities I could recall. That kinda pissed the driver off. Then B went out, yelled at the driver, asked him to remain seated. Then he started pushing the auto all by himself. We thought about offering help
but decided otherwise. 15 meters, and the miracle happened. The junk was moving again. We were mobile and B was sweating.
Then, there came a sight that overshadowed all the frustration and anger and despair and pain. The Saraighat Bridge, standing tall above the mighty Brahmaputra sretching endlessly on both sides, vast, calm, soothing, shimmering under the night skies, the view was magnificent. Till the auto stopped again. And all of a sudden, as we were out on the road again, pushing the cart, it was not as magnificent as it looked. The river was smiling at us, silent crooked smile at our misfortunes, the stars were less subtle, laughing almost violently in the water at us. Me and C were pushing the auto, along the bridge until it started and we got in. This happened a few more times in the next 4 kilometers of the road. And we were pushing again, a few more times. We were hungry. tired, sleep deprived, and were pushing the auto in the middle of the night, in the middle of the loneliest stretch of road ever seen, with the creepiest little man driving us. We discussed with him, in great detail and all possible angles, his love and sex life. Things I better not put down here. He told us how many girls has he done and in how many states has he done them. He was drunk, and was a good passtime. We were too tired to speak, or to laugh even. We just sat and listened.
Just when I thought things could not get much worse, they did. We were pushing the auto, all four of us, with our luggage inside it. This was a spark of genious we had when any amount of pushing could not start that garbage. We were going at our own pace, a pace suitable only for three tired to death young students and a drunk to the brink of death auto driver. This was when he arrived. T-shirt and shorts. Shoes. 3 in the night. On his enfield making all those sounds that only an enfield can make. Tearing through the night at 60 kmph. And as the luck would have it, our night was going to go much worse................................
To be continued...(that is, if I dont die tomorrow)
Thursday, October 16, 2008
आराम करो
आराम ज़िन्दगी की कुंजी, इससे न तपेदिक होती है।
आराम सुधा की एक बूंद, तन का दुबलापन खोती है।
आराम शब्द में 'राम' छिपा जो भव-बंधन को खोता है।
आराम शब्द का ज्ञाता तो विरला ही योगी होता है।
इसलिए तुम्हें समझाता हूँ, मेरे अनुभव से काम करो।
ये जीवन, यौवन क्षणभंगुर, आराम करो, आराम करो।
यदि करना ही कुछ पड़ जाए तो अधिक न तुम उत्पात करो।
अपने घर में बैठे-बैठे बस लंबी-लंबी बात करो।
करने-धरने में क्या रक्खा जो रक्खा बात बनाने में।
जो ओठ हिलाने में रस है, वह कभी न हाथ हिलाने में।
तुम मुझसे पूछो बतलाऊँ -- है मज़ा मूर्ख कहलाने में।
जीवन-जागृति में क्या रक्खा जो रक्खा है सो जाने में।
मैं यही सोचकर पास अक्ल के, कम ही जाया करता हूँ।
जो बुद्धिमान जन होते हैं, उनसे कतराया करता हूँ।
दीए जलने के पहले ही घर में आ जाया करता हूँ।
जो मिलता है, खा लेता हूँ, चुपके सो जाया करता हूँ।
मेरी गीता में लिखा हुआ -- सच्चे योगी जो होते हैं,
वे कम-से-कम बारह घंटे तो बेफ़िक्री से सोते हैं।
आराम सुधा की एक बूंद, तन का दुबलापन खोती है।
आराम शब्द में 'राम' छिपा जो भव-बंधन को खोता है।
आराम शब्द का ज्ञाता तो विरला ही योगी होता है।
इसलिए तुम्हें समझाता हूँ, मेरे अनुभव से काम करो।
ये जीवन, यौवन क्षणभंगुर, आराम करो, आराम करो।
यदि करना ही कुछ पड़ जाए तो अधिक न तुम उत्पात करो।
अपने घर में बैठे-बैठे बस लंबी-लंबी बात करो।
करने-धरने में क्या रक्खा जो रक्खा बात बनाने में।
जो ओठ हिलाने में रस है, वह कभी न हाथ हिलाने में।
तुम मुझसे पूछो बतलाऊँ -- है मज़ा मूर्ख कहलाने में।
जीवन-जागृति में क्या रक्खा जो रक्खा है सो जाने में।
मैं यही सोचकर पास अक्ल के, कम ही जाया करता हूँ।
जो बुद्धिमान जन होते हैं, उनसे कतराया करता हूँ।
दीए जलने के पहले ही घर में आ जाया करता हूँ।
जो मिलता है, खा लेता हूँ, चुपके सो जाया करता हूँ।
मेरी गीता में लिखा हुआ -- सच्चे योगी जो होते हैं,
वे कम-से-कम बारह घंटे तो बेफ़िक्री से सोते हैं।
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
HAPPY BUDDAY
Yes. I was born today, only some years back. So what. So were about other 0.33 billion people, if statistical pattern can be relied upon. I wonder if 'statistical pattern' is really a valid expression. What does it mean? I am not even sure it means anything at all. Anyways, got my ass kicked yesterday night. I haven't been able to sit on my arse yet. I don't really get this tradition also. What evil pigheaded motherfucking bastard must have started this extremely violent non-sense way of celebrating one's birthday. Torturing people is just no way of celebrating anything. Two of the cloud of people calling themselves my friends, who were kicking my butt yesterday have bandages on their feet. The phrase 'kicking my butt' is even very strangely queer. I mean they kicked my butt, literally, but still I get that weird sinking thing in my stomach while putting it that way. Anyways, I decided last night I would not do any class today. It is my 'happy' birthday after all. Turns out I couldn't even if I wanted to. You know, because my ass hurt. So I slept till late. But what is the point of writing all this. You dont want to read my daily diary, except when I am Amitabh Bachhan. People would pay to read his diary, I suppose. But the point is, why do they hit people? On their birthdays. I looked it up. I got a very unsatifying explaination(that is, after 2 hours of 'googling'). You know how the doctor slaps your butt the moment you are born, to make you cry, because you supposedly die if you don't cry. It's ridiculous, it's like god is a dog after all. Playing games right from the beginning. He made it sure the first thing we do after being projectiled out of a birth canal is cry. And the everlasting train of cries and sulks follow. Anyways, turns out the custom is a reminder of the initial slap. Still I am telling you, the explaination is not worth the 'pain in the ass'.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Sandstorm
Trigger. Shoot. Kill. Do it. You can do it. You have dreamt of it the whole last year. This is your moment. You are the hero of this movie. No one can even come close. This is your story. You have no other option left. Don't lose focus. It's simple. You just have to close your eyes and pull the trigger. The gun will do the rest. You cannot chicken out now. You have to do it. If you don't do it now, you'll never be able to do it, and you'll regret it your whole life.
Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. I am sweating hard. The fan is running with all the torque it's got. I can even smell gunpowder. But what was that all about. Who got that bullet. You know how you don't usually remember your dreams, its for good. Because if you are having the most exciting dream of your life, and you are thrown out of the theater mid way, there is nothing more irritating. I definitely killed somebody. I was in a big, strange room. It was octagonal in shape, walls so white, they glowed. It was empty, except for a giant mirror on one of the walls. And there was definitely one more character in the story. It was standing behind me with it's hands and legs tied somehow. It could not move. Either I could not see it's face clear enough, or maybe I don't remember it.
I had the gun in my hand. A voice was encouraging me to shoot. I am pretty sure it was mine. The gun was not mine. But still there I was, with the gun, and I shot somebody. It cant be my Chemical Reaction Engineering professor, I've seen many bad papers through my life, never once have I wished to kill the teacher. It cannot be the mid semester, in some freaky impersonating way. I have not done that bad. It was definitely not a 'she'. She can be a bitch sometimes, but I wouldn't shoot her for that. I, by default, am a non violent person. Not the kind that will get a kick by shooting someone for no reason. I am getting frustrated. May be I have gone a little cuckoo in my head, but this has become really important to me. I need to know what the dream meant, I need to know who was the 'other guy'. I am a little frustrated, maybe I will try to sleep some more and complete the missing links.
What the hell! How the fuck did I get here. Blinded by the sudden flash, I can not see anything clearly, but my intuition told me I am in the room again. I try to find my feet while my eyes try to adjust to the shining white walls of the room. I feel dizzy. Slowly regaining my balance, I should start thinking, I think. My hand feels cold. I can feel the cold metal against it. I am in the same room. But this is more real. Like a movie. Everything is so solid. I can touch and smell things. I am a little scared by now. The blood in my veins is turning cold. The dizziness is not yet gone. I think I am going to throw up. That would be embarrassing, even by the imaginary room standards. But wait, where is the guy I was supposed to kill? If I am here, I am here for a purpose, and I will fulfill it.
I see him now. He is on the other side of the strange octagonal room. Tied up on the chair, unable to move. I hold on to the gun tightly. I will go over there and finish the job. And that will mark the end of this nightmare. There is still a little doubt in the back of my head. But I am going through with it anyway. With a gun in my hand, a firm resolve in my heart, I walk to his end of the room. The sight of the man's face breaks my resolve and turns it to fright. The face has a steely expression, kind of like mine. It is scarred, burnt. His eyes are closed, but I still am sure that he can see that I have come. He is looking at me, I don't know how. His eyes are still closed. "At last, you are ready. Come, fulfill your destiny." His voice, his voice sounded familiar, like the one I heard in the dream. Then, it struck. The voice is mine. Everything is blank again. Nothing makes sense. Why am I sitting on the chair. If it is me on the chair, them who am I. And am I supposed to kill myself. Questions were clouding my head. Nothing was clear. The voice was more imposing this time,"Do not think. You don't understand, just shoot me and you will be happy." I don't want to fight anymore. My head is throbbing with pain. I close my eyes and pull the trigger.
Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. This time, I am not sweating. I am cold. Shivering. My head hurts. I try to find a meaning in all this. Why did I just killed myself? But I guess I should stop thinking.
Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. I am sweating hard. The fan is running with all the torque it's got. I can even smell gunpowder. But what was that all about. Who got that bullet. You know how you don't usually remember your dreams, its for good. Because if you are having the most exciting dream of your life, and you are thrown out of the theater mid way, there is nothing more irritating. I definitely killed somebody. I was in a big, strange room. It was octagonal in shape, walls so white, they glowed. It was empty, except for a giant mirror on one of the walls. And there was definitely one more character in the story. It was standing behind me with it's hands and legs tied somehow. It could not move. Either I could not see it's face clear enough, or maybe I don't remember it.
I had the gun in my hand. A voice was encouraging me to shoot. I am pretty sure it was mine. The gun was not mine. But still there I was, with the gun, and I shot somebody. It cant be my Chemical Reaction Engineering professor, I've seen many bad papers through my life, never once have I wished to kill the teacher. It cannot be the mid semester, in some freaky impersonating way. I have not done that bad. It was definitely not a 'she'. She can be a bitch sometimes, but I wouldn't shoot her for that. I, by default, am a non violent person. Not the kind that will get a kick by shooting someone for no reason. I am getting frustrated. May be I have gone a little cuckoo in my head, but this has become really important to me. I need to know what the dream meant, I need to know who was the 'other guy'. I am a little frustrated, maybe I will try to sleep some more and complete the missing links.
What the hell! How the fuck did I get here. Blinded by the sudden flash, I can not see anything clearly, but my intuition told me I am in the room again. I try to find my feet while my eyes try to adjust to the shining white walls of the room. I feel dizzy. Slowly regaining my balance, I should start thinking, I think. My hand feels cold. I can feel the cold metal against it. I am in the same room. But this is more real. Like a movie. Everything is so solid. I can touch and smell things. I am a little scared by now. The blood in my veins is turning cold. The dizziness is not yet gone. I think I am going to throw up. That would be embarrassing, even by the imaginary room standards. But wait, where is the guy I was supposed to kill? If I am here, I am here for a purpose, and I will fulfill it.
I see him now. He is on the other side of the strange octagonal room. Tied up on the chair, unable to move. I hold on to the gun tightly. I will go over there and finish the job. And that will mark the end of this nightmare. There is still a little doubt in the back of my head. But I am going through with it anyway. With a gun in my hand, a firm resolve in my heart, I walk to his end of the room. The sight of the man's face breaks my resolve and turns it to fright. The face has a steely expression, kind of like mine. It is scarred, burnt. His eyes are closed, but I still am sure that he can see that I have come. He is looking at me, I don't know how. His eyes are still closed. "At last, you are ready. Come, fulfill your destiny." His voice, his voice sounded familiar, like the one I heard in the dream. Then, it struck. The voice is mine. Everything is blank again. Nothing makes sense. Why am I sitting on the chair. If it is me on the chair, them who am I. And am I supposed to kill myself. Questions were clouding my head. Nothing was clear. The voice was more imposing this time,"Do not think. You don't understand, just shoot me and you will be happy." I don't want to fight anymore. My head is throbbing with pain. I close my eyes and pull the trigger.
Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. This time, I am not sweating. I am cold. Shivering. My head hurts. I try to find a meaning in all this. Why did I just killed myself? But I guess I should stop thinking.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
I dont give a damn!
The following is a real problem statement from the book Chemical Reaction Engineering by Octave Levenspiel.
Chapter 5 ; Question no.28.
HOLMES: You say he was last seen tending this vat . . . .
SIR BOSS: You mean "overflow stirred tank reactor," Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: You must excuse my ignorance of your particular technical jargon, Sir Boss.
SIR BOSS: That's all right; however, you must find him, Mr. Holmes. Imbibit was a queer chap; always staring into the reactor, taking deep breaths, and licking his lips, but he was our very best operator. Why, since he left, our conversion of googliox has dropped from 80% to 75%.
HOLMES (tapping the side of the vat idly): By the way, what goes on in the vat?
SIR BOSS: Just an elementary second-order reaction, between ethanol and googliox, if you know what I mean. Of course, we maintain a large excess of alcohol, about 100 to 1 and . . . .
HOLMES (interrupting): Intriguing, we checked every possible lead in town and found not a single clue.
SIR BOSS (wiping away the tears): We'll give the old chap a raise-about twopence per week-if only he'll come back.
DR. WATSON: Pardon me, but may I ask a question?
HOLMES: Why certainly, Watson.
WATSON: What is the capacity of this vat, Sir Boss?
SIR BOSS: A hundred Imperial gallons, and we always keep it filled to the brim. That is why we call it an overflow reactor. You see we are running at full capacity-profitable operation you know.
HOLMES: Well, my dear Watson, we must admit that we're stumped, for without clues deductive powers are of no avail.
WATSON: Ahh, but there is where you are wrong, Holmes. (Then, turning to the manager): Imbibit was a largish fellow-say about 18 stone-was he not?
SIR BOSS: Why yes, how did you know?
HOLMES (with awe): Amazing, my dear Watson!
WATSON (modestly): Why it's quite elementary, Holmes. We have all the clues necessary to deduce what happened to the happy fellow. But first of all, would someone fetch me some dill?
With Sherlock Holmes and Sir Boss impatiently waiting, Dr. Watson casually leaned against the vat, slowly and carefully filled his pipe, and with the keen sense of the dramatic-lit it. There our story ends.
(a) What momentous revelation was Dr. Watson planning to make, and how did he arrive at this conclusion?
(b) Why did he never make it?
Chapter 5 ; Question no.28.
HOLMES: You say he was last seen tending this vat . . . .
SIR BOSS: You mean "overflow stirred tank reactor," Mr. Holmes.
HOLMES: You must excuse my ignorance of your particular technical jargon, Sir Boss.
SIR BOSS: That's all right; however, you must find him, Mr. Holmes. Imbibit was a queer chap; always staring into the reactor, taking deep breaths, and licking his lips, but he was our very best operator. Why, since he left, our conversion of googliox has dropped from 80% to 75%.
HOLMES (tapping the side of the vat idly): By the way, what goes on in the vat?
SIR BOSS: Just an elementary second-order reaction, between ethanol and googliox, if you know what I mean. Of course, we maintain a large excess of alcohol, about 100 to 1 and . . . .
HOLMES (interrupting): Intriguing, we checked every possible lead in town and found not a single clue.
SIR BOSS (wiping away the tears): We'll give the old chap a raise-about twopence per week-if only he'll come back.
DR. WATSON: Pardon me, but may I ask a question?
HOLMES: Why certainly, Watson.
WATSON: What is the capacity of this vat, Sir Boss?
SIR BOSS: A hundred Imperial gallons, and we always keep it filled to the brim. That is why we call it an overflow reactor. You see we are running at full capacity-profitable operation you know.
HOLMES: Well, my dear Watson, we must admit that we're stumped, for without clues deductive powers are of no avail.
WATSON: Ahh, but there is where you are wrong, Holmes. (Then, turning to the manager): Imbibit was a largish fellow-say about 18 stone-was he not?
SIR BOSS: Why yes, how did you know?
HOLMES (with awe): Amazing, my dear Watson!
WATSON (modestly): Why it's quite elementary, Holmes. We have all the clues necessary to deduce what happened to the happy fellow. But first of all, would someone fetch me some dill?
With Sherlock Holmes and Sir Boss impatiently waiting, Dr. Watson casually leaned against the vat, slowly and carefully filled his pipe, and with the keen sense of the dramatic-lit it. There our story ends.
(a) What momentous revelation was Dr. Watson planning to make, and how did he arrive at this conclusion?
(b) Why did he never make it?
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Black Forests and Banana Splits
I hate dentists. They are stupid. Most of them are dentists because they could not clear the PMT.
You are sitting on a dentist's chair, with a clipper tearing your mouth open. The guy pokes your gum with a needle and asks "Does it hurt?". Of course it hurts you moron. " How much?". You slap the idiot with all the might you got and go "Only a bit more."
Next time the dentist is about to inject a local anesthetic in your mouth, ask for morphine. Things are so much better with morphine, you'll enjoy every second of it!
Its a pity there are not much female dentists. I'd rather have a pair of female hands do things inside my mouth.
There's a reason people visit dentists. They have beautiful secretaries.
Dentists are the suprelatives of terror. They induce terror wherever they go. Its like when you know you have cut yourself while shaving and are standing with the aftershave. Dentists are just a little more scary. Pain is on its way. All you can do is wait.
I would like to meet an elephant dentist. His tools would be fun.
Every doctor has a pile of books up his sleeve, ophthalmologists, cardiologists, dermatologists. But dentists don't like to read. They like to drill.
It would suck to be a dentist's son. That would be years of growing up without chocolate.
I swear I once met a toothless dentist.
You know why dentists like to inflict pain? They are sadists. You know why they are sadists? They flunked Med School.
You are sitting on a dentist's chair, with a clipper tearing your mouth open. The guy pokes your gum with a needle and asks "Does it hurt?". Of course it hurts you moron. " How much?". You slap the idiot with all the might you got and go "Only a bit more."
Next time the dentist is about to inject a local anesthetic in your mouth, ask for morphine. Things are so much better with morphine, you'll enjoy every second of it!
Its a pity there are not much female dentists. I'd rather have a pair of female hands do things inside my mouth.
There's a reason people visit dentists. They have beautiful secretaries.
Dentists are the suprelatives of terror. They induce terror wherever they go. Its like when you know you have cut yourself while shaving and are standing with the aftershave. Dentists are just a little more scary. Pain is on its way. All you can do is wait.
I would like to meet an elephant dentist. His tools would be fun.
Every doctor has a pile of books up his sleeve, ophthalmologists, cardiologists, dermatologists. But dentists don't like to read. They like to drill.
It would suck to be a dentist's son. That would be years of growing up without chocolate.
I swear I once met a toothless dentist.
You know why dentists like to inflict pain? They are sadists. You know why they are sadists? They flunked Med School.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
A WEDNESDAY
They did it again. Bollywood is sure getting intelligent, and stylish while they are at it. Never before have we seen a series of racy songless thrillers in our country. A Wednesday hits you hard, and all at the right spots. Terrorism as a theme has been exhausted, as much as it could be. Still, you are glued, till the end. There is no supercop, no evil mastermind, no mission impossible, just a Stupid Common Man. Frustrated, angry with the 'SYSTEM'. Yes, same old formula, but put forth in a refreshingly fresh and exciting manner.
The absence of a 'HERO' makes any hindi flick vulnerable. But the classic act of two cinema stalwarts as an intelligent policeman and a nameless bomber takes the drama to a new heights. Anupam Kher is brilliant as the no-nonsense cop, as always. Wonder why he did Mere Baap Pehle Aap. Naseeruddin Shah does a great job as the common man. On the terrace of an underconsruction skyscraper, all set to bomb the city, drinking tea and eating sandwiches while he is at it. You can't get better than this. Jimmy Shergil and Amir Bashir played their parts. And what you get is a speedy, high adrenalin drama with a message.
The common man speech at the end is a tad too long. But not unbearable. Some parts, like the college dropout hacker, are seemingly ripped off from the Die Hard series. All said, this is the stuff that makes you proud to be a stupid common man.
Ps. I know its late for a review. But what the hell.
PPs. No I dont have enough cinematic understanding. But again, what the hell.
The absence of a 'HERO' makes any hindi flick vulnerable. But the classic act of two cinema stalwarts as an intelligent policeman and a nameless bomber takes the drama to a new heights. Anupam Kher is brilliant as the no-nonsense cop, as always. Wonder why he did Mere Baap Pehle Aap. Naseeruddin Shah does a great job as the common man. On the terrace of an underconsruction skyscraper, all set to bomb the city, drinking tea and eating sandwiches while he is at it. You can't get better than this. Jimmy Shergil and Amir Bashir played their parts. And what you get is a speedy, high adrenalin drama with a message.The common man speech at the end is a tad too long. But not unbearable. Some parts, like the college dropout hacker, are seemingly ripped off from the Die Hard series. All said, this is the stuff that makes you proud to be a stupid common man.
Ps. I know its late for a review. But what the hell.
PPs. No I dont have enough cinematic understanding. But again, what the hell.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
DREAMS
I was up late last night
Let me sleep.
There is a little left of the night
Let the sun rise.
There are unfinished dreams
They are somewhere on the road.
Let me sleep a little more
Let me sow them dreams once more.
The dreams that are happy
The dreams that are sad
The dreams that are angry
All the dreams I ever had
Where there was no one but me
My sweet haven, It was
The one thing that was mine.
Lightning, clouds, rains, sun,
They were my slaves.
There were gardens, slides,
And puppets. There were,
Kites tore through the winds,
With the kites I flew,
Where sky was the brightest blue,
Birds on it, I drew.
I dont have those dreams no more.
My sleep is blank. I try,
I fail. I try again, fail again.
I cry in the nights, waiting,
For a glimpse of a dream touch me,
For the magic to rekindle,
I am scared I lost them forever,
My sleep is blank, I try.
I want to have those dreams again.
I want to live them dreams again.
I want to fly with the kites,
I want to draw the birds in the sky.
Help me, get my dreams back.
I was up late last night
Let me sleep.
There is a little left of the night
Let the sun rise.
There are unfinished dreams
They are somewhere on the road.
Let me sleep a little more
Let me sow them dreams once more.
Acknowledgment: Jack(once more), and Gulzar(thanks for the magic).
Let me sleep.
There is a little left of the night
Let the sun rise.
There are unfinished dreams
They are somewhere on the road.
Let me sleep a little more
Let me sow them dreams once more.
The dreams that are happy
The dreams that are sad
The dreams that are angry
All the dreams I ever had
Where there was no one but me
My sweet haven, It was
The one thing that was mine.
Lightning, clouds, rains, sun,
They were my slaves.
There were gardens, slides,
And puppets. There were,
Kites tore through the winds,
With the kites I flew,
Where sky was the brightest blue,
Birds on it, I drew.
I dont have those dreams no more.
My sleep is blank. I try,
I fail. I try again, fail again.
I cry in the nights, waiting,
For a glimpse of a dream touch me,
For the magic to rekindle,
I am scared I lost them forever,
My sleep is blank, I try.
I want to have those dreams again.
I want to live them dreams again.
I want to fly with the kites,
I want to draw the birds in the sky.
Help me, get my dreams back.
I was up late last night
Let me sleep.
There is a little left of the night
Let the sun rise.
There are unfinished dreams
They are somewhere on the road.
Let me sleep a little more
Let me sow them dreams once more.
Acknowledgment: Jack(once more), and Gulzar(thanks for the magic).
Monday, September 1, 2008
NORRENTOMINE
http://summer-diary.blogspot.com/2008/09/day-of-letters.html
What I am doing here?
I don't know.
Why am I doing this?
Because the son of a bitch betrayed me. The letters were Jack's, I know. But they were supposed to be for my roll. They were not that good anyways. I was using them just for the sake of friendship n all, u know. The bastard tried to act like one. Now eat this bitch.
Dear Arjun Singh,
This Immunology class is hurting my religious beliefs, all they talk about is immortality and eternal vitality. I request you to do away with this course and introduce some relevant course, say immune response in the backward sections of the society or something.
Thanking you in advance,
Jack.
Dear Arjun Singh,
I have this feeling that my Animal professor, that is Animal cell biotechnology professor, makes up terms by himself. Have you ever heard of Star activity or suicide substrate or creee protein or cleavage assay. I hope not. So please get this course done away with and introduce some contemporary course like reservation for animals in IIT or something.
Thanking you in advance,
Jack.
Told you they were not so good.
What I am doing here?
I don't know.
Why am I doing this?
Because the son of a bitch betrayed me. The letters were Jack's, I know. But they were supposed to be for my roll. They were not that good anyways. I was using them just for the sake of friendship n all, u know. The bastard tried to act like one. Now eat this bitch.
Dear Arjun Singh,
This Immunology class is hurting my religious beliefs, all they talk about is immortality and eternal vitality. I request you to do away with this course and introduce some relevant course, say immune response in the backward sections of the society or something.
Thanking you in advance,
Jack.
Dear Arjun Singh,
I have this feeling that my Animal professor, that is Animal cell biotechnology professor, makes up terms by himself. Have you ever heard of Star activity or suicide substrate or creee protein or cleavage assay. I hope not. So please get this course done away with and introduce some contemporary course like reservation for animals in IIT or something.
Thanking you in advance,
Jack.
Told you they were not so good.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Rock On!!!
After uncountable no-brainers shelled out like peanuts, ROCK ON!! comes as a pleasant surprise. The story is good, screenplay is tight, dialogs spot on, and translated on screen to perfection by the cast.
Farhan Akhtar acts like he has been doing this for years. Arjun Rampal is a rockstar. Purab and Prachi have done a pretty decent job in the limited screentime they got. There are times in the second half where the story seems to be losing it's grip, but it is overshadowed by the background score. The music is excellent. Lyrics have succeeded to hit the spot. Sung extraordinarily by Farhan Akhtar, the score is the best I have heard in a long time. I do like to add though that Purab jumps a lot while playing drums. Looks like somebody is playing him.
If you think you are too cool for Bollywood, think again.
Farhan Akhtar acts like he has been doing this for years. Arjun Rampal is a rockstar. Purab and Prachi have done a pretty decent job in the limited screentime they got. There are times in the second half where the story seems to be losing it's grip, but it is overshadowed by the background score. The music is excellent. Lyrics have succeeded to hit the spot. Sung extraordinarily by Farhan Akhtar, the score is the best I have heard in a long time. I do like to add though that Purab jumps a lot while playing drums. Looks like somebody is playing him.
If you think you are too cool for Bollywood, think again.
The Journey 1: THE CREATURE
"FUCK!! Theres no one here. You are screwed. Big time. You'll be fucked the next three days. How were you so stupid. How can anybody be so stupid?" About a hundred voices were screaming in my head. And they pretty much all said the same thing. And there I was. Standing at the Jaipur railway station. My eyes frantically searching for a face. Any face. Any face that I know. Any face I can talk to. But there was none. And I was all alone. "See thats what happens when you don't book your seat with your friends." The voices in my head were surprisingly loud and clear. To top on that, I had to travel across the whole country to reach my college. From Jodhpur to Guwahati. All alone in a compartment.
When I boarded the train at Jodhpur, it was 1 in the morning. On the station, not surprisingly, i was the only thing that walked on two legs. But surprisingly enough, there were a host of four legged creatures barking and shouting and huffing and puffing on one another. "Maybe it is a dog parliament or something." My inner voice sounded really stupid this time. Then i came to my senses and ran for my life without looking back. Assured that i was at a safe distance from the Annual Canine Conference I sat to catch my breath.
I checked the time, 11:30pm. Shit! the train is at 1. That leaves me with one and a half hours, a pack of noisy dogs and an almost dark platform with some blinking tubelights, carrying my bags, not heavy, but not exactly feathers, cursing the moment I decided to take this train. I am sitting on an empty platform. thinking of anything from chaos theory to bubble bath, trying to pass my time.
Then I heard it. It was not loud but the voice was so clear for a moment I thought the voices in my head were back again. Then I saw it, the low purring sound was coming from below my seat. from a creature very unearthly. It was a mere cat I realized, but it was the most beautiful cat I had ever seen. The shades of purest white with little black dots. It looked like the Antigod's answer to the night sky. 'The cat' will be called 'The creature' from now on. Calling it a cat will be an insult to its beauty (Yeah! I am a racist. I don't care). "You should take it with you." Shit. The voice again. I tried to argue. Its impractical. How am i supposed to carry 'The creature ' across the whole journey. "Then just throw it in front of a train. If you cant have it nobody else can." The voice whispered. For a moment I was scared of myself. I picked up The creature. I had no intentions of throwing it to the train (if thats what you are thinking). My hands felt wet. The creature was wet. "Maybe The creature is a sign or a God's messenger to earth." My inner voice echoed once again. Shut up, I said to myself. I will have to do something about these voices, I thought. One closer look and I came to my senses. The creature was bleeding. The left hind leg was wounded. The melodious sounds I was high on for about 20 minutes were actually desperate
cries for help, subdued by painful moans.
I decided to help the creature. I brought some water to clean the wound. The canine conference was still in the back of my mind. "If The creature shouts and the dogs realize you are helping The creature, they'll tear you to pieces." I don't care, I decided. The creature was God's masterpiece, and it needed to be helped, and I am not going to ditch The creature now.I cleansed the wound, tied my handkerchief around the leg and fed it my leftover dinner. I felt I had served some purpose that night. I somehow strangely felt important.
The time was almost there. My train would be here anytime. The creature was sitting beside me, eating, not aware of anything else. It was content, satisfied to the last thread of it's heart. The pain had receded. I felt closer to The creature than anyone I had ever met. On that dark and deserted railway station, in that never ending night, scared of a common predator or a conference of predators, we had become best friends. For that one and a half hours we had only each other for company, we communicated without talking, we played, laughed, we bonded.
The sound of the engine pierced my ears like never before. It was the most unwelcome news of my life. The whistle had scattered the dogs. The creature was sleeping. I wished it would wake up so we could share our good byes. But it was tired. It kept sleeping. I decided to let The creature wander in its dreams. I said a silent prayer wishing someone will take it away from
the dogs the next morning and boarded the train.
"Your fucking mind is playing tricks on you, you retarded soul." My inner voice scolded me. Maybe it was a trick played on me by my mind. But I still believe I saw an aura of light around The Creature's face. I saw it stand on two legs and raise one of it's front legs and say 'THANK YOU'.
When I boarded the train at Jodhpur, it was 1 in the morning. On the station, not surprisingly, i was the only thing that walked on two legs. But surprisingly enough, there were a host of four legged creatures barking and shouting and huffing and puffing on one another. "Maybe it is a dog parliament or something." My inner voice sounded really stupid this time. Then i came to my senses and ran for my life without looking back. Assured that i was at a safe distance from the Annual Canine Conference I sat to catch my breath.
I checked the time, 11:30pm. Shit! the train is at 1. That leaves me with one and a half hours, a pack of noisy dogs and an almost dark platform with some blinking tubelights, carrying my bags, not heavy, but not exactly feathers, cursing the moment I decided to take this train. I am sitting on an empty platform. thinking of anything from chaos theory to bubble bath, trying to pass my time.
Then I heard it. It was not loud but the voice was so clear for a moment I thought the voices in my head were back again. Then I saw it, the low purring sound was coming from below my seat. from a creature very unearthly. It was a mere cat I realized, but it was the most beautiful cat I had ever seen. The shades of purest white with little black dots. It looked like the Antigod's answer to the night sky. 'The cat' will be called 'The creature' from now on. Calling it a cat will be an insult to its beauty (Yeah! I am a racist. I don't care). "You should take it with you." Shit. The voice again. I tried to argue. Its impractical. How am i supposed to carry 'The creature ' across the whole journey. "Then just throw it in front of a train. If you cant have it nobody else can." The voice whispered. For a moment I was scared of myself. I picked up The creature. I had no intentions of throwing it to the train (if thats what you are thinking). My hands felt wet. The creature was wet. "Maybe The creature is a sign or a God's messenger to earth." My inner voice echoed once again. Shut up, I said to myself. I will have to do something about these voices, I thought. One closer look and I came to my senses. The creature was bleeding. The left hind leg was wounded. The melodious sounds I was high on for about 20 minutes were actually desperate
cries for help, subdued by painful moans.
I decided to help the creature. I brought some water to clean the wound. The canine conference was still in the back of my mind. "If The creature shouts and the dogs realize you are helping The creature, they'll tear you to pieces." I don't care, I decided. The creature was God's masterpiece, and it needed to be helped, and I am not going to ditch The creature now.I cleansed the wound, tied my handkerchief around the leg and fed it my leftover dinner. I felt I had served some purpose that night. I somehow strangely felt important.
The time was almost there. My train would be here anytime. The creature was sitting beside me, eating, not aware of anything else. It was content, satisfied to the last thread of it's heart. The pain had receded. I felt closer to The creature than anyone I had ever met. On that dark and deserted railway station, in that never ending night, scared of a common predator or a conference of predators, we had become best friends. For that one and a half hours we had only each other for company, we communicated without talking, we played, laughed, we bonded.
The sound of the engine pierced my ears like never before. It was the most unwelcome news of my life. The whistle had scattered the dogs. The creature was sleeping. I wished it would wake up so we could share our good byes. But it was tired. It kept sleeping. I decided to let The creature wander in its dreams. I said a silent prayer wishing someone will take it away from
the dogs the next morning and boarded the train.
"Your fucking mind is playing tricks on you, you retarded soul." My inner voice scolded me. Maybe it was a trick played on me by my mind. But I still believe I saw an aura of light around The Creature's face. I saw it stand on two legs and raise one of it's front legs and say 'THANK YOU'.
M for WHAT NOW????
Okay, I admit, its stupid. But it just came to my mind.
Hello everyone!! This is me, Manuj. I don't usually try to describe myself. Not because I am too complex to understand or I haven't figured out yet n all, but simply because It is too much work. I am relatively new to web logging. I say relatively because I have been a part of a few blogs before. Everyone of them has taught me something about me.
A. I was not born for writing. I am not a writer. Its not like I am stupid n all. But just that I cant translate on a typewriter/keyboard/paper/slate/anywhere else.
B. I am not a comic. I don't know why, but nobody laughs at my jokes. I am just not funny. Maybe I am missing some nerves/brain cells/funny bones/anything else. If you feel like laughing at anything I wrote or I will write in future, Its time to call a psychiatrist.
C. I am not a preacher/teacher/mentor/guide/leader/anyone else. I cannot teach you anything. I am the last person that can show you the right path.
D. I forgot the fourth.
Turns out I described myself after all. Thats a start!!!
PS : The title means NOTHING. Narcissist to me is still a funny multisyllabic funny word.
PPS : If you find some of your stuff on my page. I am sorry. It is not an honest mistake. But still 'Sorry'. And 'Thank You'.
Hello everyone!! This is me, Manuj. I don't usually try to describe myself. Not because I am too complex to understand or I haven't figured out yet n all, but simply because It is too much work. I am relatively new to web logging. I say relatively because I have been a part of a few blogs before. Everyone of them has taught me something about me.
A. I was not born for writing. I am not a writer. Its not like I am stupid n all. But just that I cant translate on a typewriter/keyboard/paper/slate/anywhere else.
B. I am not a comic. I don't know why, but nobody laughs at my jokes. I am just not funny. Maybe I am missing some nerves/brain cells/funny bones/anything else. If you feel like laughing at anything I wrote or I will write in future, Its time to call a psychiatrist.
C. I am not a preacher/teacher/mentor/guide/leader/anyone else. I cannot teach you anything. I am the last person that can show you the right path.
D. I forgot the fourth.
Turns out I described myself after all. Thats a start!!!
PS : The title means NOTHING. Narcissist to me is still a funny multisyllabic funny word.
PPS : If you find some of your stuff on my page. I am sorry. It is not an honest mistake. But still 'Sorry'. And 'Thank You'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)