Like frankie said I blog it my way

In fond memory of our beloved Tempo Dhar

2010-02-16T02:20:00.012+05:30

[“..ad Hall. And the first prize goes to ..pause.. Patel Hall.” There we were. Bishnoi, Shobhit, Ankik, me and Bando. Jumping around in triumphant ecstasy. Everyone was rushing towards the stage, while me and Bando got stuck, one-leg-a-side in Netaji’s folding chairs. Then there was the tempo shout. And the high decibel victory madness. Ankik put his hand around my neck and said “ Teri kuch awaaz hai be.” And I replied “ Aur aap toh Tempo Da ho.” Then we did a chest bump before Bishnoi jumped down from the 6-foot pedestal onto a mob of joyous arms.]

That was exactly a year ago. February 13^th 2009. Our choreo ‘Ek Lau’, based on the internal conflict between a bomb planting terrorist and his benign conscience won gold. And there we were. Ankik, Bish, me, Shobhit and Bando. Clad in black shirts, terrorist pants with black stripes smeared on our childishly euphoric faces.

Exactly a year later, on February 13^th 2010. I was trying to cram my reluctant brain for that morning’s Gate exam, when Bose started shouting “Aggu! Come here. Aggu! Come fast.” Hoping to hear more of his random ramblings, I walked into his room casually. Mandal da was crying. Bose looked psychotic. Then came the news. “Tempo Dhar died in a bomb blast an hour ago.” I didn’t believe it. No one would. What do you mean Tempo da died? He is not some random inconsequential guy. It didn’t seem feasible or logical that Tempo Da could die. But slowly the enormous reality settled down pressing my brain till it went numb. And then it went lower to wrench my heart and gut it out. And the pain burnt my eyes. I ran hither-thither hoping that someone would contradict the news. But shattered hearts and echoing silence was all that was there to it.

And my numb brain was travelling at full blast on randomly connected paths.

But Tempo Da works in Bombay!

But it was only a few months ago that he was here knocking on Bose’s door in his trademark orange sleeveless!

But Tempo Da was in Goa with his wingies!

But this! But that!

I collided face-on to the irony: Did this terrorist have a conscience? Does it interfere with his malicious dealings? If it does, it should come back to haunt him for trying to take away a person of such rich personality away from us.

Then I went to bed. Sobbing. Dreaming virtual situations. Why did he have to kill Tempo Dhar, of all people? Could it have happened that they shared a cursory glance? Didn’t those eyes rich of full blooded tempo, that lop-sided gait, that guileless smile, seem too precious to be removed from the face of the earth? Could they have shared a casual conversation? Did he notice Tempo Da’s funny looking phone? The Bengali key pad? Then his phone started ringing.

Mikesh Udani…. Calling!

He picked up the phone. And started laughing. The Tempo-maniacal laugh. Of course, he is alive. He rubbished the news with his graceful fluency.

Suddenly, I woke up. To abandoned hope and silent realization. I thought that was the end. Then, I looked out of my door onto the footer field and the memory of Ankik’s farewell song (click here) and his inspiring speech started rolling down my cold cheeks with shuddering warmth.

And as I was signing off this mal-structured I-just-cannot-find-words-obituary, the memory of a particular incident dawned upon me. About two years ago, after our Bronze-winning English Dramatics performance, “Me against myself”, in which Ankik played the role of an impressionable young lad who kills the king after being misled by his evil mentor, and I played the role of a goon, we had a conversation. About how the judge found it unsettling that we ended the drama on a note of evil triumph. Ankik said “In short phases of time, evil always triumphs over good. We should look past these portals and hope that there will be eternal peace.” What a big heart he had.

No, Tempo Da you haven’t left us. You will not. Your zeal for life still spreads as infectiously as in those good ol’ days. “Forging eternal bonds within our community.” Just like our Hall preamble says.

"As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters." — Lucius Annaeus Seneca! I haven't seen many live it better than Ankik.

Rest in Peace, Tempo Da. We will love you forever.

The Little Doll

2009-09-01T07:00:00.019+05:30

There was once a little doll,

with looks so cozy.

She had a cuddly crawl,

and cheeks so rosy.

She was my little doll,

my whole life's worth.

Such was my little doll,

my whole new birth.

I was her tune,

and she was my dance.

We lived a boon,

loving the trance.

Now,I live my life,

and she loves hers.

Lost was the life,

which used to be ours.

There was a little doll,

and my memory ain't lousy.

Now there's a subtle wall,

and my dream's so drowsy.

Well!In your well-known world,

a little doll cried.

But,in my unknown world,

a little doll died.

P.S 1: This is a poetic response to the yesteryear blockbuster The Little Doll and the goldwinner The Little Doll.

P.S 2: All characters in the poem are purely fictional. Any resemblance to any person or a doll, living or otherwise, is purely kakataliyam a k a coincidental. This is for a creative writing assignment which was supposed to a) Start with "There was once a little doll" and b) End with "A little doll cried. A little doll died"

One of those idle moments

2009-07-03T07:03:00.012+05:30

---when you know that you are insane.

Disclaimer: All these things are based on a true life story. Or else, I made them up in this apparently true life of mine just for the heck of writing this disclaimer.

It was one of those times when I missed being in India. I was all alone amongst a group of quiet, cultured, polite, but German passengers. Nothing for stereotyping ethnicities, but most of them belong to not just a different wave length but to a different planet in a different solar system. Outside my office, till date, I could not make meaningful English conversation with them any better than I could have played carroms with a cat. The sum total of the response I could get from them is “Huh!”

So, I was trying to relax in these retractable chairs, that never tract enough to start with. My novel seemed to be in the deepest strata of my backpack, and realizing my secrets would not gel into the ambience, I refrained myself from digging into it. I was moving ahead in life at 220 kmph, falling into a trance where all those little earthy, lotta fun, sophomoric musings pretended to give me a better perspective over all facets of life including the historical, the sociological, the zoological, the psychosexual and the facet that explains why Jadeja came before Yuvraj.

I tried reading my English news paper, carefully staring at the political intricacies of the Indira regime, and making a mental note of the interesting observations (Yawn!! was my exact mental phrasing). I tried spacing my legs in the leg space and struggled to doze off unto my dreamland, in the quest of answers to why proteins irk Brahmins?And why law needs to be taught in IITs?

Just as my insomniac brain was shifting from humming impatiently to brain teaser activities like trying to convert the complete works of Albert Einstein into caribbean rap, I acted. I acted in a manner, where my finger dug itself onto my scalp and started dancing to the whims of the strongest force in the world . Having had to face the harsh realization that I was yet to bathe that month,(let's say I am kidding for all practical purposes), I decided to start being more purposeful. Then! I heard a voice from above.

No, I am not kidding. It was melodious gibberish, being delivered from an altitude in a deliberate attempt to tip me off about the future. Then, feeling blessed, I opened my eyes to follow the voice, only to find an announcement speaker, emitting amplified garbage that translated to “ Next station: München Hauptbahnof”. I reiterated my idea to be purposeful.

I started towards the door. In a citi-moment-of-surprise, people started following me. As I reached the final passage, I stopped ,and turned backwards. My belly flipped at the sight of all the confusion, the angst and the uncertainty they harbored about their troubled future. I smiled reassuringly at the Spanish girl behind me and nodded, as I chose the path to the right door.

For a few moments, the crowd was stunned. They were gaping at the courageous man who was going to make a difference in their future. A guy at the end could no longer remain silent. He was deeply moved. He came forward to voice it. “Boo!”, he said.(literally, whatever he said in german).

They followed me, all of them, 12 cosmopolitan citizens, looking at the poor door on the left, thinking “O poor thing! It never stood a chance!”, in their own languages. But the 13th guy was German, so he looked at the left door with a deeply troubled conscience, turned towards me and asked “Boo?” I smiled. I gave him one of those Rajni-special sinister smiles that say “I dare you to take the other path”. He raised his hands, shrugged a bit and surrendered as he joined my path, not forgetting to voice his “Boo!” again.

I stood there, taking deep breaths, feeling empowered.

Voice-in-my head: You rock! You are a keen observer of the daily human experience.

Sanity: Duh!!

Voice-in-my head: You are a chronicler of mankind’s seemingly endless trek through time.

Sanity: Aaarggh!!

German: Boo!!

Voice-in-my head: You know something that your delta-neighborhood does not! Look at yourself through their eyes! Are you not their shining beacon of hope?

Sanity: Come out of the trance, you stupid!!!

I felt superior to all those sages in Himalayas, who conveniently suppress the fact that they never tasted the biryani in Bawarchi, as they pitifully make the ridiculous claim of knowing the meaning of life. I had all reasons to. I tasted their biryani , AND, could guess which side the platform was going to turn up.

Then the station arrived.( OK! You smarty! The train arrived at the station) I felt divine. I felt complete. I felt like the harbinger of human hope. I felt like Sachin Tendulkar.
------

Aggu

I really want the title to be...

2009-04-16T03:16:00.007+05:30

.....Erm.Straight from Uday Aghamarshan B.

Girl! Things we-now-not even think of,
will come back to haunt at the brink of,

the inevitable saturation,

of years of frustration,
Ah! Those things we'd not even think of.

Why don't you paint? Why don't you? Why?
You love your art as much as I,
But I'm a nerd,
O! That's absurd,
Concocted stories made up a lie.

Voices in heart,too loud to be ignored,
Hands of art,are really really bored,
They wanna run,
Why?Possibly stun,
and leave every lover of art floored.

And thus locked in the boredom,
of deathless assignments in tandem,
Thoughts deeply fried,
she threw Gottfried,
And started to fetch her freedom.

O! Behold my friend!Nothing serious I guess,
You're learning a lot amidst this duress,
Oh! Friend of mine,
you really are fine,
I thought I'll just pull your leg. Yes!

Updating duly,
Yours truly.

No! We can't stand it anymore!

2009-03-23T21:58:00.009+05:30

Cornered by the vile unkindness,
of people drowned in callous blindness,
A soul left,
this world bereft,
of love, solace and mother's kindness.

The diro appreciated the gathering,
while DD's smile was so baffling,
11:30||gtg||my wife,
Left Dosa,fled for life,
Buffoons with their porcine clowning.

These rockhearted chickenshits,
feigning all their ugly wits,
deserved the fate,
as it's too late,
to enact their goddamned skits.

We've long waited and trembled near the door,
Now!We can't stand the stench anymore,
These convulsive shocks,
will rip hills and rocks,
No!We can't stand it anymore.

May his soul rest in peace! :'(

Flowers of destruction

2008-08-23T20:53:00.011+05:30

2003 Aug 22 :

Kailash picked up the gear from behind the door. His son handed him a bag containing the coiled, hard braided lines, the harpoon and the shaft. Kailash started down the lane, waving to his son at the door. Then looked up at the sky. Nothing stormy (apparently!?!).

Kishore always wondered why his father looked at the sky. Today, he could see some thing. Two clouds swam past each other to leave an agglomerate that looked like a sweet crawling baby. Kailash smiled, eyes misty. There was going to be a baby in their family.

2008 July 6:

Good news on a good day. Kailash was being released from a Pakistani Jail along with some twenty other fishermen caught fishing on restricted waters. People were breathing celebration everywhere in the village of Zazilka as soon as this news hit the media. Soni was very excited. She was going to see her father for the first time. She helped her mother clean the house and decorate their hut's foreyard. It was her birthday the next day.

2008 July 8:

7:10 PM:

Kailash waved bye to the nice chap who dropped him at the market. He went into a shop.

He came out with a parcel rolled in a plastic cover and slid it into his pocket.

He turned around the corner, walked to the fourth house and knocked. He took three paces backwards to appreciate the rangoli on his foreyard. Then looked up at the sky. No storm(!?!) threatened to ruin this intricate design of his life's colours .

9:30 PM:

Soni was running around her father, being chased by Kishore. They were laughing out aloud. Nalini was making their bed.

11:30PM:

Kailash woke up, walked to the entrance and looked up at the sky. A set of stars were brighter and formed an eagle when connected. Something was on a wait!

1:00 AM:

River beyond him…River before him…River all around flooding the village.

Water all around,covering land all over.

Wind zooming like an unaimed arrow of a skilful archer.Darkness looming all over. Desperate cries pleading for rescue being paused and played.The sound of something crashing down.Heartbroken mourning..somewhere distantly close.

Kailash was sitting,clutching his daughter tight.Pulled his son towards him by shoulder.Nalini,by his side, holding his hand close.
Five minutes of subtle silence.One more foot to the water level.The tent was tilting dangerously to it’s left.

Kaiash jumped instinctively, carrying his son and daughter with him.

“Come fast!!”.. beckoning his wife at the pitch of his voice.Voice ripped apart in the whizzing storm.The tent, tilting slowly, was being carried away with the flow, carrying lucky Nalini, who didn’t have to see the mishap to follow, with it.

Confusion….Fear…..Grief.Children gripping him even more firmly,crying. “Mummy!!!Mummy!!!”. Waistdeep water…reached his shoulders .They were three now.He wanted to cry.He didn’t have the energy.There was no one to console.

There should be land somewhere.Where!??He didn’t even know if he was treading along in the right direction.

Wave after wave.Thorns piercing into his legs,children on the shoulders.Storm from beyond.Mouthful of salt water everytime a wave threw itself over.

“Betaaaa!!”

“Haaaan!”

“Hold me tight”..voice drenched in the cacophony of the storm.

They forgot their mother. Fear. Fear all around. Each time a lighting struck, he could see corpses floating scarily all around.Corpses. Of people,of snakes,of cattle. He hated the view. But if it didn’t strike,he was not able to see one foot ahead in this pitch darkness.

His shoulders were unable to bear the pain. More so on the right side, where his son was.He treaded along.

Kailash stopped and jolted his leg. The snake that was around his leg,went with the flow. Wait!He could hear what was coming from beyond. Before he could react,it was all over him. He was suffocated. Salt Water. He held his children firm. Along with the wave,the horn of a floating dead buffalo pierced into his right shoulder. He lost control of his son.

Cruel fate hit him again with a strong wave of water and carried his son along with it.

He really wanted to cry. But, his head was reeling and his body was numb. He couldn't figure out how to cry.

His daughter didn't speak a word. Till then. Now, she looked at his father and said " Papa! I am not as heavy as Bhaiya right?."

5:00 PM:

A nurse was attending to the wounds on Kailash's body. He woke up to the pinching iodine. He looked around for minutes and then silently, tears started rolling down his cheeks.

The nurse said. " I am very sorry for your loss. God is never kind ."

Kailash muttered." It is not about fate or God. I could have saved at least my daughter. Three hours of confused wading through the river drained me of all my energy, when I unfortunately spotted rescue lights far ahead."

Mutters turning into anguished shouting, he continued with a heaving breath "While death was looming all around and laughing at me in that neck deep water, I didn't think. I ... I threw my daughter down and swam to the rescue."

Saying this, he banged his head on the wall, ran to the window at the end of the corridor and jumped out of it. He landed with a thud.

In his left hand was a parcel. A bunch of flowers with a note.

" Happy Birthday Sweetheart! With love, Daddy"

Flowers of destruction.

Flowers that witnessed the destruction.

Flowers that survived the destruction.

PS: This piece is my article for some english creative writing thing for the on-the-spot topic "Flowers of Destruction".

In the pursuit of...oh! wait....

2007-10-28T23:12:00.002+05:30

Aaargh!!! Writhing when there is no pain...wailing when success is but only in the offing. Dunno if that is fun.

Life these days in kgp has been being constantly confounding. Puzzled to frustration and compelled to submission. uh..wait! For non-kgpians here, I am afraid you'll not get the thread anyway in this post. But U can just hang around and have a laugh at my life.

Where did this all start?

I was not scared. I was never scared of doing shit. Given I can reason it out with my conscience, I am never scared of doing anything. So naturally, I never faced a problem during my OP. This said, OP was not a pleasant, or nowhere near that sorts experience. But the very "ME" in me was convinced that whatever is being forced upon, and ruthlessly so, is a tested way to success. Or so I thought.

That the very concept of success is so abstruse and beyond the ambit of apprehension at this very immature stage : that the colours of a butterfly are never perceived by the caterpillar was what I thought. That the caterpillar should learn the art of weaving itself a cocoon and not challenge the intelligence behind it all is wat I thought.

Now I have reached a stage comfortably past the hyped start of what is christened the Orientation programme to look back and review what all happened. And yeah!Here I need to quote someone.(translated to English)

"Stop kidding urself by thinking that yours is the first batch of fucking sensible bastards. That your rationale is so einstenian that it is beyond the comprehension of these ignorant emotoramus pieces of shit calling themselves as seniors just because they got into the iit one year earlier. U just don't have the maturity to challenge what is being done and urged to be done. Just follow the tide and later on when it is ur turn to treat some poor kid as a scumbag, add and delete the things in accordance to what you felt was reasonable."

And so I followed the advice to the core doing whatever crap was asked to be done for the sole fucking reason that the seniors felt it was reasonable to be passed on. And cutting a full blooded story short...I became the literary secretary of my hall. And in this tailored squirmish, my midsems slipped outta my hands and I couldn't even look down coz the depth was unfathomable.

Now this was something. I am not some insensibly puerile bastard cribbing and ranting over some thing that is to be taken in the right spirit and learnt from. I understand seniority. I understand Hall. I understand Hall tempo. I relate myself to every victory and defeat of my hall. I understand that these are not benumbed myths but have quite some practical significance.

But what I found quite disconcerting is that the very meaning of success is being so bloody tailor made to the whims and fancies of the seniors that there is no fucking hope for independent thought. Fuck independent thought. I agree it can be erratic. But bloody hell, I don't care. And the worst part is it gets aggrandized with the peer attitude towards academics here.

Why is the very concept of PAN drop in ur CG welcomed and looked forward to? Why is getting a deregistration notice something looked over in TRUE SPIRIT? Why is attending classes so bloody un-cool? Why is there a hall tradition in every conceivable thing other than in academics?

Some god in soc-cult strives for ensuring that he leaves a tradition up and breathing even after he leaves the hall. So does a guy in sports and all the way, why does no one even bother to brood over an issue like "Why was there a Chintan Takkar once and none now? Why didn't he bother to continue the tradition of having Insti#1s?".

So much for saying all this, life in IIT doesn't suck. It bloody rocks. I don't hate my hall. I love it. I love the idea of Hall Tempo. I respect my seniors, coz they have always been good to me. But I am constantly confronted with all the above questions.

What say, in a world where raising a question against all this is just as bad as in the time of Galileo.And I've got no tempo to come out of this ignorant halcyon. All this in the pursuit of...yeah!wait.

The Old Man And The Sea

2007-07-06T02:13:00.001+05:30

This post is dedicated to ma dear Pranay...just for shaking me out of my holiday slumber...but other guyzz here...don't blame me if I sound like one bachelor of social service...the book I am talking about is a must read.The summary might be a bit overboard,but thazzz me.

The old man and the sea is a Nobel-prize winning novel written by ERNEST HEMINGWAY. It is a story of a strange old fisherman whose hard-earned fish gets ruthlessly eaten by sharks.

The storyline of the novel is so deceptively simple that an amateur reader cannot resist but doubt the wisdom behind awarding it a Nobel-prize.It is only when we deeply turn on our much needed critical faculties that we get to explore the finesse of the novel.

The author, as I opine, portrayed a very serious social holocaust in the most simplest of the styles.The responsibility of probing into the inner spheres of the immensely metaphorical novel is cleverly left to the wisdom of the reader.

My version of the summary is, that the old man actually ,represents a influentially weak but potentially able section of the society.The old man is described as strange because of the immense mental stability he displays in times which seem to be the epitomes of hard luck and hostility.This virtue unwittingly plonks itself into the armour of the aforementioned class of people during their fight for self-upheaval. The cramping of his left hand portrays the economical cramping pretty archetypal of their daily lives.

The giant fish he baits refers to the result of their hardwork, the very thing they deserve, had life been a fair dice. But just as the food in the hand of a poor guy,is often looted horridly on its way to his mouth,the fish gets eaten by the sharks.The sharks bank upon the inability of the old man to resist the attacks causal of his physical weakness,just as the blacker sections of the society bank upon the economical weakness of the other sections.The skeleton of the giant fish is the novel counterpart of the horrible truth that always stares right in the face of a poor lad.The inevitable truth that there will be nothing but the carcass of his hardwork that’ll remain till the end.

India...Cricket...Aggu...and Sachin Tendulkar :P

2007-03-23T16:17:00.001+05:30

The World Cup, coming as it does every four years, offers an occasion for the full flow of adrenaline in ur bodies. I reference my life with each World Cup, reflect on how things were with me when the last one was played and reassess how they are now. Do you do that? If you are a true fan, I think you would. It’s just one of those intersections between sport and life that is so much part of being a fan.

Yeah..I do that...I have been doing that..and I will do that.I have innumerable,but crystal clear memories of India's cricketing history.Here,I will jot down the WC ones only though.It all started from a cricket loving father asking his 3 year old son to watch,a blazing...,I remember it to be one,knock by Sachin Tendulkar,bellowing with ecstasy every time the ball hits the boundary,pushing more popcorn into the overflowing mouth.I didn't know then,neither did my father,nor did Sachin Tendulkar,nor did the guy who manufactures the popcorn,that there were lot more things to follow.None knew that Sachin would turn into Sir Sachin Tendulkar, that I will turn into THE cricket buff,in an already-cricket-frenzy family living a cricket worshipping country,that the popcorn wud b replaced by chips,coke tins and all.All that I could gather then was,shout at the pitch of ur voice everytime papa shouts,raise ur hand up in the air with the fist clenched tight,and ofcourse,push more popcorn into ur mouth.

I still regret for not being able to catch even a glimpse of the 1992 world cup.I regret for not being my brother,who landed upon this world,while my mom was watching the 1987 Reliance World Cup. Never mind...I proved myself later on.

I watched the 1996 world cup,match after match,ball after ball.I understood the game completely by then.I could easily tell what wides were,what a well left shot was,and stuff.But couldn't predict a soon to follow cyclestand collapse.I was betting hard,with every1 in our family,that India wud win the semifinal.I got up and went to the toilet.My uncle was applauding for a boundary.By the time,I returned...everything was out of hand.I still remember the situation,Sachin was runout for some bullshit lack of coord.... My uncle was leaving for his home,following a batting collapse.I was sitting just there,jlt,not sure if I can cry.But,I felt an acute pain,something that did fit well into the sudden silence,our house has thrown itself into.

Then,there is this 1999 world cup.All my bets on India.Again THE SACHIN TENDULKAR PHENOMENON,the maestro had to attend his father's funeral.And,the rest is history...Never mind...It happens...I started understanding thes lines by then.India left early in the tournament,but then they could achieve one rare thing,they made ME cry.Ofcourse,only they could achieve it many times later.

Flash...flash...the 2003 world cup,by this time,my cricket knowledge was,I believed,to be greater than any of the cricketing greats :P.That was thoroughly an overstatement,but then the enthusiasm has reached its teens.The cricket fan in me was in outstanding form.He discussed abt Great Batch with his best fren Shaily.He bunked his classes,only to watch India win a test match.Sounds pretty normal heh...But then he watched the entire 5th day,standing outside a medical shop,in hot,tiring conditionsWatching ball after ball..And many more...Now...as expected,it was THE SACHIN TENDULKAR PHENOMENON again.I still remember the agony causal of every Ricky's six hurting me deep.I can recall the moments of anguish,with tears dropping from my eyes,following Sachin's dismissal.By then,I thought I was a mature cricket fan,that I would never cry after losing a match.But for these peurile emotions...I could not sleep that night...But then,it just happens,that was wat I said 2 myself.Maturity...or defence mechanism..or whatever.

Enter 2007 worldcup,I bet on India and THE SACHIN TENDULKAR PHENOMENON again.

P.S:Sorry,the post was a bit too long.But then,there are three world cups.

Current Location:Teja's room
Current Music:Chinnamma chilakamma(Meenaxi)
Current Mindstate:Excited for today's match.

Looking back in time...

2007-03-05T03:21:00.001+05:30

Well. I’m here, in Kharagpur, bunking classes, with the least amount of remorse ever. Loads of time to reminisce, recall, rewind, and replay all those profoundly fond memories, and in the process rekindling the nostalgic flame deep within. It would seem weird, for an albeit perky guy that I am, to shed a tear drop here and to come up sporting a giggle the very next moment.Yes, that happens. A hodgepodge of emotions that take over your natural self and transport you to those days.

Those days...which witnessed the insomnia I, for that matter we, endured, the punishments we brooked. The fun we had, the ecstasy we shared. God, I really miss those days. Those were the days…when
- I begged my granpa to give me 10 more minutes…so that I could give a happy ending to my dream which for me, seemed to have just started.
- I wanted everyday to be a holiday,really,the puerile feelings seeming to takeover.
- I mistook the overhead flow of the neighbouring water tank, to a heavily raining day that would almost fetch a holiday.
- I rummaged thru my bookrack, to fetch the all-important CLARKS TABLES.
- I had shivers sent down my spine,early in the morning, by the mere mention of the name MADHU
- I played cricket all by myself( at 03:50 early in the morning to counter the intoxication of the medical treatment I underwent).
- I sang RDB’s “Thodi see dhool meri” at the pitch of my voice, early in the morning,not giving a damn to the neighbours,all for the above mentioned reason.
- I accidentally overheard my house owner teaching her 5 year child,”Ppee for Psycho,…the guy downstairs(thazz me (sob))”.( well doesn’t it fit in the context of the above two reasons?)
- I feared all the watches in my house, slowing down by 5 minutes,and thereby getting into the predominant may-be-I’m late complex, everyday,knowing all the way that it is not possible.
- I prayed the almighty, all the way to the institute, to induce Madhusudan,to retain me in the institute,atleast till the next morning.
- I checked, cross-checked and multi-checked with my on-the-way friends to assure myself that my shirt was spartan enough to miss the insinuating eyes of Madhu.The typical conversation used to go like

Me: era naa shirt parvaledhugaa?(hey man!is my shirt okay?)
Fren:needhi parvaledhuraa.naadhe doubt gaa undhi.(lol)(urs is fine dude .what about mine?)

- I gave myself a little pat on my shoulder,each time I successfully cleared the L.O.C.(Lane of control…the passage between the gate and the stairs) untouched.
- I experienced the thrill of chatting for hours in the near proximities of Shankermutt,(on either the NOVA or the DIO,...bikes of two guyzz whom I seriously admire)..which was an adventure in itself, given the incredulous capabilities of the super spies flying all around.
- I could happily escape being caught while blabbering all the bullshit, and remain awestruck at the capabilities of the majestic duo to catch me talking but this time, while I was sincerely clearing a doubt, or cross-checking an answer.
- I felt the surge of a rapturous furore of feel-good hormones when I topped the class, or when I got a positive comment for my answers.

Now, sitting back and trying to decide over what seems to be a perennial quandary between relaxing and working out something,both in a need to enjoy life,I almost everytime,end up throwing myself under my rug and getting lost in these cherished memories,looking back in retrospect at the minutest details even.

Ever yours,
Aghamarshan.

Current location :N-121,Naveen's comp.

Current state of mind:Peaceful.

Current music :None =))

Disclaimer

2007-01-19T01:01:00.001+05:30

This is Naveen posting in this blog...

This blog has been temporarily handed over to me till Aghamarshan finds time again to post. Serious...thats the reason for this Disclaimer.

In fact this must've been made by aggu himself before handing this over to me.

Till the day comes...

It is goin to be Naveen here.

Guys...Can der b a weirder dream?!?

2006-09-27T17:38:00.001+05:30

Lads 'n' lasses;

A few days back,I had de weirdest dream in my life.U 'no I have an xeptional capability to remember my dreams wid a crystal clear sequence of da scenes and actions.Dis really makes life enjoyable yaar...Mayb I'm a little superfluous,but dat is one thingy U can always xpect frm me.

"I awake into my dream.It's nite time.I have 2 walk thru' dis part of da city dat I'm not comfortable in.I'm unwittingly walking at a strangely rapid pace,when I noticed something.Der's someone out der.Right at da other end of dis street.Just da first flash of a faint outline in dis deeply dim lit street sent an apparently stunning shock down my spine.Not dat I'm clairvoyant or something,but I knew frm da setting dat I'm in grave danger by dis guy.The very next moment,we are already involved in a sort of physical combat.My tame punches are obviously nonpareil wid de strong ruddy punches of an apparently seasoned fighter.Two strong blows,I recall both on da left part of my ribs,and I was down on da ground whirling around,whimpering in agony.I'm dying...under da clutches of da ugliest strength.Just as I was trying 2 gather all my energy 2 evade da seemingly inevitable,something even strange happened.

The entire scenario changed as if dreams transcend into newer settings quite often.

"I'm walking thru' one of my most familiar streets,enjoying da cool breeze,one late nite.I'm walking wid no real destination in my mind,as if I have no bloody responsibility in my life.Just as I was kicking past my old house,I saw someone turning around da corner and walking thru' da street,frm da opp. end.Suddenly,I felt some sort of scientific sickness comeover.Not any kind of fear,but a calculative state of mind wid da ugliest intentions.I felt as if da other guy is der just 2 b killed.I hold no bloody personal grudge over him.But God!!!Da thrill of xperiencing a cold blooded murder was certainly dominant.I started running towards him wid all da frantic hooting possible.The next moment,I'm punching him hard on his ribs.Throwing him down,and watch...
What's dis?I'm all upon him enjoying his death,with not an inch of fear for myself.I'm laughing like an insane monster,completely empty of remorse.Huh...I'm killing him.Just as I was pulling out da flickering shades of life from him,I gazed upon his face,in da dimlit surroundings,as if for da first time.Shock......Ironically,he is none else dan...MYSELF".

So...Howzzat.Forgive me if I sounded like one Enid Blyton or crap.But do post ur opinions certainly.

Ever yours,
Aghamarshan.

Well...Sort of a formal intro

2006-09-01T22:02:00.000+05:30

Well guyzz n galzzzzzz;
Dis being my first attempt blogging,things might not still be in da rite places.Tolerance is xpected.

Well.I wud like to start sumthin' up.(Huh..Where 2 start???).Rite now I dont see many options dan starting wid a routine introduction.Well(dis is da 3rd time I'm using dis word,plzz. don't mind)
Hi...I'm Uday Aghamarshan from Vizag,not confined xatly 2 a specific place tho'.I lived 4 4years in Vizag and 4 more in Hyderabad.So,I'm always in a sort of quandary whenever someone asks "Where r U from?".I love both the places very much.Rite now,I'm doing a bachelor's degree in Manufacturing Science in IIT-Kharagpur,West Bengal,India.Well now,may be U will help me in answering da above question.(lol)