ideas.unlimited

Snow

2012-01-21T18:22:00.005+05:30

Read this about snow somewhere:

It's been pissed out of rats, it's evaporated from the skin of the dead, flowed downs the shit-filled river, and at the end of it all, sucked up into the air and showered down on us. It's the sum of every dirty creature that's ever lived.

Yet still so pure?

a) Looks can be deceiving. Nature just proved it.

b) White is not necessarily pure. Suck it, racists.

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Smile on repeat

2010-11-15T19:44:00.001+05:30

I'll be high on your smile,

If you'd only let it extend a mile,

Slowly let it tip-toe into your cheek,

And off your dimple, let it leak.

Ch: If really I could,

I really would,

Oh baby,

You know me,

I'd clean it up and make things neat,

Just to play your smile on repeat.

Come on, fair boy,

Play your demeanor a tad coy,

Loosen that brittle,

And smile a little.

Ch: If really I could,

I really would,

Oh baby,

You know me,

I'd clean it up and make things neat,

Just to play your smile on repeat.

Bridge: If you'd try to put that smile

in your wallet,

I can bet,

I can promise you,

that it'll say, "no can do"

Baby, my billionaire,

Do that thing, that makes me stare.

Ch: If really I could,

I really would,

Oh baby,

You know me,

I'd clean it up and make things neat,

Just to play your smile on repeat.

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Perhaps.

2010-11-12T18:14:00.000+05:30

Perhaps I should let it all go,

watch you like a performing art.

Art is so abstract

it won't change its way.

It's the power of a label,

a catalyst to digestion:

a crutch by you,

a faint placebo

letting you last.

Then you can without restriction,

like a bird spread your wings,

play out our colour.

It will atleast look beautiful like a rainbow,

just out of order.

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You make clichés look good

2010-02-13T16:49:00.000+05:30

When we lie,
Under a usual blue sky,
We don't see,
Clouds of cotton candy,
'Cause you've caught my eye,
Like a diamond in the sky.

With you,
Nothing is done before,
The things you do,
Keeps me coming back for more,
And I always wonder how you could,
Make clichés looks so good.

Scented love letters might be sweet,
Attempts made to sweep me off my feet,
Instead I turn red,
When you write love letters in my head.

With you,
Nothing is done before,
The things you do,
Keeps me coming back for more,
And I always wonder how you could,
Make clichés looks so good.

Chocolate kisses on my cheek,
Indeed make my knees go weak,
But it's the sweet stain,
That yearns to remain,
For you to lean over,
And give me that love fever.

With you,
Nothing is done before,
The things you do,
Keeps me coming back for more,
And I always wonder how you could,
Make clichés looks so good.

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Vogue-d

2010-02-13T16:41:00.001+05:30

Her soft curls hang loosely over a bare shoulder, the nude chiffon wraps tightly over her bosom, falling free, subtly accentuating each curve. As she waltzes in her relaxed shallow wedges, the soft sun sweetly falls over her fruity face.
She’s the summer of ’10. Gentle prudery. Très chic.

Be a Marilyn Monroe in the summer breeze. Adorn yourself with a second skin that almost doesn’t let you feel it. Employ the beauty of georgette and chiffon that read comfort and sophistication. Add sheer fabrics to décolletage and bring hemlines down. Peek-a-boo sheers, sleeves and more modest, less revealing cuts are what we now see.

Before reminiscing on the summer of ‘69 do away with the print and go easy on the palette. With blush, bronze, rose, and sheer fondant hues, make your attire your new complexion. Do not forego white or black. They are and always will remain the new Black. However, if you still have memories of a usual bright and zippy summer left behind, thank Michelle Obama. Mimic the first lady’s citrus tones.
If there’s anything to load yourself with, it’s got to be sunscreen. Touch it up with peach cheeks and a clear fruity smile.

When the sun is asleep; mirror her (especially if you made a pass on the child-bearing hips): Over sexy lingerie, pull up a curve-fond, high-waisted skirt, and club it with a tucked in, fitted shirt. Sensually button down a few and slip on those Manolo pumps.
With variance in texture, ranging from a fitted Edwardian ruffled shirt, to a smooth hugging skirt, you’ll be the apple of everyone’s eye.

Skeletal size 0s, should decide to hide away in a closet and doughnut their way up a size. Layering is gone with the wind of winter. Asymmetric drop drapes, ‘60s A-line shift dresses and strangely roomy jumpsuits is now the zephyr that is blowing.

With the sun shining overhead, battle it out and strut your shine too.

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Rock-a-bye

2009-12-26T23:20:00.002+05:30

If you've been thinking about us,
Together on a dream bus,
I will not wake,
You up to a heart ache,
It won't be fair,
To re-live your dream as my nightmare.

We will only be,
In another world,
You and me,
When you curl,
Up and sleep,
Dreaming so deep,
So, just rock a bye baby

Your eyes are closed,
In a love struck doze,
Hopeful yet lovely,
Don't make it ugly,
Waking up to,
Where there's no place for me and you.

We will only be,
In another world,
You and me,
When you curl,
Up and sleep,
Dreaming so deep,
So, just rock a bye baby

Here is this lullaby,
Bidding you goodbye,
To a world of dreams,
Where everything seems,
About you and me,
Because it's going to be better than reality.

We will only be,
In another world,
You and me,
When you curl,
Up and sleep,
Dreaming so deep,
So, just rock a bye baby
Rock-a-bye
Rock- a -bye..

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More than just a cliché

2009-09-14T20:13:00.001+05:30

More than just a cliché
Mute teddy bears,
Gold wrapped Godiva,
Are too far
to speak my love out,
If you wonder what it’s all about,
Decipher it baby, it’s not bizarre.

Just you and me,
we’re meant to be,
But these lines are
too easy for my guitar,
‘Cause we’re more than just a cliché.

Candle light,
and a plate for two,
It’s nothing new,
A bottle of wine
‘Oh will you be mine?’
Seems like déjà vu.

Just you and me,
we’re meant to be,
But these lines are
too easy for my guitar,
‘Cause we’re more than just a cliché.

Paper hearts,
Candy floss, red roses et al,
is so plastic - Barbie doll,
I’ll pour some sugar on you,
not sickly sweet and the overdo,
Just enough to know, that I’ll catch you when you fall.

Just you and me,
we’re meant to be,
But these lines are
too easy for my guitar,
‘Cause we’re more than just a cliché.

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?

2009-08-13T20:47:00.001+05:30

If lovers live forever,
are you and I immortal?

Would you bloom at night
if the sun was out?

Why isn’t it ever understood that birth control helps saving the unborn from this world of filth?

If less is more -
Why aren’t you ever satisfied with the green on your side?

Do windows suffer
from an inferiority complex when they see a door?

If no two finger prints match,
Have you checked to believe so?

Do the sheep feel cold
when you’re wearing a sweater?

When your mouth waters with lust,

can you still taste my love?

Why is there racism
if black makes a statement?

Is the lipstick on your collar - a message
for me, or just plain ignorance?

Why would you give my heart an ailment
when my blood is so pure?

If I play dead,
will you play mourn?

If I sleep with you,
will you call me your virgin tomorrow?

Are you a sadist
if you smile at a rainbow’s perpetual
frown?

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It's been yesterday

2009-08-11T18:08:00.001+05:30

Melancholic dampness -
a sponge as her front
covets her expected.
The expected.
Her prerogative snatched,
she sits aside.

Through the valley
of her shuddering limbs,
recoiling in pain
her purblinded eyes
notice the pestle:

In the corner
a sacrificial beast awfully de-hearted,
silently lime-lit,
stoning the leaves.
Treacherous leaves.

A poisoned palette leaves her be.

From womb to Welkin
unswerving she leaves.
with the leaves.

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July

2009-07-31T15:29:00.021+05:30

The blue above
forming July sky.
Summer harvest,
bliss.
Feathered flock ripple 'round,
sheepish smiles being bare.
Warm horizon,
He watches.
Toil,
toil away.
He watches composed.
At Us his keen eye falls.
Hack, sweat and fruit.
Yield in the yellow
the glow sets us away.
For it is Us who stomach
June, July or October.
A furnessed cringe sees to Us
as We tick around the ring.

Poetry should..

2009-06-30T22:31:00.001+05:30

I loved the read. Try it.

When in public poetry should take off its clothes and wave to the nearest person in sight; it should be seen in the company of thieves and lovers rather than that of journalists and publishers. On sighting mathematicians it should unhook the algebra from their minds and replace it with poetry; on sighting poets it should unhook poetry from their minds and replace it with algebra; it should fall in love with children and woo them with fairytales; it should wait on the landing for 2 years for all its mates to come home then go outside and find them all dead. When the electricity fails it should wear dark glasses and pretend to be blind. It should guide all those who are safe into the middle of busy roads and leave them there. It should scatter woodworm into the bedrooms of all peg-legged men not being afraid to hurt the innocent or make such differences. It should shout EVIL! EVIL! from the roofs of the world's stock exchanges. It should not pretend to be a clerk or a librarian. It should be kind, it is the eventual sameness of contradictions. It should never weep until it is alone and then only after it has covered the mirrors and sealed up the cracks. Poetry should seek out pale and lyrical couples and wander with them into stables, neglected bedrooms and engineless cars for a final Good Time. It should enter burning factories too late to save anyone. It should pay no attention to its real name. Poetry should be seen lying by the side of road accidents, hissing from unlit gasrings. It should scrawl the nymphomaniac's secret on her teacher's blackboard; offer her a worm saying: Inside this is a tiny apple. Poetry should play hopscotch in the 6pm streets and look for jinks in other people's dustbins. At dawn it should leave the bedroom and catch the first bus home to its wife. At dusk it should chat up a girl nobody wants. It should be seen standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, on a bridge with a brick tied around its heart. It is the monster hiding in a child's dark room, it is the scar on a beautiful man's face. It is the last blade of grass being picked from the city park.
-Brian Patten

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The CLove Story

2009-06-23T00:48:00.000+05:30

It was almost as if she held a bonsai sun in her hand. It glistened with a traditional touch and a rather incandescent glow. For her, all that glitters was gold. A tepid smile left her face as the pretty pair of earrings glanced back with antiquity. Crestfallen inside, she lay it down on the counter.

Were somethings just not meant to be?

Flushed cheeks and teary eyes kept her committed. There was no letting go after coming this close. Her patient sister-in-law carefully pushed the tiny black spice into her ear as she shuddered in pain. An old aunt while picking out thin-stemmed cloves, yarned into a story about a detailed account on ear hole caretaking during her childhood.

Pushing, pain, cream and clove- it was finally in her ear. Those earrings had no better place than on her ears she thought.

Hopefully it is just a matter of a week that I’ll have to fit spices in my ears until they’re ready enough to entertain thick stick antique jewelry.

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I'm changing.

2009-04-20T01:08:00.001+05:30

Give me some privacy.

Ignorance is not bliss.

2009-03-21T20:01:00.005+05:30

This afternoon I sent out a simple text message to my whole address book;
“Have you got your voters ID yet?” And the ghastly replies I got completely mortified me.

“No, why?” was the most common reply; which got my blood boiling at two stages. At first when I saw the ‘No’, and then again at the ‘Why?’

“No.” this brutally honest, undaunted answer, isn’t going to answer any of your questions that sound like, “Why can’t the government do anything about the potholes?” or “Why can’t the government ensure more security to avoid moral policing?”
Who are you asking? The government? Which government? The one YOU didn’t vote for?

And, “Why?”
No, really, was I just asked that by 90% of the people who replied? If you’re living in an opaque, soundproof bubble, you are excused. It’s surprising how oblivious educated, up town residers can be.
With the elections round the corner, and the ceaseless, persistent awareness campaigns going on like Lead India and Jaago re, you really have wild courage in you to ask a question like that.

If you’re one of those inexperienced citizens of India who think the procedure of getting a voters ID is difficult, let me enlighten you to know that it’s not.

1. Print out Form 6: http://209.85.175.132/search?q=cache:zUpSqga9VCQJ:nchills.gov.in/FORM6.pdf+form+6&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=in&client=firefox-a

2. Fill it up and submit it to your Electoral Registration Officer, who will give you Form 001 to fill up.

3. Go to your Designated Photographic Locations (DPL) and get your photograph clicked and voters ID made right then.

Tip: Go around 6.30pm to get your photograph clicked if you aren’t passionate about waiting in queues.

Of course, I will have to consider the some of you who are of the stubborn, undutiful citizen kind: all your silly debates against voting, are only going to improve your futile argumentative skills; a sweet suggestion would be to bin them.
You know deep down under you are wrong so just go ink that finger.

p.s: Visit www.jaagore.com

1 2 3 4 5 6 7. lost.

2009-02-21T20:04:00.003+05:30

'One Family, one child. Horn OK Please.'
Twiddling my thumbs, lost as ever-
third eye blind.
Four and square- let's rewind,
lend me a hand,
I'm outta my sixth sense.
Be the seventh wonder, show me who you are.

Advice: Don't loaf on this lane

2009-01-27T19:12:00.004+05:30

This filthy, all-purpose lane is a total attendance grabber. With a whiff of freshly squeezed orange juice and the sound of motorcars and the buzzing of bees, the busy latecomers who return from the sight of locked classroom doors grab a warm cup of coffee or a refreshing plate of cut fruit. These groups of rejected women gather around the dirty footpaths engaging in their lengthy, chitter-chatter early morning rants.

The now faded orange juice aroma is usurped by a cow who decided to do her perfumery business for the day, swishing her semi wet tail as if the cool wind were her natural hair/tail dryer. Insistent flies of course find their daily hub as Mrs. Moo moves on to house many more of them.

Vegetable sellers, turn on their vocal chords for the day screaming reasonable prices despite the heavy recession. Pharmacies burst with fresh orders of pregnancy tests, tampons and contraception as the cafes clear up the half finished idly’s and the left over sambar bowls, in the midst of planning lunch menus for the day. Cars and bikes hustle their way through a measly path flooded with living creatures the size of a fly to an enormous cow and everything else between them.

I took myself here on hearing that the shortest route to the other side of the road would be through this lane. It's certainly not the shortest route of most pleasant sights, sounds and smells.

Newest found way of submitting my assignment

2009-01-22T22:52:00.003+05:30

Dear Mrs. Ramesh,

I have lost your email id, so I thought that this is the next best way to submit my assignment (in time) since you want a soft copy. Sorry for the inconvenience.

This is the sci-fi flash fiction. (Not from the movie)

“No. 90X4P to Earth: !, No. 90X4P to Earth: !” as this resonanced in his head he was blinded by the ultraviolet white light, a distant yet close blurry image of a cyborg with a chemical smile and an unusually luminous reflection of himself.

There were T-200 seconds left, the clock beeped in a niggardly fashion. Making a choice, for someone with a deficiency of decision-making skills was pressure beyond comparison; especially when his world might have to come to an end.

Did he envisage a new and updated Mathew 2.0? Or was it easier to be reduced to dead chemical matter in a fraction of a second? Struck with an internal conflict of feeling futuristic and frustrated with his life, Mathew felt his brain cells being braised by various thoughts.

He rewinded a 1000 years ago : 2000 AD, when life had a close to definite span and mankind couldn’t alter the living hour. He regretted how technology had fabricated itself into a whole new evolution. His past played in his head as if it went by in the speed of light; he vaguely remembered the concept of love- how he fell in it and out of it, his mundane monotonous schedule and a handful of random important events.

His anti-intercourse, unsuccessful 2-week-old invention Xilo lay in the corner diseased by a rare morphined coma. “No. 90X4P to Earth: T-100 seconds.” A little more than a minute and he would walk into his future. Mathew looked into the shadow of the radiant UV ray and saw Xilo who was deprived of assistance. Without anymore thought processing he took a confident step into his reflection. In a flash he felt a passionate tug. He turned 360 looking for the source of the tug and instead saw an awakened Xilo spurting the ever-lethal Xenonian Ammoric elixir over the cyborg. His eyes strained to capture the supersonic action of the cyborg disintegrate into shreds and magnetically transport its self towards the moon. “Xilo! My son!” he screamed with intense exhilaration and shock.

Don't bother decoding.

2008-12-11T17:03:00.004+05:30

4:36:21 PM Beauté: Yes sir, how may I help you?
4:36:53 PM Superchrist: 2 double veg burgers,1 coke and some fries
4:37:00 PM Superchrist: please
4:37:25 PM Beauté: Veg burgers? No can't do.
4:37:42 PM Superchrist: just pray to me baby
4:38:14 PM Beauté: .. Amen.
4:41:41 PM Beauté: Okay, now go climb the sky
4:42:02 PM Superchrist: im alredy on the subway to venus
4:42:48 PM Beauté: Pick me up? I'll wait at Marrianna's trench.
4:43:25 PM Superchrist: o...im going via guernsy city at shoreside vale
4:44:15 PM Beauté: Do a sweet favour and buy me bubblegum toes.
4:44:47 PM Superchrist: alright honey if it removes your woes
4:44:57 PM Superchrist: but dont act like those other whores
4:45:12 PM Superchrist: they work at those petty lil stores
4:45:22 PM Superchrist: beside the bayline shores
4:45:33 PM Superchrist: pretty little diddy snores
4:46:44 PM Beauté: No, no, my child, the possible is impossible.
4:48:03 PM Superchrist: and vice versa
4:48:40 PM Beauté: Praise the lord, halleluiah
4:49:09 PM Superchrist: its hallelujah btw
4:49:20 PM Beauté: Jah Jah

x

Jet: Ugh. I feel so allergic to boys right now it's not even funny.
Tess: Why?
Jet: They're like foreign creatures invading our territory who don't even look or smell good.
Tess: Any specific foreign creature?
Jet: No, the whole testosteron race. Ofcourse, exceptions aren't forgotten.
Tess: Say more;
Jet: Pulse.

x

In a magnitude of a minute.

2008-12-11T16:31:00.004+05:30

I am going. going. gone
I remember the way back
Now it's calling me back
Once I crawled to the otherside of the world.
I wish for under the trees and beyond the stars

I am an addict.
I remember nothing before that
Now I want new shoes
Once they were full and I tripped and fell.
I wish for two glass bottles and a shoe.

I am inner-national *strong american accent, pun intended too*
I remember concrete scenary and calling lights
Now London's my new fascination
Once I lived life l.u.x.u.r.y.
I wish for NYC, Paris and Rome!

I am Chewing.
I remember the betrayal
Now I still don't trust it.
Once I never trusted bubblegum.
I wish for pink, pink bubble gum.

I am Possible.
I remember my vague interest for it
Now it isn't.
Once the impossible was possible
I wish for frozen fire and boiling ice.

I am blind to green.
I remember something sow dead, someone sow seed.
Now I suffocate trees
Once I was suffocated by trees.
I wish for green.

Fish faux pas

2008-07-28T19:16:00.008+05:30

As I swim through a vast ocean of rather pleasing (or displeasing) sights, I wonder to myself why the sea is devoid of a fairly forgotten necessity- Sunshine.

Is it because of the lack of light that the fish sport such blasphemous garbs?
Or maybe it’s the brine that seeped into their brains through their ears.
(notice how fish either don't have or have very little of those.)

Lost in a school of red headed trouts, I fin my way through with a false stitched tongue while I get nudged by smelly tricoloured sharks. Green stripes on orange, and brown scales clubbed with purple swim by with confidence and agility. Jostled by a pink spotted carp and a few fluorescent hakes breathing down my neck, it makes me spit the salty taste out.
Of course the bright yellow clown fish do what they’re famous for- Blind me.

On second thoughts, blinding clown fish can be forgiven for the disastrous sights they offer to hide from me, but when an eye piercing… *never mind*

Comes up for air.

Deep down under, where pretty corals and breathtaking inhabitants lie, happens to be one of natures most appreciated assets and I on the other hand, look at it as hideously ugly and a ghastly sight?

You're now invited to my mind of girls called fish while Marianna’s trench remains a Beaute.

"You've got mail"

2008-07-10T23:39:00.005+05:30

Red and stout, alone on the kerb,

His mood never screamed; Do not disturb.

Ever waiting, with black lips open,

Looking out for passerby's, men or women.

Hungry forever, he looked for a bite,

Alas, he ate something I write.

For years he stood and gobbled my thoughts.

Zilch as an output for inputs as lots.

No. 201, Archbald street,

"You've got mail" the postman bleat.

Drowned in the soup of curiosity,

I ran eagerly to my serendipity.

I stared at the envelope,

With optimism and hope,

*pinch* I couldn't be dreaming,

Even if I was I wouldn't try waking.

I finally drew myself to the glue,

Unaware of its origin from where or from who,

I grasped it tightly, a firm hold.

My impatient fingers ripped the fold.

Shell-shocked, I dropped it on the ground,

The sight of the sheet made me drown.

I rubbed my eyes and hastily blinked,

Reality bit me, not a word was inked.

The memory of what has been and nevermore will be.

2008-04-06T18:41:00.005+05:30

I'm done with school. I graduated. 14 years couldn't have gone faster.
Yesterday was a swell occasion- My graduation. A speech from the chief guest totally touched my heart. She quoted from a speech by Mary Schmich that was never delivered. Here are a few words.

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at the photos and recall how fabulous you really looked at the time. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing gum. Real troubles are apt to blind-side you at 4 p.m. on an idle Tuesday.

Do one thing daily that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Remember compliments, forget insults.

Keep old love letters. Throw away old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't know what they want to do with theirs.

Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself or berate yourself too much. Your choices are half chance, like everybody else's.

Dance.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone.

Be nice to your siblings. They're the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. The older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Travel.

Accept these certain truths:
Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And then you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Star studded stamp paper?

2008-02-17T12:00:00.008+05:30

The great leaders who now sit up in the galaxy as stars and planets as children say, are not the stars I refer to. Mahatma Gandhi and Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, true legends who currently have themselves on stamp paper, now seem to have competition with faces that should hide with humiliation at the thought of being placed in the same league as them.

The postal department is proposing to bring out ‘stars’ on stamps. Shahrukh Khan, Sachin Tendulkar and Sania Mirza are the desired few.

First it’s Mahatma Gandhi and his contemporaries, and before we know it, we skip a couple of decades worth of people, and decide to print these young achievers who look like toy cars in front of the former legends who appear as SUVs, placing them side by side.

Sorry, did I miss something, or are we forgetting to consider a few individuals who live/lived in the shadows of an India that shines so bright now? A few to name would be Amartya Sen, Baba Amte and MS Swaminathan.

Youth icons, famous and fan-followed, but are they worthy enough to be printed on paper that will be traveling world over representing our country?

Standing proud at Madame T’s having bagged a couple of awards such as the Padmavibhushan and Padmashree, still appears as a trail of minute ants to reaching the high set standard of being printed on stamp paper.

This whole process being aimed at philately doesn’t say much about our thinking. “Philately is being pushed on the young to promote awareness and national culture” says TOI.

Sania Mirza sitting on a stamp provides us with a great deal of culture? I’ve turned the imaginary stamp in all angles, and I still don’t see it.

Addicted to our taste of pungent curries, we Indians tend to add spice to everything that flies past us, now that list includes our post.

What next? Currency with the face of Aishwarya Rai Bachchan? To promote employment?

Love at levels

2008-02-15T01:57:00.013+05:30

14^th Feb, Marine Drive, Bombay

A posh villa set off the beach, where the cool breeze enters the bedroom waking her up with drops of sunshine on her face.

9 am (IST): She wakes up and gets into a warm, bubbled tub. *The phone rings*. She picks up the bath receiver.

Husband: Good morning my Honey bun, sugar plum, Happy Valentines Day! How beautiful is my love looking today? I love you baby from the bottom of my heart. I can’t wait to see you.

Wife: I love you too baby, wish you the same. *Hangs up*

Slips on a pair of suede Gucci pants and leaves the room smelling like Versace, flipping on her new diamante glares from Dior.

Walks down a wide spread staircase and sees: The living room decorated with white and red roses. Smiles as the butler leads her to the fine black Audi RS 6 parked the in porch outside.

A chauffer dressed in white, with golden buttons down his chest, drives her to the airport, while she stops on the way picking up a greeting card.

She boards the flight, and flashes her credit card to buy her husband an expensive tie from the on flight shopping card.

14th Feb, Champs Elyesse, Paris

2 pm (CET): Hugs and kisses her husband.

Husband: So glad you made it. I was so held up with work, I put a 100 Crore deal on waiting for you Love.

Wife: *Smiles superfluously*

He hands her a diamond studded brooch over the expensive lunch they have and she gives him the tie and card.

They fly to Tokyo and are right in time for dinner at a posh Sushi bar.
*Goodnight kisses* and Sweet goodbyes.

XXX

14^th Feb, Bagepalli, Karnataka.

4 am: The flame burns bright as meek fumes of carbon monoxide fill the room, the lean cow is being milked and hot tea is being boiled, tantalizing the room with soothing fresh fragrance. She simultaneously packs dried jowar rotis for her husband as Tiffin.

Husband: Good morning, another tiring day approaches, hope all your love is being put into those rotis you’re rolling.

Wife: Yes my Love, come home early.

Husband smiles, gulps the tea and leaves.

The day goes by, the wife walks two villages to draw water as there is a drought in the village of Bagepalli. She faints on the way back; a few villagers help her get back home. The word is spread and reaches her husband in the fields.

As the sun goes down, the husband rushes home as the sick wife disappointingly awaits her husband with no water in her pots.

Husband: *leaning by the rugged mattress his wife lies on* I heard you fainted today, are you okay now?

Wife: Yes, I went to draw water, because I know you always come home thirsty.

Husband: I don’t need the water, when you speak such sweet words and make loving efforts to comfort me. That’s enough to quench my thirst.

Wife: *Smiles genuinely*

Husband: I got you this rose. 10,000 roses were exported this morning to the city. Something big is happening all I heard was; “A day to give roses” Thought you would like this.

Wife: Thank you. *Puts the rose in her hair as he compliments her.*

They feed each other a salty soup of vegetable peels with dried bread and contently get a good night sleep.

XXX

Love is the most beautiful thing that can happen to someone. It can be glamorized and expensive or it could just be an exchange of a few salty sips of soup between two lovers. Special words and actions do it all. It’s just how one makes it special for another, and how the other appreciates the special-ness.

Happy belated Valentines day!

Brain Dump.

2008-02-09T22:41:00.000+05:30

You've met me, its time you meet my alter ego. He’s Dave. He begged me to put up some of his thoughts. It might just not get across to you too well. Its just this thing we have going on.

Over to you Dave.

Mood: Fractured

Still. The land is still. Not a soul stirs. All is stoic. Lifeless is the trend. The dancing silence in the air plays a constant drill, jarring in my ears with the quiet insignificance.

My mind ponders along the coast of my sea-bedded thoughts, where motives play fierce waves that resemble those of running horses. The gush and force hit the softness in the sand leaving a trail of wet clumps and dry moulds.

Into the den, the hearth of my mind space sits a beaute of a silhouette in a vintage posture feeling the kindling fire fill the chamber of introspection.

d.i.s.r.u.p.t.e.d.

The sullen media of breath was intervened by the constant distraction of a mental bulb.

blink on. blink off. blink on. blink off.

An idea so bright, incandescent, yet so inconsistent. The inconsistent consistency of my musings caused a strange reincarnation of a very significant insignificance.

blink on. blink off. blink on. blink off.

Daily delayed deadlines and other depressors

2008-02-06T11:50:00.001+05:30

Bangalore: The city seems to be on full transformation. Cutting down of trees, to sprouting bridges, all happening simultaneously is a curse to busy Bangalore residers.

Although broken promises hurt the most, no north Bangalorean is unaware of it. The sights and sounds on the busiest road this side of town are more than an inconvenience to daily travelers.

The BBMP initiated a project at the Cauvery Theatre junction of a new-to-town structure called the ‘magic box underpass’ it is a device that has been applied previously in Malaysia. It’s cost effective and uses pre-casted blocks. Most importantly, the construction is not too time taking.

This 65m underpass was proposed with a head turning completion period of 72 hours. The anticipated date flew by in no time and now it’s almost gone into a month, still being incomplete. Everyday the date is extended. If not 72 hours, it would be nice to see it completed by 72 days at least.

The other day, I decided to go pay a visit to the Bob’s of Bangalore. Apart from the ongoing details of work at the construction site, a few other sights moved me to writing this post.

What I saw:

The Construction workers

¨ Dressed in cheap shirts and trousers, and a few bare feet didn’t say much about how developed we are as a country. Working with and under heavy and dangerous machinery such as cranes not a single man at work out there had a construction hat on. What ever happened to the whole scene of yellow bobbing heads at work? This could be highly detrimental for these unequipped workers.

¨ If the underpass is to be built within a tight interlude 72 hours, we can’t have only seven men accomplishing it. The sight was crowded. Not with construction workers but with policemen and city gazers.

¨ Mobile phones: I really didn’t think I would ever see this happening. Out of the above mentioned 7 workers, 3 would be conversing on a mobile phone. Dhiru Bhai Ambani surely did a great job of providing literally everyone with a mobile phone, but everything has a catch to it remember?

The sprit of the onlookers

I happened to over hear a conversation between a cop and a passer-by and my heart raced with poignant patriotism but I decided to keep quiet and now I regret it.

Middle class worker: 72 hour long joke sir, don’t you think?

Cop: *laughs* I would be surprised if our Indians can plan it out in the span on 72 hours, let alone building it.

Middle Class worker: We’re truly unfit and lack skills, no one works properly, its pointless watching Indian blood at work, let’s just pray that after it’s done it doesn’t collapse over our bones.

Ouch. Then why claim, ‘East or west India is the best?’

A tough blue choice

2008-02-05T16:15:00.000+05:30

2008 has something really exciting for the US of A. The presidential elections, an event that no other can supersede.

The Blues are in a fix and the Reds seem to lag behind.

The democrats have a choice of their all time favourite prejudices- Barack Obama, an African American and Hilary Clinton- A nightmare of a male chauvinist. Really left feeling ‘blue’ are we?

On the other side the Republican boys, John McCain, Mitt Romney and Mike Huckabee seem to have created a lower league for themselves almost as if they’re allergic to newspapers already. Buck up boys.

Who will the Americans choose? A woman? Or a black? It’s a tough race, a hard competition. As for the current status on the polls, Hilary has her loyal support of white males, women and union members. As for Obama, he has managed to cut across race and gender and appeal young voters.

Obama, my personal favourite seems to have an upper hand over here. He’s young, influential and not really ‘black’. Sounds like rubbish to you? Well, it’s like this- His father is African and not black American and this disparity apparently makes the white Americans deal with them differently. However, in the end it’s all about what you see- Colour.

‘Obama, the first black president of the United States’ – A headline quite likely to be seen by this coming November.

With his concept of the ‘boomer’ generation (who sapped USA into wars at one time), he sculpts Hilary to be just ‘so yesterday’.

In this race v/s gender contest, is it going to be the ‘First’ lady returns or a ‘black’ to the ‘White’ House? Let’s wait and watch, until then, all hail irony!

L o v e . f i n d i n g s

2008-01-23T13:31:00.000+05:30

Sometimes when you are in love.. or rather when love is in you, when it over takes all you have and you see no other but that one person. That same one person sits in your head all day- when you wake, when you step, when you dream. When every breath is being bound with that one person in your heart. Soon it begins to gain monotonous momentum but you’re so lost in it, you can’t even tell. When you can presumably begin to tell is when it all comes crashing down. Down, down... too much of a fall. Never like before, inducing pain slowly causing a breakdown of hydraulic forces. Drowning with thoughts, in an ocean so vast of instincts, perceptions and delusions.

Perceptions… the things I see, are they really what they are?

When you’re inebriated by love, you see nothing else, and believe the best of what a belief can be. It’s something so special. It’s food for the heart- Intoxicating, warm and highly invigorating. Analogous to a dollop of hot chocolate that stays on your tongue, slowly melting until all your senses are aroused, leaving the flavour to last forever.

Just as too much chocolate is bad for your bod, this imaginary love fluid your heart has been downing is no good if one fine day you wake to reality. However, the recipe for it is seasonal.

Love Fluid

Ingredients: A handful of unknown smiles with raison d'être
Perception in felicity- to taste.

Method: Cream the mixture slowly until smooth in texture, close eyes, dip finger in batter, lick, smile, and wonder why.

This love fluid that I have been feeding on, in simple decoded diction, is just an image crafted by one’s self. It’s an effortless mental picture of the person that resides in your head. It may or may not be in sync with the person. Usually it’s your own belief; it’s an image that you create for that one soul, who you limitlessly infuse with love.

It tastes quite depressing when your bubble suddenly bursts to reality; because you then realize how lost in love you are and that you’ve been loving that image you’ve created by unconsciously forgetting the veracity of the person you began to love. The image remains the same; rain, sun or snow; nothing can overpower this notion in your head.

The person then just becomes an entity, an entity that just gave the Utopian picture in your head life- real existence. Enthralling you from within, making you want to embrace every little detail so that you can never feel devoid of that aura created by that ~~person~~ image.

Did I love the wrong person? Was it really him that I loved?

Winter be gone.

2008-01-21T17:17:00.000+05:30

Winter is winding up; it’s been a harsh one on our skin this time. I’d like to acknowledge my dear darling necessities for keeping my outsides supple as ever.

With the talk of dry, flaky and chapped exteriors, count me out on it.
My ever-loyal, skin loving, two things I absolutely can’t do without, have made me love them more this January!

Soft, glowing, radiant skin in winter is something only achievable with pan-caked layers? You’re getting it wrong; let me introduce you to the duo that works so well together.

Vaseline- Lip therapy with Aloe Vera and the Aloe Vera Body Butter from M&S, two that totally heed your skin.

The Vaseline Lip therapy- This economical pocket sized wonder, is a smooth yet thick textured jelly lured with a hint of aloe.
Just a dab a tad on your index and slide over your lips, before you can lick, you’d have forgotten what chapped lips are.

It works great as a base under lipstick, and as well as a lip gloss too, that takes care of your lips while soothing the dryness out of them.

It just says lip therapy on it, but there’s no harm in exploring a bit is there? Well let me fill you in on some tips;

-For your cuticles, it’s like a 5 minute manicure!

-If you’ve lost your eyebrow pencil, don’t be scared to smear some on!

-Try taking a cotton swab and using it as a base coat for mascara and you’re lashes won’t fall out before you know it!

Lastly, this is one of my secrets I’m willing to share; it’s on par with the Garnier Pimple Control Pen as well!

This Vaseline is not just another lip balm! Apart from the aloe in it, this Norwegian petroleum jelly is to swear by!

As for the body butter, it’s a natural green floral fragrance with cucumber and aloe vera blended with traditional water fruits and flowers. This luxurious body butter puts any other moisturizer out of business.

Tip: It works best on moist skin.

These two body basics, saviors and friends in need, do wonders and make you want to fall in love with yourself (again!) I think it’s the aloe that’s the complete turn on, or maybe it’s just me for being the biggest aloe fan.

Kissable lips and ‘googly woogly woosh’ cheeks, it’s the best that can happen to your husk.

If you still are in the era where diamonds are girls’ best friend, you haven’t met these smoothers yet. Oh and boys, don’t hesitate either, ‘cause I have already made some of my lads pick it up! Equip yourself for winter ‘08 and feel it to believe it!

My new Fetish. Rawr..

2008-01-21T01:08:00.000+05:30

Disclaimer: The content that is being presented is purely only of imitation and not in favour of animal culling. Animal activists, go find someone else to cull.

The prints are on the prowl and looking wilder than ever. Whether its acknowledging a zebra or a big cat, the white and black, or the glowing orange, nothing speaks like a sexy animal print.

No doubt it looks better on a majestic tabby, or a coy looking mule, its harmless if we like to remember them once in a while is it?
When they're hibernating, (although only bears and co. hibernate) just to keep the animal spirit high, these prints are the sweetest aid to doing it.

When you're in for something 'wild', why go to a poorly maintained zoo to see the beasts suffering? Rather just open your wardrobe and strut something on yourself!

A friend of mine the other day, (who hates animal print) called it plagiarism. It was a funny thought at first, but really quite the truth. A tiger should have the all rights to go patent his/her print. But then again, born speechless, let alone claiming rights, they can't possibly even flash a thought.
Well, this is my bit to them -

Dear Animal,
Your appearance has influenced me so much and I love the way you look. You're the trend setter and I take no credit for it. *pinky promise*

Love, Someone who loves your look.

I know thats not going to reach them, but I'm sure they feel loved and looked up at when they see a superior race looking like them.

Don't have a wild side? Want one? Just wear one.

Caffeinated thoughts

2008-01-16T18:31:00.002+05:30

As the season closes up, I decided on my last cup for the cold. Just the way I have it, no different. Sugarless and light.

Strangely so, the bitterness in this cup was never harsher on my palate.
My usual coffee, devoid of sugar that oddly tastes sweeter on another day, was biting bitter. The bitterness spread from my tongue and engulfed me with an aura that sensed the same.

I slowly sipped the hot toxic, feeling every bit of it, burn on my lip, the stub on my tongue, and a pre heat 180° C. Freezing this moment of the furnace down my gulp I let my thoughts run.

It didn’t make me stop. The heat just got to me. Stimulated me.

I always wondered why this stimulating bitter was so un-liked. Now, I felt it. Drawn away from the sugar this time, it was almost sympathetically similar to when a little child’s lollipop drops on to the floor and shatters in to splinters.

The craving rolled along, the caramelized desire felt me now.
Attention: Sweet tooth activation.

Something so simple, yet so complicated, a sugar-less coffee and a sugar-free life.

Well, as my mind clock ticks, it's not all sugar and spice and everything nice- Acceptance of things you can’t change, and no attempts to change things you can’t accept.

Change. We don't like it. We fear it. But we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change or we get left behind. It hurts to grow, everyone who tells you it doesn't is lying. But here's the truth, sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes, oh sometimes change is good. Sometimes, change is everything. - Greys Anatomy

As the coffee level drops, I preserve a memory of the cup as stained as my soul, something that will keep jabbing at my heart for sure, which I am made to reluctantly accept and wash out.

The bitter taste should soon drown in a few more sips of water. The water-works had begun well in advance, and I knew that there wouldn’t be a shortage.

Love me for when I'm here

2008-01-15T00:55:00.000+05:30

Don't let me lose you,
I wonder what you'll do,
When you turn to your side,
And theres no one to abide.

Love me for when I'm here,
Just so close, just so near,
Love me in the moment,
I'm not here to be lent.
Love me for when I'm here,
Because its my only fear,
That when I'm gone,
I don't want to see you torn.

Pause that life, say stop.
Think again and put me on top,
I'm missing some loving I want,
Look at me and free me from daunt.

I'm scared for you darling,
The big bad world, can only sting,
And when you look out,
I don't want to ever see you in doubt.

Pause that life, say stop.
Think again and put me on top,
I'm missing some love I want,
Look at me and free me from daunt.

Its love now, or love never,
Instincts force me to stay forever,
Its true that I miss your smile,
Neither have I seen mine in a while.

Pause that life, say stop.
Think again and put me on top,
I'm missing some loving I want,
Look at me and free me from daunt.

Love me for when I'm here,
Just so close, just so near,
Love me in the moment,
I'm not here to be lent.
Love me for when I'm here,
Because its my only fear,
That when I'm gone,
I don't want to see you torn.

Unlock my smile,
Don't take a while,
Get here on time fast enough,
Smoothen me out, relieve the rough.

Pause that life, say stop.
Think again and put me on top,
I'm missing some loving I want,
Look at me and free me from daunt.

Murder on the mirror

2007-12-30T17:07:00.000+05:30

In the wee hours of dawn,
Was her last glance of morn,
After a passionate night,
She dreaded the light.

The unshaken night, to her own disposal,
The air so dead, the air so dull,
Hand cuffed by sleep,
The darkness gave her license to creep.

Alas, I woke,
Before being completely blood-broke,
The beginning of the end to the bitter sweet involvement,
From the bed to the mirror, that’s how she went.
Bitter to me, sweet for her,
Taking over my body with complete lure.

Soft steps on the biting floor,
My spine felt a shiver before reaching the door.
A mouth wide open, and dreary eyes,
Scarlet fears didn't show as lies.

My eye met eye,
As she settled from her high.
Despite the all-nighter,
She was quite a fighter.

Hovering over my reflection,
With a superfluous sense of affection,
My blink didn't pass her,
In her case- Danger.

Gullible buzz trying for the mirror,
Insensitive to a murderer.
Before those wings could flap,
The me I saw got a slap.
In matter of minutes,
She was reduced to bits.

Scarring me in the dark,
Couldn't trespass as a lark,
Sunrise on my side,
Out in the open, nothing to hide.
She against me,
No referee,
I played her prey and she played mine,
Unaware of her predator in for crime.

Murder early morn,
And a million more born,
That’s the end of her tale,
With no funeral to hail.

Take that sweater off boy!

2007-12-09T01:03:00.000+05:30

This winter, our beautiful city of Bangalore is reminiscent of the frost of the 80's. "Brr.. its been touching 15° C in the day!" I'm the biggest fan of the cold, but I hate to tell all the double-sweater-frenzy-freaks out there, that 15° C doesn't classify as "Brr.. Cold weather".

Okay, if you think I'm some thick skinned girl out there who isn't affected by the Nor'easter, you're getting it wrong. All I'm trying to say is that this ain't no London City. 15° C is here for us to enjoy, embrace and enthrall with. Not to double up on our second skin. Er, not to strip down either. Well girls, you get concession here for another extra layer. Just one more. And boys,

I'm a chauvinist - sue me if you will - but I'm not supporting you on this one.

15° C is not cold enough for a boy to layer up. If you're really feeling that cold, what are we here for? Cuddles don't do harm, they just warm (This applies only for hot boys). And yeah, I know that sweaters look very hot on you boys and all that, but save them for a rainy day or maybe just follow the 5 point rule to sweaters.

Boys should wear sweaters only under these circumstances. So read on and register it.

1) If he's sick - I have a heart, the cold could really make you feel miserable, and besides, sniffing down my throat and mucus up your nose ain't much of a turn on, so rid that sickness outta here right now. You're fever can't get hotter than 105° C, that's too cold or an established 'hot', so sport that jacket on till then.

2) If he's only skin and bones - Your emaciated frame doesn't look hot when I can count the ribs down your m'riff. The sweater/jacket is only going to add some bulk and you desperately need to keep yourself from looking undernourished. Fat boys, you've got a natural sweater to keep you warm- blessed adipose.

3) If he's gay - It's just more acceptable. If he can hold hands with another guy and pass that off, sweaters can't fight that. Besides, a girl wouldn't part with her sweater if he asked for it.

4) If he's sad - If you've just gotten yourself dumped, or sad about something, you could just tell the world with that sweater of yours. When the heart's broken, the chill hits on it more. Its single. Get it? :P *sue me for bad jokes* And boys don't cry, they just wear jackets.

Also see; 3)

5) And of course, the sole purpose of a sweater - if its -30° C outside. My heart would need a sweater if I didn't let go on this one.

Well, you could disagree to agree with me and hate me for being chauvinist, but if the male race out there want to really prove their superiority, here's your chance. Be a man.

Dear Santa,

2007-12-04T23:29:00.000+05:30

Dear Santa,
I've been so good this year. With my grades, I haven't gone lower than a B-, I've been doing a lot of loving and I even helped underprivileged kids. I think I deserve a hot something for Christmas, or maybe more than a hot X'mas present. Well this might come across as greedy, but Santa, its the season to give right? This time, don't get a shock, the list might be longer than usual.
Let me get started with my wish list before its too late, here it is:

1. Reactivate/Connect/Bring him back to life - Please Santa, you're my only hope. God also has either been way too busy lately or maybe he's pissed off with me for some reason, which I haven't found out yet. If Jake is on Mars, make sure he gets transferred back to Earth, If he's in America, fly him back home. *gets down on knees with folded hands* At least for Christmas? You can join us while we get high on spiked plum cake. Take whatever you want back Santa, just get him back!

2.Christmas Couture of course - With the forthcoming exams in my way, theres no way I'll be let out to go shopping. Although, I have a day off to party on Christmas eve, so that means, Princess E needs something new to wear obviously. Its this gorgeous, angelic, white, georgettey-chiffon dress with diamante straps I've been eyeing for a bit. Drop that into my goody bag please. Oh, and to make it to my third pair of silver diamante strappy stilettos, it would be appreciated if that went in too.

3.My drivers license - Its taking forever. Since Christmas is round the corner and I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to get everything done by the eve, please work your magic here too.

4.Love letters - perfumed and pink! [Oh, Santa, don't get thinking already, you're too old for me. I meant, get him to write them for me! :) ]

5.Diamonds! - What's Christmas without bling? This goes without saying anyway, but I consider your old age and fading memory. *sweet, ain't i?* Yeah, so drop more than a trinket in that stocking. After all, when a girl has no gay best friend, diamonds always stick up for her- A girls true best friend.

6.Jake - Or have I said that already?

Okai Santa, I feel guilty for asking for too much, so before I get on the guilt trip, I'll stop. I know you never let me down. Ooooh, how I can't wait. This Christmas will be soo special. 21 days to go!

xoxo, Keep it hot,

P-cess, E

p.s: Don't forget Jake.

College Tutions

2007-12-04T18:09:00.001+05:30

When sociology lessons make no sense, our minds tend to wander off to our near future. - College.
This is a note Chit (my moral police) wrote me. Its cute enough to share, so grab a laugh :)

Lights! Camera'S, Action pending

2007-10-06T02:18:00.000+05:30

On the eve of my 18th birthday bash, I totally cannot sleep and I presume that this piece of writing is just to satisfy me and keep me from frantically jumping around the house like a maniac *excitement outburst!* and not even a peek to my literary skills.

The guest list is marked, ticked and tattered! After all the confirmations, non-confirmations and "might attend" invitees! You guys who are making it are some lucky people out there, and the unlucky ones, I don't know how to feel sad for you, because its that tragic to miss Esha Hegde's partayyy.

Its all about Bikini's, Babes and BBQ! Well its surely going to be hotter than it sounds! *if that could be thought of* Wet bodies that groove to the moon beam, and hot Tikka's to accompany 'em. Well the hotboys playing footie in my head right now seem to be moving that ball too well. Boys, you'll are HOT. DO NOT CHANGE.

And ooh, hot, hot DJ. Hot, hot music. Lights, smoke, and a bunch of grinders! Need I say more?

15 hours to go! Its my night, its a blast.

better.together.

2007-08-25T20:24:00.002+05:30

Cry me some Chocolate

2007-08-16T13:24:00.000+05:30

The dawn stood forever,
When I saw you clutch her,
One hapless gaze,
Faint, faint, oh, haze.

Ch: Can you sight me no more?
I lay here with a heart so sore.
Change this bewitched fate,
And cry me some chocolate,
Oh, cry me some chocolate.

The rain from my eyes,
Were those all lies?
For it burns with torment,
I kept you off the shelf, not to be lent.

Ch: Can you sight me no more?
I lay here with a heart so sore.
Change this bewitched fate,
And cry me some chocolate,
Oh, cry me some chocolate.

My hearts surely bent,
Do you have nothing to repent?
Show me fervour,
What ever happened to the lure?

Ch: Can you sight me no more?
I lay here with a heart so sore.
Change this bewitched fate,
And cry me some chocolate,
Oh, cry me some chocolate.

Melt away… Chocolate,
Not so bitter... Chocolate,
Sweeten my soul… Chocolate,
Love me... Chocolate,
Love me some more... Chocolate.

Chak De, India!

2007-08-16T00:43:00.000+05:30

Ever seen a 60 year old oh-so-fit?
In-demand babe, a magnificent hit.
With her long make-over,
She's drowned more than one lover.
Never looked this charismatic,
Or seemed so energetic,
She continues to fly with colours so bright.
Her saffron glowing skin,
A pure white from within,
And the envious green,
Reflected by every other being,
Progression in every way,
No time to waste, no time to stray,
All hail India!
Oh, Chak de, India!

Happy Independence my fellow race-mates :)

My perfect guy oxymoron

2007-08-01T22:24:00.001+05:30

I wish I could scratch this out and write one name out.

Don't strain those eyes, click on it doofus.

25 things.

2007-07-31T21:09:00.000+05:30

"Make a list of 25 things that you want to do before you die. and keep it with you, wherever you go"
-author unknown

Found this post on another blog, thought I'd make a list too.

So here goes-

1)Talk to a shining star so far. (Okay, this is already sounding like a poem! Ugh!)
2)Get a diamond dust massage.
3)Drink the purest of water straight from a spring.
4)Learn to Salsa
5)Sit in a formula one racer's car.
6)Experience frozen rain.
7)Breakfast in Rome, Lunch in London and dinner in New York.
8)Sleep on clouds.
9)Dance to the song of moonlight.
10)Act in a movie.
11)Float in a bubble.
12)Touch hearts.
13)Save someones life.
14)Walk through a snow willow.
15)Be an idol.
16)Get lost in the dark with someone I love.
17)Ride a tiger.
18)Listen to the sunshine.
19)Kiss a baby's foot.
20)Right now, meet someone. (Sorry not gonna disclose that, that someone who reads this would know.)
21)...
....24)
25)Fly into the clouds and never return.

Leaving some for later. Theres so much more to even think about.

Once upon a time.. A thousand tanks.

2007-07-30T17:08:00.000+05:30

We urbanites, very impressively, concerned about our environment suddenly sprang to take some action.

If you'll are still lost, Hebbal lake is undergoing a face-lift, well a bit more than that.

One of Bangalore's natural lake (not anymore) located in North Bangalore, having an area of 150 acres, is now bone dry.

On this ex-water body, a floating restaurant is soon to be set up. East India Hotels Ltd, the parent company of the Oberoi group, has bagged a contract from the Lake Development Authority in 2006 to “develop” the lake under a public-private partnership.

Oh, new place to chill out at? Yeah maybe. I study at a school where most of the students are against the upcoming of hotel at the now dried up lake. My concern is that why only Hebbal lake? Is it only for the aesthetic value of the lake that we are protesting to save it?

FYI..

The Siddikatte Lake has now become the bustling City Market, Sampangi tank now houses the Kanteerava Sports Stadium, Dharmambudhi is now the busy Kempe Gowda Bus Stand, the Karanji tank is the Gandhi Bazar area, Kempambudhi is now a sewerage collection tank, Chennamma tank a burial ground, Akkithimmanahalli tank is the Corporation Hockey Stadium, Jakkarayanakere is also converted into a sports ground, and the Miller Tank area houses the Guru Nanak Bhavan, schools, and several buildings.

If the only comeback is going to be, we weren't born then to take action? Well there’s another lake towards Yelahanka which is being bought and soon going to be land-raised and Karnataka Chitra Kala Parishad is going to be built on it. I'm pretty sure there are other lakes too that will disappear before we even know it (or maybe we wouldn't).

I strongly feel that only since it’s in the press, there is such a hullabaloo about Hebbal lake. If your the true lake lover out there and is strongly hating me already, go ahead and take action on other shadowed lakes which have not yet entered the process of signed papers, because, trust me, once money is in, nothing will rule over, after all we dwell in a corrupt land.

p.s: Being a Bangalorean, losing another lake categorizes under monotony.

Source: http://www.hinduonnet.com/thehindu/mp/2002/09/19/stories/2002091900780200.htm

My Interrogation for Vision

2007-05-22T15:57:00.001+05:30

Doomed with darkness,
Total Darkness,
My fingers raced down his head,
Soon down his back they begin to tread.
His wild musk aroma lingered through,
As his body grazed mine with a warm touch too.
The music of his heart,
Just told us we couldn't part.
With a gentle lean, he whispered,
"I'm yours, 'lone yours" his deep voice I heard.
My fifth sense hinted me,
That time would keep it me and he,
However content I feel,
I'm actually deprived in real.
An individual essential,
Which could make my existence come to real.
Add a zest to my life,
And efface my strife.
Without true perception,
How I wish i could see my reflection.
I crave for bright sight,
To feel the light,
To perceive some colour,
A dash of jade or a blot of yellow,
Its only and interrogation,
To bless me with vision.

Immolated?

2007-05-22T15:51:00.000+05:30

The thought of life, all of a sudden,
Seemed like a nightmare, and the reality hidden.
Where did truth, faith and sincerity go?
Berried with the bones of the old in the snow?
My brainwaves sometimes signal that these were immolated,
This notion to me can be highly debated.
Immolated? That means theres more in store?
My thoughts truly doubt it, if truth, faith and sincerity have walked out the door.

Horoscope or Horrorscope?

2007-05-21T14:02:00.000+05:30

You may be facing a major crisis at this time. Only your own dedicated efforts will bring about any of these changes you’ve been hoping for. If you are secretly seeing someone a friend may ‘accidentally’ find out and not be able to keep it to herself. This month maybe a little slower than you would like it to be, but keep in mind that this is just a phase that will soon pass.

Sounds familiar? Well yeah, that was off a magazine from the horoscope page.

Read those sentences again, I mean, how diplomatic can one get? ‘Only your own dedicated efforts will bring about any of these changes you’ve been hoping for.’ Since when did someone else’s effort truly pay off for you?

Randomly a horoscope writer (if they call themselves that) just feels that ALL Librans will face a crisis at the same time? Is that even close to believable? We need some serious reality checks here.
And if you are a Libran who's going through a crisis ‘Oh, whatta coincidence!’

Its most common when optimistic things are written about you for the day/month, the human mind is such that it connects to things that have or are going to occur, simply because we are greedy for happiness. Who isn’t?

Another aspect horoscopes talk of is the attempted matchmaking stated. Ariens make good partners with Pisceans, so if your already married to a Taurean and leading a happy life and are convinced by horoscopes, your going to divorce your spouse and go Piscean hunting? Or are you going to live the rest of your life under the shadow of we’re-not-made-for-eachother-no-more. *boo hoo*

Well its another that draws itself down to the matter of faith, if it makes you happy to believe that random words strung together by a bored writer which coincidently might come true. Good luck with life.

In my opinion though, horoscopes are bits of pointless matter written to fill up empty spaces of a newspaper/magazine. They scare me. What are they doing to half the world that believes this baloney? Very scary.

p.s: No offense to jobless horoscope writers who can’t come up with better things to write about.

hooperableduckifyaspectospluteriblecrankox!

2007-05-17T21:01:00.000+05:30

This randomness gets to me often. It rides all the way from the Alps of Singapore where cockatoo’s that fly inside-out and cows with purple stripes dine with pig princesses and psychedelic pigeons. You should try eating with your toes, and always read Shakespeare with your eyes shut. This neat art resembles that of Taekwondoo which is equivalent to the yogic pleasure obtained while running upside down on the treadmill.

fi e’ruoy yllaer derob ekil em, uoy dluouhs yrt gnitirw sdrawkcab, ti yllaer spleh emit og tsap retsaf.

I heard a uncomplicated shade of fish essence that looked like an insane vegan feasting on wilted flowers and batter fried nails tried to attack apple tinted jars of tar with copper sulphate solution and speckled umbrellas. It often makes me curious to know how such comical things occur, sometimes I feel its because of the planetary changes that cracks codes of butter and oranges that need to be squeezed fresh. There is a distant proximity between picnic tables and light bulbs which causes severe insomnia to cameras and chilly beef.

.state sane my to back get and stop I time its manner serious very a in brain my to getting now is This

*Jumps up and down, wriggles and screams “hooperableduckifyaspectospluteriblecrankox!” *

Phew, I’m back.

Faux Fag it

2007-05-15T16:53:00.000+05:30

Flip your fag fixation; launder your lungs, Pursue your pleasure while you keep your health happy.

I was reading the STOI the other day and my eye happened to catch something that read “e-cigarette”. Living in a society of chimneys I made sure I read it and now blog it too.

It’s the Chinese again. The small eyed genius’ take a step to get smokers to stub out of the habit.

They’re new creation is an electronic cigarette, better known as the ‘e-cigarette’, which I quite thought should stand for eco-friendly cigarette. This make- do stick of nicotine has a face of a real cigarette, feels like one and keeps your lungs squeaky clean. For all those who couldn’t kill the craving, now smoke a cigarette without infecting your insides!
That’s what tech brings us by the day.

This battery operated gadget sits in your mouth just as a normal cigarette, glowing away, giving you the taste of nicotine, keeping your local smoke dump trash free. Finally, a perfect father’s day gift.

Willing to pay a whopping $208 for a ciggie? (Now don’t calculate how many you can buy out of that many bucks already.)
Wean yourself out of it, look on the bright side its not going to be cash to ash ever again.

So if you believe that nicotine is the sweetest taste on earth, get yourself a non-toxic fake cancer stick and begin your guilt free puffing.

Its All About the Rain

2007-05-15T14:36:00.000+05:30

Its all about the rain,
Far flung from pain,
Beautiful bliss I feel,
Its all about the rain.

From sky to rock,
I hear her talk,
Softly she glistens on my skin,
Drops of ecstasy she holds within.

Wet at touch,
Never too much,
Its all about the rain.

Wide smiles upon faces,
With the freshness she embraces.
Invincible by birth,
Adept tempt by leaving us with dearth,
I need her immortal.
Its all about the rain.

Take me on,
Drench me down,
Slay me till tomorrow,
Mizzle on me forever.
All so granted,
'Coz its all about the rain.

Cup Controversy '07

2007-05-12T13:01:00.000+05:30

A simple game like cricket, involving a bat, a ball and some existence of using them, the thought of controversies or problem seems non- existent. But after all lets wake to reality- its an English game. Jokes apart, this cricket World cup ’07 played at the Caribbean coast has surely had mixed episodes of good, bad and some ugly ones too.
The positives and negatives are so extreme, some quite unimaginable.
Well getting to the point its been a long 47 days of joy, mourn, good cricket and horribly bad cricket too. A few happenings drew my attention significantly.

To begin with the bad, Bob Woolmer, 59, a former South African player and was the current coach for Pakistan was murdered after the shocking elimination of his team. Although many thought he committed suicide or died of shock, it was reported that he was found unconscious in the Kingston hotel room. He was later pronounced dead at a hospital.
There was a twist in the tale when there were rumors about Pakistan’s bowling coach, Mushtaq Ahmed passing poisoned champagne bottles to the late coach Woolmer.
The PCB suffered a sad loss of an excellent coach and a pure and humble soul.

RIP Bob.

Moving all the way to the World Cup final, the most awaited match, the Aussies created magic again. But this time their magic wasn’t as pure. It was seen that Australia’s highest scorer, Adam Gilchrist was found using a squash ball in his left glove during his play. This acted as a batting aid by preventing the bat to turn in his hand and enhanced the elevation of the bat. This was seen when Gilchrist smacked 8 splendid sixes and 13 boundary belters giving him a total of an accelerating 149.

Obviously the Srilankan’s complained, saying that the use of additional aids ruins the spirit and tradition of the game. But the MCC saw no wrong and approved of it.
Well its too late to complain, the cups gone down under and it has no plans of rising back up.

This World Cup brought out some great talent and entertainment too. A few events such as Herschelle Gibbs 6 sixes of an over and Srilankan speedster Malinga’s 4 wickets of 4 delivery’s literally made us jump out of our seats. And to top it off Australia’s three consecutive World Cup victories. Truly unbelievable.

Last but not least, Goodbye’s are to be said sooner or later. This World Cup we have some really commendable performers retire. Starting of with Inzamam Ul Haq retiring as captain, (Aloo, we’ll miss the “Bismillah-ur-Rehman-ur-Raheem”) and New Zealand skipper Stephen Fleming too.
The King of Caribbean cricket, Brian Charles Lara, and the workhorse for the Aussies, Glenn McGrath have also bid goodbye to the game.

“Come Play!” the World Cup caption I thought was taken a bit too seriously! The game of fate along with the play of cricket took a great turn this time. Wonder what’s in store for the next?

p.s: I am an Indian supporter/fan. The reason I didn’t mention the name of our motherland was because our appalling performance will a) make this post walk its way to the censor board and b) make it boring. It’s broadcasted enough to be read once more. All I hope for is the cup back home next World cup.

Acknowledgments : Avanish Hegde and Sandil Srinivasan for helping me with the factual information.

Race it refined

2007-05-08T15:40:00.000+05:30

Key it in. Rotate 90º E. Kick the accelerator. Fly.

I’m quite late at this, but yeah Honda has launched her recently, she is suave, smooth and powerful, making her debut in India, she’s called Civic. Oh so Civic.

Carries herself with debonair, the look of a mighty face, sleek body and a firm ass, the car is gem-like. Paint her a mighty black, pimp white, slate grey, subtle silver, sky blue or a cherry red she’s a beauty in every colour, every angle.

Like any other normal car, she has four exits, but her other features are surely enhanced. Starting with the striking deck that pumps volume like sub-woofers do, to the blue lit up oh-so-cool digital speed-o-meter she finishes of with a touch of tech.

As for the safety, to prevent locking of wheels during braking, avoiding skids and giving you a good control over the steering wheel, an Anti-lock braking system is loaded.
If you have plans of crashing up you have soft airbags to comfort you while your in a mess.

The car is as its slogan talks- Pure Exhilaration. If you really want style, luxury and perfection put together, Voila! The Honda Civic is the ideal deal for you.

She was too good to resist, so a lovely red cherry sits in my garage. She’s mine.
What you waiting for? Go get yours.

the.place.to.be.

2007-05-08T09:34:00.000+05:30

Wednesday morning, Anjuna Beach, Goa.
Yes, that’s right, I’m talking ‘bout the flea market where cars, children and cows rattle around. From fake tee’s and colourful beads to antiques and shoes, they have it all.

38ºC, Sunny boy’s on your back making you melt, tan and making you want to take the first flight to Alaska. Once you cast your eyes on the vivid show of shops, get ready for a super adrenaline rush. Your feet want to step on every inch of that land while your eyes feast on the variety of colours, shapes, and sizes of different articles you want to pick up.

The endless shops of bright chromatic beads and clothes were my favourite. Big, small, chunky , plain or multi-coloured you name it they have it. Me, a born shopaholic, splurged my way through all along. It was definite that I’d have luggage problems, Umm.. My luggage problem--> I ended up holding 6 extra plastic bags as hand baggage. Yeah that’s me, I’ll shop till I drop. And I mean it.

Anyway back to the talk of the psychedelic shopping spot, this place is made of no cement, motar and brick, all these petty shops are held by sticks and blue plastic sheets or traditional thatched roofs as temporary make- do outlets, probably with a notion of ‘ I-don’t-care- ‘bout-how-my-shop-looks-I-got-some-real-good stuff-to-sell-you.’
Well it works for them and seems to be working for me as well. So what the heck?

The items you buy vary in price, of course according to its composition. If you’re skin happens to be white, don’t be surprised to go home with a hole in your pocket, because those guys behind the beads sure know who to target, a.k.a. The rich holidayers who are half naked dying for a tan usually belonging to the Hommie sect.

On the other hand if you’re a chilled out brownie, don’t hesitate on using /practicing your bargaining skills and tactics. If you’re really good at it, you can take the test by making your way to a whole new outfit at half a grand. Yep, Head to toe, Hat to boot. Don’t think its possible? I did it.
Tip: Begin by quoting half the price.

Baking in the sun as well, the shopkeepers are well aware of pissed-off-at-the-heat customers and before they’re left with nothing sensibly slash down their prices, keeping both parties at glee.

So pull up your shorts, well yeah you could go without them if you wanted and get to Goa ASAP.
Even if you detest shopping *super-sin* and thought my blog was a waste of time, Goa IS the place to be. Fly away.

Keep Me Colourblind

2007-05-08T09:20:00.000+05:30

My first attempt at a song, this is officially now Bunk 14's. Rock it boys.

Keep Me Colourblind.

Strike me with a white crayon,
And only black still lives unborn.
Let my Mondays Grey,
Taking me into a dead black Saturday,
Maybe an optimistic white Sunday morn,
My life needs no colour, free me forlorn,

Chorus:
Oh, keep me colourblind,
With no happiness to find,
Devoid of hue,
One and the same without you.

I see no pretty skies,
With no answers to my whys.
I only feel the blue,
Yes, that’s life without hue,
Without you.

Chorus

The hazel in your eye,
Has said its long goodbye,
You took yourself away,
How I wish you'd stay.

Chorus

Those drops of sunshine,
You were so pretty mine,
A sudden splash of sapphire, A blot of jade,
Those memories will never fade.

Chorus

ideas.unlimited

Snow

Smile on repeat

Perhaps.

You make clichés look good

Vogue-d

Rock-a-bye

More than just a cliché

?

It's been yesterday

July

Poetry should..

The CLove Story

I'm changing.

Ignorance is not bliss.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7. lost.

Advice: Don't loaf on this lane

Newest found way of submitting my assignment

Don't bother decoding.

In a magnitude of a minute.

Fish faux pas

"You've got mail"

The memory of what has been and nevermore will be.

Star studded stamp paper?

Love at levels

Brain Dump.

Daily delayed deadlines and other depressors

A tough blue choice

L o v e . f i n d i n g s

Winter be gone.

My new Fetish. Rawr..

Caffeinated thoughts

Love me for when I'm here

Murder on the mirror

Take that sweater off boy!

Dear Santa,

College Tutions

Lights! Camera'S, Action *pending*

better.together.

Cry me some Chocolate

Chak De, India!

My perfect guy *oxymoron*

25 things.

Once upon a time.. A thousand tanks.

My Interrogation for Vision

Immolated?

Horoscope or Horrorscope?

hooperableduckifyaspectospluteriblecrankox!

Faux Fag it

Its All About the Rain

Cup Controversy '07

Race it refined

the.place.to.be.

Keep Me Colourblind

Lights! Camera'S, Action pending

My perfect guy oxymoron