Friday, June 5, 2009

Roy oh Roy

It beats me!!It does..How god sent talent is wasted,wasted in the intoxication of the inebriating
spirits. Have a look at the likes of jesse ryder,hershelle
gibbs,the master shane warne,they exude talent.Gibbs is a
national level soccer player and symonds aspired to play rugby for australia and the word is he is pretty good at it too.
Not so much of a natural athlete when it comes to warnie,but boy when u can do wat he does by hopping three steps,i swear by almighty,i want to be that way.
Then you have the diligent,who take years honing their game but still, may be,will never match that flowing drive,that ripping leg break.They have to work with whatever little they have.Have a look at anil kumble[with all due respect i can muster in this lifetime],aptly named jumbo,he cannot turn the ball ,so be it,but his untiring,in your face attitude has made him what he is today.A legend , but not the one who will conjure up magic to make me to see the same delivery over and over again with the same unfazed dumbfounded gaze every single time, which i till date do when i have a look at the warnie to gatting delivery.
Juxtapose him with poor ole roy,if talent were the sole criterion he would make the list to the top five without batting an eyelid.Throws a caution to the winds and candy to our eyes when bats,can give the cherry a rip,can bowl medium pace and few are better when it comes to both fielding inside the 30 yards or at the boundary throwing rockets at the wicketkeeper.
But as they say men were not made equal.If talent oozes out,the discipline might wobble.I can never , nor do i think anyone else can explicate this theory.But ryder will keep chugging his fizzed barley syrup , symonds will keep showing the finger to the axioms that define cricket mannersims and warnie will keep scandalizing us with his sexcapades.These are some things which come in packages.Take it or leave it.Well i take it,with both hands open.After all its the bad boys who make the good boys look good ;)

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Sunday ho ya err....

Vicious fires had enveloped me ,I felt suffocated,panting for air, I tried to run but apparently i was no good.what sins had i commited to deserve hell ? Just when i was about to be incinerated to human debris, suddenly a flurry the cacophonic beeps jolted me.After a frantic search operation i saw it was my motorola screaming its batteries out.I opened my eyes trying to embrace the world ,but the poor ones struggled to adjust to the gleaming sunlight and consequently fluttered trying in vain to figure out what exactly was going on.I realised that the makeshift curtain was dangling for its life on the pelmet admitting the most blinding sunlight straight on to my face.The fan hung lifelessly on the cieling as the daily ritual of the 7 a.m power cut 7 had commenced.
I flung my t shirt to one corner and laid bare,trying to teleport my self back to the world of fairies (deepika padukone in my case) again.Just as my eyes shut my brain cells launched an enquiry,why,why did the alarm beep? it signified something,something very morbid.It was the day after sunday.No its got to be a lie ,the heart retaliated , by pounding viciously at my chest from the insides.It was just yesterday,the friday night when i was gyrating in an intoxicated state to "smack that all on the floor ".Duh , Only if saturday and sunday were 48 hours each.Truth had befallen me , my stomach churned, i started feeling sick.The countdown i begin every week had to be reset to 5,the monday morning blues had turned me pale.Resigning to my fate i somehow managed to get the clothes on my zombie like structure with each step demanding a zillion times more enery it demands on friday mornings . To complete the enslavement i put on the leash, a tie which we address as a 'fanda'.
The bike trudged along and i made it a point not to let the speedometer beat the 30 mark.I frequent this activity enroute office,it lets me savour 10 mins of my life but not the embarassement of being late. Not ready to see the piece of celluloid that assigns me work,i decided to dump my self with everything edible available in the food court and at the same time conforming to the chew-your-food-32 times rule.20 minutes and a bloated tummy later i discovered that my misery only got aggravated.Ultimately i convinced myself that there is no more running away and i dragged myself to the hellhole i call my cubicle.
Nerdy rotund masses of flesh were already there smirking , giving me dirty glances reminding me of the sacrilege id commited coming late to their temple.These no-lifes have a pack of cookies and a coffee mug filled up to the brim , eveready on their desk,because may be if they decide to go to the food court , the manager might get hints of their incompetence.They strictly believe doubling the mandatory hours to be clocked is the only way to climb the ladder which is the entry to the managers coveted arse hole.Very smugly yet frivolously one of them mentioned how he had to come both the weekends to finish the work assignedand patiently waited for me to arch both my eyebrows as high as humanely possible symbolizing appreciation coupled with generous scoops of unbelievability satiating him of the superhuman act he had commited.I obliged ,and with a sparkle in his eye,oozing of contentment he got back to beating the dayslights out of the hapless keyborad.
I hesitantly opened the mailbox,fogetting the atheism i preach most of the time and chanting gods name at a rapid rate praying that no work should yet be assigned to me ,after all, like me the rest of the world has also come out from a sunday full of gaiety and are not yet ready to work. Shattering all my self convincing inane beliefs mails demanding the culmination of certain tasks before eod(end of the day)had flooded my mailbox.Umpteen fowarded mails claiming that females wearing the skimpiest of clothings had been captured in them and their degree of beauty till date was unsurpassed .They were begging to be opened , but i persevered,keeping them as a reward once i finished the work assigned.

Update:Its 7 p.m.Lunch was a sad 20 min affair.The pretty females in the mails must be fully clad in nightware ,brutually tired ,waiting for their owner to give them his nod of appreciation, they must be surely asleep by now .The gang of no-lifes are having their 16th coffee break of the day and are in no hurry watsoever to leave,as the last bus leaves at 11 handing them another four hours to complete the work which incidentally, they should have finished the number of times they have had coffee today.I have another couple of hours to freedom and precisly another 12 till my cellphone decides to play the spine tingling beeps again cataplulting me to this world of gruesome reality.

Monday, June 1, 2009

The Butterfly effect

"The idea that one stroke of butterfly flapping could eventually have a far-reaching ripple effect such as a tornado"
The butterfly effect
I had never known the power of this statement till I realized that it precisely sums up my entire life.It was roughly 8 years back when i had scored handsomely in my tenth board but little did i know thatthe butterfly had flapped.I belonged to the elitists who would go on to study amongst many other things, how current flows through a wire, butalas would never know the current flowing through my spine and the rush of blood to the headfrom a soft feminine touch.I would know the answers to the most flumoxxing puzzles that for ages, haunt,but sadly would never know 'what women want'.
The undertaker had answered,the coffin was ready.Whatever little interaction (read:ogling) i had with pretty damsels , came to the most abrupt end,an anticlimax.In the new science class the only distiction between the two sexes to the naked eye was the donning of a trouser versus a skirt.Majority of the female species were monstrously chested (in the x axis notthe z axis) and the amount of hair on their face and legs could put most boys in our class to shame.
Across the corridor ,in the arts/commerce sections awaited life(not for us :( ).'Sexy' used ten times in succesion defined each one of them indivdually.And it was not justtheir flawless eyebrows, glowing skin and the hypnotizing whiffs of perfume when they passed by ,It was their junior school skirts which not only made the 'one inch above the knees' rule look insanely idiotic but also made some of the einstiens in our class actually believe they were from not very well to do families.To top it all was the legend that made rounds about their very malleablemorals and that they are very obidient, obliging to 'whatever' they were told to do.True Story?? I would neverknow.
Believing every syllable mummy said to the tune of 'work hard beta!! youll get what you want',i did!!only if mummy knew all her son wanted was a peek at the ever elusive female anatomy below the necklineand above the knees.After realising that i was a perennial no-hoper i found solace in the desibabas and the tb6 mokbas and an ocaasional late night sun tvs on mute(comprehending the plot of these moviesnever required sound) where voluptious over weight aunties gave intotheir carnal desires and consequently gave 'it' to tom's dick and then harry.I had no such aunty.I put in a lot of hardwork and "single handedly" catapulted myslef to another scolastic achievement,an admit in an engineering college a la the inception of the storm.The college suffered the fate of all other of its contemporaries with the most dismal beauty beast ratio.(who is the beauty and who the beast is very debatable in an engg college)we wudnt have been aysphyxiayted to death had the beauties ever heard of a pantheons called beauty parlourswhich removed the beacons of manliness from them .Salwaar kammezes teamed with floaters,luminous hair due to bucket loads ofcoconut oil,stern beliefs such as washing hair catalyses baldness and facial hair look best when black were some notions carried and subsequently physically flaunted by the "fairer sex".
The few who indeed had some feminine qualities apart from their anatomy were taken up in a jiffyby the ones who owned a bike and rode it and the girl on it with equal ferocity,the studs who scored notonly in the basketball games but also in the after dark games and the coochikoos who could pull the guitar and the g strings with equal panache.What remained was a highly desperate lot of mes and the only string we could pull was the 'nada' of our pyjamas .(Do not ask me for what!!!)
Occasional trips to the city revived our faith in the almighty.The same sinous 'art girl' eyes,the same pendulum like oscillationg posterior , the covert glances which notice every smile,murmur,sigh and that has been contrived keeping them in mind.They are players indeed, but not on a level playing field.Because the poor ones like us have never played with anything apart from our computers.These eyes ,what they whisper,leave not even a clue in our otherwise high I.Q brains.That eye blink,that suggestive head tilt , that intentionalstrand of hair that has to be put aside time and again, those slowrythmic euphonic sylables numb our mind to the extent that we understand nothing.Nada.Zilch.May be something has been conveyed by sign language,but programming languages are the only kinds we understand.The storm has picked up velocity.
We had heard (sources never came to light) that after college and once your wallet is a little heavy, everyone gets a girl and life is worth living again.So after 4 tiring years of 'nada' pulling , we stepped out of the gates that bound our testosterone for what seemed like eternity.But wise men have reiterated 'once a loser always a loser'.Hopes were only a few light years from reality.Just add a few hundred years,and plenty more pounds to the science girl back in school,bam you get a caricature of my female peers.The eye candy we got from across the corridor and later away from our college in the city has now totally vanished.Any visual contact with the arts/commerce girl has evanesced into thin air for good.There is no going back now,i can only pick the remnants from my reminisces and daydream about it while i bang the keys on my keyborad sitting in my cubicle.The flutter of wings has finally become a tornado and i I am amongst the thousands who have become casualties.
May we all R.I.P.

P.S:The 'I' here is not me.He is a stereotypical engineering student.
A fictional character :D

Darkly dreaming demented citizen of the deep

*****This post has been done by a Guest blogger and hence all the appreciation should please
be directed to******************************************************

this was supposed to be a life's saga .... then was supposed to be a description of transformation...turned out (no fault of mine....jus simple aaraamkhori) to be a blah blah .
and i woke up this morning and got myself a beer...naaaah
and i woke up this morning and got myself a gun.....that works

Gentlemen , we start the touch base...

born like any other,
the same air filling my lungs
sights as horizon for my eyes
for my ears,the tranquil birds sung
relishing a monstrous load,always there on my mind
brooding,blunting my wits ; mary-jane burned for the respite [ hehhhh ;) ]
so close to a perfectly relative life
when i was

born like no other
a bloody air sating me lungs
a discerped corpse before my eyes
in my ears a sonatina shrieking rung

redemption is knocking

another morn comes , laden with conformity
had sealed my fate .now bothers me less by the by
higher calling,moksha,nirvana, vairag et'al (vairag->viagra...awesome philosophical coincidence :) )
listed as today's agenda,a soothing mournful cry
a victim is to be chosen ; i take a trip down the local deli
candidates galore,although i like them sex with the Y (at this pt. almost signed 1 yr hiphop deal with slimshady records)
Oh! my blissful aberration, don't cloud me judgment boy
to buy my way to heaven,this once, i let them slide

redemption is pissed off...summons curiosity

the mirror raises questions now ,
w t f man ?supreme no more? just when you were entertaining the thought
apocalypse required four horsemen and you in a clan.
Go make things right. kill,kill, a trophy ring has to be brought.

the same road , the same deli,the same result , the same 'no comply'
"fckin wuss" , i hear a voice in me head cry
no line to go here,so slick sly on the fly (my rap album went platinum :D )

how are we doing today Inspektor Burbak Bittu . Someone addresses me after curiosity's lambent prescence pooofs....startled...BANG..

a hard fall
an eye gone black
a wake up call
and now the flashback,

a rookie's assignment , a corpse too gory
forays into his fantasy land
goes with no guts ,still for glory
makes a fool,off his own hand
casualty was i , of the seduction of violence
nothing to do with the gray in the mind
the seven sins are enough for me and hencei now leave this all behind.

PS : I am not in jail
PPS : The authenticity of this , if questioned will lead to...fill in the blanks
PPPS : if no understand , plz dont hold it against me. theory of relativity :D
PPPPS : yes i know...i am the man
Yours trulyAtyant-hi-vela-insaan Abhinav Sharma