grind-mill (thankyou max sir for suggesting the title)

8’o clock sharp
stereotype classes
Then algorithms for
evangelism and masses

A paradigm designed
For emotional automation
A bio-port hauls him
To a classroom station

Survival is contagious
Is a lesson he’s learnt in time
Doctrined against
All forces sublime

The threads of thought
are more virtual than believed
The louder the tears
The lesser is the grief

But his life aint a blast
One which Jetson might just not last
For the rate of knots
Is a wee bit too fast

How far can he go?
And what preludes his end?
Is he cribbing about this rat race??
Crumbling in this trend?

The ways of his life
Harsh, they might seem
But remember, the world still has plenty
Who aspire to dream.

And a spring to begin
Or a December without frost
A slumber to last through
Would be a crime to ask for .

want to develop into a novella... title not yet decided

Gina was an ordinary british girl. She would steal a look into the bright dishes after washing them. They reflected her auburn face and added their own silverfish tinge to it. She could write, do maths and play football all of which weren’t noble occupations for a girl her age, or at least so all the ladies in her house told her. She worked in ‘the eagle and a child’ in oxford at a time the place hadn’t reached the heights, it now has. A public house , or as is commonly know , a pub , it was frequented by the writers group called the ‘inklings’, which had at some time included J.R.R Tolkein and C.S Lewis. Life wasn’t very quissential for this little lady and her idiosyncrasies of writing logical analysis or math solutions on the dusty windows with wet hands and playing ball with the street side boys after work, had gotten her into trouble more often than not. They complained about everything that she did including her hand shakes, which they said were always harder and more masculine in nature than should be. Her clothes were way too shabby and baggy. “What a waste, you have such a slender waist and your clothes never get to adorn it”, they would say.
She would ignore all that she had to and go and unite with her religion…

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.

The she would rest in the palms of god. Less she knew that fate kept in store for her, boundless glory of a legend ,whose tales would grow as religion. She slept , unaware that the trees and the wind had already begun to sing her name as they gently wrapped her in a warm blanket , curled in which she lay dreaming Aristotle , logic and a cute boy she had served ale to today . Gina slept, for the last time as just an ordinary girl.

Lost for an eternity

A dip
in the canvas
and a mosaic builds

Traces
Of this reverie
Are enough to kill

I try to believe
But it fails to sink
A tear transpires
Retreats on reaching the brink


That corner
I stand alone
Trying to annihilate
Every memory of your tone
That forgotten porch
blinded by its veils
I plead it to
wash me in its obliterating rays

The empty dishes
The listless robe
The frolicking ants
The lightning bolt
Their familiarity
I look for , to breath into me
A borrowed life
In this transient eternity

when you want , it never rains

It was noon. I had been walking in the winter sun for more than an hour now. ‘Electric storm’ was storming my head as the beats synchronized my steps. I was in a trance, oblivious to whatever was happening around, even my own emotions. Just then I bumped into him. I shifted my gaze and began to remove my ear pieces, pretending, in vain as tears violently began to stream down my eyes betraying every bit of that projected numbness. I hated myself for letting him read my mind and I hated him more for not loving me back. It wasn’t raining and I had no excuse to hide my face so bleakly smiled as the saline tears caressed my face. He gently came forward and hugged me and I silently fell back in love with him all over again

brutal confessions

The day is fresh
Winter , yet nascent
The morning wet
Its breathing meant
To brutally
hurt a nerve
And I can ,
but lament…

I wish to stare
But the tears wont stop
I wait to blink
But my eyes feel fogged
I cant reflect
The spotlight glares
And miles away lies
The idealism I wish to bare

The lost is not
What I hope to revive
The confessions I choose to make
not just to survive
I cant care less
What the world bellows
I stand here
A culprit of my own woes

the dreamland chronicle

The sunshine calender
The one that wades
Have you seen it closely
It mumbles… “bring on the dates”

The specky alarm clock
The nerdish look is to delude
Nights , in the closet
It does a tap dance…though crude

The old porch bench
The one that loudly creaks
It flies to lands over the clouds
On rainy days …when everyone’s asleep

The obsolete radio
That lies in the garage
Ever seen it play with the spiders
Musical chairs and hop scotch

The cosco basketball
that has no grip
the threads of which
can be rethreaded to form a whip

and you may think
its old and cant rub
but watch it at noon
take the most fabulous lay-ups

They lie now
Lost in a slumber …deep
Begging me to stay awake
While they dream their own dreams

coep(good for the title)

Hey…
It’s been quite long; I haven’t written anything…or at least anything substantial.
I was just getting bored; you see that’s what diwali is actually for. Kids burn crackers, mom nags, and I get to head the beautification drive. The dusting away of previous rangolis, the scrubbing off crayon marks from kitchen walls and telephone shelves, running behind dogs and shoo-ing them off your garden are some of the important errands comprising this job.
And then she yells, who else…my mom, “look how dirty you are looking …least make yourself a little more presentable”.
“Ya mum, I couldn’t resist, the sudden craving for playing in the muck”
Now that’s some festive treat (smirk).
That done, … (ahem, that is my taking a bath) ….and the rest of the camouflaged torture of meeting guests and getting boxes of sweets, (ya, good …dump them on our head…so that no one in the your family becomes fat)…I decide, its high time I wrote, if not out of sudden creative enlightment, then bored of this hyper exaggerated Indian melodrama.
Actually, even that is not quite the reason I sit down to write. It mostly is because I just happened to check the blogs on net about COEP , and my blog occurred on the 5th , 6th page , that too just 1nce , where as Abhishek n Suparna had there’s splashing all over.
So, this once I write about COEP and COEP alone and you might find the name being mentioned way too often, even multiple times in the same line. So if you are an over attentive , “bored of life” critic , you may as well not read this or if you do please don’t whine about grammar or absolute blandness in vocab or overuse of “COEP” in the text , because that is exactly what I intend to do here.

It’s quite a dormant time. COEP has common offs (as in not officially). Common offs are never official namesake, though most professors and staff love to assume that we are always looking for an extension a weak before and after the actual common off. So again, if the course is left incomplete or if there aren’t any lectures for a month or so, it is all because we sent out “strong vibes” to the lecturers that we might not attend. I say strong because, whenever students give it out, the vibes, it’s always strong. Like they say in all ceremonial orations “the students are the strength of our institution”. Here ,they refers to generally the director and in rare cases the students representative , specially when he is the sensitive shy sort and feels just too abashed to say “good faculty or good infrastructure”.

Though given the chance, I would love to brag of our infrastructure and staff. We never really have to bunk, you know what I mean. About the infrastructure, every time you don’t get the experiments right, you can blame it on the entraptions.
With provisions such as these, why would any student complain?
No, on a serious note, I think….we ought to update ourselves and do a lot more. For a comprehensive coverage on this, refer to “reports” section in the college magazine. It’s the only section where things are not twisted and blown out of proportions. There is never any scope to.


Any ways, I had started out with an objective to mention “COEP” several times, and so far I haven’t really stuck to the resolution.
So, I’ll wrap it up with some very bogus lines. Please don’t judge my writing skills on these lines. For the evaluation part, please read the proceeding poems and if you don’t understand them in the first read, you may add the site link to your favorites and visit this site over and over again at ease. I promise, in due course of time, you will grow quite fond of them, just as I have.

monster

Transient supernovas
blast my sky
Scarred boulevards
barren , they lie...

Shuddering rains
fall no more
Flashes of hope
perrinially wiped off by these wars

Creatures of wrath
Raid my land
Lash through my veins
Helpless...I stand

Who do I forgive?
What do I look for?
This monster in me
is killing me more...

The army gathers
The questions multiply
The beggining thats lost
Can it be revived?

Abandoned homes
Ephemeral lives...
Humane holocasts
Homecomings a strife.

come undone

Lacing through
the wilderness
Losing myself
In the bliss

I stay wild
Fly with the green
Knock the doors of xion
And dive into infinity

Echo of the silence
Untouched untamed
No strings attached
Home is light years away

No! no nostalgia
No déjà vus
No shattered dreams
No vindication too

In this sea of green
I have come undone
A precious dream
Of a life under the sun

dissolve

Obtrusive gales
Block my way
The windy night
Gathers torrential trails

Forlorn traveler
I sought your land
Lingering my gaze
Rests weary on your sands


Your memory softly
Begins to fade
Reinforcing waves
Do not tirade


And as darkness grows
Like blinding walls
The sprinting oceans
Of apparitions fall

Strewn

Idiosyncratic days
Fly in fly out
The clock ticks
With a straddle around its bow

Lucid I lie
Unde the candid sky
Waiting for winds of change
To liven my days and nights

pune weds

The trickling drops
Garnish earth grains
The abyss legitimately
Harbors nascent rains
The squirrels squeak
And playfully mate
As monsoon in a nuptial
Weds Pune

Like a veiled bride
She tarries on blind
The silver moonlight
Forbidden to encroach her confine
The courtship on cards
Rejuvenates her youth
Stalwart antagonists too
Forfeit without a feud

Zephyr …docile
Lingers…intrudes
Streets…shaken off its slumber
The response is crude
The mitigating market
Nonchalantly prognosticate
Incoming floods of
Succulent gothic and glaze

indian politics

Gather my country men



This ain’t no ordinary lesson



No raving Barbies, no ranting kens



Just a discourse on Indian rapscallions



Amen







Yet again .Mr. L.Yadav



Our local scum bag



Has gotten away



With his insidious tag



With Bihar assembly dissolved



Democracy stalled



The states on the dole



And he yet manages to brag







The RSS and the VHP



Flamboyantly crusade



Advanni endorses nascent policies



And BJP enervates



A fortnight later the platter



Is yet again flayed



As the shysters of NDA revert



Ayodhya gets back the freight







Manmohan Singh is busy convincing media



“Its he who governs”



Sonia in her staid accent



Manages to churn



Powerful rhetoric orations



Her Indian kids can’t learn



Endures left’s barbarism



And RJP’s tarrism



And Maneka’s and Varun’s familiarism



Yet UPA stays unburned







BHEL sell off gets scanty



Broadcast seconds to engage



But SRK meeting Sonia



Makes it to the FrontPage



Journalism punch lines



Razzle dazzle dotage



While political daily’s page 3 digests



Becomes the nations latest rage

fairytale part2(end to the ballad)

They say..



the hunter dignified



left the town



and them mystified



so long unacquainted



to heartbreaks t



hey had grown too vain



their fabric fake







now in the face



of misery



reeling from the



dreary mystery



they took to weeping



blaming hevens



and gradually



it dawned on them







so long they had prided



looks alone



jeered countenances



except their own



and now pale thin



with willowy eyes



they looked all



but dainty and nice







and when the season



changed again



spring bloomed



they dint refrain..



played with the girls



on the streets and plains



enjoyed the glee



and enjoyed the rains

fairytale..a ballad(part1)

Oh reader…what do you look for



A poem..a tale ..a dialogue??



Deliver..i will..the sort



That enslaves you…trot trot







There were two lassies



Jenny and jane



Brandishing beauty



And flowing manes



Merchants and shepheards



Drew to their lanes



Showered love and gold



But all in vain







Then came a hunter



Not thin not stout



With bows and arrows



But cupids drought



The bloke he was



Called nimrod of south



But at romance



Dense out an out







Now.. arrived the



Lovers tempest



For nuptials



mayhem and zest



The spring balls



And Wine fests



The country spun a web of its mushy thread







and when the streets saw



the ladies step down



kings offered their carriages



laid out their crowns



they clambered austere



or with a frown



tranquil they rode



to the lavish lounge







while in the fest they saw



the hunter stride



his nonchalance



appealed their pride



in an instant each decided



to be his wife



unaware he was also



the apple of the other’s eyes







in a weaks time



so intoxicated were they l



ove brewed ..then



passion flared



and rest is subject to guesswork raised



what on grapevine was heard



and what evidently remained







and so they met



to confess their love



to the hunter



and each other ..all above



then,



what erupted



was an inferno



like cannons



their furies flowed







its been three



decades since then



the haunted house



speaks of when



the wrath devoured



the two maidens



unblemished alone now



are the tales of the haven

Dreams unheard

Built, braced, broken
Ambitions, ashes, tokens
Infinity, speck, stolen
Soar, splinters, spoken

Destiny, dreams, triggers
Conduit, cremate, stupor
Stoic, stumble, shatter
Oblivion, trance, deliver

deliberate

Preliminary fears
Crowd her mind
Seek a gateway
Those tears sublime

Harshly gathering
Around the brow
In crude endevours
Seeking the earth

Gray heavens, rise
Curtain her tears
Let your fury
Drown her fears

Pour down
As she bitterly weeps
Embrace her
Amid all animosity

continuation...

Certainly feburary has a certain inherent romance....which prevails and rejuviniates....the melencholy airs of December and January......
Undoubtedly ...it has its own tranquuil horrors 2...which are unleashed in the former half of the month./..when the much awaited...sporadically debated and controvercially gratedresults of winter semester....are released....Yet post that ruddy encounter...its almost a smoothe ride...(with a few bumps...typpical of indian roads...)
Right-o-...so now that results are out...and I am left cursing ...applied science and communication skills 4 sinking the hilt of my boat 2 several feet below the water leveland severely wishing...I cud play a voldemord and blast the confounded dna of the 2 most deliquiscent dark horses.....
I ferociously am left nodding to all the repraisals upsurging in my head..and consoling by reposing faith in
"THEORY SUBJECTS ....ARE BIG TIME TRASH"
Though on retrospection...it only appears foolish not 2 have banked upon..a 4 credit assigned subj....and further foolish...given the ease of the subj...compared 2 other 4 starred ones...app mech 4 instance...
Ya ...comiing back to the pt....I was speaking of the charm that feburary incorporates the.... otherwise dead ...metaphysical exploring senses of the mind with....the rhizomes of which..(never grow up.....and have a elevated season of hybernation)....I endeavour to let loose my herd of my (lazy) imagination bearers in....To graze and set ablaze (forest fire...)...the effluent stream of my thoughts...which devour the leaves (digital) of my celebrated..blog

bored??obviously..oke..dont leave...i'll...spare u the crap...n come 2 the pt...

This month coming ..in the next few ddays..v have...

traditional day (tee hee...14th feb)
The day when girls ..(trying too hard 2 look dainty..)....in sarees...n boys in weirder combinations...(i guess they call it punk....looks more like days of financial declination 2 me.....with rags worn with grace...n definitely more grace than the girls...)...rock the dance floor....(the dance floor called boat club......which serves as a catering foundation...canteen...niche 4 the bunking lot...and as our director(dean)..once say...(the shelter of the the only asset of the college) ..which none others(engineering colls) have...."the mulla river".....
so..u c..the jam session..is an unbeleiveble feat accomplished.......on the auspicious day...14th feb...
A toatally indianized version of valentines day....culturally rich(with a smirk...sarcastic1).....lavish and original...
It wont b long...b4 the hype accompanying this wud outstrip holi and diwali....
Then probably Kareena and Shahid...wud start a franchise...
"tricks of the trade.....culturally rich ways of worshiping love....smoch draped in tricolour"
And NDTV and headlines today..wud hv their news raeders saying
"namaste....hamare darshako..ko...aur deshwasiyon ko hamari channel ki team ke taraf se valentines day ki hardik shubh kaamnayen"

neways....as of now...thesse were only sneak peaks...into the future....

Proceeding ahead
COEP is also hosting a series of fests ....
Metavista 05
fervour 05
nexus 05

All of which are elaborately sponsered....with gallons of money flowing from all sides...n mnc ...hogging on the sponsor list..to share the limelight...

The major acheivements of these fests are...
SE's and TE's get most of their lectures off...
coll gets accolades n addulations(4 triffles...routinely affairs...copied frm iits..calling them.....innovative and competitive..)
..principal..and the participating staff...get noticed...and bag some major promotiopns...dont b surprised if the dean bcomes the next director..DTE...
The ones plagued by symptoms of overcreativeness and underdeliverance...get 2 make
crappy posters ..an take back...hypothetial cheers and appreciations....
(a rare...1nce in awhile time for convincing 1 self...that this lot is actually almost as gud as they think they are...)
fe....the nonexistant repelled species..is called upon...4 slave work...which snrs warmly decently call....contribution to "*esa"
..so much 4 2day...will resume later......

Europa

Europa mythology is old

zeus is now bold

how will you carry her off to Cretes



she says now

her new love is euphrates

how will u carry her off to Cretes



You sing en even song

or bring a hair lock dangling on your face

but how will you carry her off to cretes.



You sing lyrics to the tune of lure

or you bring her hot dried prumes

a primrose is not all that she needs....

go bring her some bracelets and beeds

and if she's not happy with all that

I tell you..........better smell the rat

either your love is inextricable

or her beauty is inexplicable



you are soooo infatuated

your conscience is not accurated

your hair have already begun to gray...........

so Europa how will you carry her off to Cretes