Saturday, June 19, 2010

Hybridizing a newspaper and a blog

Ever since my childhood days, I’ve always had a fetish, a craze, a rage for perhaps the cheapest, the divinest, the godliest and the most frequently served service at my house- the Newspaper. Oh Yes! My voracious liking for the ‘Voice of the Nation’ began with me being awe-struck and at times amused by the ‘Picture(s) of the day’, the caption contests and the Garfield and Dennis the Menace series (Oh com’on, I was just too little to read on ‘heavier things’!). With more and more of reading some sense and reading the sensational, I switched over to the burning hot and burning red ‘front page’, before shifting to sporty columns and ultimately ending at the elite editorials, the ‘Comments’ and the ‘Think-overs’. I could still remember those hasty mornings, when I used to literally gulp down some disemboweling facts and figures with the glass of milk I emptied down to the full, unaware of the school bus which had already been delayed because of my hard-core habit.

Slowly and gradually, I was taken aback by some blooming blogs, bucketful buzzes and tickling tweets and found ‘My Space’ in the virtual world, only to savor a sudden down pour of some more novel ideas and exhilarating personal experiences and to relish a ‘Follower’s burden’! I wonder if any burden could ever be so amazing, so satisfying and so enchanting. On the whole, the older-but-still-in-use forms of fury (newspapers) with an electronic-touch lead to a power-packed YOU, verbally, intellectually and knowledgably.

Behold! Hope you like surprises for I might leave you with your jaws dropped down! There’s something which is as popular and old as a newspaper and as widespread as a blog. From the past few days, I’ve been noticing some strange scribblings. The most interesting part is that these writings are neither a part of any publication, nor a blog or not even a splog! Oh no-no! I’m not talking about the sacred writings on the historical walls, since those alien scripts are beyond my cerebral reach. I tend to remain on the simpler side here. Well, I’m talking about the scrabbles, the scratchings and the doodles devised by the common man, just to express his feelings, emotions, sorrows, miseries, happiness, elation or whatever comes to his mind, with the ’public walls’ serving the dual purpose of a canvas and an easel( Maybe, that’s why Facebook too has a ’Wall’). It’s actually a nice- little publication where you make a note and leave it ‘public’! Another fact is that you yourself are the reporter, writer, cartoonist and the editor of this publication. Plus you don’t have to worry about the regularity of the editions since you are not ‘officially’ engaged in such an activity. Write whenever some solid stuff strikes your skull. A vast writing space is waiting for you. You just need to escape your ‘future readers’ ’ eyes while writing. Isn’t that adventurous too? You might be thinking this is somewhat similar to the internet blogs. But these ‘Public blogs’, what I like to call them, are better since they are accessible and readable to those who don’t even know the A,B,C of computers….actually the C,C++ of computers, I should say.

Talking of my age, I’m surrounded with so many such blogs in my university. Whenever we’re having a boring lecture (Oh please! When don’t we have one?), out comes a writing tool and a public blogger is born. He with his ‘creativity’ runs this tool only to add to the beauty of the frail wooden desks. Every now and then I come across such inscriptions and some of them make me smile, some make me giggle while the others make me guffaw (No bad thoughts please). I can identify a potential-philosopher, a cool dude, a good-for-nothing fellow, a geek, a despo or a nerd from these writings…no need to give your profile information separately.

Getting out of the university, I can see some love stories engraved on the trees, where the names of the ‘creators’ are carefully contained within the boundaries of a heart-shaped structure, not to forget the Cupid’s arrow, dear. The lovers certainly seem to be ‘brave’ enough to screech a ‘heart’ on the heart of a silent biomass. But traditions and customs are made only to be improvised later on. Similarly, such activities of graffiti and street art, when given the aid of lustrous, glossy and shiny spray paints, attain a more modern and a gen-next look. The territorial extent of such blogs seems endless, taking in railway stations, bus terminals, planks, pillars, boulders, rocks and not even sparing the public toilets!(Best place to flush out your frustration.) 

I don’t know if you’re allured into becoming such a blogger after reading this, especially the ones who like to decorate themselves with the title, ‘anonymous’. I’d personally not recommend this kind of activity to anyone, which though having the pros of a newspaper and a blog has its own cons, the major being damage to public property. But one can’t deny that such kind of ‘media’ is really cheap. Even cheaper than a two rupee newspaper:p    

Sunday, June 13, 2010

He left me....only to be frenzied some more!!

Strained relationships seldom last long, a thing I’ve learnt over the past years of my life. Those spits and spats, slurps and smacks, cricks and cracks; one day or the other overpower and ultimately extinguish the dying-to-die-out flames of failure. SWOOSH!! The game gets over. The boots are hanged. The knots are undone. Divergent paths are chosen. No more interference. No more disturbance. Nothing!
 My monotonous expressions point to the end of a unique relationship involving human and anti-human forms of life. As expected, the human form represents me, my self, my soul (Always safe to take the main lead and humiliate your-self to any extent you want to) and the anti-human form makes up for the mirage of mathematics.

Chronologically, my almost 20-year old association with mathematics ended on 22nd May, 2010, at exactly 1200 hrs, when the itchy examiner (really itchy) snatched away the Optimization Techniques answer sheet from me. Clarifying to the non-non-medicals, OT, as we people ‘used to call’ this subject, is nothing but some more mathematics, presented to you in some more annoying and some more fretful form. Continuing after the disdainful act of the examiner, I felt an enormously heavy load being taken off my slowly-wearing-out shoulders. My long lasting battle with my greatest enemy ever had just ended. My life had just tasted LIFE. I’d now no longer be droning on the sad, somber and murderous melancholy of mathematics. I’d now no longer be: irked by the innumerable iterations, aroused by the awful algorithms and numbed by the noxious numbers. Heaven! Whoa!

But was it really a whoa-moment? Was it that heavenly?  Did it really deserve such a celebration? An elation? A jubilation? Not really! Sad but significant to mention here, I was not the one who ended up on the winning side. A grace-saving statement, if any, to quote would be that I ended up on the learning side. It seemed as if my unfathomable foe marched out of the battle-field with head high and leaving me with enough to cry after making sure that I had nothing more left in me to face him but a bruised body, a scarred soul and a pitiable panorama. The great Goliath glided away un-manned, un-chained, un-tamed, showering a few drops of mercy on me.

Bringing the past to the present, I remember falling down the wagon every now and then, struggling with crude concepts and eerie estimations. The algebra anguished me, vectors vandalized me, coordinate killed me and the ratios and proportions ruined me. Not leaving behind, geometry jeopardized my left-over chances of success. But ‘probability’ gave me some solace, just because I started with concentrating on the text book, but ended up tossing coins and rolling dices, just to get a better understanding of the topic! Practical approach?

Reaching the upper rungs of the ladder of gaining knowledge, the grudges got intense and professional. With engineering mathematics knocking at my doorstep, my nightmare confronted me in bits and parts, the first being Mathematics-I, followed closely by Mathematics-II. The two together appeared to me as a Hollywood movie series, where the sequel is all the more complex and complicated than the starter. The devastation seemed to be unending with some exclusive math, Numerical Analysis and OT still waiting for me. Each and every step of mine now shivered even more. Every minute now my heart missed a beat. But I treaded on somehow.

And now I stand here in the present, exhausted and intoxicated by the mere thoughts of a hefty past, expecting a brighter and a balanced future. A part of my mind says me to relax since I won’t be facing that old maniac anymore, not at least for the coming two years. Another part tells me to be even more cautious from now on, for we may meet again. Maybe my mental tormenter has given me some time to heal, some moments to mend myself. Maybe he’ll rip me off with even more strength and even more brutality the next time. A dilemma now dazzles me, if he’s set me free only to be caught again? Or he’s had enough of me? There’s also a possibility that the ‘time out’ may be an attempt to do me out of my wits, since I’d be thinking of his next move over and over again and become a bait to my own madness!

 Nevertheless, I hope to give him a tough competition at the next and final face-off. It may not be today, may not be even tomorrow. But a defeat still needs to be avenged. A debt awaits to be cleared. A calculation stalls to be solved.           

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Acts in Waiting

With the sun sending out a clarion call loud and clear, signifying the termination of yet another tempting dreamy torrent, which might otherwise lead to a perilous procrastination, it’s time to let loose! It’s time to be a part of a seemingly inimical but still widely followed phenomenon all over the world, called LIFE. You never know what she’s got in for you today. She might surprise you with some sweet successes or humiliate you with forgettable failures. Curious by nature, as a typical human is, you are driven by a Pandora’s desire to find, relish and exploit this hidden treasure.

In this process of ‘discovery’, you might…in fact you’ll definitely encounter an uncountable number of people having different beliefs, mindsets, intellects and ethos. But out of this lot, there are only a few whose memories in our lives for long tend to stay...those who brighten our lives, otherwise grey…and those whom seeing we stately sway.

What’s actually the reason behind such revered reminisces? Why is it that we remember those godly-gleaming faces even though we don’t know their names (forget about the religion they belong to)? How come their mere thought makes us jump up with joy? Well, the thing can be as simple as an act of alchemy, an act of benignity or an act of co-operation, which those strange saviors performed for us one fine day. The thing can be even simpler as a day of their life, they gifted to us, just to make our lives bigger and better. And in return, these people had no complaints and no demands, since the ends they achieved by doing so were ultra-satisfying.

Numerous number of times, such acts await our arrival. We just need to distract ourselves (positively) from the tiring and unending journey and grab the opportunity with both hands to be included in the above mentioned ‘class of nobles’. These can truly make a life, a better life to liveJ

Retrospect your life, purify your soul,
Imagine a human with humanity as a whole.
Work life, shun sins, stop hating,
Just once try out these Acts in Waiting.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Lone Survivors

An utter wilderness enveloped in seething skies,      
A sultry silence crevicing into a scary size;     
A maverick malice hovering like a hound,
Not a drop to quench the thirsty ground.
The scene seemed so ugly and sad,
The death fires danced happy and glad.

Surviving in the ocean of blood and gore,
Daring death and bearing the furore;
Stood a fern, weak and frail,                               
Breathing in death with every inhale.
His boughs giving a tired glimpse,
His eyes a witness to an awful apocalypse.

A rage he suffered over the years,
Left his life in tatters and tears.
Deathly battles and sinful battalions,
Snatched from him, his beautiful companions.
Lonesome now, he ranted and raved,
Dreaming of the golden times he craved.

So insane the annihilation could be,
So hard a code to decipher it could be;
It could make you moan and make you cry,
It could give life to death and cause life to die;
And banish the earthlings into an evil exile,
Like the fern,
Leaving many a lone survivors to stand by.


Monday, April 5, 2010

Infectious Divide Unleashed....

A jam-packed Indian Railways coach forming a tithe of a somewhat ancient structure on wheels which is somehow made to cover a distance million miles greater than its length with the aid of 15-20 minute stops after every 45 minutes or so, as if to take breath; the inner atmosphere being dominated by the cries of the local vendors pursuing hard to sell off a few plates of Rajmah-chawal and Paani-puris(reflecting the culmination of unhygienic levels) and the marauding of the unruly kids showing the failure of their mothers to put them to sleep; you being the only one of your kind in the entire compartment, as if a lotus in the mud because of a sturdy travelling bag on your shoulders, a winsome watch in your wrist and a bit modern apparel adorning your body, holding on bravely to a space barely enough to accommodate your feet, but bequeathed to you by a noble person who got off at the last stop, leaving you only to be ogled by one and all for a few minutes after you enter the arena:- The conditions seem just perfect for a coliform bacteria to infiltrate into your body through the porous boundary lines.
Anyway, you reach home after the tiring and ordinary journey, cherish your home-coming initially and the very next day……aaacchhooo! What was that? The first blow-out? Perhaps this indicates the beginning of the bacterial escapades inside your body. What next? Your glowing face is doused out, the cheeks turn from pink to pale and the infection in you intensifies with every breath you inhale. Out comes a menagerie of the medical examinations you have to undergo and consequently you’re put on a diet studded with Crocins, Zenthrils and Roxid-150s, the prescriptions going on and on at least for a week. The credit for this care goes to your dear dad and if he’s a doctor himself, better stay prepared to face the strictness a bit more, in fact a lot more.
On your mom’s part, the scene is a bit different for she’s a firm believer of the desi-nuskhaas (homely remedies) as well. So you have to simultaneously pass through gauntlets of salt-water gargles, consume karahs(potions) made of a thousand ingredients and also listen quietly to her advice, which you normally don’t when you’re 100%! This calls for high levels of tolerance from the patient’s side, particularly if he’s in his teens:p
But now, taking the serious route, what I wanted to show form the above events is the growing divide in our society! Confused? Don’t be. The scene could’ve been different and healthy if the journey were in the shade of an air-conditioned deluxe compartment, instead of the general one. You could’ve been hail and hearty then. So, have we become so addicted to this princely lifestyle that we could no longer mix up with the other level of the society? Unfortunately, the answer may be yes and this is an indirect discrimination! It’s such a shame that we cover up for this kind of attitude with the excuses of a safe and a sound journey. What about those travelling normally? Are they not safe then? Are their lives not precious? The fact looks trivial but makes sense.
I was really shocked to learn the things this incident introduced me to and I regret my mistake. So, will I be going by the same old and primitive vehicle again…….You never know....:)       

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Dealing in the 3's.....

The order of the Supreme is here to stay…..Making many moan…and the others GAY!!!!
Whenever I see an XY hanging out SUSPICIOUSLY with a somewhat genetically similar sapien, I just close my eyes only to recall a simple, yet shocking mathematical calculation, and get an even result at the end. The algorithm goes as:    (3x7)+7=28 (EVEN)! Actually I’ve been forced to think that way!:p
Putting it the other way round, the number 377 is no longer ODD in ALL ITS FORMS! Seems to be a frustrating fact to digest but nowadays, it’s just so legal…just so Constitutional! Courtesy, some lunatics, with a seemingly social sense surmounting in them, going to a PETA-like extent to get things done and finally forcing a third window onto the façade of the Indian society. Attention! This third window bears neither a He, nor a She! Fascinating? Freaky? Both?   
Though not sure of its technological follow up, India seems to be religiously aping the West in OTHER things. Aal Izz Well has so monstrously flooded the Indian coastlines that the inhabitants could now patch up anywhere, anyhow and intriguingly, with ANYONE, without giving second thoughts! Going for the third level, eh?
An alarming after-effect of this phenomenon: Spatial considerations have become just so significant. No matter how ready-to-die-for-each-other friends you are, you need to maintain a certain minimum Conversational Gap while having a chat, to escape some unnecessary titillation at the hands of the gossipy masses. Special caution to those with restless and tinkering hands and dancing feet!:p
Holy cow! India seems to be missing the right bus, by entertaining such a bane-new idea. There exists just no sense but a cluster of mentally frail thoughts revolving around. This strange symbiotic existence is no less than a mad- man theory! Maybe a mad- woman theory…or something else.What do I think is that the new concept is close to impossible to click, for the Indians at least. A near-napalm need prevails to resurrect the laws locked by nature, for she’s too furious to be violated!



Friday, March 19, 2010

She's calling....

I was born free,
Shining as a pearl in sun’s glory.
A lush green cover on my breast,
An unending treasure lay in my crest;
Soaked in a nectar deep blue,
Never did an intruder pass through.

I gave birth to a lovely son,
His eyes glowing, face blazing in the sun;
Bestowed him with all I had,
Never gave him a reason to be sad;
Nested him from a chilling cold and a simmering summer,
Cradled the baby with care as to a fragile flower;
Camouflaged him from venomous snakes and the deadly hornet,
In return, he called me The Blue Planet.

Alas! Blooming out, allured into him an ambitious,
His desires grew, his thoughts turned vicious;
Swelled in him, a sense of sore for others,
Envied the ones he had once called his brothers;
Divided me into fragments very smartly,
Exploited my assets whole heartedly;
I was deafened by my sons’ cries,
Hordes of whom everyday used to die;
Drowning in my own blood,
My golden graffiti turned into mud;
Never did my voice in his mind ring,
Besieged by the success song he used to sing.
For his pleasures, I had to be chained,
All my power, my energy was drained;
Still not content with what he had amassed,
Looted my wealth, he could’ve otherwise asked;
Oblivious of the warnings I gave to him,
He lay lull under the shade of deadly toys he had made for him.

Visualizing his future, I shriek,
Thoughts of his end make me freak;
Giving an air to his burning crave,
He’s burying himself deep in his grave.
I feel like closing my eyes,
Condoning those dark skies.
Helpless I bear his unjust hate,
Looking at his unlucky fate.