A Brief Soliloquy.

Battlegrounds stand witness to mere trivialities. The real war is always on the inside.

It's all in the mind. Is,was..and always will be.

Another Disconnected Inference.

Sometimes, the only way to be better,
Is to take yourself apart.
And start building all over again.

Memoirs of an Almost-Techie.

The Pigeonhole Principle

"This principle states that if there are more pigeons than pigeon-holes, then there must be at least one pigeonhole with at least two pigeons in it."

................................................................................

The tome that transcribes the above mentioned illation, goes on to annotate the same with visually descriptive diagrams and mathematical proof, not to mention, study of possible corollaries. In excruciating detail.

My message to whoever decides upon what makes us "engineers" is:
1. What exactly are you trying to do?
2. Is this a world-wide conspiracy against bright minds?
3. This does not negate the deterioration of the human brain, caused by ceaselessly mulling over Quantum mechanics and the nuances of the Fourier transform.
4. You have a sadistic sense of humor.

Catharsis.

Last night, I dreamt that the world was ending.

And believe me when I say, words cannot describe how beautiful it was. There were fireworks in the sky, and things erupting into light, sound, fire and ice. Only, you couldn't tell what was which, or whether it made any difference at all. It was beautiful.

People, for those few moments, became exactly like themselves, and not what they had become. Everything was settled. Everyone was real. Because all the doubts, fears and things they had traded their lives out to, didn't matter anymore. I looked around and saw that no one, absolutely no one was scared, or sad. It shocked me, though it shouldn't have. I now see how perfectly natural it would be.

I reveled. Till a creeping horror sunk in. And suddenly, I was desperate to speak. To say all of the things I never did, to all of the people who would now probably never know. I looked around helplessly.. for people, or a cellphone at least. Anything. I had so much to say. And I didn't have the time.

I woke up at 2 P.M., to the sun shining at me through a dusty window. And the sound of raucous crows. I scouted around blindly for my phone, and saw 7 missed calls, which I wouldn't have answered anyway.
Irony bites.
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Afternote: This was right after I got done with my exams, watched Dev D, sauntered home at a marginally unacceptable hour. Called A to say to him that I never have any meaningful dreams. And promptly proceeded to pass out in my "coffee-induced" drunkenness.
Irony bites again.

Of Mint-Coffees...

... and unregretted regrets
......................................................................................

I see a world in your eyes.

A world more real,

than the one,

I have to live in.

Your world is made

Of thoughts and things,

unheard of, unimaginable..

Of people and places,

so far and many.

But I still live

in the paracosm I’ve made around me,

where thoughts alone are things..

And they are centered around you.

Another season just went by.

And I still stood and stared,

at how I stand where I stood,

Years ago, when I first knew you.

I’ve known you so many times since,

and waited for a day when I finally do.

Your silence deafens me,

It’s too loud, and I yearn for peace.

For I dream too much to tell,

What’s real and what was fantasy.

Remember the streets

we once walked on?

No.. The ones you walked on

and I followed.

Much may have changed,

But I’m still the same..

Only I wish..

I had been walking

Beside you.

I hate you because

you make me forget myself.

And all that I see,

is that world in your eyes.

The one I’m not a part of.

And perhaps, never will be.

Everything is hanging.

By threads.

Threads and cobwebs.

Tries so hard, not to fall apart

But it does.

Every second, every day..and every year.

Look..another knot came undone.

But I’ll fix it again, and wait for it to hurt.

Your silence always says so much.

Much more than you ever did.

So many things, that you never said,

And even if you did,

The ones I never would have heard.

Your whispers, after all,

Were lost somewhere in the void.

The millions of miles,

That separate us.

But your world still haunts me,

The world I saw in your eyes.

The days when love was not just a word,

And faith was not just a lie.

To today, when beliefs are few..

When I’m running out of reasons to try.

She tells me,

Confucius does his crosswords

With a pen.

I know, but I wish

I was that sure.

It’s hard to believe, when things are such,

That you never know

What lies ahead.

Or tomorrow, or today, or tonight.

Time is a strange thing.

You see, it’s even relative.

Your nights are my days,

And my days, your nights.

But twilight is a strange relief,

For such little separates dawn from dusk.

I hear songs..

Songs that echo all around.

Never thought Richard Marx

Would begin to haunt.

Or that mint-coffee would

Be so bitter.

Just because of you,

Or the you that is not there.

But I still stood,

And I looked,

At the sound of your voice.

Yes, I looked. And I heard,

The touch of your hand,

On mine, and I tasted,

The warmth of your embrace.

Of course, that too was all in a dream,

Reality has never been that kind.

But I'm still the same.

And I stand right where I was

When love wasn’t just a word,

And faith wasn’t just a lie.

You would think that I,

Am saying too much.

You may wonder why

I speak so.

But the whys I cannot answer,

So I never ask.

I have too many questions of my own

To trouble you with yours.

But that’s a lie. You know that too.

For somewhere it’s just about a me,

Who is afraid of your answers.

And I am still the same,

as I used to be.

For you see, today I walked

down those streets again.

Alone.

And realized,

they wouldn’t take me anywhere.

Bad Poetry - Volume 2.

Delusional Contentment...

..and similar absurdities

..................................................................................

I don't know how I want things to be,
But I know this isn't it.
I no longer know what to wish for,
Just something very different from this.

If such is the scene,
What comes next, you may ask.
And I would say to you,
That I don't see this moment last.

The inconvenience of truth,
The tyranny of chance.
Or tinted glasses,
And primrose dalliance.

Our beginnings may be beginnings,
But they never know our ends.
This story, you see,
Comes with breaks and bends.

One, however, is left to wonder,
How far really is the end?

A Post of NO Significance.

...of absolutely no significance at all.

Today I learnt the names of the following in Hindi/Sanskrit :

1. Thumb - Angushtha - अन्गुष्ठः
2. Index Finger - Tarjini - तर्जिनी
3. Middle Finger - Madhyamika - मध्यमिका
4. Ring Finger - Anamika - अनामिका
5. "The Pinky" - Kanishthika - कनिष्ठिका

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So now, thanks to this thoroughly pointless morsel of information, we can all be exceedingly creative with our insults, pinky-promises and most importantly, primitive hand-gestures for declaring a need to pee.

Also :
"The ring finger is the only British finger on your hand, which means it always follows its biggest ally, the most powerful finger, the one finger, the little finger. The ring you often see encircling the ring finger is a fancy leash made by the little finger to drag it around. After years and years of dragging, the ring finger has already lost its own sense, sadly."

Source : Uncyclopedia.
Clickety-click <--THIS link. Really! Do it. And discover my version of Narnia. Ha.

I feel an irrepressible urge...

...to adopt the life of a tree-hugging hippie.

No explanations offered.

A Valentine Concoction.

Ingredients :
1 ripe super-stinky durian
2 tablespoons rancid cod liver oil
3 beheaded male mantises
1 lizard's tail
200 ml. of H₂SO₄
2 teaspoons wormwood
*A precision-shot Magnum 5.0 for good measure

Throw first 6 ingredients into boiling cauldron and curse, in the choicest of expletives, the idiot who prayed for his jailer's daughter and the Hallmark dudes who dished out this commercialized, gag-worthy, ribbon-laced nonsense.
*POOF*

Go out. Wield THE Magnum and shoot every loathsome display of inanity.
Death to cupid, all things pink/red/mushy, the retardedly emo lovesongs and fascist shiv/ram sena monkeys.
Gaaaah!

Disclaimer.

(An oddly placed one)

An ongoing spate of perennial exams is to be blamed for the very evident and revolting lack of content in the preceding blog-posts, and those to come.
It is with great regret that I announce that my brain, after attempting to commit "self-righteous" suicide by jumping out the window, has gone into a comatose, vegetative state. It is expected to return to its neurotic, hyperactive self on the 22nd of February. Until then, enjoy your slow deaths.

The inconvenience is highly regretted.
असुविधा के लिए खेद है|

Knives and Flames.

"Does it kill
Does it burn
Is it painful to learn
That it's me that has all the control..

Does it thrill
Does it sting
When you feel what I bring
And you wish that you had me to hold.."

You have to admit, when you see Adam Levine against the wall..crooning THAT..it lodges itself in the deepest recesses of your head for a very very long time.

*sigh*

In my defense.

To A, with sincerity :

I am an opinionated social animal. And I feel strongly about things. I also feel the need to express myself in the most explicit of terms. If I cannot do so with my friends, what do I do? Organize a freakin' rally and yell till I'm hoarse about the indispensable relevance of chaos in life?(Or a million other equally godforsaken issues, for that matter.)
Does that make me a self-absorbed, ego-driven *****? Does that alone mean that I have a god-complex?

Note: I do not deny that I do. *ahem* I merely say the evidence you cite is nearly not enough. I would like an accusation to be justified, even if it is a very valid one.

Consternation.

I KNEW the webcomic folks were psychic!

If I were a verse...

"To see the world in a grain of sand,
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."
                
                     -William Blake

/* So often, words really are all you have.
Then again, they are so much more serviceable than swords. */