This is simply because it's been over a year since this space was inactive. Just saw the new look blogger, the new orange graphs, the time lines - disturbing images of a dormant passion. I have always been fascinated by statistics, it's funny how they just turned around to bite a hearty chunk off my lazy posterior

Year                                       Number of Blog posts2007                                       682008                                       452009                                       292010                                       72011                                       52012                                       1 (today)

It would still be fun adding a column titled 'major life events' to this, but I refuse to give so much importance to an online diary, but it's still a fun thought

The snails had it coming. Those breathing holes were far too generous, by my call anyway..

i adorned stealth, and focus. and sashayed through the african grass. knees met with swift sharp blades. i had intended to finish what i had begun. i had a promise to keep. with deep set eyes, and my hands armed, and ready to charge. it was the time of the sun. i felt a sweat bead roll down the back of my neck. it wasn't the first. but there were many. my eyebrows squinted in the heat. there was no ulterior motive. things had never been this real. things had never really been at all. i felt the distant grass disappear. it blended in with the rays. not a sound to the left. not sight to the right. there would be questions later. and there would be answers i could not give. a gentle breeze blew past my side. my hair tied up in a ponytail. a messy one, it had become. but there was more to fix out there, than just my hair. the hair could wait. but this couldn't. i'd thought about this breeze before. it was different from what i knew. more... epic. the sharp african summer gave fire to my flesh. and there it was. i saw him. he saw me. he sat pensive on the edge. i waited. we'd been here before. but this was it. i knew it. the breeze giving him flair. and fueling the feel of it all. i drifted smoothly. and took him by the hands. i was there. and he was there. i had dreamt of it for so long. it felt unreal. but so right. i had won. and they would never understand.


in the summer of kindergarten, i was in senegal (west africa). in class we were raising fat green caterpillers. and every kid in class had a pet at home. i asked my parents to settle for a pet. they said no. the next day, i spent my afternoon class hunting for grasshoppers in the football field.

mannequins and coitus

nails dig into flesh as silence seeps in. bones wrapped in muscle wrestle for the sigh of instant gratification. in the back of a barn. in inexpensive hotel suites. in janitor's closets. against the wall. on floral princess sheets. under ceiling posters of celebrities. boys become men, and make girls feel like women.

somewhere right now, grown ups are discussing the accelerated sex drive of my generation. there is discontent. there is disapproval. there is no solution. separated by an element as abstract as time, the enemy begins to drift. more lies. more confusion. more stress. more sex. more lies. the enemy continues to drift.

i giggle sometimes when i flip through the channels and encounter motifs of the 80s. i scoff condescendingly at the holistic inferiority of the times that have passed, and resume my routine. my time is more advanced. birth control is advertised at a larger scale. girls are wearing less clothes. lines are crossed, and limits pushed. there are prudes. and there are sluts. there are gentlemen. and there are bastards. i am there as well.

they whine if their chairs aren't pulled out for them. if their doors aren't opened for them. and then they whine that they are not taken seriously. they demand respect. they then proceed to show why they do not merit it. cottony soft dolls stand in line for a robocop exterior.

they're in love with the grunts, the sweat, the energy. it is a prize. they want to touch it. but they don't want to get dirty. they'll admire from afar. dream. try. ploy. proceed. play. and the moment they lose the lead, the prize is flawed. and they wish to spare themselves the contamination. the peacock must strut full throttle.

they are afraid of losing us. they yell. they are afraid of the unknown. they bombard us with what they know. they choke us with their warmth in the tightest of embraces. speechless and possessive. our firm skinned hands rest in their wrinkled ones. the minute hand does its job.

we are an army of mannequins cloaked in hormones. drowning in the false advertising that floods our habitat. we are plagued with vanity. we are plagued with superiority. denial. and enough problems to wound our future fetuses. and enough treasures to trick them into believing that the universe is in their favor.

Erm..

I feel inclined to post an article on this new topic, but for some reason, it looks like 3rd year and 4rth year members aren't really posting any articles on this blog, at least not on the weekly [monthly] topics. I'm not sure why that is, as I'm sure everyone who visits this blog is anxious to see our seniors blog as well.

So, can I please request any senior who still likes writing to start this topic? Or contribute to it? I'm sure every 1rst year, 2nd year and 3rd year member of SAASC would appreciate their participation in this blog.

here be all voracious readers.

I stumbled upon this treasure chest, the spoils of which shall be revealed!

It is a collection of writeups on every random thing on the planet and it was compiled by oxford university, aptly titled, 'Very Short Introduction to X' (although 150 pages is not really that short after all)

Anyway, from logic to chaos theory, from fundamentalism to sexuality, from dada and surrealism to human evolution, they have a short introduction to Every friggin topic and its no B.S.

For the entire list, refer to the all and mighty wiki :
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Very_Short_Introductions

If you are unable to find a hard copy anywhere (and if you please let me know as well), we have to resort to unscrupulous ways of hunting them online.

so everybody who can visit torrents, go to isohunt.com and search.

If enough people want it, I can upload it as well.

Cheers and keep reading!
Gagan

you know

They mould you, they pamper you,

And you know they don’t give a damn for you.

They stay by your side, spend time with you,

But it’s only a deception, one day they walk right past you.

They hate you, try to gag you,

But never forget to hail whenever they encounter you.

They mimic you, joke about you,

But invariably say “I do respect you”.

They may need you, maybe not,

But what about the person who himself is lost.

They make you happy; make you feel complete,

But they are not the ones you presently need.

They made you love, they made you loathe,

But it’s time you throw them out of the gate.

You trusted them, treated them as friends,

But now it’s time for you to not give a damn.

Ahoy, sailors on board! After that deluge we witnessed with a bit of everything from scathing attacks on matters of urgent concern to some hard hitting speeches, maudlin sentiments and some very pensive and elegiac poetry, its time to move on. Calls for a topic change. So the topic for the week is "The luck of the draw". So, pen down anything that comes to your mind, be it prose or poetry...

So, lets paint a montage out there.

P.S.-Please keep the tips handed out to you as comments in mind.

Happy Secy Speaketh (title lifted from Mr Raina without permission)

Verve Ended (finally) after the never ending rounds of group discussion. There were a few laughs, the odd heartbreak, the odd spelling disaster and lots and lots of people - but we did manage to (the ambition right from the very start) pull off VERVE at a level never seen before.

The first and Second year surprised me,honestly,with their incessant publicity and marketing drives and the huge participation from within PEC - if you can sustain this kind of energy level, I really do see some good things in the future.

Everyone in the third year, I'm grateful for the immense help you guys were, at the cost of sessionals and classes and MBA classes and what not - grateful really is my word for this fest.

Kshitij, Gagan and Angad - this club really is as much yours as it is mine, and each of the events you guys handled was spectacular in its management. It really is a dream come true to have my own year do as much work as me on the two days of VERVE.

Short descriptions of the event, for the few super seniors who like to know :)

The debate had 80 participants almost in the prelims, has to be some kind of PEC record I'm sure.
3 out of the 10 finalists were from PEC, and both the winners from outside college (although Avneet did only just lose it) - yet both the participation and the quality of it from PEC was quite something. A big thank you to everyone who was in that Audi for the rebuttal - the judges were amazed with our response.

The quiz was conducted in a different and rather fun format this time, 70 teams in the prelims (YES!, be suprised), the quizzing strength of PEC really did shine through, completely steamrolled the event inspire of all the competition.

JAM and twist a script were fun, and very well contested.

The GD did drag on a bit(thanks to our guest from Bulls Eye), but had a lot of wisdom hidden away in the numerous rounds.

Verve is done,I hope everyone is as pleased with it as I am, I'm going on a SAASCless Sunday vacation - but lots of big things to come, I assure you.

Purple Hibiscus

I am writing a book review on a book set in Nigerian culture. I am sure very few people would have read this book and i would like to introduce you all to Purple Hibiscus By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. This book was long listed for Bookers Prize.

What I like about Purple Hibiscus is that the protagonist Kambili is just like any other teenager whose life is circumscribed within her family wall. She has to deal with her abusive and oppressive father as well as her caring mother, navigating her way through life while trying to follow the rules her father has set for her.She is often confused with the kind of feeling she has for her father.Since her father is a well respected man in the community , she is proud of him .Yet he is so abusive that she cannot help but hate him.

Kambili and her brother Jaja do taste the freedom,when their father leaves them with their aunt,due to the political unrest spreading in Nigeria.Even while they are there ,every time the phone rang,Kambili shook with the fear,fear of her father.

Then suddenly, all around them,Nigeria begins to disintegrate and the same begins to happen in the family. A violent coup causes her aunt to go to America.The unrest shakes the family and aggravates the feeling of violence.Kambili, Jaja and mother learn to live without papa.They have freedom but a questionable one.She begins to realise that the bad part of her father were more of his personality that she may have previously understood.

The title of the book is Purple Hibiscus just to show that, the freedom and happiness Kambili looked for ,are fragile like the flower,as compared to the harsh world.

Midnight Fireworks

I know its way past the deadline of wednesday night and Im really sorry Im late. I really din't know what to write about plus its been a while since i wrote anything but songs (nearly 6 years).Thankfully, I came up with this during a random moment of inspiration last night at around 3. Couldn't post it then coz, well, i was too lazy :P I'd love to read what you'll think about it.

A grand party, his coming of age.
My cute baby brother, his fifth birthday.
The whole street on our terrace that night,
a grand spectacle like Bilbo's eleventy first birthday.

Fun, frolic, games , food and yet more fun,
the part had it all, even gifts and toys.
I watched my parents from the corner of my eye.
Both of them, beaming with joy.

While my parents went to sleep after the long night,
after the huge party and the heavenly food we had.
My baby brother and I tiptoed our way to the terrace,
to count the stars, in an unknown street in Baghdad.

We laid down, huddled together, counting stars,
drenched in sweat after chasing each other around.
Suddenly splendid lights appeared in the sky.
Are they shooting stars or falling meteors ?, I wondered.
And then Kahlid screamed as loud as he could,
"Look Fathima, the beautiful bright lights in the sky,
The 'midnight fireworks' on my birthday night".

Walking around the house where I used to live.
Blood splattered all around, in every nook and corner and debris covering the ground.
An eerie silence, there ain't no sound.

Memories keep flooding my head.
The games in the corridors, chasing my brother before he used to fall with a thud.
The heavenly aroma of Ami's food in the kitchen,
now filled with the saline smell of stale blood.
The fun story times in the night in my parent's bedroom
where now holes complimented the painting adorning the walls.
"Stupid architect, we need more sunlight", dad used to say.
With tears flowing down my face, I said aloud,
"Wouldn't you be pleased now Abba, there ain't no roof now"
The only piece of furniture left intact,
in the most cruel of ironies, is khalid's crib along with his pillow.

I still remember that dreadful day,
left without a family and a home to stay.
Celebrating my baby brother's birthday that night,
the food was heavenly, the atmosphere divine.
And lying down in the terrace with him into the night
when he screamed as loud as he could, his voice to hear, a delight,
"Look Fathima, the beautiful bright lights in the sky,
The 'midnight fireworks' on my birthday night".