Water cycle

Parked at a corner lay my rickshaw under the light of the street lamp, elegant and still as ever and here I was, smoking up the last of my day’s beedi. As I rubbed my palm over my stubble and wondered when I would be getting my next shave, my eyes caught two figures approaching me with bags full of stuff which I presume must have been their shopping for the day. They appeared not older than 20, must have been college students and before I could make out their faces, one of them called out to me. Not knowing that I’d already had their attention for the past minute they ran up to me, in the fear that I might vanish into thin air. After a word or two about the destination and price, they hopped on to the rickshaw. Looking at my passengers, I realized that one of them was bulkier than the other which meant I’d have to put in that extra effort into those legs of mine. So a rub of the old guthka between my palms and a toss into the mouth and off we were, into the night.


I hadn’t even moved a metre when came the sound of distant thunder as I instinctively tilted my head to the heavens. Following suit, came the element of water splattering over my temple as though I had been blessed by the rain gods. As the drop trickled down over my face, I looked behind at my passengers and they too could feel it. They could feel the coming of chaos, the chaos that made everything stand still. The wind picked up and so did the falling of drops. A common man’s instinctive mood would be to look for cover but somehow, I wasn’t in the mood for it. As if they had read my thoughts, one of the two behind me asked me “Do you mind driving us in the rain?” I just looked back at them with a smile and nodded. Nothing could stop me now from becoming one with the rain. I took out my packet of guthka and handed it to them for safekeeping. They kept it with a bemused look and pulled over the canopy above their heads as the rain pelted down on the three of us. Moving my rickshaw with the strength in my legs, I could hardly make out of what lay in front of me, I just chose to keep myself moving in one direction. I passed by my fellow rickshaw pullers under the shade of trees, buildings, bus stops who looked at me and laughed at my insanity but I chose to care less. I was having the time of my life and my worries and sorrows had been swept away by the rain. Soon the water started dripping on my friends too but they didn’t seem to be bothered, they too were enjoying this frenzy of nature as we took a stroll through the forests of rain.


One of them then spoke “Good job bhaiyya, we’re having a swell time here !” I just let out a faint grin and proceeded on. I looked up at the towering street lights as they illuminated the drops of rain that had now reduced in number. I wondered how we all were also like drops of rain, some being smaller, some being bigger, some faster, some slower but at the end of it all, they are brought down to the same level once they hit the earth. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even realize when the rain had stopped and when I had reached the destination. I slowly pressed the brakes and my rickshaw came to a halt. My passengers got down, wet and wild but not as drenched as I was. I was handed the dry and crispy notes for my services, notes that were my income, my food, my water and not to forget my guthka which too was handed to me, dry and warm as ever. As I was about to push my feet back on the pedal and head back, I saw a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and it was the bulky of the two passengers who was staring at me as he said “Thanks for the ride”. I confess, I was taken aback by this untimely gesture but it moved something in me as well. My friends had gone on to their homes and as I pushed my rickshaw on the wet dark streets of the city, I remembered my Late Grandfather here. He used to quote “People with worlds of differences can feel as one under the hand of God” and today I felt the warm hand of God on my wet shoulder.

Give me fuel, Give me fire...

The clouds have faded into the hills beyond.
No more am I, sitting beside Ruskin Bond.
He has left like the leopard and departed.
The days of toil have now just started.
But far into the horizon, I see a lone gull.
Hovering in my eyes, worn out and dull.
The rebels shall return and more have been born.
Into the brotherhood, they have been sworn.
So let us rejoice under this roof as whole and one.
For the writing on the wall has long been done.

Good day fellow bloggers, it's been a hot night and with relief I say it is a better morning. The sun is yet to show his might and so are you all. It's good to see the blog buzzing on but this is far from what has been expected. Writing is a hindrance at times but trust me, here is where you take on the challenge. The topic has changed and keeping it a little more abstract it shall be " My raging fire"...

Let loose the chariots of fire and create your own ashes from the dust.
Blogs not related to topic are always welcome but do try creating something out of this one.
Das Vedanya
Vinayak

read if it suits you.

Searching for a pair of long-lost earplugs, I came across this page scribbled in by a younger me. It’s something I wrote roughly four years back, as a presentation of an assignment I’d prepared for an English Project. It’s brought back memories of me , sitting cross legged on the stairs, talking to Guneet about women of color, as I hurriedly concluded a rather ambitious project. It’s about Oprah Winfrey. It’s about what’s held my interest all these years. It’s about Guneet shouting her lungs out and expressing immense disappointment in me, each time I’d use the “N” word, as she would, and still does, put it. It’s about what she's taught me, and about most of the reason I’ve been laughed at. It is, but a simple presentation, by a fifteen year old, that boasts of no heavy words, or fancy expressions, but utmost honesty; and I choose to post it word-to-word as the original. I hope you enjoy it, and kindly excuse the grammer :).

The topic of my assignment is:-

"Oprah Winfrey - The Successful Black Woman"

As the very first page of my assignment states, my assignment is dedicated to "all those with a vision, and more importantly with the determination to being about a phenomenon, termed change"

My assignment begins from a grassroot level, defining the term "discrimination", as a categorisation or delineation in the society on the basis of sex, race, cast, creed or origin , either or which, if critically analysed, stand unjustified.

I thoroughly discuss discrimination on the basis of race as a socially existing vice that comprises of placing the "whites" on a pseudo-high platform providing them with immense opportunities and depriving the blacks, of any. It is a default assumption, that whites are intellectually and creatively superior than the black or brown, an assumption not scaffolded by an biological or scientific fact. The direct consequence of such categorisation in the State is the departure from a cordially existing society wherein people make frequent use of terms like "niggers" or "nigeroes".

I choose to discuss " discrimination on the basis of sex" henceforth, and the manner in which the society deprives women of any possible opportunities, transforming them into professional failures and ending the symbiotic relationship thats should exist in the society. Such a practice discourages the attempt of the State to tap maximum potential from the masses, as it directly cuts off half the talent.

Through my assignment, I make an effort to tempt the reader to reflect upon the immense drudgery a black woman is cursed with, as a consequence of a double-fold discrimination. This entire discussion was to make the reader realise the gravity of the situation and to magnify the achievements of the black woman who inspired me to pen down this project- Oprah Gene Winfrey.

Born in Mississippi, Oprah Winfrey stayed with her grandmother for the first three years of her life. Oprah's grandmother was highly concerned about her intellectual growth and made Oprah learn to read by the age of three, an age, most children barely learn to speak. Unfortunately, Oprah had to spend the next decade of her life in rural areas with her mother, and that comprised the most traumatic phase of her life. She was sexually abused for five continuous years by her cousin, uncle and then her boyfriend, and in year 1988, Oprah confessed having suffered teenage pregnancy and having lost her child in the foetus stage.

Even after such agony, Oprah began her broadcasting career at the age of 17, for a local radio station and later served as a reporter to them. And hence began her endless struggle for success, months in and out. She switched jobs from hosting radio shows to enacting plays and hosting local TV shows, but she always lacked an audience, being "The Black woman who spoke the White Language".

It was only in 1986 that Oprah started , "The Oprah Winrey Show" which brought her immediate success. In year 1989, this show won three Daytime Emmy Awards, those for The Best Anchor, The Best Talk Show and The Best Direction. In the very next year, Oprah became the youngest and the "Fifth Woman" in the world to receive the "Best Broadcaster of the Year" award. And ever since, Oprah has never looked back. She was listed among the top 100 Most Influential People by the Times Magazine and today lives as "the richest Black Woman Alive".

I conclude my presentation, expressing that terming Oprah's story as "yet another biography" would simply be understating it, for its grown more into a fable this day; the fable of the woman with the worst of the circumstances and the best of the talent, the fable where determination transpired misery into immediate success, the fable, that promises to inspire the lives of many to come..


*Not that I no longer come up with jokes that demean women, but I guess I've learnt quite a lesson here, and I genuinely hope I don't always need an obnoxious nagging girl by my side to learn more in life.

Just because people don't comment, doesn't mean people don't read. This blog and the posts on this blog are making me very happy :).

Red Moon

As I looked through the tinted pane
Mystified was I, as she came
Well, I wanted the beauty to be mine
But along came that bloody swine
The flowing velvet and glowing shadows
Left me with the deepest hollows
And when she caught him in a closer hold
Stone turned liquid and air solid
I had to evade the soulless sight
But I knew I needed all my might
Someone was laughing, someone crying
But why was I still trying?
To reality was I still trying to come
Unaware, that the darkest deed was yet to be done
The shining knife
The starless night
I tried to speak
But managed a squeak
The moon was red
The velvet was dead
Bathed in sweat, I opened my eyes
Ringing in my ears were the ghastly cries

Heart-Ache

Hey gagan here again....This is not about rain or remotely close but something i hope everybody reads.

I dont think I am very successful in putting everything into words but i sincerely wish it touches your heart like it did to mine.

Every one of us has some kind of inhibitions. Those small absurd things that make you or me a unique identity. I am going to share one of those today. Something I managed to shed over the weekend. The special people. People who are not blessed with things we so carelessly take for granted. Who has the time to ponder over such trivial issues anyway? When we were adolescents, it was about getting maximum stars from the teacher. By high school it was about winning competitions and being the head boy. With entrance exams, it was getting to the topmost rung of the ladder even before the struggle would make an inception.

I searched for the meaning of life. The Holy Google showed me this:

the experience of being alive; the course of human events and activities; "he could no longer cope with the complexities of life"

Hmm, well isn’t that a bit ironical. I’ll tell you how. The only statement that could have been used as an assertion to existence of life actually talks about ending it.

Yes! That’s what life is. An endless endeavor.

Here we are drowned in the seas of emotions. Getting a job or an Ivy League college or whether we make the “CAT” meow.

That’s what clouds our minds. Well my clouds poured their heart out when I went to Samarth the other day. It’s a residential care centre for mentally challenged. Let’s go back to my inhibition. It was how I didn’t want to hurt these kids with my actions and come out as cold and rude because I have so much respect for them. I want to help them but I thought I’d cringe at seeing them. So there I went in, just like a gladiator who enters the coliseum, and stands there waiting with utmost patience thinking he might get devoured any moment soon. Only difference is I did not have a sword or wore heavy armor but was armed with coca cola bottles, pastries, drawing colors to have the best Independence Day celebrations of my life.

As we entered, we hid the stuff in the cupboard and then started drawing with them. I shirked at first, but I had to be strong. There was somebody crying, it seemed like he wanted to cry for some reason or the other. He was like I m crying for the people in Ahmadabad and I was a bit taken aback.Anyway, we went back out. I was told to sit with Seema to help her draw. She would color a bit and then hold it up to show me if she was doing well. I would nod and grin like a wondrous fool. She saw people’s arm getting painted and suddenly drawing was not sport enough. She perched forward and through the sheet away and made a run for the painting area. By then somebody had broken a crayon and another one was laughing hysterically and showing off the tri-color that had embellished her arm. That smile on their faces. Priceless.

Colors and music. Languages of the world. What a wonderful infusion that knows no bounds and needs no comprehension.

As you can guess, we played the music for them. The hyperactive Seema was at it again. She was like I m a “ ganda bacha”. Everybody else was her brother and she would drag them, sometimes with abnormal amount of force, to a dance. Soon people were joining in. Somebody would flail their arms. There was this small girl. All she wanted to do was jump up as high as she could. So I’d hold her arms and up she went. She was quite young too. The reminiscent of my childhood seem to float back. Counting all the stars I had got………….Soon we poured in the colas and served out the pastries.

Everyone ate their share. No stealing, No throwing around, No messing around. They didn’t know the usual etiquettes which we are inborn with but they didn’t do any of that. I was baffled. They’d just come inside the room and if you’d ask them if they want a cola they would take it and go back. Not that we had caught them playing and running away with the bottles in the first place but it was just “shock and awe”. Here were people who were free to play any amount of tricks on us but there were no tantrums to be seen, no traces of disrespect .All they gave was a smile. An honest delicate smile that genuinely felt like a thank you. Out of Samarth there is a selfish cruel world. A devil’s den. A coliseum. Where any moment can be your last.

My inhibition was crumbling. I danced with Seema and was soon pushing people onto the dance floor. The local favorites took turns to play on the stereo. Music filling up the small enclosure. As it spread, it caught hold of them, tight in its clutches, and made them jive. There was a new entrant to Samarth who was not bedazzled by the music’s mystique. She would cry out in a burst at any random instant. While I was lost in my thoughts, this guy tucked on my shirt and said “phell”. I couldn’t understand and my friend was quick to aid me, “He wants your phone.” The guy soon had the phone close to his ears listening to “hum hain is pal yahan” and gave out a beaming smile back at me.By now, I was seema’s brother too and she was giving all of us tight hugs.

Soon people gathered around this guy who didn’t participate in anything .Everybody was coaxing him to sing a song. Every song came to a sudden end. Every shout was shushed. After a long time, he finally broke into some famous actor quotes. Claps ensued. Even the new entrant laughed in her own way and everybody looked in astonishment at her. I was sitting at some distance on a chair looking at him. My bulb glowed. This was his JEE exam. This was his CAT. My eyes gave way to a tear. Inhibition came to a clattering end. There were no jobs for the taking, No salaries to be earned, No professors to please. Just a simple sentence that made him a star.

As soon as that happened, rain began to pelt down. I was still in my own maze. People who care for them. Life’s a bitch.

Soon we packed up our stuff and made a run out for our vehicles. Everybody waved bye. Everyone.

My heart was filled with happiness. The joy of making them smile for few hours is going to be etched in my heart for a long time.

Aurore’a Borealis.

Men, they say, are prudent, and shall choose nothing but logic. Men, they also say, are impudent, to blind themselves from the possibilities henceforth. And well that is quite understandable. I’m the only one in Cierra who’s ever tasted the fruit of education, and believe you me; it’s a fruit that runs as much spleen, if not more, than the one that doomed the naïve’ Eve to livelong misery. Inarguably all, have a penchant for pieces that fit, for an equation derived from another, for the concept of evolution of something from an another something, and the idea of the slightest misfit is almost revolting. Faith has always been consumed by logic; and my story is just another story of the many, that talk of this untenable shift.

The miniature boats of the Eastern Lands, all bound to a huge single mass by rusted links that made rude creaking noises as each boat pulled the one behind it, and the two on either sides, while the one ahead hauled itself forwards; it was difficult to tell which pulled which, but then I never claimed the Cierrians to have brains enough for an intelligent formation. The boats, made of wood from the neighboring forests weren’t masterpieces either. The wood, to say the least, had quite an affinity for the waters, and was inviting enough to let them pass and drain a decent quarter of the regular boat. The only relief, if any, were the absolutely still waters of Panay, in which the hundred something boats and the thousand something natives, sailed.

I pulled out the silver dial from the left pocket of my voile cloak. Another hour of inexplicable foolery. Sigh.

Cierra has always been the land of mystical fables, and not only have the lands seen them twist and bruise when tossed from one tongue to another, but also seen them burl the feeble minds of its men; Cierra has not once known to have had a rather tragic tale. Legend has it that the first of the twenty nine Ohiaos of Cierra was the wise man who chose the wooden axe over the rest and was hence rewarded; clearly the storytellers here never realize where to draw the line. Men at Cierra are not quite the shrewd lot, or probably even sane to the world outside, but then they don’t need to be for the days are consumed cultivating grapevine and nights spent trading it with the Southern men. All can read and write though, but only things already known to the lands; that have too-oft been talked about to need any reading or writing, least of all, in vernacular. The men know all of love though, and its labyrinths, and the fine process of nurturing it carefully lest it rots and is lost forever. Grandpa says love is the white light, and only when you spin the wheel of a million unfathomable human emotions, with an intensity and vigor beyond immediate control, that immaculate love shall show, as simple and as entire as the white light. He thinks so, but I’m not quite sure if he knows so. I’ve spent the better half of my teens studying the sciences in Texas University, and none of my experiences all those years suggest anything, even remotely close to the concept of love that Grandpa so proudly endorses. I wish he knew what around the bent world lives on the other banks of Panay, how man has conveniently sided with the legions of the Satan and has devoted himself to Him and His vices, that Man no more remembers how to Love, but only to abhor, and how the Sun that lights those vile-vile lands brings forth a day, each day, of soul-stirring agony. I wish he only knew…

“Ay, drink mate?” It was the farmer from the boat on the immediate left.

“Thanks, but I think I’d pass” I smiled.

The farmer returned to his wife who sat rather sore in a boat that hardly had room for two, and this one carried three, that’s if we’re counting the cherub sleeping blissfully under the lady’s gown. Yes, the Cierrians do have strange ways with babies. The family looked rather content; the couple looked in their late thirties, both stout, both exceptionally brawny, and both, balding. Yet, happy. And that’s just the thing that makes me detest my men, and essentially Grandpa for patronizing all with fancy concepts that serve as a convenient refuge in a time that rather requires immediate trials, for stripping them of their aspirations and hence exterminating the slightest hint of progress in the lands. I remember having talked about it to Grandpa once, who dismissed it suggesting I’d know more in good time. But, would I, ever?

The silent night filled with the sound of hollow drums, there was no tune to it, but random reverberations that thence echoed from adjoining mountains and so the thuds from a dozen drums multiplied to make what sounded like a single, unbroken harmony. I checked the dial again…about time…

“ Laa re’ Ohiao!” shouted all to the empty skies.

I saw Grandpa stand up on the far end of the fleet. He’s pretty much done with his years, my grandfather; and a rather public rumor has it that the high numbers have reduced him to being barmy, and that he proposes the strangest remedies to the most trivial crisis, but that’s just a rumor; and an Ohiao never runs out on them. I’m not very fond of him and his ways though, to me, he’s just another haughty old man who can’t even thread a needle.

“I don’t stand here to grant no direction, Cierrians!” he pronounced, in a tone so gruff that it betrayed his years, “for there lies no direction; better, or worse. For all we can do as men, is wander, and wait for The Lights to find us!”

The stagnant streams of Panay shuddered to the clamors of a thousand men. Men and women stood up; children held precariously on raised shoulders, all to watch the wise Ohiao unfurl the route to the divine find. The Ohiao delivered a very pregnant pause, not quite to entertain doubts or any suspicions, for none have ever been received or expected from the Cierrians, but probably for a prolonged applause or even an ovation if the mob be ecstatic. And so did he receive, and how. I don’t appreciate him being much of a show-off either.

“The Aurora waters shall rain in no time my men, and The secrets be told this night; a night the first Cierrian longed all eternity. Let all rejoice, perform the dances and intoxicate the joyful Souls to utter foolishness”

I don’t remember the last time I’d heard anything this preposterous. Not only was the whole eerie feel to it so supremely bogus, but also revolting to any self respecting individual. But the Ohiaos’s utterance with shocking convenience immuned the shamness of the claptrap words to any further contemplation by the Cierrians, who cheered and applauded even if the words never reached them over the noise of the drums. Fools!

“The Aurora song!”

Mammoth silhouettes at the far end of the fleet began to bang onto gigantic hollow barrels with a new found vigor, drowning the pre-existing thumping of the drums, for the music that now flowed with the cold airs was far more raucous and intimidating. Alcohol in cups, giant-mugs and even wooden drums, began with its usual rounds across the boats, to do what it does best, to men who had the most insatiable appetite for it. The ships rocked hence and forth, with the aproportioned weight of wasted boogying men and women, all intoxicated on grape wine and the wondrousness of the paranormal night.

“Care not for the feeble, for no spirit is so” said the Ohiao, eyes hard bent onto the farmer’s wife on my left, who was rocking her baby to sleep against her bosom, “It’s a journey to be embarked upon alone, quite like the one we all shall, one day, after The Great Sleep. Let not temptation bind you.”

The mother, after a moment that perhaps ran a million doubts and endless rounds of deliberation, smiled, and resigned to the situation stoically. She placed her baby carefully on the centre of the cold wooden plank that served as seating, and like all other women, pulled-up her gown from the hem of the skirt, and whirled around ecstatically, singing The Aurora Song.

“Au-ro-re’-aa Au-re’ naa laaa
Au-ro-re’-aa se deee, aamaa..”

The mantra gained tempo at an incredible rate, all; the dancers, the drummers, the near pass-outs, the Ohiao, joined it; and the jingle, with the clamors and the hoarse music of the barrels, seemed to uncannily fit the mood of the mystical night.

I wasn’t party to the foolery though. The initial infuriation had now mellowed to utmost hilarity, watching black stout drunk men and beefy scruffy women dance irrepressibly with no moves and technically to no music, was quite a treat. The hubbub continued to agitate the peace of the night, and just when I thought things couldn’t get more bizarre, an outrageously nasty sight caught my eye.

The Ohiao with three other men, and a woman, all stripped to their skin, spinned around hysterically, with arms extended out to the black skies, eyes shut, and lips still mouthing the Aurora song. I, though armed with absolute hostility for any scene this bizarre, couldn’t help but feel the airs fill in with the magic, a sensation that I doubt any words in any tongue could ever surmise. And the magic only grew. The dances were no more being performed, the barrels sang though, and all men; shirts unbuttoned, and women; ungowned, spinned unsteadily to the beat. Many missed steps, and even fell, only to stand up again, and do what was to be done- spin and sing, spin and sing. There was no shame to be taken, not in the nudity, or in the utter foolishness that the Ohiao suggested, for there is no shame from Him.

“Au-ro-re’-aa Au-re’ naa laaa
Au-ro-re’-aa se deee, aamaa..”

A ripple cracked at the right end of the fleet. The disturbance spread out swiftly, birthing undulating circles that grew in diameter as they travelled out, only to fade eventually, and mother similar impressions, doomed with a similar fate. The waters splashed hard against the inferior woods, swaying the boats wildly which in no time broke out of formation. None of the thousands seemed to have noticed though, or probably didn’t care for it in the slightest. All they knew the time required of them was to spin and dance sincerely, inviting the Gods, and even death seemed like a fair trade for it.

“Au-ro-re’-aa Au-re’ naa laaa
Au-ro-re’-aa se deee, aamaa..”

It was then that I saw it happen. At first I thought something had spilled from one of the boats, but the effect was far too incredulous for that. The chief watercourse seemed to have been marched into by thicker streams that ran fluids of varying colors; colors not the usual ones, but odder and more brilliant. The streams swiveled and turned as they swam through the clear waters, only to smash into one another and form wider and more compulsive currents, which tinted the river with strange, radiant dyes. And in no time, the once still and translucent waters of Panay achieved an overpowering rate, throwing its waters rash over the Cierrian boats, all dressed in the loudest colors. I remember Grandpa once mentioning about a palette more colorful than The Ribbon of Seven, this could quite be it..

“The Aurora!! The Aurora!! It arrives!!” cried an old hag frantically, hands hard cupped against her bewildered mouth, eyes running unobedient emotions, saggy hands wide stretched towards the skies..

Reality hit me. It wasn’t the waters or the streams that the magic dwelled in, they were merely carting it; mediating between the inaccessible lumber rooms and the juvenile human mind, having endured a lifetime of absolute stagnancy, only to break away and do, what had probably been ordained for them since ages unlived. It was the opposite direction altogether. It had always been the skies....

I looked up. The elaborately hued streams that moments ago frequented the gushing rivers below my feet, now danced blissfully in the dark skies above, slithering in and out of the shadowy clouds, and into each other, changing in appearance and contour every few seconds. The luminous beams lengthened from one end of the horizon to another, illuminating each fraction of the picturesque valley, in colors that never before served the human eye. The night, all of a sudden, turned effortlessly divine.

The Cierrians didn’t forget to sing the Aurora song though, or to spin around naked in all insanity; the drummers didn’t discontinue the music either, there are roles they know men are to play in life, and not even a night as significant as this , calls from them to quit so.

Miniscule blotches of gleaming colors structured in the higher skies above. Ravenous smiles stole the faces of most Cierrians, who spinned and sang slower now, all in absolute awe of the vista they had awaited all life…it was there and then, and it was happening…the Auroras were going to rain! The dots grew larger and heavier each passing moment, the lights above shone with all their brilliance, and men and women, bedazzled at the sight and at their Luck, spinned around unclothed, desperate to soak each drop of the Aurora rains with their dry starving skins.

I felt my eyes scorch and leak in disbelieve, my hands unbutton my shirt, the Aurora song escape my trembling lips…

The Tradition had only begun.

Underground Tales

greetings once again fellow bloggers.....this one's by Vaibhav Nangia from 2nd year...apparently he didn't get an invite for the blog...but that doesn't dampen the Saasc spirit...so here you go...read on...

years and years he lived underground
amidst the freaks and the frowns
trapped in his own mind
searching for his own kind

trapped together; trapped forever
destined to leave or so they thought
in the hope of something better
every battle lost for each one fought

yet he saw no reason to leave
nothing to be gained by false dreams
not a dreamer;not since may
and so he chose to stay away

although there was reason enough to be
reason to stay if they so choose to see
free for freedoms sake; he thought
his mistakes and his decision to take

looking up at the world
he saw men fight each other
he saw them kill anything that got in their way
why should i join such beasts is what he'd say
and so he chose to stay away

for months the beasts schemed
they planned and they dreamed
they had reasons is what he'd say
and till i find one ill stay away

and so he lived his days
preplanned; safe but always the same
the earth shook as the men above fought
the people above had long since lost their way
all the more reason to stay he thought
all the more reason to stay away

till one day after many a day
he chose to look up again
not that he was going to change his ways
just that he liked seeing people cringe in pain

but try as he might
to find mad killing above ground
there was not a fight in sight,no not this time
just an eerie silence all around

wierd shapes in the sky
and a thirst emanating from the ground
he looked ; and then let out a cry
no vindictive pleasure he'd have this time around

and then a light split the sky
and dogs in the air growled
ah he said because he thought he knew why
ofcourse he was wrong; and so he'd been all along

water from the sky
life sprang up from ground
ofcourse he knew not why
things like this never happened below ground

the breeze lifted his hair
the drops lifted his heart
he need not rhyme this passage
there was enough music in the air

he no longer needed a reason he thought
all he needed was an excuse
there was no battle to be won
but there were also none to be fought

and that day after many a day
he no longer chose to stay way
i never needed a reason is what he'd say
not once the rain gods had had their say

(b)rainstorm

"Now who be ye' would cross Loch Gyle, this dark and stormy weather?
Oh! I'm the Chief of Ulva's Isle, and this Lord Ullins Daughter."

I looked around for them but they were nowhere to seen. Perhaps it was even darker today. I looked up at the sky which appeared like a grey canvas with streaks of silver paint made by thin, thick and medium sized brushes. Out of modesty the artist had not stepped forward to take the praise and let his work speak for itself.
Thunder overpowered the frantic cries. As the bolts of lightning appeared everywhere, I wished they would hit the ground and transfer the energy to any surface except the cold flesh of my body. Maybe if I survived this storm I would see the manifestation of this energy in some other form on Earth. If only I could row myself out of the flood…if only I could find a shore...
I clung to anything that would prevent me from drowning as I watched ground floors turn into basements. As the rain got thicker, I lost sight of what remained of my house, my neighborhood, my city.
I loved playing in the rain. It was the other way round today. Rain was playing a very cruel game with me.
And then in what seemed like a lifetime, I felt whirling down into the confines of an ocean-a deep ocean like that of a mind in turmoil. It felt as if I was floating in clouds or the clouds were hovering around my head. A white hazy figure drifted towards me-having perfectly shaped dew drops for eyes, two streaks of lightning for lips and an aura that spelled doom. I wondered if the rain god had personally come to drown me.

I blurted out-“Why do you send so much rain?”
“A cloud for each tap left open.”
Judging by my startled expression, he did the honor of answering briefly, something my English teacher always demanded and I failed to deliver.
“I send only the amount of water you humans waste.”

I pretended that I did not understand. He sensed it and said, “You humans understand it better than me. You know how to squander what is scarce, how to fritter away what is valuable and how to disregard what deserves utmost reverence. You call yourself the most intelligent species on earth and prove to be the contrary.”

The truth struck me hard in my face. He continued, “Let’s take a boat down your memory.”

I was back at the place I had been before I had met him. It was a sunny day. I barely recognized my friends in their multi-colored faces. It was the Hoodoo festival of Holi. I saw myself tumbling buckets of colored water on passersby. We laughed in glee at the dazzled victims. The merriment continued as we aimed water balloons on each other, not to forget the simple piston-shaft mechanisms through which we shot jets of water.

The boat wobbled and sent a shiver down my spine. The next moment we were inside my house. I was brushing my teeth as a mark of brushing away my slumber to start the day. The sound of running water was deafening. I saw a tap running in the sink, a bucket over flowing with water , someone watering the plants in the lawn and someone playing Holi with the car, this time with clean water. The amplified sounds were interrupted by a song- saawan main lag gayi aag...My friends were back. We were sitting at a local restaurant eating chicken. I wondered what this had to do with wasting water. Once again, the rain god, judging by my blank expression, spoke- Name the industry which consumes the largest amount of water.
“Textile?” I asked. He remained silent. “Petrochemical?” I gave another shot. “Oh! Yes I know. Pharmaceutical.” No reaction again. I went on naming every industry I had heard of including IT. I felt like a fool as he smirked at my answers.

“The meat industry”, came the reply after the most mortifying silence. “To produce 1 calorie of meat it takes 100 times the amount of water that it takes to produce 1 calorie of grain. Eating one kilogram of meat is equivalent to a three-hour car ride while the lights are left on at home; equivalent to 36.4 kg carbon dioxide.”
I shook my head in denial. The smirk returned to his face as he said, “Sounds complex, doesn’t it? Do not deny what you do not understand.” And spoke no more.
I felt as if the chicken was stuck in my throat. I saw myself picking a bottle of Cola when he pointed at the same and said-that’s the second biggest water polluting industry but does anyone complain?
The boat gave a loud shudder at this. The lashing waves gave way to a lash of conscience. I knew I was going to drown-if not in the flood then surely in a pool of guilt.
“Let’s visit another place you’ve heard of but haven’t seen.”
In another part of my city, a family wept silently. A lady stared hopelessly at a rusted tap as a toddler with parched lips looked intently at her. His father lamented that the tube wells didn’t work; that the crop would dry for the land was arid.
At this the rain god said to me

Rain does not fall in vain
For it takes away their pain
But all you do is disdain
For you can see no gain
So do not complain
And save the waters that remain

I reached the shore. I could hear my mother frantically crying out my name . She sprinkled water on my face and shook me out of the delirium. As I opened my eyes, she offered me a glass of water...

Quiz

For a long time we have been thinking of starting the quizzing section on this blog,for a start I am posting the questions of the recruitment test .
The answers are posted in the comments.I would like all people who are interested in Quizzing to post their trivia questions.We are also thinking of starting a weekly quiz .Please post in your suggestions for the quizzing section in the comments.

Q.1 Who won the booker of bookers and also had a fatwah issued against him?

Q.2 Which rocker and roll legend recently won a lifetime achievement award
for contribution to literature?


Q.3 Which country is Waterloo in?


Q.4 Which school does Abhinav Bindra belong to?


Q.5 Why does NDTV always ask its users to SMS to 6388 for polls, a
quite popular mode of advertising for television channels?


Q.6 Which country recently recorded the highest rate of inflation?
(Bonus marks if you write the exact figure)


Q.7 Which Asian business woman draws the highest pay package for Women CEO's?


Q.8 Expand SUN in Sun Microsystems ?


Q.9 What is the old name of AXIS bank ?


Q.10 What does the 3 pointed star in the Mercedes logo signify ?

Musings of a knight on a rainy night

The sky was grey and like a blur,
All I could do was to think of her,
She left me, betrayed me
But still I thought she loved me
I was a fool to fall in love with that girl
But here I was mourning in betrayal
The raindrops spluttering-splattering on the road
I had nothing to do but stand there getting bored,
I stared across the road for a while,
There was nothing but emptiness for a mile,
Nature was sleeping,
The skies were weeping.
The wind in my hair…
Heightened my sense of despair
I thought about the aim of a life
Was it all reduced to find myself a wife?
Who would take care of me and my family too?
Or maybe treat me like an animal from the zoo…
Then suddenly something caught my eye
Like a bolt of lightening from the sky
I saw a pretty girl wearing a small little frock
Standing in the rain as still as a rock
Her eyes shown like emeralds and her faced glowed like the sun
As I approached her she began to run
I followed her till the bridge across the river
As then she stopped and began to shiver
She looked at me with no emotion
And as I came closer she was about to jump
I wanted to stop her but my throat was blocked by a lump
Our eyes met and she stopped
I felt my heart was about to pop
A girl as beautiful I had never seen
In reality or in a magazine
She appeared to have descended with the rains from above
I finally realized that this could be true love
My thoughts were racing at the speed of light
Searching to the words that may sound right
Never had I wanted someone so bad
All I wanted to know why was she sad
Time was ticking
I knew she wouldn’t stay there waiting
But in the depth of my heart I almost knew
That she had feelings for me too
I asked her about her history
She began telling me her sad love story
I realized we were aboard the same ship
And this might be blossoming into a serious relationship
I waited for her to make the first move
But she thought along the same groove
Amidst the silence of the seas
We were teleported to the world of the purple trees
It seemed so right yet so wrong
Like Ms. Kelly making love to Mr. Wong
Finally the silence was broken and so was my heart
She left me to see the new mega mart
I wondered why I was in shackles and the birds so free
And why was she so pretty unlike me
Did she feel the same for me?
Or was it a myth of the land of the purple trees
I still do wonder if those words I had said
Would her heart for me have bled?
Those tears of sorrow from my eyes to her feet
Have swept the ground beneath her feet
I still feel the same for her, my dear
And she would have been mine if wasn’t for my silly beer
So here I was, lying on my deathbed here ,
Lonely and sad
Telling the story of the love I never had

Phlegmatic Fly

A very good day to all you bloggers.
It's amazing to witness such enthusiasm within the first week of this endeavor that it swells up my eyes...( Umm ok, not that much) ... Now as for the change of topic, well I was supposed to bring out a new one today but I think it still isnt the time to do so. The rain surely hasn't faded anywhere, there are just more grasshoppers, worms, floods, frogs and not to forget, RAIN there could ever be ! Furthermore, I want more people to join in and contribute to this blog as soon as possible. That includes me as well :P ... My story is under construction but a slight cold has rusted up my joints. And even if your story is not Rain related, you can put it up anyway. For now, I leave you with something that's got a little rain but more of rhyme in it :)
Blog On !
Cheerio

Far away in the realms of Middle Earth.
Rested a small region called Hobbiton.
And in a small corner lay a little town.
Known as the Shire, by all and one.

Where chimney smokes rose, white as snow
And trees danced in the music of the winds.
Here lived in a shack young Bilbo Baggins.
With tales up his sleeve that none would know.

One midsummer’s night as he sat in the fire,
Smoking his pipe and making round rings.
Staring with intent at his lone window pane
As he watched them trickling, the drops of rain.

As the fire crackled on through that hour.
The clouds thundered on as though turned sour.
The clock at his bedside ticked with each second.
But then from nowhere came a sound unheard.

It was a croak or a crack, he knew not which.
There was one and another and one more !
Whether it was a beast or just a little insect.
He had to find out, for it was now his itch.

The clouds had ended their tumultuous spell
But the mysterious noises refused to cease.
As the door opened, out came a figure all in black
It was young Bilbo Baggins, exiting his shack.

A lantern in his hand, he traversed through the mud.
In search for his beast that he sought to slay.
In the light of the moon, shadows danced on his face.
As the moths wavered about in their time of play.

His ears at his legs, he wandered on ahead.
The noise grew louder and more in number !
Was he alive and awake or deep in slumber ?
Nevertheless, he proceeded to meet his fate.

Soon he found himself reaching a small bog.
Enveloped in the sounds of different sorts.
There were chirps and croaks and hoots too.
He knew not where to look and what to do.

So he closed his eyes and raised his arms up high.
And in a heartbeat, the cacophony came to a halt.
Struck with the silence, he couldn’t believe his ears
With his head tilted to the stars, he opened his eyes.

And then he slowly looked down at the bog as it was.
But now he felt alone and afraid in the dark night.
Had he been abandoned due to fear or due to anger ?
Maybe his presence was an unwanted sight.

He lowered his arm to take leave when came a sound.
A chirp could be heard and then came two, no three!
Witnessing this ensemble, he smiled and waved his arm
The chirps waved too, rising and falling and moving around.

Then he waved his other arm and followed suit the croaks.
Waving his arms about along with the sounds of the night
He loved each moment of this strange and lovely escapade.
He was now a conductor and this was the choir he had made.

Climbing atop a rock, he looked down and heard them sing.
Which was once a racket had now turned into music!
As he stood there waving his arms in the moonlight.
The moths joined too, hovering above his head in a ring

Young Bilbo was there all night with his new found friends.
He even chose to sing a lore or two that he found to love.
And then danced a little too among the croaks and chirps.
Under the stars of the night he wished would never end.

GOLDEN KING

This is something very random i wrote while I was remembering the rainfalls at Sanawar. This is purely a description, though it's a bit haphazard :) . I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

The road was decorated with puddles of mud, as the dark venomous sky spat down in bitter angst,little droplets fell from the sky as it could not bear their burden anymore, the dark cloud mumbled and fumbled to itself,disappointed with it's inability to completely devour the sun, as little streaks of light arced forth through little imperfections in the otherwise continuous velvet blanket of clouds,it's grey frame silhouetted against the waning sun,little by little inching across it's surface, crushing it's light to a naught and then devouring it as a whole, the cloud letting out an angry roar of lightning as a grunt to celebrate it's victory,the sun giving way and succumbing to it's dark whirls as the cloud smirked with vengeance.

The drizzle changed to an onslaught as drops thrashed against the mountains, the fierce wind making the pattern of the rain go awry,changing it's direction,only as more drops came pounding down like curses from the clouds.

The dense-cotton mass hung down like a ball, changing shape with the slightest rush of the wind,throwing forth a plethora of drops, unevenly scarring the terrain, the ground sizzling in response and letting outwhirls of dust that were lost to the oncoming darkness.Vision became a blur as drops of mercury thrashed down like arrows, darkness spreading it's hold further and further .The darkness took hold like a plague, for a long time all was dark and noisy, ghastly winds tore past the trees, their leaves lunging forth into the unknown darkness,swept by the fierce wind, loose branches resisted but eventually gave in, getting lost like a pebble into the ocean, creatures howled and hid and howled some more, there was no respite, nothing to do away with the cold cunning thathung about like a beast with no shape from the sky,the onslaught continued into the thick of the night,then almost abruptly it came to a still, there was no wind,nothing moved,no drops pattered against the ground,it was all still, very still.

Nothing defied the silence, no drops fell,the sky was clear, the stars blinked down in dumbfound unison, mutilated trees wept alone in the silence, a feverish chill descended on everything, creatures hid in their holes for fear of the beast, it was all perfect and still. Then slowly something stirred in the silence,the gushing sound of water became perceptible as little rivulets of water sped down the slope, getting lost somewhere in the dense foliage that was scattered all across the mountains, little drops trickled down the barks of trees and hung on the edge of leaves kerplunking down with a plonk into puddles of mud,a cold breeze rustled through the forest making trees shiver and letting out a whole array of drops falling uncertainly on the ground,it was as if the whole mountain breathed a sigh of relief, the beast was gone.

As the stars glimmered with the last traces of their light and a sleepy sun forced it's way through the yellow coloured sky, the shadows beneath the trees haunted with the darkness of the night slowly melted away. It's light as if stuck behind the residue of clouds that hung from the previous night's rain over the horizon, making them glow fiercely like a bulb. A loose leaf from the branch of a tree took notice of the slight wind and softly floated away with it, slowly wafting through the air along it's path.The sun now slowly emerging from the mass of clouds and throwing a spell of yellow-orange rays on the mountain side,which reciprocated by shining a brilliant gold , the twitter of birds filled the air, their colourful plumage on display, golden rays streaming through dense clusters of trees, throwing delightful shadows all around.

Life started anew, buds bloomed to completion, bees visited flower to flower in search of nectar, butterflies floated along the fields,colourful birds took to the skies,an army of ants busied itself in search of food forming zig-zag lines with military precision on the uneven ground,eager frogs jumped helter skelter in search of early morning prey,snails munched on fallen leaves with newfound delight,creatures came out of their holes, staring at the clear skies,all rising as if in response to the warm rays of the sun, welcoming the golden king.

Dripping Happyness

There was something that seemed to be peculiar since the moment I stretched my lazy muscles and rubbed my eyes into focus. The sleep had not quite left me when suddenly my phone beeped me to my senses. Still not ready to let go of the early morning laziness I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed. As I was walking past the window I was caught by the intoxicating dampness in the air. It seemed as it was just about to rain; and suddenly, I was loosing myself in the long lost memories; memories which have been forgotten only to be swiftly swept away in their tide when they return.

It was one of those days when everything just seemed to be falling in to place. Like a magical, self arranging jigsaw puzzle. Like when you begin to wonder, ‘is life actually that perfect?’ and this becomes the perfect moment for the dreaming part to start. I somehow managed to fall into the same perfect moment on a perfect day.

The raw smell in the air was like a messenger announcing the arrival of the heavy shower to follow. The skyline, already grey, was predicting the same. The walk back home was lonely, yet there was a distinct smile pasted on my face; being able to point out the reason behind which was as unlikely as finding flying cows. Maybe it was the grand celebration I was just returning from, maybe it was my friends who could make the dullest of days turn to golden sunshine, maybe it was the car I was hopeful of getting the coming month or maybe it was just the cool wind blowing through my hair, swirling up happiness inside me.

It started drizzling as I turned into the lane where I live and by the time I reached my front gate it was raining as if all the water in the oceans had evaporated. I was drenched to skin in a matter of seconds. The wind which had now also picked up speed was making me shiver non stop. In my rush to get into the warmth of my house, I failed to notice the small furry ball lying near the pansies in the lawn. It was only after I was all dried and warm; standing at the window with a cup of hot chocolate I noticed the addition to my garden. The downpour was so heavy that it was next to impossible to make out from inside what was lying unwanted in my lawn.

After a few moments of debating, I came to a conclusion that it was just a piece of garbage probably blown in by the strong winds. Just then when I had made a mental note to clean it up first thing when the rain stops, the garbage came to life. It was moving. Still trying to come to terms with the latest addition to the list of facts, I had already started walking to the door. It seemed as if my body was responding to my curiosity rather than will. Keeping the mug of steaming chocolate on the table I went out once again to start shivering but more to find about the intruder in my domain.

When I reached the place where I had last seen the creature, it was missing. Determined to find out about it I began hunting the garden. Finally I found in curled up in the flower bed. It seemed it had taken shelter among the many flowers from the rain. Nearing the soaked fur ball I realized it was a pup that had somehow stumbled into the garden and was now trying to find shelter from the rain.

I picked the poor creature and carried it inside. It seemed as the terror of being left alone in the cold rain had led it to curl itself into a ball. Even though I brought it inside, it wasn’t moving a limb. Being out in such weather must’ve had its toll on the little creature. Even after drying it out and wrapping him in woolens, the pup was still not moving. I placed some warm milk besides it and sat down besides waiting for him to show some sign of movement, but still it remained as still and limp as when I had picked it. Getting tired of sitting I took rest against the wall.

I barely remember when I dozed off with the ticking clock. When I woke up I realized that the dog had wiggled out of the warm wrapping and was cuddled against me. I smiled sleepily and dozed off again.

That’s how I found dripping happiness; my best friend for the years to come. My dog ‘Aqua’!!

Do I Have a rain story?

Damn!

Do I have a rain story to tell? Ever since topic rain has been announced, I have been racking my brains to find a story worthy enough for this blog. The blog is going from post to post with each new post raising the bar a little higher. Come on, I must have atleast one good rain story, maybe only an anecdote buried somewhere which I could package in excellent imagery, use dictionary vocabulary, embellish it with some emotional qoutes and get away with it.

Nah. The brain isn’t working. I decided to take some inspiration from fellow bloggers. Gagan had described his trip to verandah. I follow his lead. I woke up at 6 in the morning, opened the door and ventured into the verandah looking for some insight on this rain business. Just as I start noticing the irreverent shapes of clouds, their random shades, and the sun peeping from behind them this happened…



The verandah trip turned out to be a waste of time. Thankfully, Kshitij posted on the blog too. Another masterpiece sees another blatant attempt at plagiarism. I convince myself that whatever I am trying to do is not plagiarism. He talked about his day out with a random girl with the waiter uttering pick-up lines on his behalf. Now, do I have a random girl story?

I come out of PEC Audi, start moving towards the parking and spot a first year girl sitting on my bike. I try to prolong my journey to the bike. I shake hands with each and every person who is hanging about the parking area, make meaningless talk, hi-five people I hardly know. All this while I am thinking of what to say?

I decide on saying “I am waiting as long as you are sitting.” Summoning all courage, throwing my inherent shyness aside, I reach her and say “Excuse me” and then words don’t roll of the tongue as planned. They are frozen deep within. All the male bravado has gone. There is an awkward silence. She works out that its my bike and moves gracefully to the adjoining scooter. I stand there like a fool, participating in an awkward silence. This isn’t going to plan. Maybe I too should get a waiter to utter my pickup lines.

S perches herself on the adjoining Vespa, and I overhear her saying that it’s not as comfortable as the bike. Immediately sensing another chance, I think of another pick up line “riding pillion on the bike is even more comfortable”. Now, did I go for the jugular? Let’s leave that for another day because I have just now realized that there is no rain in this story.

Sigh! I am back to square one. I guess I should not waste more time fighting the fact that I do not have rain story to tell. Strangely enough, even before I had decided what the content of my first post would be, I knew how it would end. I would quote the protagonist of the movie of 21, who tells his professor an incredible tale describing how he cheated Las Vegas casinos of millions of dollars, and then asks him:

“Did I dazzle you, Professor? Did I jump off the page?”

I would ask the same from the mentors. But should I change it now? Surely, I haven't told them an incredible tale which has left them open-mouthed. Or can I afford to be cheeky even after posting my non-existing rain story. I don’t know. Shit man. Can`t even decide the ending.

Damn again!

www.magicmukul.wordpress.com

BUT IT RAINED...

Greetings senors and senoritas...i'm really sorry for having contributed at the last moment. T'was a bit difficult to get online in the past few days. Looking forward to your feedback on this article i hastily wrote. Thank you..adios..happy readin...

Kshitij

It had been a hell of a week, with endless assignments and truckloads of tests. Seriously, if this was the “good, old” college life, it was a nightmare for me. Music had proved an equalizer for some time, but now even the rhythm divine had given up. The weekend ahead held no respite. It was one of the times when I just pushed the entire world aside and allowed my couch-potato of a mind, whisper to me-“Yes dear, you need a break.” A cup of coffee in the nearby café was an irresistible thought.

As I flung open the door, my entire world seemed to undergo a makeover. The sweet smell of fresh coffee coupled with the cool air-conditioned breeze worked wonders for my nostrils, which had previously been tortured by the nauseating odours of uncanny, uliginous chemicals from the endless lab-sessions. Thankfully Prayag had saved us the trouble for another week in that dungeon which reeked of god-knows-what. I wonder how the lab instructor survived an entire week there. God bless Prayag for his nonpareil skill for organizing mass bunks. No wonder he’s standing for CR. Anyway, before I hive off from my train of thought again, so there I sat in the café, amongst a mélange of people. People of all kinds, students, uncles and aunties, li’l kids too, girls (obviously), office goers etc.; A crowd not usually found in café. You’ll normally expect CCD to be filled with college students (mostly girls you want to check out), or the spoilt school-going brats who have their pockets filled with enough moolah by their folks. This wasn’t like any of that. Misplaced. I couldn’t help noticing that it was unusually quiet that day, an aura of gloom hanging in the backdrop, as if everyone had something to brood about under those tufts of hair (bald pates for others). There I go again. Analyzing people, trying to figure what goes on under those thick headed skulls. Guessing at what Li’l-Miss-Pretty thinks about Mr. Striped-Shirt…

I glanced out of the window. The clouds were gathering. It looked like evening already at 11:00 am in the morning. Now that is the kind of weather I like. To put it in simple words, I have nothing against rain. Rain is the perfect setting for a cuppa in a café, especially if you have someone to talk to at the same time (No, someone more than a friend, you know what I’m talking about…:P). Rain provides the consummate setting for a classic street football match, the kind you view in those Nike commercials. I’m not exactly talkin about the kids running around, most of them in their undies, but about a rugged game, that’s more of a guy thing. Anyways, rain gives you an inner sense of warmth, leaving a tenuous cold sense on the tip of the skin, almost like miniscule goose-bumps. Be it pakoras or bhuttas, these monsoon treats aren’t much of an item without the rain gods devising the environment accordingly. Rain is what completes them all. But at one point, it gets too much. Rain leaves behind an awful mess. There’s nothing more irritating than spoiling your new pair of Converse in a sticky puddle (Ok, I’m acting like Monica Gellar, but I like those shoes like anything!!), or walking through a street which actually is more of a jumping session to avoid the icky lakes of water and tiny rivulets flowing by the side. I tell you, people in the regions with perennial rainfall may be experts enough at the act, they just might be able to jump over the Berlin Wall… Besides, the pre-conditions of a good shower are essentially perfect, be it a romantic setting or just another soul spinning dreams in the back of his mind. That’s what I prefer any day.

I’ve always loved the rain, however I wasn’t in a mood for a downpour that day. I have always loved to go out and get drenched, age no bar. Yet somehow it didn’t feel quite like that. It looked like Mr. Gloom in the backdrop had got me in his clutches too.

Then out of nowhere, she slipped in. It was as if someone had reached out and switched on the lights in the back of my mind. A fragrance as sweet as the early spring reached me and encapsulated me in its aromatic wanderings. She looked around, hoping to find an empty seat. One was on my table. Another was nowhere to be found. Wow, Lucky me!!! “Excuse me ma’am, I’m really sorry but I don’t think we have any free seat. Are you waiting for someone?” Rats! The waiter was gonna spoil everything. Who the hell asked him to intervene anyway? “No I’m alone. Are you sure there isn’t any seating. I so badly wanted a cappucinno right now.” Screw you dude, there’s a chair right in front of me. Why don’t you gather up that etiquette you just showed and ask me if I’d let her sit there too? The gods heard me, I guess. The waiter did exactly that. “Sir, are you expecting someone? This lady has no place to sit. Would you mind her sharing the table?” Thank you god!!Excellent work you guys doing up there :). “I…uh……yes…I mean no….uh…” “Sir?”. Right, I finally get what I want. Perfect timing to start stuttering. “Yeah sure”. Whew I manage to get some words out.

She orders her cappucinno. The waiter gets us our orders. I can’t help noticing the fact that she appears familiar. Definitely not the same college, would’ve seen that right away. Maybe school. We gradually get to talking. It turns out we actually were from the same school. She being in the commerce section, they don’t usually notice engineering dorks like us. We find out we have a lot in common. She likes Manchester United, I worship the Red Devils. She’s into western music, mostly rock. So is yours truly. Besides, I’ve never seen a girl wearing an Iron Maiden shirt before :). Meanwhile the clouds gather together strongly as ever. Rain seems inevitable, though I pray its prolonged for just a little while. It looked like the gods were taking care of that too. Its funny how you meet a person, who’s a total stranger. Yet you can strike up the best of friendship over a cup of coffee. “There’s a gig this evening, in the café just around the corner. Wanna go? I guess it’ll be fun.” Ok. Not a bad move, you’ve got to admit. I’m no expert at asking out, but it was worth an effort. “Sure. I’d love to. Hope it doesn’t rain. Don’t want to wet my hair. Besides what time is it, the concert?” “7. Omigosh. Its 6:30 already! Can’t believe I’ve spent over 4 hours here!!” She giggled. Tsk, Girls… They don’t want their hair wet, they giggle if you lose track of time, they hate monsoon showers for what it does to their make-up. Okay, before I freak out, we get up and get ready to leave. I can be late for classes, dental appointments, movies, dates but never ever for a gig. We step outside, onto the sidewalk, our cheeks flushing with smiles and… SPLAT! A miniscule drop. I glanced up. SPLAT! Yet another into my eye. And the rest is spontaneous. Tiny droplets of water running down my back, on my forehead, through the criss-cross alignment of my hair, sending little streams of water here and there. Rain! Just what was needed. I could feel the gods smirking, seeking malicious humour in my confused self. Their tiny little water balloons bombarding every inch of us, shattering the plan for the gig with every drop. It was there, the puddles, the rivulets, the muddy lakes, dirty converse…water, water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink and all the irony. Next thing I know, she rushes back into the café’s refuge, leaving me standing out there, getting drenched and hating it for the first time ever.

Drats!!! It rained. :(

Random blankness

Dewdrops form on the outside, but inside you're just flooded.
may decieve you into drinking 7-up, but really its just water.
Red. Green. Blue. Yellow. . . so many colors
all fuse together into one big swirl of M&M's. . . .
so drop down on all fours-just be careful and not dent the door.
bang your head against the wall and watch all the pretty blood pour out again.
hello now, its been a while . . . still i remember like yesterday.
feels exactly like the same benumbed stinging shooting pain
cannot see, my eyes have gone blind again.
say hello to the nice birdie. and throw all the vodka out.
these demons keep swirling in your head and make you go crazy
gulp down all the things you want to throw up.
just mix it all into a bag o candy.
maybe it'll all just work itself out. . . .
and you wont have to put on your shoes ever again.
echoes, silence, patience and grace.
put together all the missed signals
and fuse together, the two worlds apart.
when your mind becomes just another encased tomb,
and the wall of despair rises above the rest.
bring back the shadows that colored me red
and savour every little rose petal that ever touched the green grass.
b'coz this rainbow in the sky won't stay forever.

Ctrl+Alt+Del

Control alt delete....
My life never followed this instruction..
It never reset like my PC after an error..
Errors are a part of my process..
Wish there was a task manager who controlled my active processes..
My mind gets weighed down with a deluge of facts..
Almost hitting of as Hard in the gastro-intestinal tract...
Rhyming words never made much sense
But still in an age to achieve poetic beauty there has to be a pact..
Holy WWW shit,Sync up with my Pod,
Lets go fishing without a rod
Random is a state of mind...
Never thought much about something
Or anything much about something
She had driven me crazy
In the winter sun i suffer heartburn
On the green blades of glassy grass
I lay there stoned as a red meteor from outer space..
Musings of a broken heart...
The emptiness of feelings in the vast wilderness of this ugly world
Life as it is in this Dog eat Pig Universe of ours..
The pain lingers ...
The sense of achievement lost in oblivion..
Respect, Power, Agony, Dogma...
All part of this unholy shit..
Swearing is illegal
But who the FUCK cares???
Heartburn is common ailment
But its cure uncommon to all..
I confess my sins to all those who care ..
But soon i realize they aren't to many who do so
Don't know why i do so many things to hurt others
But i must confess..
It gives immense pleasure to disturb people when they are busy :P

Jim.

The irascible Gods have showered their rage.

So it had been prognosticated, the coming of the flowing plague. Decrepit and surly, old Ghetzopa sat mumbling about in his shack, his admonishes unheeded. We all thought him to be a charlatan, a desultory loony crack.

But as the tides lashed and spat, the very land itself shook and crumbled, his adages overwhelmed me flouncing in my head. “Don’t be afraid; give in to the will of the beast.”

Helplessly we witnessed the cataclysmic carnage that befell upon our homes. The inexorable current dragging away everything I knew in this world. I gave up my defiance.

My strength broken, the beast engulfed and catapulted me into a spinning vortex of a thousand skies. Unimaginable visions reified up as I was thrown miles away beyond our horizons, beyond the untamable acclivities of ever varying mountains. In the throes of my certain grave, I prayed, I remembered, I cried and I trembled.

When I awoke it was still. It was after the calm that dawn brought along a gargantuan silhouette. Child’s play; and I was the marionette. I became the newest addition to the arsenal, playing my part in mortifying young girls and driving them to tears. Then darkness fell.

Jim, the earthworm.

couldn't help sneaking this one in

A couple of years back, Yajnika Sharma the SAASC General Secy then, used to tell us wonderous fairy tales of SAASC as it was many million aeons ago, when the grass was green and the girls were pretty, when the auditorium would be so full at events that people had to stand at the back.
Happened again...almost
SAASC event 1: one off quiz, and three fourth of the auditorium was full even for the finals, the preliminaries were a stampede (slightly exaggeration;poetic license)...
But seeing people leaning forward, both cheeks in the hands, smiling at the ckeekiness of some questions while applauding at the sheer briliance of others, like one one big contented family...

I'll sign off before i start sounding more cheesy :)...but cheers to SAASC...and as someone once said..'ka ching'..

Rain,As i See It.

Hey guys, this is gagan from 2nd year.
I've tried to put my imagination into words.The best way you can enjoy the following is trying to put my words into your imagination.

“YAWN!” ,there went the mildly soothing sound of my day’s start. The yawn goes on like a completely differentiable curve.

I would certainly love to meet a person who’s yawn is “non differentiable”, so to speak. There you go, that’s the perfect start to my day which If I m not forced to wake up begins at noon. I slowly began to rise from my slumber, stretching my arms as if a call to my physical empowerments to start performing some functions. My legs responded shakily when I tried to rise from my bed. They were successful in the end but I grabbed onto the handle of my door. It wasn’t much of a faithful support to be honest. Ever since the termites attacked the poor thing, It seems rather literally that it ll be dusted sooner than later.

So I grabbed open the door and walked through to the verandah. It’s like a small enclosure surrounded by tall walls whose edges have started to become green with algae. This was typical of any wall in an Indian Monsoon. The gleam of the plastered layer of bricks was now all but engulfed by rough green plant- like microorganisms. The wall had come a long way from last Diwali when everybody hurried around it to give it some royal treatment. Monsoon was certainly dark ages for them. They had to be patient to see the happiness once again and I guess that’s what made them really survive the tempests’ onslaught.

I sat in my verandah to grasp some fresh air. It seemed like God knew my Plan. He suddenly let up a whiff of air through my verandah and livened up my senses. “Ahhhhh….” , you could feel like you’re in heaven right there and then. Yes, the smell of fresh air is a treat. It is something which is rather quite unexplainable. Before I could get up and start with my daily routine, I was at once stopped by something quite small. I had a huge line up of things to get done. All the notes stuck up to my monitor prove to be more than a reminder of my day’s work. But that small thing stopped me before I could do that.

A small, oval shaped thing. A thing without which I cannot survive. That tiny thing that when combined covers most of the spaces known to man. Yes, that sparkling drop of water that fell right onto my forehead. What magic does gravity do! , I wondered.Yes,it was just a drop of water but it surely had me in its control. I looked up in the sky. It was covered with so many shades of grey. It was certainly not the usual blue one is used to seeing every day. The clouds gathered up against each other as if they were fighting a war. Lightening can surely be called a very catastrophic weapon. Those grey colored mush fought for their survival. They did not want to be swallowed by other similar beings. While they fought their battle,us earthlings can only think about anything but our half of the story. Henceforth, I could hear people running amock shouting, “Baarish aa gayee”, or “Jaldi se kapde utaaro, BAARISH!”.

Amidst the clatter I stood still. To put it simply, I like rain. It’s the serene, cooling nature that holds you there.I gazed up again. If any of you have tried to do that, you would realize how difficult it is. The drops rushing towards you fall down across the view. The drops feel like mini-bombs dropping every millisecond. One of such bombs was making its way down towards the ground with ever increasing speeds while it met with an accident. It was my face of course. All the momentum suddenly passed onto my skin. The long slender drop suddenly coming to a splattering end. It touched my pale brown covering and although was not able to jump, came back to spread and then slipped back onto my neck. The drop like a battalion of soldiers stays cohesive for as long as possible but the uneven contours of my neck made it give way to its wishes. Unacceptably, it was made to part into further tiny droplets which slipped down from my neck to vanish into my checkered blue shirt. They had left a watery trail, a rivulet which existed for few seconds. Hundreds of such drops made their across my neck and maintained a continuity, renewing the rivulets with vigor.

The drops falling on my forehead would fall and come to a standstill. They never had the chance to meet the ground. It’s the disappearing act of the drops later which amazes me most. They fall; they wet the face and then vanish. It’s like even God send them for a purpose and once they have accomplished their task, they exist no more. What loyalty! Only if humans were to learn from drops, I secretly wished.

Rain had been true to the cautions of the meteorological department. The newspaper read “Clouds and thunder. Light showers predicted.” The gentle breeze picked up again. My mom has a strange tendency to rebuke me when I am about to end my time wasting techniques as she put’s it. Just as I was coming back from the heavenly abode of breeze and showers, she came running out to pull me inside. “You will fall sick! You never listen to me, Do You?” That’s when Ithought that a new day had begun…………

The Rain Goddess

It was almost about tea time, and the clouds realized that they hadn't rained yet, in spite of the high amount of liquid intake they had been on all day, they had failed to come across the realization that precipitation had so far been a very highly missed phenomenon by those down below on earth.

The clouds began to move out of the room, hurriedly, umbrellas in one hand and hoses in the other. They rushed straight to the reservoir, the lake of rain. now, this was a very special lake, no, not because the water in this lake had healing powers of age-diminishing effects, nope, but simply because of where this lake's water came from.

A few neck-bending feet upwards from the surface of the water, throned in a immensely huge and unnatural rose petal was Aquaia, the rain goddess. There wasn't much hustle bustle around her, but for the new clouds which had entered into the compound of the lake, gesturing and pleading from some rain water. As was being mentioned, the lake's source of water was its actual speciality.

And here I'd like to start speaking about the rain-goddess again. The rain goddess was an average girl, a little more than just past her teens, and the kind of girl you'd assume to be cute and simple and sweet, and yes, she was all of that, and almost customarily, she loved chocolates and rhymes, was fond of sunsets and also enjoyed listening to music. She had friends, she had enemies, she had people she talked to, people she'd wanted to talk to, and people she'd wish had never talked to her. She knew him, she knew her, and she knew them all. And vice-versa, or so the people thought. Legend also had it that on some particular days when she'd smile at the sun, the sun would purposefully interfere into the evening and stay a bit longer; and on some nights when she winked at the moon, well, we all have seen the moon in the afternoon sky on some days now, haven't we?

Oh yes, the speciality of the water, right? Yea, yea, keep your pants on!

Well, there was something peculiar about Aquaia, in addition to being unbelievably sweet, adorably kind and overwhelmingly forgiving. It was said that the goddess would cry.

Yes, the goddess cried. no, she wasn't a weak soul, and there wasn't a worser thing that she could have seen or been through. But still she cried, not out of pain, not out of bitterness for another person, but simply out of grief, undirected, unquestionable grief. And she'd cry and cry and cry. Her tears streaming down, filling up the lake.

Yes, this was the speciality of the water of the lake. Everytime the clouds had to rain, they'd come up to the goddess and ask her to weep oh so gently, so that they could fill they hoses with water and shower it down on earth.

And it was always raining in some part of the world or other, so it was pretty obvious that the goddess was quite occupied in being melancholic and mournful, by choice or not, wasn't even the question.

A lot of people didn't like the rains back then, cause y'know, tears are generally salty, and it wasn't a lot of fun back in the age dancing, rejoicing in salt water-showers

This was a sad thing, not the salty rain, but the fact that the goddess actually had to weep precipitation to the rest of the world, and that to feel sorry about something, and mostly herself, 'cause with a heart as pure and noble as hers she hardly had anything against anyone ever.

Without any further notice, and like most other stories, this story takes a dramatic turn, mostly to accommodate the entry of another main character, who of course will not be as excessively described about as the goddess.

He was a prince of Galia, a city of joy and laughter, of celebration and frolic; a city where the one sound one would definitely hear would be that of someone breaking into a song, or someone bustling into a crackle. His name, very uninterestingly was, Ramadal.

Ramadal knew about Aquaia and about the conditions she lived in, he knew that the very rains which his countrymen looked forward to and rejoiced upon were nothing but a beautiful girl's precious tears.

It was a Friday evening and it had been raining like hell for the past two days now. Ramada couldn't help the thoughts about Aquaia linger in his head, and he almost reached a breaking point. He sent for his minister(one of his many minister's in fact). He asked for a metting to be arranged, between him and the goddess.

Although he had asked the meeting to be fixed up for the next day, it took quite some time before the goddess could, well, stop crying, so it took a couple of days before they could meet.

The prince had never been as nervous as he was today, and after all being the Prince of Galia, he had never had a thing to worry or contemplate seriously about. He knew not exactly why he was wanting to meet her, but all that he could make up in his mind was that he did not want to see her sad, he did not
Want her to shed another tear.

He walked right into the courtyard, with the most beautiful of beautiful bouquets in one hand and a basket full of chocolates in another. He looked upto her towering throne and knelt down on one knee. "I beg to see the Goddess of Rain, I beg to see Aquaia."

"Who be you," the reply swept in like a sea-breeze, "and what purpose do you have of metting with I, Aquaia, the Goddess of Rain."

"I am but a Prince of a small kingship, Ramadal be my name and I come from Galia, the land of joy and happiness."

"What Purpose may you have, O'Prince Ramadal?”

"Purpose, ah, I wish I could answer that precisely o'Goddess, but apologies be, and I can't. Yes but I do know this, I can't bear, and even as little as naught, to see you sad. I tend to usher in happiness and hope, song and cheer into your world."

"O'Prince, flattered as I am, I can't help but refuse your kind gesture. For, if I, the Goddess of Rain, stop to cry, the world shall die of thirst."

"With you I agree, O'Goddess, but if you just let me help you, I assure you, neither shall the world remain wanting, neither shall you remain sad and mournful."

That evening, the Princess stepped out of the courtyard for the first time in the millennium. She and the Prince went for a ride across the skies on his chariot, they talked, they joked, they told stories about their lives to each other, and as is customary, fell in love. It hadn't rained for almost 3 weeks now, and the clouds along with people in some parts of the world had started getting impatient, there were increased reports of people trying different things from acoustic instruments, to open-air concerts in A-minor to make it rain, but to no avail. The Goddess's face hadn't seen a frown ever since the Prince had happened to her.

That very evening, she and the Prince were sitting along the Lake of Rain, hand in hand, and the Goddess told the Prince about how it hadn't rained for so long.

"Aquaia, tell me something, do you love me?" the prince questioned.

"Yes, of course, I do." shot back the reply.

"And have you been happy?"

"Yes, yes, without any doubt, O'Prince, I have never been this happy all my life, and I couldn't have even dreamt, that there would be a day in my life when I wouldn't have to be sad. I can't ever thank you enough O'Prince."

Then, the Goddess fell into the Prince's arms, hugged him hard and cried.
The clouds rushed in, hoses filled, and rained.

That day, it rained very heavily, one of the hardest downpour, and the most fascinating thing about the water that showered down from the heavens that night was that it wasn't salty. It was pure, it was clear, just like love, just like heart felt emotion, just like being close to someone and knowing that no matter how hard you get hit, there's always someone you can fall back to.

From that day on, it hasn't ever rained salt-water, ever, ever.

And haven't we all witnessed the pure rain of love and happiness and joy?

Rain|A Brilliant Man

Master is a brilliant man. If you knew him or for that matter, knew just that one fact about him, you'd agree too. Though if he made the left pocket of his blazer a little more comfortable, I'd call him a brilliant and loving man.

From the just-found coming-to-realization excitement in his steps, I can tell that he thinks it's time. We are walking along a much-less-than-affluent street in Calcutta. It's more of a dingy alley if you ask me, but then again, it doesn't suit somebody from my race to be judgemental. Master says this street/alley is in 'Rabindra Nagar', though I think if Tagore came to this place, he'd curse the day his parents named him Rabindra, place a handkerchief over his nose and run for his olfactory glands, never to come back. But then again, I am a rat, I run in good-for-nothing races. You can discount my judgement without hesitation.

By the way, since you can't see Master, I'll describe him for you. He looks dishevelled with his untidy, longish, shoulder-length black hair and untidy, old black-and-grey blazer and untidy, old black pants. Now, now, before you jump to the conclusion that I don't think too well of my Master's appearance, let me take back my last sentence and let's just say that Master is an eccentric-looking man. And mind you, he is definitely an eccentric man, slightly mad, if you ask me.

He's started singing now, as he does when he's decided it's time. Since you can't hear him either, i'll tell you his song...
'It's time, it's time,
i can see,
children, godmen and humpty-dumpty too,
little girls, men, women and the denizens of the city zoo,
Simon and Garfunkle, Hooty and the Blowfish,
Grand Funk Railroad and all lovers wish,

that my ferris wheel,
it go for a spin,
they wish, they wish,
for a pair of closed eyes,
and an upward chin,

i ll get to my shack in a hurry i s'pose,
for it's time once again,
yes, it's time once again...'
Since you didn't see him doing this song part too, i'll tell you that he does a kind of Broadway routine when he sings his song, and he uses a baritone voice, whilst singing his song.

See, it gets uncomfortable in the left pocket of his blazer when he gets excited upon his realization and hurries back to the shack. Master's shack is back in the Salt Lake City region of Calcutta. I continue bouncing up and down slightly in the pocket as we reach the shack, Master still singing.

He opens the creaky door and walks in. The one-room old shack is more like a mini-lab and office than a place to live, but that's Master for you. Moving around the table with all its weird occupants, he pulls up his rocking chair from under the table and sits. From the slight depth of his left pocket, I see him rocking back and forth in his chair tapping the fingers of one hand rhythmically on those of the other, looking like he's thinking when he is more like enjoying the prospect of what he's going to do, like a young boy smiling notoriously at the prospect of trapping a grasshopper in his little glass jar. I can see it's time for me to get to work for the benefit of my race.

I get a little sentimental when it actually happens you know. Don't mind. The result of what Master and in equal measure, what I'll do, is like listening to the sound of a distant wind-chime, is like a lover's song to a lover's ears etc etc...i could go on.

I am no ordinary rat by the way. I am symbolic, you see. I stand for all the rats of the world, running in the now-proverbial rat race. While they run in their respective races, I run to give them relief, I run to give them my brilliant Master's fiendishly clever invention. You could call his invention an expression of lucid joy.

Master gets up and moves to the sidetable, where he places me on the ferris wheel. While I run, it will happen. He gives the wheel a spin. It's time for rain.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
For all those from the 2nd and 3rd year who haven't started posting, borrowing a few lines from my first post on my blog, consider yourself standing on a pier overlooking a lake. It's dawn, the sun's rising, slightly displaced from the center line of our vision, just enough, so it isn't uncomfortable looking straight ahead, which we are doing right now. You stand on this pier, hesitating, when your secy and joint secy hand you a piece of paper. It has 'Dream-Compass' written on it. Now, give this piece of paper the right folds so as to make a paper plane out of it. Walk back to the end of the pier, turn around, take a deep breath, run along the pier looking into the dawn horizon and jump- looking up, arms outstretched and legs looking for foothold in thin air- into the lake- at the top point of your flight, send the plane in flight towards the rising sun :) (a little dramatic i admit). Start writing, start posting. There's both enough cold water and warm water in the lake- meaning both critique and support, encouragement in the form of your mentors. Best of luck.

Rain Day

I wrote this sometime back. So when the theme for the week turned out to be rain, I ended up having something to contribute. Three of the mentors have read thisalready and so have some other SAASC people. I request piyush goswami to go a little easy on this one :)

Rain is always an understanding between the good folk. It's a pact signed with a secret under-the-table shake of hands, to maintain a minimum level of insanity when it pours, to look goofy, to break barriers, to end up with wet hair, to remember, to regret, to grumble about the future, to mumble about the past; to hope and to plunder, and in the case of our protagonist, collect snails and keep them in a box...
Rain keeps you busy, and when you're five years old, and your mother is stuck in the super mart because of the rain, and you have the whole house and the backyard to your disposal, its time for some serious soul searching, its time to be a beaver.. Rain drops trickle down the kitchen windowpane making patterns on the glass and thoughts get filtered out of the complex formations, making life simple and bearable. If you're a five your old, it’s your duty to make your dog stand under the window, hold it by the ears, so that the drops fall precisely on its nose. It’s your first practical lesson in geometry and its the only one you'll ever remember throughout you life, at the cost of an agitated doggie of course...

So little Johnny and his pug faced boxer, Charles Grossman III (Its grandfather had been in service when Johnny’s dad had been a kid) had to be in complete control of their senses and maximize the fun without giving half a hooter about the consequences...His friends were not outside since their mothers were not stuck in the supermarket and wouldn't let them out no matter how hard they pressed their noses to the door. They were still too short to reach the door latch anyways and they could only envy Johnnie and Charles as they walked with a gay abandon. There were a few girls in the park though. The girls liked Johnnie. But he believed, and believed with quite a conviction, that all girls were gross and smelt of milk...So when one of them said, "Hey Johnnie, you wanna play house", he was always ready with his standard reply, "Nah, but hey you wanna look for snails??" That made most of them run away, all except Milky, who was three and could sometimes even disgust Johnnie with her special love for bugs and tadpoles. She was home though.. For one, well, because she was three and also because she had had her appendix removed the week before and was supposed to rest.

So it was Johnnie alone, with dog faithful Charles who had gone half berserk because the downpour made his whiskers droop and made him look even more depressed than he normally did. They were out looking for a fellow called adventure who wasn’t too far away. They were also looking for snails which have been mentioned three times now. Charles had his nose dug deep into the ground and was leaving behind a dog nose shaped trail wherever they went. He knew the smell of snails amongst many other things and Johnnie had often wondered what they smelt like. He wished he could kneel down too and dig his nose into the wet ground, leaving a boy nose shaped trail behind him, so that there was a brown patch on his nose by the time he got home; which unlike Charles' patch which got camouflaged because of his already brown nose, would stand out as his rain day trophy. But this was being too ambitious, because despite however much he might try to evade the fact, there was always the Mommy monster lurking somewhere at the back of his mind, and well, she wouldn't appreciate a brown nosed son. She might just put him in a zoo like she threatened often. But then she hadn’t said anything when they had painted his nose brown when he had to be Yogi Bear in the school play. She had just stood there in the audience with tears in her eyes. She said she was proud of him. He didn’t understand grown ups at all. He didn’t really want to take any chances.

Rain has a way of being manipulative; it is the harbinger of a million mood swings. It is the worst form of addiction and an even worse seduction. But when it comes to five year olds, rain lets go of its facades, opens its arms wide, and becomes joy itself. Little boys who don’t like girls carry cardboard boxes when it’s raining. They like to gaze into the sky when it’s raining very hard and try to keep their eyes open, they shriek with delight, at the cost of having to hear swear words and curses when the doggy wags its tail fast and sets out a jet spray which wets the old ladies walking with umbrellas. They also get sick in the stomach when they see the freckled boy waking arm in arm with the freckled girl, her head resting on his shoulder. “Tell me Charles. How can he stand the smell?” He had been told by Cousin Joe once that boys start liking girls when they are older. That was the day when he had stopped calling Cousin Joe his favorite cousin and avoided him completely whenever he’d drop in for a visit.

It was getting late and the rain had become more of a drizzle and it wouldn’t be long before Mommy got back home. So it was time for some quick business. Charles could sense the tension in the air and his sniffing got more intense and frantic until he started circling one point and started yelping excitedly. “Down boy, down”, Charlie muttered as he knelt to examine the cause for the commotion. But Charlie seemed to have gone berserk, he was wagging his tail as if it were running on a motor, till Johnnie had to pull him by the collar and make him sit. He was still yelping wildly and the little girls watching from a distance hid behind their mothers. Johnny took out a small shovel from the cardboard box and started digging at the spot. But that proved to be too much work for him and he started digging with his hands till he thought he had touched something. By this time, a few of his friends had been unlocked from their respective homes, seemingly after whining complaints of, “Look how Johnnie’s mom lets him go out and you don’t” had threatened to create a mini domestic rebellion. Three savages were seen yelling at the top of their voices and hurtling as fast as their tiny legs could carry them, with a cohesive cry of “Johnnie…………..”, as Charles gave a delighted Woof and Johnnie looked up for a fraction of a second.“Hey fellas look what I found”.
They all circled around him as he held aloft the prize for the day, a slimy, shining, seemingly sleepy grey colored snail. They all agreed on common consensus that it was the most devastatingly magnificent thing they had seen all monsoon and they were all envy eyed as Johnny put it carefully in the now half soaked cardboard box. They looked at one another with knowing smiles. They understood each other perfectly, with the unadulterated wisdom which children have and then tend to lose as they grow up.So they walked home. Four, three foot tall gentlemen wearing shorts which were too big for them, a dog who was pleased with his crucial role in the day’s adventure and a snail who…well who slept. Tom was looking peevish because he had had a fight with the rest of them the day before. But it seemed they had all forgotten, like all boys do when they fight but then realize that it’s all dog barf when compared with their friendship which can’t be replaced by anything. Girls are different. They all hated girls, because they thought they smelt of milk and fought too much.

The rain still fell lightly, the non scheming, non manipulative rain which made friends with little boys with dirty t shirts, the rain which was as much about grumbling old ladies with umbrellas as it was about the freckled boy who ended up getting his first kiss; rain which was about Johnny’s mother being driven home by Mrs. Nayyar, the neighbor and their driving past Johnny and his friends who were walking home, with mud all over their clothes, face, hands and a dog and a sleeping snail in their midst.It was the rain which changed decisions, which gave rationale to irrationality, which was the swansong of the fortunate, which was the trademark of the forgiving…