Happy Secy speaketh

Hello all.

Insight is a weapon of the mindful and it was well displayed with the kind of response we got for the previous theme. Those who missed out, missed an opportunity of being a part of a very stimulating discussion which put forth some rather radical views. It showed that the youth of the day dares to think differently and will not be pushed down by the run-of-the-mill argument.
But as much as we would like to continue this discussion further, the promise of having a vibrant multi-themed blog which caters to all kinds of writing genres has to be fulfilled.
We have come up with a new theme, courtesy some of our club mates and it is the sort that lends a lot of scope for interpretation and witty thought streams.
The theme for this week is obituaries, and if you care to think about this for just a few seconds, you'll realize the tremendous scope that this seemingly eccentric topic brings with it. So wield thy mighty pens again, lets get this on the road and rolling
Happy Blogging

I dont know how to think of an apt title

Why terrorists are waiting for New Year to explode a nuclear bomb?

It recently came to my knowledge through reliable sources that terrorists have acquired a nuclear device. Following are the reasons I think they are still waiting:

They are not ready:

They require additional infrastructure, mechanisms and manpower to explode the bomb. If they do it now, everybody would be after them and the movement would die down. But that would be assuming that terrorists are finite. The Mossad team tasked with eliminating perpetrators of Munich massacre killed the second-in-command of the organization, and then killed his replacement, and then again killed the replacements replacement. And we all know where the UN-led effort to track down Uncle Osama has fared. We haven’t till now even got the original guy.

And the War on terror about which Bush famously declared on an Ocean Liner “Mission Accomplished” is so not accomplished. I just wonder that if you have the capability of acquiring a warhead – you have to sneak into compounds which are under huge amount of security, grab the equipment undetected, come out alive, and then hope nobody notices that there is one cookie less in the jar – you definitely would have the capability to pull the switch.

The World chooses to believe otherwise:

The other day Osama gave a X-mas call to Obama and told him that he had a warhead lying around somewhere in his attic. Obama just chuckled and said “Nice one, Mate!” Since then Osama is shooting videos with his trophy so that the new guy at the white house takes him seriously.

They want to use the warhead as a negotiating leverage maybe to claim some continents as theirs. And for that they need the world to believe that they actually have it. And, what use is a nuclear bomb explosion if CNN doesn’t have prior knowledge of it. Imagine CNN anchors encouraging viewers to vote on the poll “Which city do you think terrorists would choose? You can SMS at ….”

They are distracted:

They are too distracted by the vocabulary wars on this blog that they are waiting for the next installment before starting a war of its own. Anyways, nice to see some activity here.

Getting-Real

Yes, I do agree that the Indian Middle Class has been angered, and yes, with all due respect to democracy and all that is defined in our constitution, you do own the right to funnel that anger and myopic rage at those who are s'posed to be running the nation. 

But I'd like to ask you to recollect the time when you were in school, or the time now, when you're in college, and under a system of governance or institutionalization (or the utter and destructing lack of it), something which you hate from its very definition. What do we really do about this system Do we try to revolt, rebel or even very slightly reform it We rather succumb to making our essential materialistic ends meeting (read earning a degree with a good character certificate). But yes, the one thing that we do, and very fiercely too, is that we blame the system, whether it is when we get bad grades, when we're put through pointless (or so we presume) extra-classes or when we've to submit hand-written assignments. We do it all the time, when high on alcohol, or low on morale. We just can't blame it enough. And yes, here I believe that I possibly cohere with Kaura's line of thought that 'politiciansheads-of-state are meant to be hated.'  

But, well, all I can do is comment on the way in which the average Indian functions, the way in which he reacts to that which transpires around him, that which happens to people he sees on TV and rarely, (as in this circumstance) to that which happens to him. Yes, although it always makes a good point and nice rebellious reading to smirk about how pathetically our politicians have handled the current crisis, what I rather like to bear in mind is the fact that, the same way I don't blame Rahul Dravid for having (as many people say) an extremely pathetic strike-rate, since I self do not know how to hold a bat, or throw a ball for that matter. Similarly, I do not consider myself to be in capacity of aiming mud-cannons at the likes of Mr. Modi, or Mr. Patil, for not only do I not know how to hold a bat in the game (of administering a whole nation), but neither do I know the frigging basics of it (of cricket, I do).  

We, as Indians need to make ourselves more aware, and I ask this not as to defend the mud-drenched political class and higher bureaucracy, but for our own well-being. Making ourselves more aware shall help us better understand the systems that actually run this country, or any other for that matter. They shall empower us, all of us, in a way we can possibly never imagine. 

Yes, writing, of course is a very powerful means of expressing and voicing concern. And yes, the constitution does give us the right to freedom (of expression). Although, sadly enough the constitution has no clause which states listening to/abiding by as a duty/responsibility. We need to rise beyond writing and talking about all that which is not correct, all that which is oh-so-wrong-and-unfair. We need to start doing something about it. Well, voicing concern is a much-required step, you might argue. But, precious, this first-step to liberation and enlightenment has been taken by thousands before you and I, its the second step we need to take.  

And yes, I would only be re-inventing the wheel (one which unfortunately hasn't yet been set into motion) if I don't end this by providing any useful answers.  

Answers.  

Well, you could start by enlightening the lesser fortunate masses with your wisdom, with basic essential knowledge about their rights, about their duties.  

"Magar yeh sab toh nGO wale log karte hain, main kyun karun!"

Well, if you believe that merely blogging is going to help you spur out a national revolution or reforms in our country then you seriously need a rain-check. I'm not sure of the statistics (stating which would seem very impressive) but I firmly believe that the proportion of the country's population that does actually have access to/makes 'use' of the internet is way less than 30 odd %.  

So, in the end I'd like to quote something that has always moved me and is from the movie 'nayak.'

"Yeh raajneeti keechad hai. Sabhi nau-jawaanon ko yehi lagta hai. Aur isiliye koi bhi isme jaana nahi chahta. Magar jab tak koi is naali main utar ke is keechad ko saaf nahi karega, tab tak yeh keechad, keechad hi rahega. Aur yeh naali, bas naali nahi yeh. Yeh hamara desh hai. Tumhara desh hai."  

Koff-Koff. 

I always get a wee bit sentimental regarding this stuff.

Apologies.

Information Splurge.....

I am not sure if all the written information pertains to a single topic but there are so many co-relations between things that I hope you’ll realize that it’s very easy to get swayed.

The english isn't all that classy but that's not what I intend to do with this article anyway.

As far as my historical knowledge goes, we started from large civilizations. Mayas and the Incas from the Americas, Mesopotamians from the Middle East, Egyptians, Greeks and the Romans in Europe, Harappans here in South Asia etc. Then we had a period of time in which the understanding of worldly phenomenon increased (Iron Age, bronze Age etc). People realized the need to capture each other’s lands and there began the era of conquests. We had the holy crusades, various invaders like Napoleon etc. America remained far from the known land. There was large trade between the Arab world and South Asia extending upto Singapore and other islands in South East Asia and the region we know as India seemed like a rich state to plunder. While the European nations advanced and built ships to further their trade routes via the sea, we were in the midst of major warfare throughout the various periods. Funded by kings and encouraged by human curiosity people found new lands discovering the Americas in the process and started to control them for their own trade benefits (The idea of using trade to benefit its own state was hence initiated). Till a long time, either we had plunderers or we had fair system of trade. But the Europeans primarily French, British and the Dutch sought more. The French had to deal with a civil revolution and their world stand weakened. Dutch did not have the same firepower on the seas when compared to the British. And soon the English controlled the major part of the world.

But the Americas soon tasted independence and they never received any resistance after that either. I guess it was sheer luck to be living in the undiscovered land. Then we had a huge immigration of European population to the Americas. They were good to go. They proceeded towards modernization with steadfast development with the driving force from Europeans who had seen the latest inventions and the ideas to build it bigger and better. Not to mention the blacks being used as cheap labor.

The British still had control over Asia and continued to as we all know. Even though it was part of the industrial advancement but it still had to face and spend on resistances in various commonwealth countries. Hereby it could not concentrate on developing over all stronghold as much as the USA did.
Hence it is vividly evident how USA could have easily managed to control all the major world policies that would have come into existence. How the creation of a unipolar world worked over. This is the primary reason for disparity in nations.

Now whatever differences we witness today arise from that very consequence of living in a unipolar world.

Since the major funding of United Nations (The United States gives $13.3 billion tax dollars in direct Foreign Aid annually), its organs basically act on furthering the USA’s interests.

We have had number of conferences of World Trade organization and they always end up creating two sides. The developed world vs. the developing world. In the recent developments, developing countries cannot manufacture the medicines without patent rights from the place where they were first created anymore. Brazil and India constantly push for countries like the US to decreases subsidies and open the markets for increased trade but they continue to budge.

http://www.worldsocialism.org/articles/globalisation_part_2_the.php#Whatmean

The article describes the development of World Trade policies like TRIPS and Anti-Dumping laws, formulated to protect US Transnational (also Very Capitalistic in nature) companies.

Although articles like (http://www.expressindia.com/news/fullstory.php?newsid=41606 ) prove how India is certainly beginning to appear on the world map and the US would be foolish to ignore it.

-------------------

Now, I want to talk about something which people usually don’t think about. I’ll elaborate with the example of the Japanese automakers dominance of the US markets which saw the climax recently with the three giants of Detroit (Chrysler, GM and Ford) begging for money from the US government to avoid collapse(humorously they might as well be the Bankrupt Three far from being the Big Three)

Reasons being better efficiency in production by foreign owned plants in the US and lesser paying jobs by Toyota and Honda (as much as 40 percent less labor costs for non-Detroit plants). Coupled by the smart strategies of Japanese automakers and decades of hard work by penetrating into the US markets, today even on heavy discounts by Detroit car makers, they still could not increase sales.

http://abcnews.go.com/Business/Autos/story?id=1334996

http://www.bullishbankers.com/will-detroits-loss-be-japans-gain/

http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/fv20081214bh.html

I used this example to emphasize the point as to how arrogant America is losing ground and has been doing so for a long time. US is on the losing side of that invisible war. Smart countries like Japan are eating it inside out but they don’t blow the trumpet like the US does.

A lot of oil companies (primarily based in Texas) that make insane profits in the US have been funded by rich Saudis. The oil companies were primarily started by the Bush family and the idea of working with the enemy to make profits goes as early as Prescott Bush, grandfather of George bush, providing raw materials to Adolf Hitler and later getting caught under the trading with enemy act. If you want the whole account, refer to this article:

http://www.freemasonrywatch.org/bush_binladen.html

I heard this through Michael Moore’s documentary but apparently he said the Saudis own a large part of Texas. Even if they don’t, they have financially supported large oil deals.

America is killing its economy and losing the economic war. It remains in a state of oblivion, arrogance that can only lead to the downfall of the greenback.

http://www.discursivemonologue.com/2007/07/12/who-owns-america-how-is-foreign-ownership-of-us-treasuries-and-other-securities-trending

The graph shows how Japan and China have more than 1000 billion dollars of foreign holdings in US treasuries.

I quote the article, “The Twin Towers of East Asia, Japan and China own so many claims against Americans that we might as well put our children in chains as they are born. No one will ever be able to pay them off. Who owns America? Everyone except Americans.”

Get-real.

Something that never ceases to upset me, in a State thriving passive for a lifetime to an absolute no-choice and the most upsetting outlook is the capriciousness of an average Indian mind that’d never refuse playing ball games to and with a sad political column, of a much general disinterest. The Mumbai attack, much of a stun only because of a simple surrogating scheme, having replaced a mundane site with two affluent hotels and regular lives with an equal count of moneyed ones, could have as easily been another bombing incident, minus an angry State and faltering politicians. Only this time, it was not. It rounded up being something a lot more whimsical and quirky, on the lines of a despicable reality show, with a jokey chief minister complaining of news channels not being civil enough to mention most footages that aired being property of the Indian Government. So much for an immediate trial.,

The most noticeable howler committed by the political leaders as an immediate, was their apparent and most shocking surprise at the way the masses responded, which happily and obviously, was quite atypical of them. They stuttered, gaped, and fell right off the tight rope being winded at an upsetting rate by the average Indian. But that sadly, filtered as the only doable triumph from an aftermath of the most macabre day Mumbai has ever had to experience. The prime retardation that followed the day, in both an abrupt as well as what could have been an extremely pressing response, stemmed from the rapid deviation of attention from the severity of the present situation to frivolous blame-games of much public interest and amusement. The political structure in all its glory and brilliance continues to make hasty attempts to prevent the straightforward and a much deserved collapse, trying to illustrate “what-could-have-been” and was saved than what already has been. The present Government, however, persists on standing tall and smart, frowning hard at the Indian voters, spinning the most rhetoric question of all- “Where else do you go?”

So, where does that leave us? Stranded between an ocean and a rainforest, deliberating on a less grisly fate? Choosing between parties with leaders that either dismiss Indian women from questioning unless they’d choose to make an appearance sans make-up or would craft a bombed site as a potential filming put? But that’s just when the infamous Indian optimism and unyielding-spirit comes to the rescue. The hyper-angered,incensed Indians, with minds hard-bent never to allow similar happenings ever again, still choose a more soft-core translation of their outrage. They’re still not equipped enough to be countering the tumult and are apparently more interested indulging in debates on whether the first ever terrorist born on the planet was an Indian/Paki/Afghani/African-American/Hispanic/Asian/Martian, or in drawing parallel theories and analogies with previous attacks. What’s the point in penciling a storyline to an occurrence of such palpable reason?

Another interesting member to this raucous party would be Mr. America. He’s like this huge elephant in a small room they say, a step in any random direction and it hits a wall. Why try moving around then? It’s hard not to picture U.S as a headmaster and other nations as chided schoolboys tale-tattering each other to it. It was amusing having to watch the Indian media going frenzy over Ms. Rice arriving in India the first opportunity she got; disconcerted and all fractured in opinion having lost the lives of half a dozen American nationals. India , as I know it, can totally do without Mr. America playing the peace-maker and attempting to maintain the much volatile peace via lending/withdrawing monetary aid, or otherwise. Mr. America, as we all know it, should really learn to keep his hands to his own crotch.

To venture out conferring deterrent measures as an abrupt solution to a happening of such alarming requirement would be plain convenient than heroic. Alternate estimations to include a younger mass in the political arrangement or to redo the entire judiciary even in the most promising manner or to manage another blame shifting round onto a rather dormant fragment of the Indian voters count, are appreciable, not applaudable. Such schemes, as I see them, are and have been in effective perpetual implementation for the longest time now; even before the Mumbai attack, the Gujarat riots or similar records, only to have proposers recognize the ineffectiveness of such precautionary arrangements after every single fiasco. The loophole lazes not in the mode of an approach, but in the fragile scaffold of every such precautionary measure.

The saddest part is that there exists no further extension of an opinion henceforth or of potential corrective solutions that anyone may have to bid. India may as easily be the drag now, crooning and boogying to a club of a million homosexual complainants, an annoying international critic and a pseudo-nationalist political structure. And even if it does manage to engineer a little someone with the nerve to undertake anything corrective, and that’s obviously against a general discontent, it’d only conclude with another round of criticism for possible closed-door talks or something even more preposterous.

I, the Indian that I am, do have a tendency to quarrel against a reaction of such callousness and failing, to an episode of such gravity.,

I, as an erudite individual, have also learnt to put-shut lest someone may smirk or tickle his neighbor’s testicle on hearing the slightest degree of sense.,

I’m not too sure if I yet have an answer,

But I do give you the correct question to ask.,

Temporary Scars

In the dimness of my room.
I hear the shouts and the screams.
Roaring and Tearing, they move.
Scaling the walls and breaking the gates.
I cower in a corner and await the worst.
Demons prowl in our hearts and
Evil haunts from our past.
News and slogans carry the fear.
And I lie a victim in this maze.
The blood keeps pumping.
But for how long ?
Will it be in my eyes tomorrow ?
Or will it be on the floor ?
Barrels and triggers are under my skin.
Stones and bricks are on their way.
I might sit today and lie down tomorrow.
Will I live to die in this world of sorrow ?
Angry words and helpless cries.
Fly in the wind and up in the skies.
My hair stands on my back but,
Deaf are those ears of wisdom.
i sleep in a blanket and
it may just burn with my pyre.
A boy thinks this, so will a 90 year old.
Countries are lies and systems are flawed.
Perforated I am in this so called LAW.

Hellsmarch

Gibreel unsderstands that the Imam, fighting by proxy as usual, will sacrifice him as readily as he did the hill of corpses at the palace gate, that he is a suicide soldier in the service of the cleric’s cause.

The “Imam” orders Gibreel to kill Al-Lat:

Down she tumbles, Al-Lat queen of the night; crashes upside-down to earth, crushing her head to bits; and lies, a headless black angel, with her wings ripped off, by a little wicket gate in the palace gardens, all in a crumpled heap.—And Gibreel, looking away from her in horror, sees the Imam grown monstrous, lying in the palace forecourt with his mouth yawning open at the gates; as the people march through the gates he swallows them whole.

- Satanic Verses

The hearts of men, are thus easily poisoned, moulded and mislead.

 

Miss Arundhati Roy and devastating Leftism

http://pitafi.com/2008/12/14/arundhati-roy-voice-of-reason-finally-speaks-up/#more-810



Someone was asking me the other day what rhetorical writing could possibly mean. I can't find a better example than above. Arundhati Roy at her colourful best. My advice to readers would be to not get carried away by what has been said and try thinking logically and parallely..Tremendous unconventional article though.

And some work on the theme for the week has already been done by Aman and Himanshu with a couple of poems. Seniors some critique invited and rest can comment as well. These articles are just before the introduction to this theme.

Renaissance

I think I've managed to get the spellings right. First of all, thank you to the ones who fought hard to keep the blog alive. And thank you to the ones who all of sudden gave me a wave of inspiration to revive it once again.. Since all of us are in out cozy little nests, with internet connections which don't block blogger.com, we'll be making an earnest attempt at restoring coherence in our thought process and getting the creative juices flowing once again.

Welcome back to Dream Compass. The format remains the same, the platform remains the same, and the theme will keep changing
For this week, we focus our attention on the menace that has recently led to sufficient heart-bleed, generated enough emotion to affect even the most aloof. 26 November shall remain a blot forever, in the minds of those who suffered directly or indirectly, as well as those who still believe in that glorious concept called India.

We, as the supposed intellectual elite of the country, have the duty of doing the least we can by expressing our anguish not just at this incident, but the menace of terrorism as a whole. So the theme for the week is terrorism and its offshoots. Lets try and come up with ideas that don't just give facts, but also present an analysis of someone who cares enough to give this topic more than a passing thought. All interpretations, all related topics and all opinions in any form of lingual expression(poetry, essay, story, rhetoric) are invited..

Happy blogging..

The Beginning of Terror

I lost a lot and then some more
There was nothing I could lose anymore
I stopped to care
I stopped to stare
I stopped
Everything was a shade of grey
Nothing but a shade of grey
Looked like a”tide” had swept everything away
I didn’t know what to do
Should I stay and play
Or laugh my sorrow away
Sorrow for losing something I never had
Or something I could but was too lazy to work hard
I don’t know n never might
As I lazed in the moonless night
No aim. No pain to break me apart
No fear. Just the Numbness in my heart
Life was not so simple I realised
I have erred and there had to be redemption
I had been an emotional fool
Poured my heart to anyone who cared
What did I know it was a mere social obligation?
To suffer once is to condemn oneself to an eternity of suffering
A vicious circle, of pain and remorse
Now others must pay, for it is their turn
I have paid my dues and so must they
Pay for what they have transformed me into
The payment shall be made
Wait, wait and wait......
The time is never right.

"NAGGING THOUGHTS"

My mind is quagmire of little thoughts
That churns me within and ties me in knots.
No matter how hard i try to put them aside,
They return to torment and prick my hide.

I really wonder why there is hatred all round,
When God perfected love for all to spread around,
Why is there jealousy and spite in every mind,
When it pays to be very compassionate and kind.

Why should there be anger whenever provoked?
Ever thought of the solace of peace when evoked?
Why is there friction and unrest everywhere?
When unity can happen with gentleness and care.

Why do people lie and cheat every other time?
Isn't the power of truth so sweet and sublime?
Why do people pretend and brag for no reason?
When being natural suits every person.

Why do people hate and go to the extent to kill?
Not blinking even once,they do it even for a thrill,
God created us to live together in amity and peace,
Why the need to quarrel,Oh God!Let all hatred cease.

Why do people feign not recognize faces?
And pass by looking elsewhere or onto their shoelaces,
When happiness lies in sharing friendship with the other,
Why ignore someone who could be as close as your brother.

Why have people turned so greedy and cruel at heart?
With no other emotion than to hate from the start,
They are ignorant,these peolpe who don't even realize,
They are living in a boat that will sooner or later capsize.

Is it okay to ask your nurse out?

Is it okay to ask your nurse out?
Readers, I seek your guidance on this monumental question which has been tormenting me lately. Due to the good I must have done in my previous lifetime, I landed up at Fortis hospital. All was fine, and by that I mean nothing out of ordinary happened, till the shift of the nurses changed.
The clock said 8 pm and in she walked into the room and hence my life. I was barely in a position to stare. I was waking up just for going to the washroom and planned on going back to sleep. But just like out of a story, I was awake at the precise time she entered and could do nothing but stare. That was the first encounter. You`d think that the last thing a person with dengue would have on their mind is checking out their nurse. Well...u thought wrong.

The next day was spent scolding myself for not paying attention to her name tag. Ahem, you see, I was too busy looking at her face. She had a kind of face which is always smiling no-matter when you look. Her smile lit up the world. And the radiance just forces you to smile back. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the cute pony tail she had. In short, I think I had fallen head over heels for her. She came, she saw, and she conquered and I still did not have the name because alas, I couldn’t read without my glasses. Dengue patients wouldn’t normally need glasses. The classes were in some goddamn cupboard.
The next day and I almost asked the day nurse what the name of night nurse was. But then that would be making it too obvious. I just held back. I was in far better shape when she came in next. Had been improving by leaps and bounds. I made some small talk. Where did she live etc etc. My Father jumped into the conversation suddenly . He had been stoically at my side since my illness, making sure everything works out. But alas, he is better at conversation. ‘What now?’ ,I thought. ‘Do I have to compete with my father for attention. Father, go back to your paper please.’
Shit. Another night had gone and I still did not know her name. My health had improved a lot. That night would have probably been my last night .I was desperately waiting for 8 pm. Father wasn’t there. He had gone to grab a bite. Finally, I thought I would make some conversation. 9 pm -dinner came in. 10 pm -no clue of her. 11pm -another sister comes in to give medicine. I painstakingly realized that my last day was her off day too.
I got discharged the next day. Just as I was leaving on a wheel chair, she was coming in. she probably had a day shift. I accused her of abandoning me the night before. She said it was her night off. All I could say was bye. She raised her hand in greeting and off went my chair.
I just remember a particularly trying time in my illness when we all had a scare. My platelets count fell down a lot and I needed an infusion. She was there, gently caressing my arm, so that the liquid could go in faster, and her radiant smile reassuring me that it would be okay.
Did she do that for everybody, the smile, the hop, the calming conversation? I guess so. But maybe, just maybe, I was special to her too. By the way, while I was waving to her, I finally did get the name….

Alas, I saw the video when i came back home :(

---

I was lucky enough that my Dengue fever cured after just 1 transfusion. My neighbour is suffering from Dengue and she already has had 3 transfusions. And my doctor told me that she recently had a case who required 21 transfusions. If given a chance please do donate blood. it can make a lot of difference to somebody

SAASC PUBLIC SPEAKING WORKSHOP

Hi All...

You must have received an sms as well...Here's thumping the point in more prominently...Gaurav Chhibber will coming to conduct a workshop on Public speaking on Monday, 29th September, at 5 p.m. in the auditorium.

This guy has been into public speaking for at least 10 years now, and that's from as far back as I can remember. His professional workshops have been a huge success in the past too, and he created a decent stir the last time he was in our college..

If you want some very practical advice on public speaking, which can actually be implemented when you are doing some of it yourself, he is the man to look for...

Compulsary for SAASC members to attend, it is also open for all and any outsiders, from within and outside college. Tell all your friends, this will be worth the effort...Adios, see you on monday

Laayela

It was a dark night then. The coiling winds that otherwise palliated the coarseness of the alfalfa that grew yellow and green, thick and large over miles outside the country, aggravated its customary tenderness to a more feral conduct, blowing all and sundry into the vastness of the Field. Quiet plugged all emotion, but not the occasional sniveling of the upset wolves that ran the grounds howling to the white weary loop that stood in all its length and glory, completing the dark skies above. The night was doomed to singularity, to serve that that never would be loved, but remembered, though with an apparent objection and with the regular roll of eyes, and yet, in the deepest hearts of some, with deference for having been, but different.

In the thick of the black and against the rush of the vindictive winds, with the most feline gait even in the most uneven walks, ran an overtone of black, dodging the labyrinths of the tall grasses, running but deeper into them. Laayela pulled the pashmina hard against her cold face, her heart walloping against her supple chest, as she rammed against the shrubs and to her purpose, looking back every few moments. She, must not be seen. It had been a demanding week for her, having tripped over Nagartha, the unbounded ranches of Outertown, having almost been caught, twice, attempting to relieve the magic from the lakes beyond, and now scuttling through the hardnosed, fat grasses of the Field, all but being an overtone of black, not to be seen. And yet, she knew she was being watched, and would sooner than later, add to the count of her kind taken in this Hunt. So for days had she not broken this run, and with her ran , camouflaged in the blackness of the night and in the falseness of illusion, the belief of her folklore in the long-kempt craft of magic that for ages ran in her blood, and now in her pace.

Laayela, hadn’t always worn black. There was once an age when the sun flamed yellow over the neatly mown grasses of Nagartha, turning the green greener, on which a little girl with other little girls blew bubbles of color in the heat of the air outside, that would turn lighter and larger as they floated atop, only to burst with a sudden ‘pop’. The girls always laughed at that. Little Laayela then, would clutch the end of her claret frock tight and run the length of the town to rework the effect of the bubbles to her mother. Never had Nagartha enjoyed the reputation of being a decent escape, for all feared the eeriness it lent to the country, not to forget the horrid rumors that always did the rounds, of witchcraft and voodoo that they said the parish of Nagartha had ever since fathered. And when man, blessed with nothing but the ordinary, chose to cave in to the temptation of emulation, that they say has the capacity to wreck the best; Nagartha, even in all its mind and muscle, couldn’t manage a win. Nagartha lived no more, and little did live of the magic that destroyed it, and of that little, Laayela, this day, knew a lot..

Laayela felt the lands turn coarser against her thwarted feet as the grasses thinned, the numb of her left ear further tranquil being stung by the bitter winds, whispering of the purpose that drew closer each moment, her batted eyes follow the grey smoke as it spiraled in the darkness above hinting of what probably burned in a distant clear. The recklessness that had for days refused to flee from the depths of her mind and from the look on her face fractured to the most contented smile Laayela had ever smiled since the commencement of the Hunt …she knew her peace was closer than ever before.

Loud callous laughter cut through the silence of the night spiking alarm to Laayela who’d never really liked the witches of the Outertown for their conduct. Sisterhood always spoke of how subtlety and calm best house the rushes of irrepressible magic; the faction of Outertown, from what Laayela had heard, propagated quite the contrary, tagging strident, braying activities most appropriate to keep alive the extraordinary, for both shared the pulse of haste and the will to awe. Laayela pushed hard against what seemed like the last tress of grass that rooted the Field, to face the circle of five gifted women and a blazing fire. For a moment, the best could fall fool to the casual ambience that added to the warmness of the fire; it looked more like a tea party that entertained a handful of middle-aged women, where they could complain of their lives, swear upon their lovers, envy famous women and blush unapologetically as they’d narrate concocted trysts with well-built lumberjacks that sweat a few blocks from their place. Laayela knew it was no tea party, and the women that soaked the warmness there, laughing, did not share jests this inappropriate., and so she walked closer, clearing her throat and declaring her presence.

“Ah, another visitor, and that too this pretty”, sniggered a rather sturdy, black woman, closest to the heat, as she stared at the rest; her eyes that of a bufo-bufo suggesting private humour. And so the rest obliged, snorting and hooting out loud; warm whisky spilling off their lopsided mugs.

Laayela smiled back. She neatly laid all paraphernalia that she knew she’d need later, and joined the circle.

“And our missy would be?”

“Laayela from the town of Nagartha. Sent here, by the sorority of the worthy Sisterhood.”

The humour in the group fell immediately punctured. None showed no more of their jabbed brown teeth or rolled around feigning hilarity, none drank more of the intoxicated drink that lay uncorked next to each one of them; they knew never before did anything require more of their minds than their magic, than this.

The witch, who sat on Laayela’s immediate left, pulled up the azure hood that veiled the best of her face from the light of the fire, and turned to her right; her hard pursed lips giving away absolute incredulity. She was bald and an albino, the best haulers of the craft as the old always said, with hide as clear and visible as their purpose. Her eyes pressed hard into Laayela’s, peering harder in, to which, Laayela looked away.

“It’s true that they say then...” she whispered, in the most silken tone, “you do sing?”

Laayela nodded gently, still stealing her eyes from the albino, staring hard into the fire. All, except the albino gasped, hands pressed hard against their breasts, immediate fear draining them of all the extraordinary. Laayela stole a glance at them and smiled; it’s amusing, she thought, how the slightest stigma of association with death could blind the best with the darkest fold of pretence. The albino stayed unruffled though; she smiled back at Laayela, and in swift move grasped Laayela’s cold hands in her own warm ones.

“And for?”

Laayela knew she’d be asked that, and she had her answer prepared for long. Sisterhood asked of her to reveal only that it deduced best for all but Laayela had never quite agreed. For long, she knew, had her kin suffered for their attempts at blatant fabrication and for presuming that the world would never be ready for them. She wanted to believe that it was this day, and if not even today, then never would they be granted acceptance in their own kind, and its best to go out there and fight than to hibernate in the soils of shameful lies.

“I sing for the blessed” spoke Laayela in the hoarsest tone the cold of the night allowed her, “I sing for those that carry the magic”

Laayela’s hands fell out of the albino’s grip, as she cupped them hard against her face. The black witch sitting diametrically opposite to Laayela shrieked out loud, dropping all whisky into the blazing fire; bursting it into wrathful flames that hissed and slithered against the wind, detesting the liquid as much as the uncalled revelation. The flames spiraled out against the circle of women, burning sights of all in rude shades of yellow; Laayela stood up and backed a few steps, her skin blackened by the burning flames and the rage of those around it. The tears that boiled in her eyes, in the briefest moment, brought to her the realization that she hadn’t after all, been wise.

“You invite death to us?” cried the black witch from the other bay of the thick stands of fire that twisted and turned mischievously, throwing nasty knots of flame akin to a veteran cowboy. Even through her soggy eyes, and against the rowdiness of the fire, Laayela could feel the hatred and the avenge of a crying chagrined witch, who with a purpled blade in her left hand, and eyes reddened in fury, stood ready to fight the serpentine flames as much as the ally of her biggest foe.

Laayela knew the damage was done. She knew she could do away with her black housecoat now, now that no darkness could shadow her truth. She stood there waiting no more to be understood or be accepted in the slightest, or maybe she’d lost much interest to seek the same; she could now see the sureness of impossibility drawn by the insubstantial human mind, and had finally, chosen to come to terms with it. The blade that smothered in the shaky hold and the look of supreme aghast that stole each face, assured her, that belief, was something she’d never be granted.

Laayela wanted to run against the harshest and the thickest of the flames then, and to that black witch, hold her hard against her bosom, like a sister to another, like a mother to a mislead child, and narrate to her, the part of the story that none in the world ever chose to believe. She wanted to cry out loud to the cold of the night, that never did she, or any of her kind, bid death to anyone, but only helped those, for whom it lingered close, prepare, by singing to them the customary requiem. It was a service they were doomed to afford, a service that they had always been shunned for. Fear, she now knew, always casts the last spell.

The cold suddenly turned unbearably bitter. Laayela no more felt the heat of the flames as the ends of her fingers numbed, sending the chill across the length of her spine and to her within. Salty waters flooding her eyes halted, only to rush back again, wild and escapable as the million human emotions, of panic, of joy and of absolute grief. And the numbness finally conquered her mind, sighting it against the brilliant light and to the Call. Laayela had known this sensation for long, and better than any other now, she knew it was time for her to play the part; she knew it wasn’t her decision to make as much as it wasn’t her song to sing..

A slow stinging cry cut through the quiet like the sharpest knife. It wasn’t music; it wasn’t noise either, but a stable painful wail that flowed with the winds, calming and caressing them of their annoyance as it diffused into the enormity of the Field; powerful and chaste as the Element. It had no tune to it, nor did it have the slightest variation, all that remained of it was the plainest, basest quality, that in all ease fooled the night of all its intentions, and culled absolute peace. The black witch, as she stood against the brands of a fire that now gently purred in joy, providing warmth as warmth is required, dancing in the black of all eyes; stared harder still at the pretty young woman kneeling in front of her, the branching green veins of her throat showing in all clarity, as they pulsated in and out, producing the melancholy, that now drowned all silence.

There was an immediate movement in the grasses around, voices of rough men talking in vernacular reached the fire as the clanking sounds of metals and boots grew louder every second. The night, with no reason, had begun to explain itself…

Blank of any emotion and even in the deepest of the trance, Laayela knew they had finally been hunted, and that the End now lay close. The Men, led by the envoys of revulsion and bitter desire had reached her magic, their magic, and now there remained no escape. The six witches with the fickle fires had lastly been cornered. And yet Laayela knew that it wasn’t her call that trooped them here, and that it was only sung but to tip off their arrival; she knew that her gift with the entire happening would be misconstrued as it’s always been, and this pained more than anything, than the bite of the cold winds, the burn of the wrathful fires, the fear of being taken, the agony of having lost her sweet, little town….

The albino, who now stood next to the black witch, calming her, gently walked towards the fire, her eyes unfocussed as they wandered with the tender movements of the low-lying flames, hurtful in the least.

“The end we know is close, but what end, is yet, for us to choose”

All followed suit and the circle drew closer.

“The Banshee's only done what a Banshee does”

My raging fire

I’ve lost the desire
to fly higher
for my life’s become a satire
written by men the gods hired.

The wrath that ignites the fire
The ire it breeds for the liar
does make my mind tire
and wonder who sits and conspires.

Each thought of revenge
has given rise to a flame,
which has been
really hard to contain.

A flash of jealousy
A flicker of vanity
A streak of greed
A spark of dishonesty
each light up a flame
I try to subdue.

Each fume that rises
with a fiery hue
seems to reflect
my point of view.

I have failed to extinguish
the flames
that have fed on my soul every day
only to throttle it today.

The flames that have risen
and tightened their grip
around my neck,
have left a deep regret
for every emotion they have checked.

My raging fire,
that has left me fuming
at my own fate,
has gained prime importance of late.

I wish it would die
I wish I could fly
but my feet remain entangled
in matters that can't be handled.

It's like they say
so free we seem
so fettered we are...

The Senteen

Good bye teenage life...

You gave me a lot
And took too less...
I wish I had done more
To make it a success...
I wish I hadn't cried
When the sun was bright
I wish I hadn't slept
When there was some light...
Take care of my years
As they leave me behind
As I head for the a life
Unknown to my mind...

Lucky in PEC

Admission

The geeks and nerds of India start preparing for IIT-JEE just after 10th standard of schooling. A very effective test of whether a guy is fit for getting into the IITs is asking a very simple question: "Do you have a girlfriend"? A guy who says anything else other than "What's a girl?" would not get through the test. Girls are considered unfit to get into IITs, though some girls manage to get the application forms as they look like guys. To make sure no girl gets through the system by bribing to get the application forms, the applicants are required to specify their gender and affix a photograph in the application form. Those faces that resemble anything girly are not selected.

The entrance exam, IIT-JEE, is an extremely selective undergrad admission process (accepting less than 2% of their applicants). As they say, if the input is right, the output is automatically right. The six-hour Joint Entrance Exam held, as the name suggests, jointly by IITs, consists only of questions on Physics, Chemistry and Maths and not on other exotic details like Booze, Drugs, Crime, Pr0n etc. which severely affect the quality of the incoming students. Since the Indians are well known for cramming up loads of information, questions in JEE are never repeated.

Education

The IIT curricula is carefully decided so that there is no scope of learning anything. The students, then, take up alternate learning routes, most common being Pr0n. The IIT alumni on knowing the tremendous potential of internet, provided all hostel rooms with free and unlimited internet connection. The IIT administration tried to propound their agenda by putting lecture videos on the LAN, but this is yet to be confirmed as this has not been tried by any student. The IITians are also forced to eat mess food, that prepares them for the worst they can ever face in their life.

The guys also learn how to make 50 palladins in 25 minutes and get three frags per shot. Some of the creative minds also make a quick buck by selling MMS clips online. Since there are assignments to be submitted every now and then, the guys also learn how to use Google adeptly. Photocopying centres are provided for every 100 metres of road so that time wasted in photocopying assignments is minimized. Lecture classes are held from 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. IST (Indian Stretchable Time). It has been established by years of testing that the time can be stretched to as much as 30 minutes beyond provided it is backed by a cardinal excuse. The summary and results of many such experiments has been documented well in a book by an IITian titled "Five Point Someone: What not to do at an IIT". The book also deals with complex issue of dealing with a girl in IIT.

Life and culture (or lack thereof)

When entering the IIT, a guy has two options. The first is to take up the common learning route described above. Since IIT-JEE makes sure a lot of mavericks are selected, many of them also end up being happy among themselves. The girls in IITs, usually referred to as Non-Males and measured as parts of girl per million parts of guy, have to struggle keeping their identity as girl secret throughout their stay in IITs. Sometimes they are forced to tell the truth, like when a gay IITian proposes mistaking them for a guy.

Alumni

The alumni of these institutes have been very successful across the world (more in USA than in India). Most of them either get frustrated and leave technical education to study management at IIMs, or start a company of their own totally unrelated to their major discipline. There are also a select few who develop a fetish for studies and end up in institutes like Massachusetts Institute Of Technology. An interesting aspect is that, alumni of these institutes form the second-largest graduate student group at MIT, the largest being MIT undergrads and one day hope to colonise the whole of MIT campus.

Fire in the Hole !

I would like to call this fire of a different kind.
It is neither on my candle nor is it on my mind.
It is trapped in my belly and will leave from behind.
And will destroy the spaces where its to be confined.
Yes it is the fire from spices that I have ingested.
That will burn out my insides as I sit here congested.
It was a dark temptation from the snowy peaks of Tibet.
Some ancient black magic was on the loose, I surely bet.
It was at this little stall that I had fallen a victim.
Which went by a strange name, "From Tibet to Sikkim".

fire is lit...

I was waiting for the right time to break the news to my father. But, I guess, you can’t plan for these things, they just happen. He told me that he was going out, scouting for banquet halls to hold a party the family has been planning to hold for an eternity now, and he expects me to come along because I know Mr. Rajeev Kakkar. *

It had to come out now.

Papa can’t meet him without knowing anything about it. So in the brief 10 minute journey, I explain to him the plan in as much detail as time would allow. He meets him, sees the venue, satisfies himself and we are homeward bound. We go into the financials on the return journey. It’s a topic on which I generally lose him every time. We stop at the neighborhood market. He tells me to wait and goes off. He comes back and hands me some crisp notes.

“Start with this; we’ll arrange the rest later”

That is when I realized that it was for real, the plan could go ahead, and the fire had been lit. It falls upon us* to build upon the start, to convert a fire into an inferno.

COMING SOON

*Mr. Rajeev Kakkar: Group General Manager, Western Court Group of Hotels, Industry veteran, Rohan`s Dad

*us: me, Rohan and Wadi, may we have a thousand adventures together.