Music Review: Imagine Dragons

It’s not always a compulsion to write a review about mainstream rock bands just because you have this enormous love for the sound of heavy guitars and thrashing drums and screaming vocals. Sometimes it’s good to ‘expand’ your region of musical taste and try something new and fresh out of the CD cover. So I heard about this new breed of musicians from my oh-god-I-cannot-handle-that-noisy-crap friends, distinctly about this one particular song which has become the so-called ‘song of the year’. It’s all over the internet. With their explosive chartbuster ‘Radioactive’, I present to you the newest and currently the coolest indie band on the turf – Imagine Dragons.

Imagine Dragons has a completely different ‘feel’ than most of the bands in this genre like Coldplay or Arcade Fire or The Killers or even Mumford & Sons. And honestly speaking, I wouldn’t mind deleting Coldplay and off this world’s ‘I think I’m gonna cry, these songs are so beautiful’ playlist. I mean get over it already! So the first song I heard was, again, Radioactive, which is undoubtedly the most popular track of their debut album (Night Visions). But I wouldn’t call it that. Two more tracks into this album and you’ll find more fascinating music you may not have heard in a long time. Somehow this group has produced a new thrillingly ‘percussive’ form of stadium anthem-ish music which I’m sure I have never heard before. The energy is amazing and the vocals (Dan Reynolds) especially, just add to the album’s raw emotional instability. As you go through Night Visions, it effortlessly drifts from the depth and power of Radioactive, through the celebratory On Top Of The World and emotionally-driven wailing of Amsterdam.

Facts: This Las Vegas based band is lead by frontman Dan Reynolds and blah blah blah – not important. What’s important is that the way I see it, Imagine Dragons will give you every kind of music you would want to listen to when you go through a series of emotions during the day. What you expect from a group of hardworking musicians is to soothe, energize and refresh your mind and this band will give you just that. Not too much, not too less – just the appropriate required amount. We all have our favourite artists, bands and internet rockstars rotting in our ancient perfect playlists. I say recreate them. Let them be imperfect with startling melodies by artists no one has ever heard of. It’s time to let these dragons take over you for a change.

Must Download: Radioactive, It’s Time, Bleeding Out, Fallen, Amsterdam, Demons,…the whole album! That’s a better option.

- Harshil Bhardwaj

(Dream Compass Team)

Book Review - And The Mountains Echoed

Author: Khaled Hosseini

I’m a God fearing man, and perhaps that’s the reason I liked the book “And the Mountains Echoed” by Khaled Hosseini. Though it has nothing to do with either God, or life and death, but the book has a character better than most humans. Khaled Hosseini takes you from Shadbagh to Shadbagh-e-Nau via Paris, Tinos in Greece, and California, and anyone who can pronounce “a, b, c” would love that. But, there’s more to understand. There’s more to the book than what the commoner would suggest. It’s well written, and probably because Khaled Hosseini is a God fearing man too. That is probably the reason he chose to describe what any Amar, Akbar, or Anthony would look like instead of describing something which would indulge the reader to take him to another level of a mindset, and understanding, and then leave him on his own, to experience the world ahead.

The book is somewhere in the middle of multiple short stories, to not ‘just being about a single character’. But each character, be it Adel, or Nila Wahadati, or Parwana or Iqbal are so much interrelated that getting “Goosebumps” while reading it wouldn’t even begin to describe the sort of a feeling one would have, while reading the book. The book ends with Pari realizing how close she has always been to her brother (Abdul) through his memories and through hers; and through her brother’s dreams. Both, the ones that Abdul used to have, and the ones that his daughter gave him.

Having read “The Kite Runner”, and “A thousand Splendid Suns”, I wouldn’t lie to myself or anyone else by saying that I did not expect more from Khaled Hosseini. One would be touched to know more about Nila Wahadati, and her life; or why Timur ended up helping Ana’s daughter (Roshi), instead of Idris. But I suppose a path more travelled is the one that brings promises along. It is a MUST READ for everyone, just like Hosseini’s other two books.

-Vishwa Vijay Singh Dhandu

3rd Year, Civil

DRAWER FULL OF MEMORIES

Two years into college and almost 2 decades into life and all of it seemed to fit into one drawer. This drawer is a palpable form of the days and the moments I’ve lived so far. I was just about to place another memory in it when something else caught my eye. That was it, the next hour I spend reliving the last nineteen years.

I found a photograph of the first boy to whom I ever confessed my love. Before your mental horses start running wild I must tell you that it was when I was 8 years old. After the admission of my ardent desire for his company till I died, guess what he did? He told the class teacher. As lady luck has always been graceful towards me, this time too, it sprinkled a little bit of the luck dust on me. My class teacher was best friends with my mother who was incidentally a teacher in the same school. Perfect! As the news of my inappropriate behavior raced through the staff to my mother’s ears I thanked the lord for the wonderful fortune he’d bestowed on me. Amen. The ear twisting and the scolding by class teacher in the staff room and then my mother at home certainly added to the purity of my first ever romantic moment. Call it karma, but the boy is in the same college as me, only, he doesn’t remember and I’d like to keep it that way.

I tried on my old friendship bands, one of them was delivered to me by one of friends at school but was actually from a boy who I had lost touch with after I moved houses to the other end of the city. This was his way of rekindling our past. I laughed because whenever anyone asked me who the boy was, all I said was that “We’re just good friends.” Right! We all know what that sentence means. So much for the clichés!

A little bit of reshuffling and I saw two key rings that looked exactly the same and both of them broken from the same end. My friend broke one key ring and then I made him drive to all the Archies stores in the city to buy the exact same key ring. I didn’t like that key ring but I was mad at him for breaking the first one. After I told him that I didn’t like it at all, he broke the second one too.

I found a couple of my fallen milk teeth in a small jewelry box gifted by my best friend. She would hate it if she knew what I kept in it. Gross. I still haven’t thrown those teeth away.  The sea shells that my brother and I collected from the beach because we thought we could sell them back at home. Mom made us throw most of them away but we managed to save the best ones after a lot of crying. The “ghungroos” used in the two years of Kathak lessons. Sadly, I’ve lost all the grace and poise a classical dancer entails. The front caricature that I cut out from a t-shirt that I wore for seven years and couldn’t part with but had to because the supreme court (mom) had passed a ruling that I had to get rid of it.

Everything that I felt made my smile because it reminded me of the person I was and how I have come miles from that, or not. I am a hoarder. I collect these souvenirs and keep them in the back of my closet so that I can reminiscence my past whenever I want to. Not just think of the memories, but touch them. As for the thing that brought to light the time gone by, my most recent collectable, a pick up postcard from CCD and the hilariously horrible encounter behind it is a secret meant just for me. For now.

-Dinaz Malik, 3rd Year CSE

Blackhole

I have spent my days months and years wondering,

The answer to life is nowhere to be seen,
Sailing in an old scotch bottle,
The answer is lost in the pacific.

All directions show no promise;
None shows the path to true happiness.
I hear, I listen, I even try to see,
But the words that fumble from my mouth,
Are still melancholic and shear,

People try to guide me to wisdom;
They try to show me light.
My questions are bigger, beyond the natural,
My questions are beyond the heaven and the hell,
They have a mind of their own.

I realize now how small and insignificant I am,
The answers I begged for make me feel weak and low,
These are not the words you tell a sailor,
Who is yet to start the engine of his Titanic.

These words consume everything you once felt or will ever feel,
They take you to a different dimension,
Where real is unreal,
Where real is surreal.

I hope I could not have heard it,
I hope somebody had stopped me,
But as I waited for that somebody to appear,
My answers presented to me an alternate reality.

Now I want to go back to the place I come from.
I want to forget everything,
My questions, their answers, their significance, their depth, everything.
I want to be that child I once was,
Not the child who yells without any vocal chords.

I try to be my past self.
I try to rewind to restart.
But then again as I try,
Those question do not stop the haunt,
They chase me again almost taking control,
I fight with might with all the energy I can muster,
And I am winning those daily battles.
But I am afraid I am losing my life's greatest war.

-Aanshik Gupta,

3rd Year Meta

Haze

Lost in the middle of a crowd

Every one is familiar, but just

Strangers jostling you by as they pass

All a part of your life and yet so unfamiliar

Your feet begin to move of their own accord

And before you know it you've crossed the same path

Several hundreds of times

"Where do I want to go?" you have no answer.

Reflections, images, shapes, moving around,

You can see your face, but just

A plethora of colors all around you

A multitude of faces, and shadows

All move with a purpose, all move with a finality

They seem to know exactly what's going on,

They seem to know exactly what they want

Before you know it, you lose your face amidst them all.

"Who am I?" you have no answer.

Streaks, ribbons of light, fill your vision

You are trying to breathe, but just

You can feel your heart throbbing violently

Perfectly in sync with your feet pounding wildly on the ground

Everything is blurry now, you realize you're weeping

Things go whizzing past your ears, sounds, music

In too deep, so lost, so hopeless

And when you finally open your eyes

You're staring precariously at the edge of the precipice

You let it all out, the anger, frustration, despair,

Overwhelmed by the melancholy of it all

And then you're diving head first.

"What have I done?", you have no answer.

Kicking, struggling, trying to resurface

Light within reach, but just

The depth so inviting so alluring,

Almost beginning to grow warm

The tendrils of comfort begin to over power,

The will to break free

The instinct to live, to be, tries to flare up

But that is squashed out by some invisible force

"What do I really want?" you have no answer.

-Priya Ravi

3rd Year

The One Night Stance

Silence, they call it, of what,

I may never know, and it won’t ever matter.

The strange custom before a storm, was stranger,

Today, as a guest in proceedings of war.

Blows becoming sodden expressions of a raging world around

Wounds an obvious affliction, memory the natural drug,

Indifference the natural cure.

All full of pity, and hate alike,

A casualty among living they name it,

As the victim was reason, slaughtered by some private treason.

A daft and blunt version, I say,

Of a mind corrupted by lack of reflection.

Let treason be the trigger,

But the shot was the devil’s sacred thought unleashed.

A victim of of reason, held up against pointless existence,

Being turning savage, for against what it was pitted.

The essence of laughter changing by day,

From an elated sense of victory,

Becoming a peace from ease of loss.

Slowly it and its breath choke on fumes, turning into,

My lone awareness to a fire that lives on me

When it leaves, will it leave me burnished or ash,

Is an unlucky man’s guess, and I’ll be making it for him,

But depart it will, I won’t let it stay,

For the love or blood of God, I say.

Faded illusions that passed in time,

Black faith in passiveness to back it,

The season past be a painful night

A nightmare of thoughts endured and endeared,

A wishful fall, a leap, a flight,

A belief abandoned a one night stance.

-Piyush Bhatti
2nd Year, Mech

The Sinner's Act

No matter how many times you cried
But you still couldn't feel
No matter how many times you fell
But you still couldn't heal
No matter how many times you woke up
To the music of the gale apart,
As the children plunged their knives
Right in the middle of your heart
To believe in a fairy tale is a child's dream
For the poison rain in which you once played
I strip the soul off its chaste innocence
And the body burns in which the shadow once laid
Tell me would you rise just to be buried inside?
Tell me would you run away just to win a fight?
Your life is free from every fair frontier
It's all over in a matter of your eternal plight
Don't you remember the time when life went free?
The birth of you and the death of me
The children are back with their hands full
And the blizzard is knocking on your door
Tell me would you cry to never feel?
Or kill yourself only to never heal?

- Harshil Bhardwaj
2nd Year, Meta

Special Theory of Relative Cannibalism

Statutory Warning: The views expressed in this article may be unsuitable for the holier-than-thou, self righteous people with low self esteem, no sense of humour or irrational religious beliefs. Also if you are a 10 pointer, this article is not for you. It may be relevant for some low level backlog chap but since you are above all that, why don’t you go to library and borrow some books, a**hole (you know the word)

Of all the violinists considered smart, Einstein was the silliest. For his obsession with relativity had such a profound trickle down effect on our policy makers that they decided to stuff relativity in every possible way they can in our education system, thus turning a perfectly functional, cordial classroom into a $#!thole of cynicism, an every man for himself (or, for that hot girl sitting ahead ) zone. But then, who am I kidding. Hot girls and engineering almost seem like an oxymoron (Being in an oestrogen starved branch makes matters worse). On seconds thoughts, ranting on about hot girls, or rather the lack of them, in a technical college has become such a cliché and since there will always be those thick headed, android 2.1 using orthodox who just can’t suppress their urge to employ a cliché, so I happily leave that topic to them. Soon after falling in this deep sinkhole of higher studies, I uncovered some pretty depressing facts about my beloved college and all of those problems had something to do, in one way or the other, with this concept of relativity which those nonchalant policy makers have such inhumanly embodied in our curriculum (again, screw you Einstein!).If those incompetent old clowns can’t do it to their wives, they do it to their country. And yet, are still voted back to power because of idiots like you (yes, you!). And our college complements that by putting up an atrocious attendance system and by keeping an obscure curriculum, with that redundant train engine and helicopter being an apt symbolism of this obscurity. Legend has it that the Air Force helicopter once landed for a minor repair work and it couldn't fly back. Ever again. True story!

Now, allow me to commit sacrilege on the 10 commandments of our sacred CGPA system in which you get an opportunity to get screwed with your pants on, by a bunch of no life 10 and 9 pointers over and over and over and over and over again (sounds cruel? well, it is). But a few 9 pointers might come in handy for copying assignments from. And the most intelligent decision taken by the authorities (and perhaps the only) is to let 4 photocopy shops open in the PEC market so that the time wasted in photocopying assignments can be considerably reduced. And boy, how much I love assignment deadlines! I almost have a fetish for the jet like sound they make as they fly by. But if you are a 9 pointer (and most likely you are not), then after some time of good intention-ed assignment sharing, you start feeling like an open source software (a prostitute everyone uses but no one pays).

And speaking of grades, getting wasted the night before exams just because of an inconsequential binge dare won’t help your case either. But ‘Dare’ is the one word that makes the ego levels reach the zenith and makes you drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. ‘No, I am a pussy’ should be your reply because the prospects of a possible one more year of going through that same hell (i.e. year back) don’t seem too appealing. Besides, smoking kills. And if you’re killed, you have lost a very important part of your life. But I know for sure people will continue doing that and the legacy will go on, even though it may seem nonsensical in hindsight. Because, perhaps, making sense is too mainstream (note to self: stop using clichés, you moron!). That one guy defying the mass cut, that one girl submitting assignments on time, it’s because of teacher’s pets like you (again, you!) that the entire class suffers for four consecutive years. If only we could remain unite. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or rare gemstone. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. So let us shun our differences and stop fighting over petty issues such as grades and placements. Let’s be united for once and make this world a happier place. Or maybe, smoke weed, get high and give the same number of #*%&s as the number of d**ks in Justin Bieber's pants. Amen.

Written by Rishi Rohan

2^nd Year

Mechanical Engineering

Cat

My body sat on the swing quietly one night,

My mind it’s only companion, wandering the lair,

Of my thoughts, and suddenly- cold fright!

An empty swing glides gracefully through the still air.

On cue, a crow croaked,

Waves of cold my body soaked,

Why is it suddenly freezing?

And then I heard it, a sickly wheezing.

I could have sworn I saw something there somewhere!

Yet, when I looked, there was nobody there.

The crow moaned, a black cat waltzed by,

It stopped. Slowly twisted its head, as if shy,

And fixed me with an evil gaze,

Then the lights went out in a cold dark haze.

I felt, in every nerve and sinew and vein,

The kind of fear that drives men insane,

Exept maybe, it was there all along,

Building up inside me like a slow song.

Whence came this unwanted notion?

Oh who’s this? I see some motion.

The lights came back, but they, they were different this time

Spewing rays of malice that coalesced with the shadows,

As the swing hit the side with a chime.

I stood there, rooted in fear,

Stabbing my a heart like a spear,

Move I did, thanks to the reptilian part of me

As the part that reasons drowned in the sea

Of fear, and as I reached my home,

I looked back to see a pair of eyes,

 Shining like precious stones,

The silhouette of the cat’s face made me scream,

It wasn’t over, it seemed.

That night I woke up, bathed in sweat,
Slimy worms slithered on the floor to make it wet,

There was only thing I remember from the nightmare,

The black cat and it’s evil stare.

To escape this all, I sought religion,

I meditated, and used psychedelics to get crazy visions,

Desperately seeking some relief,

From the idea that fear is our deepest seed.

Seconds became months, months became years,

In my solitude I conquered all my fears,

Enlightenment beckoned from the distance

Nightmares and black cats ceased their existence,

I saw angels float serenely in the air,

Mesmerizing beauty shine everywhere,

The ultimate truth, I searched

Where everything that ever was and is, converged.

I took a deep breath,

and closed my eyes,

Preparing for the truth

To let go of lies,

An image flickered,

I knew it well.

It was the evil stare of the cat from hell.


-Fateh Singh Mann
4th Year, Mech

The Happy Boy

With a bucket of flowers, wet and sweet,
And pockets filled with all things pretty.
With a heart full of joy,
And a barrel of happy juices.

He trots through hills and valleys alike.
With the gaze of a tomahawk, stares around.
Looking for the distant Shiela placed,
Amongst yellow blooms and toxic ravines.

He plans his entrance with tedious detail.
The happy boy glances, drops of sunshine.
A cool breeze she feels, her bosom.
He watches her, her moves. How he watches her!

With songs of love, of tragedy, and life.
Percussion, strings and notes unheard.
With a funny twang and a perpetual bang.
He enters tip-toeing into her sphere.

His charm, and his heavenly pleasure,
Putting at rest the world and her defenses.
With a touch, a smile and a wink,
He puts her world in a joyous topsy turvy.

For the happy boy places his seed deep within;
A seed wrapped in myriads of packets of happiness.
With his conquest made, and a life changed,
The happy boy trots on to hills and valleys alike.


-Avneet Hira,
General Secretary, SAASC (2012-2013)