Wish I had something called wordspot or blogpress. But I will never desert my first protege..
Aug 8, 2007
The road not taken....
Wish I had something called wordspot or blogpress. But I will never desert my first protege..
first week of august..
The old gang (which still exists)
We happy happy happy..
Nice eh?? ( Objects in the mirror ARE closer than they appear!)
Birthday headbumps
Order in disorder
Gud ol' G2 (One yr old in fact :P)
The first row looks as though the dullest teacher came on stage..but then look towards the back!!
Never knew so many could fit in three benches did you??
G2's angels!!Aug 5, 2007
Enlightened
I've always loved dogs, the bundles of joy who prove that happiness is contagious. And so naturally I love wolves too, the ancestors of dogs. (Actually the animorphs say it is "the chee" who are the ancestors of dogs and pieces of their hearts are in the wolves). I associate the term " liquid power" with a wolf whenever I see a picture or one in person.(the photo is of a pack i shot at the darjeeling zoo). The sheer cool with which it stares at you makes you want to bow down before him. And recently Annette gave me a book "The Loop" by Nicholas Evans. I loved the quote she sent as an extract. So I got it from her a week back. A story of the circle in which men and wolves live and how in essence both are the same, the wolves even better in some ways.
"The scent of slaughter, some believe, can linger in a place for years. They say it lodges in the soil and is slowly sucked through coiling roots so that in time all that grows there, from the smallest lichen to the tallest tree, bears testimony.
Perhaps, as he moved silently down through the forest on that late afternoon, his summer-sleek back brushing lower limbs of pine and fir, the wolf sensed it. And perhaps this vestige of a rumor in his nostrils, that here a hundred years ago so many of his kind were killed, should have made him turn away.
Yet on and down he went.
He had set out the previous evening, leaving the others in the high country where even now, in July, there lingered spring flowers and patches of tired snow in gullies shy of the sun. He had headed north along a high ridge then turned east, following one of the winding rocky canyons that funneled the snowmelt down from the divide to the valleys and plains below. He had kept high, shunning the trails, especially those that ran along the water, where sometimes in this season there were humans. Even through the night, wherever it was possible, he had stayed below the timberline, edging the shadows, in a trot so effortless that his paws seemed to bounce without touching the ground. It was as though his journey had some special purpose.
When the sun rose, he stopped to drink, then found a shaded nook high among the sliprock and slept through the heat of the day.
Now, in this final descent to the valley, the going was more difficult. The forest floor was steep and tangled with blowdown, like tinder in some epic fireplace, and the wolf had to weave his way carefully among it. Sometimes he would double back and find a better route so as not to puncture the silence with the telltale snap of a dead branch. Here and there, the sun broke through the trees to make pools of vivid green foliage and these the wolf would always skirt.
He was a prime four-year-old, the alpha of the pack. He was long in the leg and almost a pure black, with just the faintest haze of gray along his flanks and at his throat and muzzle. Now and again he would pause and lower his head to sniff a bush or a tuft of grass, then lift his leg and make his mark, reclaiming this long-lost place as his own. At other times he would stop and tilt his nose to the air and his eyes would narrow and shine yellow as he read the scented messages that wafted on thermals from the valley below.
Once while doing this, he smelled something closer at hand and he turned his head and saw two white-tailed deer, mother and fawn, no more than a dozen yards away, frozen in a shaft of sunlight, watching him. He stared at them, connecting in an ancient communion that even the fawn understood. And for a long moment, all that moved were the spores and insects that spiraled and glinted above the deer's heads. Then, as if deer and insect were of equal consequence to a wolf, he looked up and again assessed the air.
From a mile and a half away came the mingled smells of the valley. Of cattle, dogs, the acrid tang of man's machines. And though he must have known, without ever being taught, the peril of such things, yet on again he went and down, the deer following him with inscrutable black eyes until he was lost among the trees.
The valley which the wolf was now entering ran some ten miles due east in a widening, glacial scoop toward the town of Hope. Its sides were ridged and thick with pine and, viewed from above, seemed to reach out like yearning arms to the great sunbleached plains that stretched from the town's eastern edge to the horizon and countless more beyond.
At its widest, from ridge to ridge, the valley was almost four miles wide. It was hardly perfect grazing land, though many had made a living from it and one or two grown rich. There was too much sage and too much rock and whenever the pasture seemed about to roll, some coulee or creek, choked with scrub and boulders, would gouge through and cut it off. Halfway down the valley, several of these creeks converged and formed the river which wound its way through stands of cottonwood to Hope and on from there to the Missouri.
All of this could be surveyed from where the wolf now stood. He was on a limestone crag that jutted from the trees like the prow of a fossilized ship. Below it, the land fell away sharply in a wedge-shaped scar of tumbled rock and, below that, both mountain and forest gave way grudgingly to pasture. A straggle of black cows and calves were grazing lazily at their shadows and beyond them, at the foot of the meadow, stood a small ranch house.
It had been built on elevated ground above the bend of a creek whose banks bristled with willow and chokecherry. There were barns to one side and white-fenced corrals. The house itself was of clapboard, freshly painted a deep oxblood. Along its southern side ran a porch that now, as the sun elbowed into the mountains, was bathed in a last throw of golden light. The windows along the porch had been opened wide and net curtains stirred in what passed for a breeze.
From somewhere inside floated the babble of a radio and maybe it was this that made it hard for whoever was at home to hear the crying of the baby. The dark blue buggy on the porch rocked a little and a pair of pink arms stretched, craving for attention from its rim.But no one came. And at last, distracted by the play of sunlight onhis hands and forearms, the baby gave up and began to cooinstead.
The only one who heard was the wolf."
-first few pages of the book.
Naturally, I loved the book. And so would anybody who loves simple english written in a beautiful manner. One of the books which connected with me entirely.
It is true that "The wolves are a part of nature and sometimes man forgets to be...."
Aug 1, 2007
Reflections..
Happiness is a good feeling.
Like what you feel when your hunger is sated by an excellent meal.
Like how you feel when it rains ever so slightly, the drops not even making a sound when the fall on your face .
Like how you feel when you hear one of your favorite songs and your mom comes shouting "11th time you've heard that continuously!! Atleast stop singing along!!".
Like how you feel when you start a session of "combined studies" and find yourself laughing till your stomach hurt
Like how you feel when you realise you'll never be lonely when you've got people like these around you.
Like how you'd feel when someone says he/she loves you
Like how you feel when your best friends greet you with a wide and stupid grin every morning, but it somehow looks so beautiful every single time
Like how you know someone will always be there for you but how it feels helluva lot better when someone says it out loud.
Like all the "big hugs" shared through IM, SMS, or physically
Like how you get caught in class for something and always find out that there's someone to give you company
Like how you think nobody could have had such a bad day, but someone comes along and cheers you up, and you think "Who?? Me?? A bad day?? You've got to be kidding me.."
Like how you share a single mentos with a friend.
Like how you some of you see F.R.I.E.N.D.S and some others see "Kanaa kaanum kaalangal" and you debate over which is better and it ends up with a drastic change in topic!
Like how you feel when you realise that exactly one year has passed since you've joined college and it is batch day.
Like how you feel when you realise that time has gone so fast. You feel so close yet you feel like you've met yesterday only.
Like how you feel when you know you have atleast three more years with the same silly, stupid, people but realise life will never be so beautiful without them...
To everyone who feels the same...
Like what you feel when your hunger is sated by an excellent meal.
Like how you feel when it rains ever so slightly, the drops not even making a sound when the fall on your face .
Like how you feel when you hear one of your favorite songs and your mom comes shouting "11th time you've heard that continuously!! Atleast stop singing along!!".
Like how you feel when you start a session of "combined studies" and find yourself laughing till your stomach hurt
Like how you feel when you realise you'll never be lonely when you've got people like these around you.
Like how you'd feel when someone says he/she loves you
Like how you feel when your best friends greet you with a wide and stupid grin every morning, but it somehow looks so beautiful every single time
Like how you know someone will always be there for you but how it feels helluva lot better when someone says it out loud.
Like all the "big hugs" shared through IM, SMS, or physically
Like how you get caught in class for something and always find out that there's someone to give you company
Like how you think nobody could have had such a bad day, but someone comes along and cheers you up, and you think "Who?? Me?? A bad day?? You've got to be kidding me.."
Like how you share a single mentos with a friend.
Like how you some of you see F.R.I.E.N.D.S and some others see "Kanaa kaanum kaalangal" and you debate over which is better and it ends up with a drastic change in topic!
Like how you feel when you realise that exactly one year has passed since you've joined college and it is batch day.
Like how you feel when you realise that time has gone so fast. You feel so close yet you feel like you've met yesterday only.
Like how you feel when you know you have atleast three more years with the same silly, stupid, people but realise life will never be so beautiful without them...
To everyone who feels the same...
Jul 30, 2007
Autumn blues
Step after step, heavier it becomes,
The wind blows, the rain comes,
He trips on a stone,which cut like a knife
Twas the loneliest autumn of his life.
There's a sorrow in his eyes,
On his cheek a tear dries,
A rain drop falls on his head,
The trees have all their leaves shed
The bird in the tree was gone,
Leaving his mornings alone,
He did not sing for him anymore,
As he did every morning before.
The raccoons are not there either,
His sorrow intensifies further,
What fun it was to look at the lot,
Frolicking, all sorrow forgot.
The morning mist had gone too,
Now only the chilly wind blew,
The mist which had clung to him,
Even when everything was grim.
The sun too hid behind clouds,
And him in darkness it shrouds,
The darkness swallows his shadow,
His heart is a messed up hollow.
He had been the bird on the tree
Singing with joy away to glory,
He had been one of the raccoon pack,
Had people around him not long back.
Like summer changes to autumn,
People 'round him forgot him,
Memories were all he had now.
To survive this loneliest autumn somehow...
And memories are all he needs,
The solace when none pays heed,
A touch, a smile, a shoulder to cry,
Though virtual will make sorrow fly.
He walks away on the same way
The bird sings as though it was may
His heart sees the raccoons play,
His mind pushes the loneliness away....
The wind blows, the rain comes,
He trips on a stone,which cut like a knife
Twas the loneliest autumn of his life.
There's a sorrow in his eyes,
On his cheek a tear dries,
A rain drop falls on his head,
The trees have all their leaves shed
The bird in the tree was gone,
Leaving his mornings alone,
He did not sing for him anymore,
As he did every morning before.
The raccoons are not there either,
His sorrow intensifies further,
What fun it was to look at the lot,
Frolicking, all sorrow forgot.
The morning mist had gone too,
Now only the chilly wind blew,
The mist which had clung to him,
Even when everything was grim.
The sun too hid behind clouds,
And him in darkness it shrouds,
The darkness swallows his shadow,
His heart is a messed up hollow.
He had been the bird on the tree
Singing with joy away to glory,
He had been one of the raccoon pack,
Had people around him not long back.
Like summer changes to autumn,
People 'round him forgot him,
Memories were all he had now.
To survive this loneliest autumn somehow...
And memories are all he needs,
The solace when none pays heed,
A touch, a smile, a shoulder to cry,
Though virtual will make sorrow fly.
He walks away on the same way
The bird sings as though it was may
His heart sees the raccoons play,
His mind pushes the loneliness away....
Ryan.A.Nash
Jul 28, 2007
Happyness
I was standing next to a boy, who was walking with his slightly taller friends. They were going to the library to borrow some books; I gathered out of the small talk they had. Few new books had been ordered by the library, said the one called Vivekanand, the tallest of the three. The one called Vasanth was chatting a bit hyperactively. They entered the library and got the familiar smile of recognition from the librarian, smiling inwardly that his guess that we would be the ones to visit the library first had proved right. We looked at the books on display. Vasanth took a copy of "Short stories " by Agatha Christie and his eyes shone with excitement. The relatively shorter guy's eyes reflected their excitement. Vivek however took another book from the pile and showed it to him. He read the title " Harry Potter and the philosopher's stone" and he looked at the cover art- A nerdy looking guy in front of an express. however the Agatha christie book had more meaning to him. His mother had suggested reading that. Vivek said " Read this da. It is fun. nice imagination."
Vasanth " De idha padi da. my limit is over otherwise i would have borrowed this. " . The little guy made a decision. He had both books in his hands......
The room swirled into mist. My feet were drawn up, up and out of that old library. I smiled recollecting what happened next. I smiled as in my mind I pictured the little boy, choose the HP book and telling himself he'll get at the Agatha Book later, as the three walked back to their class, Vasanth still cribbing that the book was childish.
I twirl it a bit....
A blurred image forms in front of his eyes. A tousle haired bespectacled boy swims into focus. I see him pouring over a line from the book. "Help is always available at Hogwarts for those who need it." He let out a low whistle and a silent swear word at the genius of the author.
Once again the scene swirled like mist. I came back to the present. I had finished what the little guy had set out on 7 years ago, and what the older guy had almost completed 4 hours ago, I realise with a shudder that, I have completed it, in the present. Seven years and seven books later, Harry's and my task are over.
The genius of Rowling will always linger on. the mind is an amazing device. One cannot quite predict how it will act. Rowling's formed a magical world in a coffee pub, Waterson's found an imaginary friend for a little guy, mine chose to read about both. The beauty of the seventh book cannot be stated in words. Love and trust are two feelings wherein one cannot exist in the absence of other. You trust the ones you love and u always love the ones you trust. Faith is something which is hard to develop and harder to shake off. In times of stress only the memory of good times keep us together. So if ever you feel sorry for something you've done, don't hesitate to make amends for it. It is a great feeling trust me. Knowing that people are out for you there. It is great pain to find out that the ones you knew have turned into the ones whom you wish you never knew.
Life is all about second chances, Innit?? That's why we've got something called memory. The cactus thorn stuck on your ass which hurts whenever you settle to let it rest. It won't go unless you've set it right. You'd hope for someone to take it out for you. Sometime sit may happen. Mostly, it is you that has to take the initiative or keep wishing someone else would.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. One would like to meet death without a thorn in the backside wouldn't one??
As they say the wand chooses the wizard, but the wand gets its identity from the wizard.
Make a mark.
Cia..
Vasanth " De idha padi da. my limit is over otherwise i would have borrowed this. " . The little guy made a decision. He had both books in his hands......
The room swirled into mist. My feet were drawn up, up and out of that old library. I smiled recollecting what happened next. I smiled as in my mind I pictured the little boy, choose the HP book and telling himself he'll get at the Agatha Book later, as the three walked back to their class, Vasanth still cribbing that the book was childish.
I twirl it a bit....
A blurred image forms in front of his eyes. A tousle haired bespectacled boy swims into focus. I see him pouring over a line from the book. "Help is always available at Hogwarts for those who need it." He let out a low whistle and a silent swear word at the genius of the author.
Once again the scene swirled like mist. I came back to the present. I had finished what the little guy had set out on 7 years ago, and what the older guy had almost completed 4 hours ago, I realise with a shudder that, I have completed it, in the present. Seven years and seven books later, Harry's and my task are over.
The genius of Rowling will always linger on. the mind is an amazing device. One cannot quite predict how it will act. Rowling's formed a magical world in a coffee pub, Waterson's found an imaginary friend for a little guy, mine chose to read about both. The beauty of the seventh book cannot be stated in words. Love and trust are two feelings wherein one cannot exist in the absence of other. You trust the ones you love and u always love the ones you trust. Faith is something which is hard to develop and harder to shake off. In times of stress only the memory of good times keep us together. So if ever you feel sorry for something you've done, don't hesitate to make amends for it. It is a great feeling trust me. Knowing that people are out for you there. It is great pain to find out that the ones you knew have turned into the ones whom you wish you never knew.
Life is all about second chances, Innit?? That's why we've got something called memory. The cactus thorn stuck on your ass which hurts whenever you settle to let it rest. It won't go unless you've set it right. You'd hope for someone to take it out for you. Sometime sit may happen. Mostly, it is you that has to take the initiative or keep wishing someone else would.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. One would like to meet death without a thorn in the backside wouldn't one??
As they say the wand chooses the wizard, but the wand gets its identity from the wizard.
Make a mark.
Cia..
Jul 21, 2007
Fight Club
BLOGGER BIRTHDAY ALERT : Happy birthday 'Nette ( 22 nd July)... Visit War of The Mind
It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
And everything you own end up owning you.
If you want a suggestion for a movie to watch any friday night, a movie which will shock you, move you, make you realise how shit happens around you, keep you guessing wrongly,again, and again, and again, till you get tired of guessing and see the movie because in itself it is overwhelming, and in the end will make you get out of your lousy chair and blog about it, then I suggest Fight Club.
A few quotes from the movie...I don't want to give out the story on my blog though many versions of the story are on various sites. If you still don't take my advice and still go and read the review in some crappy site, then don't ever look in my face again( if you have seen me before). If not, then I hope we don't meet! (too harsh eh??..ellaam oru effect thaan!). So my tribute to the masterpiece..
[first lines]
Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler
I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of... wherever.
Tyler Durden: [the Narrator is trying to disarm a car bomb of nitroglycerin] You don't know which wire to pull.
Narrator: I know everything you do, so if you know I know.
Tyler Durden: Or maybe, since I knew you'd know I spent all days thinking about the wrong wires.
[Narrator pauses]
Narrator:It's called a changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.
Narrator : Home was a condo on the fifteenth floor of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals. The walls were solid concrete. A foot of concrete is important when your next-door neighbor lets their hearing aid go and have to watch game-shows at full volume. Or when a volcanic blast of debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects blows out of your floor-to-ceiling windows and sails flaming into the night. I suppose these things happen
Tyler Durden: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Narrator: [with Tyler's gun in his mouth] mm mm mm mm mm mmmmmm.
[Tyler removes the gun]
Narrator: I still can't think of anything.
Tyler Durden: Ah. Flashback humor.
Narrator: By the end of the first month, I didn't miss TV.
Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.
Marla... the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.
With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
I am Jack's broken heart.
I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.
The first rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is - you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club, someone yells Stop!, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes. Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.
In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.
The dialogues are amazing as you can see. Watch it. Don't blame me if one day you die and then you regret not watching it because as they say in FIGHT CLUB
This is your life and it is ending every minute.
It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
And everything you own end up owning you.
If you want a suggestion for a movie to watch any friday night, a movie which will shock you, move you, make you realise how shit happens around you, keep you guessing wrongly,again, and again, and again, till you get tired of guessing and see the movie because in itself it is overwhelming, and in the end will make you get out of your lousy chair and blog about it, then I suggest Fight Club.
A few quotes from the movie...I don't want to give out the story on my blog though many versions of the story are on various sites. If you still don't take my advice and still go and read the review in some crappy site, then don't ever look in my face again( if you have seen me before). If not, then I hope we don't meet! (too harsh eh??..ellaam oru effect thaan!). So my tribute to the masterpiece..
[first lines]
Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler
I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of... wherever.
Tyler Durden: [the Narrator is trying to disarm a car bomb of nitroglycerin] You don't know which wire to pull.
Narrator: I know everything you do, so if you know I know.
Tyler Durden: Or maybe, since I knew you'd know I spent all days thinking about the wrong wires.
[Narrator pauses]
Narrator:It's called a changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.
Narrator : Home was a condo on the fifteenth floor of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals. The walls were solid concrete. A foot of concrete is important when your next-door neighbor lets their hearing aid go and have to watch game-shows at full volume. Or when a volcanic blast of debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects blows out of your floor-to-ceiling windows and sails flaming into the night. I suppose these things happen
Tyler Durden: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Narrator: [with Tyler's gun in his mouth] mm mm mm mm mm mmmmmm.
[Tyler removes the gun]
Narrator: I still can't think of anything.
Tyler Durden: Ah. Flashback humor.
Narrator: By the end of the first month, I didn't miss TV.
Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.
Marla... the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.
With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
I am Jack's broken heart.
I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.
The first rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is - you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club, someone yells Stop!, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes. Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.
In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.
The dialogues are amazing as you can see. Watch it. Don't blame me if one day you die and then you regret not watching it because as they say in FIGHT CLUB
This is your life and it is ending every minute.
Jul 18, 2007
1
¡feliz cumpleaños a mí!!
с днем рожденья меня! !
عيد ميلاد سعيد لي!
alles Gute zum Geburtstag zu mir!!
Yeah you get the point. And I'm tired of typing the text and translating it too. So happy birthday to me! Yay!
A virtual treat to all of you! Because this is where I exist. Kind of like the matrix. My "real" manifestation is that of a 18 yr old fellow whom you can approach for a treat if you want. So feast your eyes on any of your favorite links that you want and think of it as though it was dedicated by me to you! The least I could do!!
P.s..How do you like my new dress?? "The son is out And the Mr. is in"
And happy birthday to Sigmund Freud and Priyanka Chopra too!!
с днем рожденья меня! !
عيد ميلاد سعيد لي!
alles Gute zum Geburtstag zu mir!!
Yeah you get the point. And I'm tired of typing the text and translating it too. So happy birthday to me! Yay!
A virtual treat to all of you! Because this is where I exist. Kind of like the matrix. My "real" manifestation is that of a 18 yr old fellow whom you can approach for a treat if you want. So feast your eyes on any of your favorite links that you want and think of it as though it was dedicated by me to you! The least I could do!!
P.s..How do you like my new dress?? "The son is out And the Mr. is in"
And happy birthday to Sigmund Freud and Priyanka Chopra too!!
Jul 13, 2007
Thoughts...Of not much significance
Friday evening after a bizarre week and an equally tiring day to end it all, sees me sitting here typing in words which I feel would make me feel better. Thoughts I've been wanting to write down for a long time to make memories for the future. To be precise, this is "the idle mind" at its idlest.
I've wondered for a long time why everyday the same routine has to be followed. Why can't there be a change in the monotony? Getting up at the same time, doing the same things, catching the same old crowded bus to college, semi-listening to what the teachers are paid to teach, mindlessly meandering to a wholly different place, the effect of which is a notebook with scrawls even a 4 year old kid would have been proud of, lunch at 12 30, two more hours of sporadically mundane lectures, the long ride back home, the evening after, are the stuff I'm talking about.
Get my point? Atleast a bit I guess.
The time I go to sleep is preferably one of my favorite times of the day. Thought come in full flow. The time you reflect on stuff which are least related and laugh at your own thoughts. The time when you nod off before you realise that you are getting sleepier by the minute. The time when there exists no fine line between dreams and reality.
Get my point? Atleast a bit, I guess.
But whatever said, you cannot change it but only think of how it would be if it got changed. Even in the monotony there crops up something or the other which makes the day least of all monotonous. The change of the lunch location from the classroom to the terrace where the wind blows with all its might, the photo sessions and loud chats in the terrace after lunch with no one to stop us, the many pass-games (Don't ask me about this..:P ), The many jokes shared, comments passed, the funny looks got after the comment is heard by the person it was aimed at, Old friends coming to your college, The fight for the last mento, the happy times at cafe vallatey/RV cakes, The times spent ottifying PV with just a look and a snide smile ( Me is devilish :) ), The talks which make no sense with ganesh and ET on the way back home, the creative discussions with Harry during class and getting caught for doing so, Times spent happily chatting away to glory with Niveditha / Mary ending either with Niveditha having a snug expression on her face/ Mary laughing out loud ( She always does for that matter :P) / me being just the same, The various sangams and the fun with the gang ( Anbu, Gilli, Visak, Karthik, Sid, Vibhu, Ganesh, Et), The numerous times we had asked for a teacher to allow us to go to the library, 5 minutes after which we could be seen with a coffee in hand at the Im canteen, the things you learn even through the backchat, table scribbles, and the numerous messages sent, the one good period which makes it worth attending the day, and stuff like that do add some color.
You get my point? I hope so.
You get the satisfaction of having done something even though you never get to "see" what it is that you have accomplished. After all this you end up with a good feeling which lingers. You can't see it but somehow you feel you've done something good. The feeling you got at school visits you all over again and you can't help but feel "Another great day". Now it is friday night. The week has drawn to a close. Almost. Memories are all that's left behind. I go to sleep with the hope, almost willing that I would revisit these memories next monday, if not something better.
Now, you get my point? If not, get a life...
(The little guy looks contented. Doesn't he?)
I've wondered for a long time why everyday the same routine has to be followed. Why can't there be a change in the monotony? Getting up at the same time, doing the same things, catching the same old crowded bus to college, semi-listening to what the teachers are paid to teach, mindlessly meandering to a wholly different place, the effect of which is a notebook with scrawls even a 4 year old kid would have been proud of, lunch at 12 30, two more hours of sporadically mundane lectures, the long ride back home, the evening after, are the stuff I'm talking about.
Get my point? Atleast a bit I guess.
The time I go to sleep is preferably one of my favorite times of the day. Thought come in full flow. The time you reflect on stuff which are least related and laugh at your own thoughts. The time when you nod off before you realise that you are getting sleepier by the minute. The time when there exists no fine line between dreams and reality.
Get my point? Atleast a bit, I guess.
But whatever said, you cannot change it but only think of how it would be if it got changed. Even in the monotony there crops up something or the other which makes the day least of all monotonous. The change of the lunch location from the classroom to the terrace where the wind blows with all its might, the photo sessions and loud chats in the terrace after lunch with no one to stop us, the many pass-games (Don't ask me about this..:P ), The many jokes shared, comments passed, the funny looks got after the comment is heard by the person it was aimed at, Old friends coming to your college, The fight for the last mento, the happy times at cafe vallatey/RV cakes, The times spent ottifying PV with just a look and a snide smile ( Me is devilish :) ), The talks which make no sense with ganesh and ET on the way back home, the creative discussions with Harry during class and getting caught for doing so, Times spent happily chatting away to glory with Niveditha / Mary ending either with Niveditha having a snug expression on her face/ Mary laughing out loud ( She always does for that matter :P) / me being just the same, The various sangams and the fun with the gang ( Anbu, Gilli, Visak, Karthik, Sid, Vibhu, Ganesh, Et), The numerous times we had asked for a teacher to allow us to go to the library, 5 minutes after which we could be seen with a coffee in hand at the Im canteen, the things you learn even through the backchat, table scribbles, and the numerous messages sent, the one good period which makes it worth attending the day, and stuff like that do add some color.
You get my point? I hope so.
You get the satisfaction of having done something even though you never get to "see" what it is that you have accomplished. After all this you end up with a good feeling which lingers. You can't see it but somehow you feel you've done something good. The feeling you got at school visits you all over again and you can't help but feel "Another great day". Now it is friday night. The week has drawn to a close. Almost. Memories are all that's left behind. I go to sleep with the hope, almost willing that I would revisit these memories next monday, if not something better.
Now, you get my point? If not, get a life...
(The little guy looks contented. Doesn't he?)
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