Comme8

Smile on repeat

2010-11-15T19:45:00.001+05:30

I'll be high on your smile,

If you'd only let it extend a mile,

Slowly let it tip-toe into your cheek,

And off your dimple, let it leak.

Ch: If really I could,

I really would,

Oh baby,

You know me,

I'd clean it up and make things neat,

Just to play your smile on repeat.

Come on, fair boy,

Play your demeanor a tad coy,

Loosen that brittle,

And smile a little.

Ch: If really I could,

I really would,

Oh baby,

You know me,

I'd clean it up and make things neat,

Just to play your smile on repeat.

Bridge: If you'd try to put that smile

in your wallet,

I can bet,

I can promise you,

that it'll say, "no can do"

Baby, my billionaire,

Do that thing, that makes me stare.

Ch: If really I could,

I really would,

Oh baby,

You know me,

I'd clean it up and make things neat,

Just to play your smile on repeat.

Perhaps

2010-11-13T11:32:00.001+05:30

Perhaps I should let it all go,

watch you like a performing art.

Art is so abstract

it won't change its way.

It's the power of a label,

a catalyst to digestion:

a crutch by you,

a faint placebo

letting you last.

Then you can without restriction,

like a bird spread your wings,

play out our colour.

It will atleast look beautiful like a rainbow,

just out of order.

?

2009-08-13T20:54:00.000+05:30

If lovers live forever,
are you and I immortal?

Would you bloom at night
if the sun was out?

Why isn’t it ever understood that birth control helps saving the unborn from this world of filth?

If less is more -
Why aren’t you ever satisfied with the green on your side?

Do windows suffer
from an inferiority complex when they see a door?

If no two finger prints match,
Have you checked to believe so?

Do the sheep feel cold
when you’re wearing a sweater?

Why is there racism
if black makes a statement?

Is the lipstick on your collar - a message
for me, or just plain ignorance?

Why would you give my heart an ailment
when my blood is so pure?

If I play dead,
will you play mourn?

If I sleep with you,
will you call me your virgin tomorrow?

Are you a sadist
if you smile at a rainbow’s perpetual
frown?

2009-05-08T08:07:00.001+05:30

Hey, I happened on this blog, where Mr. Anil Pinto says that he thinks it is the first of its kind, the first time, at least in India, that blogs are being used for 'educational purposes'. We started with Ramya's batch, which was a long time ago, but the difference is that here each class uses the same blog, I think. But it's a tad too formal for my liking. Check it out though. And I think the links are useful. See if you guys want to swank up our blog!
http://anilpinto.blogspot.com/

A piece of info.

2009-04-29T22:32:00.005+05:30

Please read the following carefully:

The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5- year phase-in plan that would be known as "Euro-English".

* In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k". This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter.

* There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f". This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.

* In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.
Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.

Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent "e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.

* By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v".

* During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensibl riten styl.

Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.

* Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.
-- Officials said.

INVICTUS by William Ernest Henley

2009-04-01T22:25:00.001+05:30

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

CHUDDY-MAN (based on true events)

2009-03-17T17:16:00.005+05:30

After hours of practicing on his brand new Ibanez guitar, he decided to call it a night. fingers raw from all the strumming, he seemed dazed and confused. he looked at his watch and saw that it was past 2:00 am in the morning. "I better hit the sack", he thought if he had to catch an early morning bus to whitefield. he tucked his bottle green Ibanez guitar into the case , switched off the lights, and flopped into bed. drifting...drifting into deep slumber when suddenly his mothers face appeared in his head
"you left the bike outside you moron!..im gonna kill you in the morning!".
with that he jerked out of bed, ran down stairs, opened the door with such force and stepped outside into the freezing cold.
"hmmm..", he thought. the bike was parked inside , everything seemed to be fine. he turned around only to be greeted by the firmly shut door.
"crap!.. its 2:00 am, and im stuck outside" but then he suddenly realised that he wasnt just stuck outside at 2:00 am in the freezing cold, he was stuck outside at 2:00 am in the freezing cold wearing nothing but his brown chuddies!.
he started to pace in the porch. he decided to go ahead and ring the doorbell. he hits it the first time...no answer..the second time...still no answer and then finally one last time.
he hears footsteps raging down the stairs, a woman screaming "its 2:00 am in the bloody morning...im gonna kill you, you son-of-a-bi"
she opened the door, her face contorted with rage and then suddenly, she calmed down. she had opened the door to her half naked son standing, covering his nipples and giving a sheepish smile.
"hi mom!"
"we will speak about this in the morning"
with that they all hit the sack. the next day at the dining table, she turned to him and yelled, "what the hell were you doing outside at 2:00 am in the bloody morning, in your bloody underwear!?". he stood up, gave another sheepish smile and left for the door passing by his sister who had burst out into uncontrolable laughter.

Living My Dream Now!!

2009-03-05T13:02:00.002+05:30

Most 3 year olds draw. I wrote. It began with pages and pages of scrawls and scribbles of trying to imitate my Mother's handwriting. By the age of 6 i began writing my own stories. Of princesses and princes, of evil and good, of golden apples and swords. I lived an a world of fantasy. A world that i created myself by my writing. Upon been questioned at the age of 9 on what i want to be when i grow up, my answer was obvious: An Author!
"That's not a profession! Why don't you be a doctor. You love Science too."
That's the reply I received from all my uncles and aunts. Ah well, I did focus on Science. I stopped writing.
Quite a few years passed and I was stuck on Science. I aced in Biology and decided that i would go into that field.

It happened in a boring 3 hour chemistry class. I was not able to concentrate on polymers and synthetic fibres and whatever the teacher was raving about. ( No offence to chemistry lovers). That's when i put my pen to paper and began writing again. That day, I just wrote and wrote and wrote. I don't remember what i wrote about but it was anything and everything that came to my mind. I felt happy and free. At the end of the hour, my teacher comes up to me and after patting me on the head, says, "Genevieve, it's good to see you paying attnention and taking notes in class. " If only she knew!

Till the last day of my ISC board exams my mind was set on pursuing Science. The very next day, my focus completely shifted. I still don't know how but i had decided to take up mass communication. My parents are cool when it comes to me choosing my own career. My reltaives were all surprised though. Actually, i'm the one who's surprised the most.

Well, things turned out for the best. I got admission into the Communicative English course at Mount Carmel College and I've started working on my first book. :)

2 years ago, my Grand- mother had opened up to me and told me that she wished for her biography to be written by one of her chidren. I'm fulfilling that wish. My first book is the biography of my grand mom. My dream as of now is to see this book published. For her. For the people who will be touched reading her story and know that there is still hope for those who have lost all. My dream is to make a difference to people and I know that one way I can do it is through my writing.

I'm living my dream now.

Advice: Don't loaf on this lane

2009-01-27T19:03:00.002+05:30

This filthy, all-purpose lane is a total attendance grabber. With a whiff of freshly squeezed orange juice and the sound of motorcars and the buzzing of bees, the busy latecomers who return from the sight of locked classroom doors grab a warm cup of coffee or a refreshing plate of cut fruit. These groups of rejected women gather around the dirty footpaths engaging in their lengthy, chitter-chatter early morning rants.

The now faded orange juice aroma is usurped by a cow who decided to do her perfumery business for the day, swishing her semi wet tail as if the cool wind were her natural hair/tail dryer. Insistent flies of course find their daily hub as Mrs. Moo moves on to house many more of them.

Vegetable sellers, turn on their vocal chords for the day screaming reasonable prices despite the heavy recession. Pharmacies burst with fresh orders of pregnancy tests, tampons and contraception as the cafes clear up the half finished idly’s and the left over sambar bowls, in the midst of planning lunch menus for the day. Cars and bikes hustle their way through a measly path flooded with living creatures the size of a fly to an enormous cow and everything else between them.

I took myself here on hearing that the shortest route to the other side of the road would be through this lane. It's certainly not the shortest route of most pleasant sights, sounds and smells.

Change, please

2009-01-18T14:14:00.003+05:30

Someone, please change the look of the blog; how about brighter/more dramatic colour ?and a slightly larger font?

Writing

2009-01-18T14:08:00.002+05:30

' A poet can endure anything. Which amounts to saying that a human being can endure anything. Except that its not true:there are obviously limits to what a human being can endure. Really endure. A poet, on the other hand, can endure anything. We grew up with this conviction. The opening assertion is true, but that way lie ruin, madness, and death."

From Roberto Bolano's "Enrique Martin"

3..2..1..boom.

2008-11-27T18:51:00.002+05:30

"Waiter, could you bring us some wa.."
Bang.Bang Bang.
Just like that.
At 9.18 p.m on the November 26Th, several areas of Mumbai experienced terror attacks including the Taj hotel, the Oberoi Trident,Nariman house and Chhatrapati Shivaji terminus. Now it's 7.05 p.m of the 27Th and the terror continues. It seems almost surreal. Like something out of a movie or a particularly bad dream. But the reality of it is, is that all this is happening.
More than a hundred innocent people have died in this incident and the numbers seem to rise every hour. People are still being held hostage at the hotels not counting the guests locked up in their hotel rooms.I read the numbers,I saw the bomb blasts,I heard the gun shots.But nothing prepared me for this image: At about 5.30 p.m, a man wearing a white shirt was waving and screaming for help from a window at the Oberoi Trident. This man, with no contact to the outside world, has been stuck in that room for almost twenty-four hours. 998 kilometers away, I shivered. It was a unbelievable and horrifying sight. To even imagine the state of this person and the other hostages is too much to bear. And remember, we're nearly a thousand kilometers away.
Boom.Boom.Boom.
A group calling themselves the Deccan Mujahideen has taken responsibility for this attack. They entered these two grand landmarks of Mumbai and fired indiscriminately upon front office and kitchen staff as well as guests.

What reason could they possibly have to inflict such terror?And is any reason good enough?

THE LION

2008-10-27T21:21:00.005+05:30

oh, weep for Mr. and Mrs.Bryan !
he was eaten by a lion;
following which,
the lions lioness
up and swallowed Bryan's Bryaness..!!
lol..

The Night

2008-10-12T23:48:00.001+05:30

Shuffling of leaves beyond the mist of the night. Shadows engulf images and whispers penetrate walls. Moonlight ravenously cuts through curtained windows. Howling dogs continue without concern. Gentle breaths fill bedrooms. Sometimes overpowered by the gusts of snores. A scribbling pen joins the night orchestra. Ending with the crescendo of day break.

2008-10-02T17:20:00.001+05:30

Question bank for Functional Writing
• Parts of a grasshopper

1. Head: The anterior part of an insect body with eyes, antennae, and mouthparts.
2. Thorax: The body section after the head, with the legs and wings attached. There are three sections of the thorax: the prothorax, the mesothorax, and the metathorax.
3. Abdomen: The posterior section of the body containing the reproductive and digestive organs.
Spiracles: Breathing pores.
4. Coxa: The section of a leg that is attached to the body.
5. Trochanter: The second segment of a leg, between the coxa and the femur.
6. Femur: The third segment of a leg, between the trochanter and the tibia. (Grasshoppers and other jumping insects have enlarged hind femora with powerful muscles).
7. Tibia: The fourth segment of a leg, between the femur and the tarsus.
8. Tarsus: The leg segment after the tibia, often subdivided into several sections.
9. Genitalia: The sexual organs.
10. Wings: Outgrowths of the body wall that enable insects to fly. The first pair of wings is sometimes modified into a protective covering for the hind wings.

• Parts of guns
1. Action: The part of a firearm that loads, fires, and ejects a cartridge. Includes lever action, pump action, bolt action, and semi-automatic.
2. Barrel: The metal tube through which the bullet is fired.
3. Bore: The inside of the barrel. "Smoothbore" weapons (typically shotguns) have no rifling. Most handguns and rifles have "rifling".
4. Breech: The end of the barrel attached to the action.
5. Bullets: The projectile. They are shaped or composed differently for a variety of purposes.
6. Butt or buttstock: The portion of the gun which is held or shouldered.
7. Caliber: The diameter of the bore measured from land to land, usually expressed in hundredths of an inch (.22 cal) or in millimeters (9mm).
8. Cartridge: Also called a "round". Made up of a case, primer, powder, and bullet.
9. Chamber: The portion of the "action" that holds the cartridge ready for firing.
10. Double-action: Pulling the trigger both cocks the hammer and fires the gun.
11. Double barrel: Two barrels side by side or one on top of the other, usually on a shotgun.
12. Hammer: A metal rod or plate that typically drives a firing pin to strike the cartridge primer to detonate the powder.
13. Magazine: This is a device for storing cartridges in a repeating firearm for loading into the chamber.
14. Muzzle: The end of the barrel out of which the bullet comes.
15. Safety: A mechanism on an action to prevent firing of the gun.
16. Sights: The device(s) on top of a barrel that allow the gun to be aimed.
17. Silencer: A device that fits over the muzzle of the barrel to muffle the sound of a gunshot. Most work by baffling the escape of gases.
18. Single-action: The hammer must be manually cocked before the trigger can be pulled to fire the gun.
19. Stock: A wood, metal, or plastic frame that holds the barrel and action and allows the gun to be held firmly.
• Parts of books

1. THE BOARDS: The stiff binding material of a book is called a board. Every book has two boards, a front board and a rear board.
2. THE SPINE: The spine is the book's backbone. Because the spine is generally all you can see when a book is on the shelf, the spine displays the title and author of the book and is often ornately decorated. The top edge of the spine is called the head and the bottom edge the tail.
3. THE HINGE:The hinge is the joint of the binding of a book,
the part that bends when the book is opened.
4. THE EDGES:The edges are the three outer surfaces of the leaves (or pages) of a book.
5. THE END PAPERS (ep): The end papers are the sheets of paper pasted onto the inside of the boards, joining the text block to the covers. One side of the sheet is pasted to the inside cover, the other is left free.
6. THE DUST JACKET (dj): Also known as a dustwrapper (dw) the dust jacket is the (usually) decorative paper wrapper placed around a book for protection.
7. ILLUSTRATIONS: An illustration is a design, picture, plate, plan, diagram, chart, or map printed within the block of the book.
8. A plate is a whole-page illustration printed separately from the text. This book has a intricately illustrated fold-out plate
9. This illustration is printed in the text pages and is therefore called a cut.

• Parts of cars
• The engine
• Vehicle Frame
• Covering body (including interiors in case of four wheelers)
• Suspension, brakes & wheels
Key engine parts:
1. Spark plug
The spark plug supplies the spark that ignites the air/fuel mixture so that combustion can occur. The spark must happen at just the right moment for things to work properly.
2. Valves
The intake and exhaust valves open at the proper time to let in air and fuel and to let out exhaust. Note that both valves are closed during compression and combustion so that the combustion chamber is sealed.
3. Piston
A piston is a cylindrical piece of metal that moves up and down inside the cylinder.
4. Piston rings
Piston rings provide a sliding seal between the outer edge of the piston and the inner edge of the cylinder. The rings prevent the fuel/air mixture and exhaust in the combustion chamber from leaking into the sump during compression and combustion.
They keep oil in the sump from leaking into the combustion area, where it would be burned and lost. Most cars that "burn oil" and have to have a quart added every 1,000 miles are burning it because the engine is old and the rings no longer seal things properly.
5. Connecting rod
The connecting rod connects the piston to the crankshaft. It can rotate at both ends so that its angle can change as the piston moves and the crankshaft rotates.
6. Crankshaft
The crankshaft turns the piston's up and down motion into circular motion just like a crank on a jack-in-the-box does.
7. Sump
The sump surrounds the crankshaft. It contains some amount of oil, which collects in the bottom of the sump (the oil pan).

Model paper, someone please remove to the class email, which is, by the way, what?

2008-09-23T22:53:00.000+05:30

BA SEMESTER I EXAMINATION

COMMUNICATIVE ENGLISH

Paper I: Functional Writing

Time: 2 hrs Max. Marks: 50

All questions are compulsory and each carries 5 marks

I. Rewrite as instructed:
• I am glad that Icarus did not leap off the cliff. (Rewrite the sentence starting “ When I heard that Icarus” )
• I cannot trust you to cross the road on your own your hearing has got worse oh dear we forgot your appointment with the ENT( Insert pounctuation)
• “She looked at her daughter in her bridal finery...” complete using the words heart, bird and sings.
• Find another way to say “I am so hungry I could eat a lot”
• Who are you? What do you do? I have not seen you before? What is your occupation? You don’t seem familiar ( Remove sentences which mean the same thing and re-write as a single sentence)

II. Read the following paragraph and answer the questions that follow in a few words or not more than three sentences.

Inspiration

Yes, it exits. Somehow.
To be inspired: we know what it means, even how it sometimes feels, but what is it exactly? Filled suddenly and often helplessly with renewed life and energy, a sense of excitement that can barley be contained; but why some things –a word, a glance, a scene glimpsed from a window, a random memory, a fragrance, a conversational anecdote, a fragment of music, or of a dream – have the power to stimulate us to intense creativity while most others do not, we are unable to say. We all know what it was like to have been inspired, in the past; yet we can’t have faith that we will be inspired in the future. Most writers apply themselves doggedly to their work, hoping that inspiration will return. It can be like striking a damp match again, again, again: hoping a small flame will leap out, before the match breaks.

I think that early Surrealists were right: the world is a ‘forest of signs’ for us to interpret. The visual world contains ‘messages’ beneath its apparent disorder, just as meanings lie beneath the apparent disorder of the dream. Images abound to those who look with reverence, and are primed to see; like the Surrealist photographer Man ray wandering Parisian streets with his camera, anticipating nothing, but leaving himself open to document availability, or chance.

• How, according to the writer, does it mean to be inspired? Use her words
• What do the words “glimpsed” and “random” emphasise?
• Analyse the use of “Somehow” in line one
• Apart from hoping that inspiration will return, what else can a person do, according to the writer, in order to be inspired?
• The author of this essay is a writer of poetry and prose; which lines hep you to identity that?

III. Name 5 parts of a building(Any building).

IV. Fill in the following with a single appropriate describing, doing or naming word.

• Don’t be so -----------------? I thought you were a more -----------------person
• The horse is ------------------; its forefathers are from an illustrious bloodline
• Don’t -------------like a lion in ----------------, you have to learn to stay indoors more often.
• Hmnn, that smells so --------------------, I think I will ---------------into it
• You ------------------, --------------------------rascal, I thought you had more --------------------

V. Write about your hands in five paragraphs, detailing different occasions on which you have been grateful that you had hands.

VI. Match words from group A with their antonyms in group B

A B

Distant Analog
Desolate Angelic
Desperate Proximate
Devilish Happy
Digital Casual

VII. Give stronger versions of the following words
• Anger
• Drizzle
• Irritation
• Bright
• Bad

VIII. Fill in the blnks
A -----------------------is proof that a payment has been made. A --------------proves that the journey has been paid for. A -------------------records many paid into an account. A --------------------makes exchange of bought goods easier. A---------------------stores information in a computer.

IX. Read the following verse and answer the questions that follow, in not more than three sentences

I travelled in the Arab homeland
With only a notebook.
Police stations tossed me about,
And all I had was a sparrow in my pocket
But the officer asked
For the sparrow’s passport.
The word in my country needs a passport.

• What could the sparrow in the poet’s pocket signify?
• Is the poet a free man?
• What does it mean when the poet says that the in his country the word needs a passport?
•

X. What are the following called?
• Someone who is not on the payroll of a college/university but is invited to teach.
• The woman in charge of a girl’s hostel
• A doctor who specialises in making teeth more attractive
• The leaf in a crown of leaves that signifies triumph
• The young of a fish

Love

2008-09-21T22:15:00.005+05:30

Love is thoughtful
Love is kind
Love is something
I could always cherish inside

Its not a memory
Its not a lie
Its more than a feeling inside
How much love is cannot be measured
Only told by a kiss & a sweet bye
Which you ask for and i deny

I love you more than words can say
And ill love you till the end of my days
No matter how much you ignore the words I say
Your each line is felt somewhere
Whether your there or not there

You hold my hand & tell me whats in your mind
So i can put the world behind
But it never works each & every time
Nevertheless I will be there for you
Knowing the love we have shall never die
And your kiss may never quench the thirst

Your heart is for what I have fallen & not the looks
Though you scream at me for small things
And make me angry knowingly
Ill always be mad in love with you
Because your the only one who appreciated me
Now your the sweetest thing on my mind

Until it subsides Ill not cry
Why I love you cannot be answered
Only be thought for a millionth time
Seriously I do not know why
Why your the one stuck on my mind

You supported me in my tears
And cajoled me in my sorrows
Maybe I'm a little too hyper
But I cannot help it
Your a little too nice to forget
A little too cute to be left alone

What I only know right now
Is what actually matters to me
i.e. I Love You and You Love me.

[Hey guys,
Please comment critically would want to know what you think of it!]

HEY THIS IS SOMETHIN U MUST READ...

2008-09-21T21:22:00.001+05:30

An ingenious example of speech and politics occurred recently in the United Nations Assembly that made the world community smile.

A representative from India began: 'Before beginning my talk I want to tell you something about Rishi Kashyap of Kashmir, after whom Kashmir is named.

When he struck a rock and it brought forth water, he thought, 'What a good opportunity to have a bath.'

He removed his clothes, put them aside on the rock and entered the water.

When he got out and wanted to dress, his clothes had vanished. A Pakistani had stolen them.'

The Pakistani representative jumped up furiously and shouted, 'What are you talking about? The Pakistanis weren't there then.'

The Indian representative smiled and said, 'And now that we have made that clear, I will begin my speech.'

And they say Kashmir belongs to them………………………………………..

2008-09-21T20:26:00.002+05:30

THE ACCIDENT-By Usha Rao
When I had just pushed
into my mouth a piece of cake,
I heard a very very,heart breaking
Noise of a sudden break
Some one had come under the car
I was afraid of going behind the bar.
People gathered around
Immediately,very,very fast;
They all started shouting,screaming
And made a great sound.
I slowly opened the door
Of my beautiful car
Then I saw my driver
Standing away very far!
Police came,Crowd dispersed
Shifting her body,the old lady stirred
But she unable to bear the pain
Now having come to her sense loudly cried...
It was a ghastly sound.
I lend for help,my healthy hand
But the police started making queries.
Luckily his voice melted up
In the noise of a wedding music band!
I then quickly pushed into the hands of the police
A brand new note of rupees five hundred.
He hurriedly passed it in his pocket,
And became a good friend.
The dead body of the old lady
Now lay by my side
Police was with the driver
Asked me to take the car aside
There were on the roads many lamps
But to me all was dark.
Police asked the driver now
To stop the car near the park
He silently took the old lady
Out of my ambassador car
Showed a big salute to me
Asked me to go very far!
This accident of many,many years,
Yet like clouds,the events
Gather in front of my eyes,
But I cannot see anything
Because of my tears.
What do you'll think of this poem?

My grandpa has the most amazing attitude!

2008-09-21T19:55:00.002+05:30

It is in the blood of my family to be worried and upset I suppose.They have to get all worked up for even the tiniest of things and make an issue out of it.My grandfather however is unlike the rest.His attitude matches his physical appearance-a healthy old man with hardly any hair,a big fat tummy and not to forget,his grin(though he has very few teeth left).My grandpa unlike the others as I said,is always in a good mood and he always has something positive to say.It was not only me but almost everyone in the neighbourhood who loved my grandpa.
A lot of people came home regularly to talk to my grandpa because of his lovely attitude towards life.He was a natural motivator and would teach people to look at the positive side of things.Seeing this style made me really curious.So one day,I went up to grandpa and asked him how a person could be so positive all the time.Grandpa grinned and said,"Each morning I wake up and say to myself-I have 2 choices today-to be in a good mood or in a bad mood.I always choose to be in a good mood."I protested and said that life was not that easy."Ofcourse it is!"he said."Life is all about choices when you cut out the junk from every situation."
Several months later,Grandpa fell ill and had to undergo a surgery.After 2 years of treatment,he was fine.When i asked him how he was,he said that he could not be any better.I looked at him rather amused."I had to make a choice to live or to die.I chose to live"he said laughing.
Grandpa's attitude could sail him through any kind of situation.My grandpa has the most amazing attitude!

Love.

2008-09-15T21:05:00.003+05:30

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

- I carry your heart by E.E Cumminugs

Over the years, my perception of love has changed. When I was younger, love was magical, something waiting to happen. Something that would change my life forever. Love was Aladdin-Jasmine, Snow White and her Prince, Cinderella and her Prince.

Slowly, as I grew up, love became more.. real. It still remained the-thing-that-would-change-my-life, but it started to have more layers, more depth. Love was Romeo and Juliet. Love was Shahrukh Khan and Kajol in DDLJ, in they yellow mustard fields clinging to each other with all their might because they knew their path wouldn't be easy. Love was surrender.

Then, I found Jane Austen. Love became Elizabeth and Mr.Darcy. Love became Elinor and Edward Ferrars. Love became two people who meet, find a connection, find each other and themselves, separate and find each other again.

For me now, love is all of this and sometimes, only one. But it still remains the-thing-that-changed-my-life :)

2008-09-15T19:16:00.002+05:30

In a flurry of thought,
the decision was made
Like cat and dog they fought,
but both, the price paid

With the blowing wind, came memories old
and with it took dear stories untold
A muffled cry, the heart does scream
hoping to God- its only a dream
But as the hit sinks deeper still
tears shall run, surely it will

Why comes such change between two souls?
two souls with love that stretched the poles
It feels unright...but not so wrong
seems time to wait- but how long?
for clarity to fill these gaps of question
and change to understanding, this lonely impression

Patiently now, she decides to wait
not daring to wonder about his fate
lest it deepen these wounds of pain
and leave her bleeding, sad and slain

tHe LoVe Of My LiFe:):):)

2008-09-13T21:19:00.000+05:30

BASKETBALL – the word that gives me an adrenaline rush . To others it maybe just a forty minute game . But for me it is the very reason why life is so meaningful. Initially I started playing basketball just to burn calories , but little did I know what was in store for me . Slowly it became one of my main priorites .
Basketball is a team game where you support each other on and off court . The team’s priorites prevail over individual interests . In my team all of us happen to be average players but the miracles we can create together as a team is something all other teams are envious about. We live together as one big happy family. I dunno whether it’s the parties ,outstation tournaments or those millions of practice sessions that brought us closer but whatever it is , I am glad that the bonding happened . For otherwise I would have missed out on knowing such wonderful people .
Letme confess I have had my highs and lows . There have been times when I would just breakdown and say “This is it . I cannot take more. I will QUIT!.” But the love and passion for my game that lies within will keep the spark alive.
Today I just returned from a tournament and we lost by 2 BASKETS ! yes u read that right 2 BASKETS ! All we did this summer was practice and all of us even gave up our shopping sessions, parties and not to forget long vacation trips only because we wanted to focus on our game. Also since there are very limited opportunities in India, it is important that we make the best use of every opportunity that comes by our way. So even a single loss can be very demoralizing.
Today we have lost the battle but definitely have won the war , for I know that we are the only team that will remain a team no matter what. This tournament has taught us only if you fall will you learn to get up . Hence we are all ready to BOUNCE BACK!:)

the indian bazaars.....

2008-09-12T20:44:00.003+05:30

the world of indian bazaars....may seem a ll bizzare to the non indians ...let us analyse this situation a ll more.
the indian markets anywhere have the same enviornment of.......a constant roar,pedlars shrieking,buyers screamin too...but at the horror of the prices,shopkeepers wail at the reunition facing them if they lowred thier rates any further.goods spilled anywhere,fruits, clothes,fish and the odours so strong...they feel as loud as sounds.people bumping into each other,elbowing one another in order to reach and squeeze the mangoes,exchange thier kids who get interchanged,yell for the proper change,demand their oranges be weighed again with weights that looked like they d be made at the shopkeepesr house.avoiding persistant beggars....checking
for the final time they were takin the right kid home...ha ha..inspite of of all that clamour,throats aching from all the haggaling,feet aching from all that walking,a general sence of triumph of having beaten the shopkeepers....this is the true spirit of the bazzars....the bazzars of india.

2008-09-12T19:52:00.003+05:30

When my kite don't fly
and I don't know why
When yesterday seems a better place
for today sees a brand new face
Although my mind is at rest
Turmoil persists beneath my breast
This heavy heart I wish to leave behind
but for that I have to find
a way to take all but this pain
for all else is my treasured gain
Where lies this secret that I seek
the art to separate myself from the weak
I crave to rise, jump, fly and dive
back into the ocean that keeps me alive

Maybe the merging of tears with rain
the combination of joy and pain
is the secret to this game
the oil to feed this dying flame

Separation never did one good
it built the wall that bravely stood
resounding all that came its way
all the while thinking 'tis fair play'
never once did it see
until the crack that brought its fall
the personified ignorance it could be
to him, her, them, and all.

Yes, merging is the key
for without wholeness, what are we?

DREAMSTARE

2008-09-11T15:48:00.005+05:30

I saw a long and winding road.It seemed to lead right into the dark horizon.I floated down this road,my body moving of its own accord. There was an eerie silence all around me. The dark fields on either side of the road stretched on endlessly. Suddenly I slowed down as a desolate tree came into view. A woman was bound to the tree by strong thick vines that cut into her wrists. What caught me off guard was the fact that the woman was tied to the tree a good 6 feet above the ground. Her long dark hair was splayed across her face,completely concealing it. I tried to speak as I went nearer but the words stuck in my throat. I knew this woman. As I floated nearer to the tree the woman shook her hair off her face and looked right at me. I looked back into my own eyes.

Fish faux pas

2008-07-28T19:49:00.005+05:30

As I swim through a vast ocean of rather pleasing (or displeasing) sights, I wonder to myself why the sea is devoid of a fairly forgotten necessity- Sunshine.

Is it because of the lack of light that the fish sport such blasphemous garbs?
Or maybe it’s the brine that seeped into their brains through their ears.
(notice how fish either don't have or have very little of those.)

Lost in a school of red headed trouts, I fin my way through with a false stitched tongue while I get nudged by smelly tricoloured sharks. Green stripes on orange, and brown scales clubbed with purple swim by with confidence and agility. Jostled by a pink spotted carp and a few fluorescent hakes breathing down my neck, it makes me spit the salty taste out.
Of course the bright yellow clown fish do what they’re famous for- Blind me.

On second thoughts, blinding clown fish can be forgiven for the disastrous sights they offer to hide from me, but when an eye piercing… *never mind*

Comes up for air.

Deep down under, where pretty corals and breathtaking inhabitants lie, happens to be one of natures most appreciated assets and I on the other hand, look at it as hideously ugly and a ghastly sight?

You're now invited to my mind of girls called fish while Marianna’s trench remains a Beaute.

Right Hear, Right Now

2008-07-26T20:25:00.001+05:30

Cross posted from my blog.

Fear.

Panic. Terror. Mistrust. I find myself scrutinizing every human being around me, running away from every bag/ suit case/ parcel. I hate this cold feeling that is sliming its way through my body. I’m too scared to move, too scared to stay still.

B O M B - B L A S T - B O O M

Six, Seven, Eight. Twelve. It can’t happen here. It can’t happen to us.
“We condemn the blast”. Is that the best you can do? Protect us, damn you. Stop throwing money around and DO YOUR JOB. Condemn, condemn , condemn. Such a weak, weak, weak word. It reeks of helplessness.

And you. You. Yes, I’m drawing a line. I’m forced to. Div | ide. That’s what you want isn’t it? To be the other? Does it give you a sense of pride? To hurt. Again weak. Hurt. Pain. Suffer. Grief. This is all I can do. All I can say. You’re a monster, inhuman. You think you’re making yourself heard? You’re not. The sound is deafening. Nobody is listening. We’re far too consumed with something else. With the urge to protect, to seek warmth. To believe. You can’t shake my faith in people. I won’t let you.

Anger. Uncontrollable, immutable rage. My city, my people, my home, my country.

Our country. Do you hear me? OUR country.

How much are you really working for?

2008-07-23T18:39:00.001+05:30

This was an interesting blog entry I came across... though I'd share it with everyone

We all live in an era of CTCs, fast moving salaries, benefits, etc, etc...
We live in an era of late nights, night outs, unpaid overtime...
Which then brings upon a question of how much are you really earning for the work you do?

Before embarking upon deciphering this, let us define a criterium upon which we shall measure what we are getting. I like to call this criterium Rupees per Hour and for those less fortunate to not be living in India we shall call it Money per Hour. But for the rest of this post you'll see it as rupees per hour, so please do all the conversions to whatever feels good for you, implicitly. :-)

Ok, so now lets take a look at a scenario. There were 2 guys with the same background and work experience who were working in different companies. One guy was earning Rs.35K per month and the other guy was earning Rs.50K per month.

The minute you look at this scenario you're thinking, ok cool, one guy is earning 50K. Sounds cool! Well lets go a little deeper into this.

Mr 35K was working just 40hrs a week while Mr 50K was working 60hrs a week. Some quick calculating will reveal that in a month, Mr 35K was earning Rs.218 per hr while Mr 50K was earning Rs.208 per hr. Surprise, surprise, a guy earning more per month is actually earning less per hour? Maybe you're not that surprised and you're probably thinking that hey its just Rs.10 an hour. But is it really that?

There is only a Rs.10 difference on an hourly basis but every week Mr 35K is gaining 20 hours per week over Mr 50K. Let us suppose that Mr 35K is an average player on the stock market and is capable of spending his 20 extra hours each week to make Rs.5K per week. That means that Mr 35K is now earning another 20K per month. Add that to his salary and he's earning Rs.55K. But wait that's more than Mr 50K! Now how did that happen?!

Obviously making Rs.5K per week on the stock exchange is maybe being a little ambitious... On the other hand someone may say that they'd make much more than that! The point is that Mr 35K has generated something that can potentially be worth a lot more than the extra 15K in terms of salary. He's earned 20 hours of extra time which invested could potentially earn you a lot monetarily.

I'm not going to go into sermons about how free time can lead to better balance in life and things, because I'm basically trying to convince guys who are ready to work long hours to earn more money. My advice is then, spend your time more fruitfully. :) There's a lot you can do to earn more money than slog it out.

I'm reminded of a story here about a person who works in a particular company. He was a workaholic to say the least and was on one of those "critical", "its gotta be delivered" kinda projects and he was under a lot of pressure to complete within in the month. In order to meet the deadlines he was working late nights and weekends much to the distaste of his family who would sometimes accompany him to work on a Sunday. Well the project got over but his family was really pissed off and made him take them on a vacation to a hill station which cost the guy around Rs.21K. He came back after a 2 week vacation and was joking that this project had cost him Rs.21K.

Well the question here is, did it really cost him just Rs.21K? Lets assume that him being a senior engineer in his team was earning Rs.100K per month and was supposed to work 40hrs a week. Now with his schedule he was working 80hrs a week. That's double of what he was being paid to work. Which basically meant that he was getting only half his salary if you talk of rupees per hour. So in the end he ended up gifting the company Rs.50K. So now what did the project cost him? It cost him Rs. 71K!
In our quest to do better, to earn more money, we're often found trying to meet unrealistic commitments either made by us or made by others. What is important to realize is whether its really worth it. That's not to say that working long hours will not get you anywhere. I mean sure at the end of the day, putting in long hours does make you more available which is going to lead to career growth in one form or another. But, if you're talking about money, I think you seriously need to re-evaluate your rupees per hour and ask yourself,

"How much am I really earning?"

who should be ashamed???

2008-07-23T18:00:00.005+05:30

exactly two days back we were all glued our television sets waiting for the verdict on the nuclear deal and whether the UPA would survive the trust vote."the trust vote." little did we know about the sad images we were going to see..those images will probably go down to be remebered forever..three BJP members all of a sudden show these big bundles of notes alledging that they were bribed by the congress and by amar singh of the SP to vote in favour of the government and what a big favour they have done by bringing this money and "exposing" this. within seconds we had all the news channels broadcasting this "breaking news."they said stuff like what a shame and how this has affected the parliaments image and all.. as if the indian parliament was some pure and holy place which had never been dirtied in this fashion.the whole parliament is filled with people who are well criminals and people who are facing various false charges aginst them. i was more curious to know what happened to all that money after they showed it and what on earth happened to the security system where such large amount of money is generally not allowed..
then after about half an hour the prime minister had to give his speech. the opposition did not allow him to speak at all. like they knew about what the nuclear deal was exactly about and how it affects our country..
then after sometime finally the trust vote was carried out and out of the total 504 MPs only 487 managed to vote!! i mean what happened to the rest of them?? apparently they did not know how to use the voting machine!! i mean india with a population of 1 billion votes with only electronic machines and these people who are suppoesed to be the voice of the nation were not able to do such a simple task and then their votes had to be counted by using the old fashioned way of writing in slips and passing it around!! well after all this drama the manmohan singh government won the trust vote by a small but descisive margin.immediately the news channels said stuff like "singh is king!!" talk about being creative..
well we all saw this and some of did even bother to think about it for sometime.well did any of us even try to get to know what this whole deal is?? i mean we are supposed to be the "youth"..but sadly no one is interested.. for they have lost hope.. an then they sit there and blame the government.. an how the government should be ashamed of its acts blah blah..well all of us are good at this arent we?? but who is it that needs to be ashamed? think about it?? some of us may say that we dont care about the deal.. it really does not affect us directly does it?? whatever be it.. we all forget the common man.. yaeah many books and soaps are based on the lives of the aam aadmi or the common man but hold on what has it done for the commmon man??? we all know the answer.. nothing.. let us all hope that someday things will change.. and we should be a part of the change.. if we do not do anything about it now then we have right to blame other people.. let us atleast start by tryingto figure out what the deal is anyway.. i no its too late but atleast make an attempt and then probably try to figure out who to vote for in the general elections next year may 2009.. i hope by then we all will vote for a change or atleast get our voter i.ds..and for god sake lets vote whether the person standing is bad or worse.. atleast lets make start by choosing the bad over the worse..
uhh i hope u guys like it.. an yeah pleez comment whether is shud this kinda stuff or should i jus forget writing about politics.. really i want to know...

Musings

2008-07-22T20:11:00.004+05:30

I'm a little unsure of whether anyone will even care to read another poem, specially such a long one. But I need some HARSH critique on this. Please :)Written in May, 2007

Sometimes, when sleep must be held at bay
With a gentle word and a firm rein
I find myself coerced, by the eternal moonlight
To compose a song, to mould into words
What has been rippling in my soul for a while

And this night, I’m torn more than usual
Compelled to break down and cry
At this bewildering crossroad where I find myself
But tears are naught but a last resort, for now,
I would rather contemplate

The paths I traverse now are not of my blood
They are cold with the beat of a thousand such hearts
As mine, that travel in a manner only too similar
But the stones that these bare feet seek are there only for a moment
Seeking only my touch and then lost forever, gone

Warmed by stale thoughts adrift on a silken breeze
I’ll sit here tonight, and watch kindred souls fly by
All ghostly shadows of our otherselves, and deceived
By our own doubts and drunken on pain-brewed draughts
Once and again I’ll wish for your hasty company, though in vain

We’ve all been there, and even now gaze there sidelong
Why do we ne’er traverse together in this peculiar land?
And guard so jealously the weird mutterings
Of the flower-sodden vines, that unfailingly touch each
But always in a more varied way?

In moments when I’m not there, I pine for its call
In remedy, I drug myself with heady dreams of conquest
Over this elusive place, aided with the construction of
Great railroads of common self-will, yet it amounts to nothing
For I do penance in its exacting lap once I do get recalled there

The sweet affection of my lovers now touches me with reason and logic
In indulgent humour they always await my return
Until the glamour fades and better prospects trumpet
And tonight the moonlight bestows me with a wistful smile
For such greetings and partings, for times of pre-sleep and the ending of such ramblings

Untitled

2008-07-21T20:35:00.001+05:30

Just two wheels, to balance The load on his back. And there is just 4 miles distance between ‘Singarapettai’ and back. Still nothing bothers him, Not that huge stack. As he can’t wait to be done, and Go see his daughter who has come back.

3 long years at hostel it’s been. So long that she wasn’t seen.

“Will she be all bright and new… Or will she still be the same daughter that I once knew…”

Thought as he went with the load on his back, 3 miles between ‘Singarapettai’ and back.

P.S. Haven't been able title the poem so any suggestions at all are welcome...

random

2008-07-21T15:04:00.002+05:30

i close my eyes as the rain pours down
i block the drug and abuse all around
i run away from the pain i so fear
as the downpour washes away each tear

one day it all comes back to me
what i am now and what i used to be
my conscience wont let me sleep
when it does, nightmares leave me to weep.

Commetaholic

2008-07-20T18:58:00.003+05:30

Being sickeningly Amanda Byrne-ish -- thhhhaaatttsss MEEE!!

*Ahem* I'm Ajooni and I'm a commentaholic.

*Comm-E class, in a monotonous chorus: Hi, Ajooni.*

Alright alright, I'll stop being cheesy now.

Anyway, as I was saying, I'm a commentaholic (betcha you're sick of this word by now!). I LOVE getting (preferably long) comments on my online posts (blog and otherwise) and I can't help but give random, usually rambling comments on other people's posts.
And now, coming to the whole point of this post: what sort of comments does the Comm-E class want?

After being rabidly addicted to a certain online art community, I've become painfully conscious of what sort of response someone prefers to their art. I find it easier to comment on people's personal blogs because you get a better idea of what's allowed and what the blog owner would find unacceptable. But what about this blog?

Do you people want general comments, random scribbles, in-depth opinions, constructive criticism?...What??

I want you to leave a comment on this post saying what kind of comments you prefer. Maybe we could come to a general consensus or the people who are as obsessed as me can simply resort to leaving an end note about the kind of comments they'd like. Meanwhile, I'll hunt around for one of those poll widgets to make this easier.

Finally, if you were wondering why in the name of all things odd would I make such a big deal out of commenting...
I believe most of us are not familiar with blogging and therefore are not yet aware of how bloody easy it is to annoy people online. Seriously..!
Also, if we could get into the habit of constructive criticism, we might actually learn something instead of turning this into a rant-space. Not that I have anything against ranting. I'm totally pro-ranting myself :)

Go comment now. Shoo!!

WAIT!! People, reply to comments on your posts, too. Please. Or don't. Your choice. I just happen to think that it's the civil thing to do :P

The All-American Dream

2008-07-20T12:21:00.002+05:30

I'm sure you've all heard this expression before.But what does it really mean anyway?!Is it that all Americans have one dream or is it that they dream one day of an entirely American race?I write about this expression because a fairly elderly slightly senile relative(who has lived in the US of A for most of his life) told my brother "Son,you are living the all American dream."Are they trying to say that all Americans dream of being holed up in a laboratory for 14 hours a day living on minimum wage?!

So I wonder what this expression truly means.I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be the second option considering the United States of America has a nasty habit of poking their obscenely large noses into everyone else's business.

Having said that,we don't exactly ignore the affairs of the yanks. We know that Barrack Obama is the democratic presidential candidate and John McCain is his republican counterpart. At the same time we also know that Obama's wife is called Michelle, Dick Cheney shot an old man instead of a deer and Mike Huckabee played the electric guitar in a gospel band. Although this information has not been heard by all, it is fairly widely known.

And so I pose a question to the comm-e class. Do we give the Americans more importance than necessary or is it in fact necessary to give them this much importance?

P.S-Front page news a couple of days ago:American actress Angelina Jolie gives birth to twins.Yes,FRONT PAGE.

Leaning into things

2008-07-20T08:05:00.002+05:30

Here's a thrilling description from the Pico Iyer biography of the fourteenth Dalai Lama: "He speaks largely with his body, leaning into things, moving with all of himself, rocking back and forth on his raised chair, eye clearly alert to pick out salient details".

That "leaning into" goes straight to the heart; it's perfect, the Dalai Lama literally leans, he has a habit of bending his body just so, and I can't think of a better description of his spiritual stance.

The rest of the book, though is disappointing.

2008-07-19T12:33:00.002+05:30

Hmmm...now where do i start from...about the subject c.e. its a real good subject.. it gives a good idea bout how the corporate and bussiness world is gonna be....we learn to analyse poems....n stories..draw comic strips...do group discussions....we hav a lot of fun knowin each n everyone s personal views bout a particular topic..dats all we hav done for now.We are now comin up wid new ideas for the media corner hopefully well make itlook neat and nice somethin jazzy....our topic is MUSIC....alll types of different music...hip-hop,rap n d rest...

Worst lyrics ever

2008-07-19T01:04:00.002+05:30

Inspired by commE class:
<<>>

"i love you like a fat kid loves cake"
- 50 Cent's <>

"there were plants and birds and rocks and things"
-America <>

"time is like a clock in my heart"
-Culture club <>

"i'm all out of faith, this is how i feel"
-Natalie Imbruglia

"I don't think that I've got the stomach to stomach calling you today"
-saves the day <>

"but if this ever-changing world in which we live in..."
-Paul McCartney <>

"I don't like cities but i like New York, other places make me feel like a dork"
-Madonna <>

"war is stupid and people are stupid"
-Culture Club <>

2008-07-19T00:35:00.002+05:30

Your body is a wonderland...

2008-07-18T21:54:00.001+05:30

Disclaimer: As my previous post proved to be a Huge problem to edit due to various technical glitches. With the Help of window Live writer I managed to rewrite it and post in a more eligible fashion. Please bear with me.

Today... Was well eventful or rather a day worth remembering. I guess everyone would agree with me that the minute we heard 'top 10 worst lyrics ever' A LOT of songs must have popped into our heads... but the information that we were about to hear totally threw us off balance. The minute the words 'Your Body is a Wonderland' were uttered every ones reaction was 'NO!!!!'

It seemed almost impossible that, that one song by John Mayer that was universally liked happened to Appear on that list. Well actually I guess the minute we heard 'Your Body is a Wonderland' the memorizing tune of the song and the romantic voice of John Mayer's is what came first to mind, after having being reassured that it had appeared on that LIST for purely LYRICAL reasons and not MUSICAL. None the less it seemed like a heart breaking task for most to critically sit and rip that hear felt song to pieces.

Frankly I don't know how i managed to even come up with a criticism for that one. By the end of the 2 hours of class I was honestly a little surprised and A LOT shocked with myself. Nothing bad I guess to criticize some thing when your being asked to but I hadn't in my wildest dreams Imagined that it would be that particular song. OK I guess I'm over exaggerating that a wee bit too much. After having rather successfully managed to survive being jumped at, every time my hand went up or I opened my mouth to voice my opinion about the lyric (no offence meant just a description).

I began to wonder whether my absolutely negative out look to the lyric had been completely justified. I guess not!! The drive on the way home got me thinking.... a couple of points I came up with were

No matter how the lyric read, for someone to write a hear felt song and trying to express his (as in case of the song) to someone he perhaps Loves is definitely not easy. I mean personally I struggle to write an apology letter, can't even begin to imagine writing a love letter , let alone a song for someone I probably love.

I also suppose that taking into consideration that some of the lines do have a very umm.... a different choice of words used to express his feeling, it actually shows a lot of originality on the part of the lyricist. Something you don't see too often. I mean how many time have we heard a Hindi song with the same words just put into a different sequences and different tunes from movie to movie and wonder 'WHERE'S THE ORIGINALITY PEOPLE!!'

But one point from that morning that I still hold onto is the fact that the person still seems a little confused and is trying to put down almost all of his feelings into one song which does majorly contribute to the slight disconnect between lines in the song.

So after all this I actually feel that putting this song into the list for the top 10 worst lyrics is kind of harsh. I mean sure it's no Sonnet, with women with hair as golden as the sun and lips as red as roses but the song definitely has its own style and originally. And frankly its something we in the post-modern era can relate to , after all ,those sonnets were written eons ago. I mean how much of it will be applicable today. John Mayer's lyric gives a slighter newer and fresher perspective into the whole matter of Love.Well I don't what you guys feel after reading this. I guess reading the lyrics one more time would help us decide whether it needs to be in the list for the top 10 worst lyrics or not.

Here's the Lyrics:

We got the afternoon
You got this room for two
One thing I've left to do
Discover me
Discovering you

One mile to every inch of
Your skin like porcelain
One pair of candy lips and
Your bubblegum tongue

And if you want love
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body Is a wonderland

Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
You tell me where to go and
Though I might leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed
Without my hand behind it

you want love?
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body Is a wonderland

Damn baby
You frustrate me
I know you're mine all mine all mine
But you look so good it hurts sometimes

Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonderland

Write for the eye also

2008-07-18T12:42:00.000+05:30

Can we please change the look of the blog? Or at least the font?
(Meerasan's post is looking crowded.Could you re-arrange the lines or something, M?)

I have a request: When you post, place the words-letters-sentences-paragraphs on the page so that it pleasures the eye.

Functional Writing is as much about form as it is about content. As Indians, with maya - that nothing is permanent-real/of value, except some intangible Absolute Truth - having crept deep into our bones and concepts, it's difficult to not think that what we are writing is more important than how it looks.

Go visit e.e.cummings

K

Pen stabs and pools of ink

2008-07-17T19:38:00.000+05:30

Waiting for the title to make sense? Cease and desist, I say!

Swiped off of Geetanjali's post (cf Writing):
"I don't know if anybody realized, but while we each made our introductions in those first few classes, most of us neglected to talk about our love (hopefully) for writing. As if it was to be understood, just like that."

Well.. I definitely hadn't :)

I love writing. And I hate it. And I'm indifferent towards it.

It's my madness and my no-method. Most of the time, I'm blissfully convinced that writing is only a sham to be able to buy loads of pretty stationery. There are, of course, time when an invisible blue gel pen called Spik keeps poking my insides until I give in and scribble. But that's not something to be discussed in polite society.

Can you tell that I wrote all that because my silly guilty conscience was acting up again? Hopefully.

End note, I have another (couple of) blog(s) too. But you can go find them on your own if you're curious enough. Good creature. Here, eat cookie...

Writing

2008-07-15T18:02:00.000+05:30

It's what brought us all here, right? It's what we begin our three years with - the fact that each one of us loves to write.

I don't know if anybody realized, but while we each made our introductions in those first few classes, most of us neglected to talk about our love (hopefully) for writing. As if it was to be understood, just like that.

I personally felt a bit lost. Like I left a good friend out in the cold. Deliberately. Why? Because (ok ok, so I started a sentence with a because - kill me!) until now, it's the one word I've used in every introduction I've ever made.

So let me start again: Who am I? I'm Geetanjali and I love to write.

There! I feel so much better :)

Oh and I'm a blogging addict. I've been blogging since I was 13, and like every teenager I've had my share of "angsty" and "emo" posts. Ok who am I kidding, I still do that sometimes ;) My personal blog can be found here - http://geetanjali.chitnis.com

So what are we waiting for?

2008-07-14T02:17:00.000+05:30

Yes, what? I opened imagining the results of flurried activity on the page, and here I am having to make the first post. Dear Ones, this is one of the Must parts of the module, so please get into character and act onto the page. At the end of the semester, you must have a minimum of two posts - and "I agree with X's saying that..." or " Can somebody forward OE notes" does not count as a post. At all.

Since our classes are about language, let the first post be about writing. For me, it is, home and unmapped territories both; it is light at the end of tunnels and it is the dark in those tunnels too. Every word is a vast kingdom of possibilities: some tyrannical, some magical, some impotent, some sly and others unformed.

I hope - at the beginning of each new year - to find in class at least a few willing to make that blind leap over the cliffs of grammar and composition into the tumultuous demonic waters of the raw word; to risk being undone and to labour at re-writing self. And every year there are a few unwary adventure-seekers.

OK, let's hear Rilke in Letters to the Young Poet. Google for the whole text:

You ask me whether your verses are good. You ask me. You have asked others
before.You send them to magazines. You compare them to other poems and you are
disturbed when certain editors reject your efforts. Noe(since you have allowed
me to advise you) I beg you to give up all that. You are looking outward , and
that above all, you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you,
nobody. There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that
bids you write; find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest
places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if
it were denied you to write.