Wednesday, December 10, 2008
It was the month of November, and a chill breeze was blowing across the XL campus. SIP was over, and Ensemble was around the corner. The people of XL were jobless, and wouldn't let the Countess sleep in peace. "But we want something to doooo..." they whined. Thoroughly bugged, the Countess woke up one morning and said, "Let There Be Oktoberfest!"
And there was Oktoberfest.
Four days, and lots of events - Movie Quiz, Pot Pourri, Just-A-Minute, Mock Press, Bluff Master. Oh, and Stylus. The Uncreatively Named Creative Writing Competition.
"Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another." A less controversial theme than last year's
, we always knew. But the one thing we didn't
foresee - that the word 'love' would bring forth so many poems. Dear God, so many poems.
But never mind. Entries came in from far and wide - sixteen entries, we would have you know. And here are they are below, for your perusal. Feel free to click on the 'Comment' button below each post and leave your bouquets and rotten tomatoes.
(The starred ones made it to the second round.)GMP:
Sanjeev Kumar Jha (one
)Suhas V Tendulkar
*Juniors:Bhaskar SharadHameeduddin A
*Ramaswamy VSachin PaulShubham Khurana
*Tushar WalwadikarVineet SharmaVineeth Kumar RavichandranSeniors:
Ankur Sawhney (one*
Oh, and before we forget, the winners!First Prize:
Hameeduddin ASecond Prize:
A Blind Man
I was little and I didn’t know
That she took care of me all night long
I was different but she didn’t mind
And in her lap, I could feel the stars shine.
It was time to grow
Others teased, they made fun of me
And she fought for her little bro'
Didn’t I know, she loved me despite all my flaws.
I'm blind, I can’t see
But oh, then she touches me..
Can’t I feel, oh so red
The warm feeling inside of me!
Are they different or are they the same
The three women who showered love and care
Please tell me what the truth is
For I cant see and just feel all good..
- Riti Garg, P07050
Labels: Poem, Stylus
LOVE – A COMPLICATION?June 14, 20083:30 AM:
The night was breezy- the night I proposed to her. I came close to her and held her hands- my heart aflutter with anticipation. Her eyes met mine as she moved closer- my expectations were sky high. But suddenly she shouted “The time is 8:30 AM” and I woke up with a start. The alarm clock spoilt my dream. The same dream! The same girl! What was this supposed to mean? That too on the day I was leaving Hyderabad for XL!2:30 PM:
I was in the Secunderabad Railway station to catch my train. I was waiting for the train to depart when I saw her- The girl of my dreams, the girl I was waiting for all along. This was my chance. I hurried behind her and was a few steps behind her when she dropped a greeting card accidentally. And in a scene reminiscent of the zillion Bollywood movies, I picked it up and was about to return it when I heard my father shouting “The train is about to depart.” And the girl too had disappeared. I flipped the card over and saw the name POOJA on it.9:OO PM:
I was in the train chatting with my dad but my mind was still on Pooja. I decided to stand at the compartment door and lo! She was at the door. This was my chance.
“Hi” I said.
She turned to me and smiled.
“Hey, you dropped this at the station today.” I continued and handed the card to her.
She looked at the card and smiled “Thanks a lot. My sister dropped it actually and was searching for it. “
“But I saw you at the station.” I said rather foolishly. She smiled.
This was when realization struck me. “Twins?” I asked
Whoa! I was in love with this girl’s sister and not her.
“Oh Ok!...By the way, I’m Vineeth and on my way to XLRI” I said, holding out my hand. The girl looked visibly surprised.
“Oh great! Me and my sister Pooja too. Joining PMIR.” she exclaimed.
Wow! Pooja and I were to be in the same class- a great love story was to begin. ‘But this girl too looks the same, Why not her?’ my confused conscience asked.
“No! There is something about Pooja that attracts me.” I told myself determinedly as I dozed off that day.
This was how it all began. The day the three main characters in this story met.
I joined XLRI and began life as a B schooler. Pooja and her younger twin- Neha both became good friends of mine. One thing I noticed was that both were similar in almost everything. But still my eyes were only on older twin. The first few days at a B school was quite different for many and needed a lot of coping. New life-new experiences. Unable to do so, Pooja broke down, but Neha took it sportingly and was smiling all along. But even then, Pooja’s weeping was more attractive to me than Neha’s chilled out nature.
As the first term progressed, the three of us became great friends and were always together in everything- projects, contests and even when Fraxing. And all the time I noticed that both the sisters were identical in almost every aspect except for the fact that Neha was more jovial and easy going while Pooja was more reserved. I latched on to this subtle difference. “I need somebody who is calm as my girlfriend” I said. As days turned into months, I also noticed that Neha wanted to spend more time with me and that seemed restless when I was paying attention to Pooja. It meant only one thing- she liked me. So in a couple of months, I was in this situation- I loved a girl who didn’t show interest in me and I was liked by a girl who I was determined not to love just because I loved her twin.
This led to frustration and for stress relief, I began dunking my own batchmates, gave the hardest of kicks to my friends during their birthdays and Counter-strike became an addiction (Kill virtual people to release stress.)
Finally, I realized that this was the time to get our friendship to the next stage and I decided to propose to Pooja in a formal way. The chance came in our village trip when I proposed to her but her answer was simple - “You are just a good friend.” I was distraught- to say the least and I went into a shell and that showed- scored a nought in my next Managerial Economics test. I noticed one thing though, I never saw such a relieved Neha before. But still, I could never think of her because I loved her twin sister. I was disillusioned by the love for Pooja.
The second term at XL was grinding with SIP, assignments, Ensemble, CS, NFS taking away most of our time with no time left for brooding. The month of November arrived and as part of the creative writing competition in Oktoberfest I was given the topic “Love is a delusion that one woman differs from another”. This one line changed my outlook towards the two main people in my XL life. Why was I ignoring Neha for Pooja? Just because I loved Pooja? But I liked Neha and if not for my adamant stand on love, I would have accepted her. After all, she was no different from her twin sister. The fact was that it didn’t matter if I loved somebody. What mattered was whether somebody loved me.
Four months have passed since Oktoberfest and now I am happily committed to Neha. I, Neha and her elder sister are still the great friends like we were before. I have accepted my love towards Pooja as just another passing cloud.
p.s.: All characters here are fictional :)
- Vineeth Ravichandran, P08062
Labels: Prose, Stylus
“Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another”
Dark, fair, brunette, blonde,
Never bothered to look beyond,
Accept the truth so stark,
They all feel same in the dark.
He mused to himself. She was the tenth woman he had dated that year, or was it eleventh - neither did he remember, nor did he bother to. Beauty, he always knew, was skin deep, and love was pure and absolute jargon. And of course, they all felt the same in the dark.
The same old cribbing, the beautiful smile,
The mush, emotions, just a different profile,
Wide brown eyes, just a little darker,
But truth, as I knew, was much starker.
And that evening was no different from the ones he had spent with the previous ones, the same old candle lights, the chinese cuisine, another bouquet of red roses covered with glittery water drops sprayed intentionally to give the desired lusty effect, all that was pending was the ceremonious invitation for coffee at her apartment, and whatever followed.
Another woman, another night,
Who looked different till she turned off the light,
And then everything was just the same,
Just a different place, just a different name.
It took him another week, and a day more to forget her to the extent of not being able to recall her name within ten minutes of thought. And all it took was not taking her calls for a couple of days. Like the last few, she also understood in due time. Contrary to popular belief, girls had brains too, he mused.
Love is just a four letter word,
A euphemism for something even shorter,
Love is just the delusion,
That one woman differs from another.
He scribbled in his planner, and read it over and over again, adoring his handwriting, another asset he was proud of, not to mention the poetic tinge and the profound thought. For as long as he could remember, he had been trying to appreciate the differences in women, but to his disappointment, could never go beyond the appearance. And the fact that it all led to the same further turned his attempts futile.
A husky voice to turn me on,
A passionate dance from dusk to dawn,
A fragrance so strong, I can’t escape,
Something or the other, which makes me gape.
And the pictures of the women he had ‘loved’ ran through his head like an MS PowerPoint slideshow, which reminded him of the presentation he had to make in the evening, before a new and prospective client. Work, he thought, was ‘also’ repetitive and unexciting. After an eternity of cribbing, the clock persuaded him to begin, half-heartedly though.
In a background of contrast,
When the time ran too fast,
My thoughts ran even faster,
As I saw her.
He could not sleep, and it was not unusual. He had noticed the smallest movement of the tiniest speck of her body, even her nimble fingers, while making the presentation, and that too was not unusual. He was sure she was impressed. But he had fumbled, how could he, he never did. It took him a while to convince himself how usual it was, and an hour of boring sitcoms to put him to sleep.
Her nimble hands, as she painted the tree,
Oh lord, when will they set me free,
Her husky voice still haunts my night,
Stops my dreams from their timeless flight.
He was drenched in sweat, as he got up, and jumped to switch the light on. A mixture of darkness and loneliness scared him. He opened the drawers on the right, unable to find what he looked for. He ran for his suitcase thrown carelessly on the couch when he had gotten back, relieved to find his planner inside. And struggling through its pages, he found and dialed the number. And the next minute, he found himself driving, lost enough to forget turning the music on.
Oh darkness you are a mystery,
I am caught in your unfaithful game,
When at one moment she scares me,
The next you make them women the same.
A sense of fear and excitement engulfed him as he took her hand in his. As he had noticed, her fingers were familiar, exactly like the fingers he had interwoven in his own a few years ago. He was right, she was impressed. And he did not know her more than her surname and her designation in the client’s organization, nor did he want to, purely professional reasons as they say. Next moment, he was thanking the very darkness which had scared him, and then it was the same routine which followed. They were all the same, they were not her.
It happened one night, when I lived a dream,
Her smile did shine, brown eyes did beam,
Piercing through the darkness of the sky,
When that husky voice made imagination fly.
He woke up with a start, on a sleepy Sunday morning, cursing the alarm clock, thanking it at the same time. After the usual morning rituals, the big brown clock in his bedroom told him it was time. Skipping the breakfast was usual too, no different from any other Sunday. Women and Sundays have a lot in common, he smiled. He did not forget to turn the music on this time, and drove leisurely to the white marbled building on the outskirts. And after the usual formalities, the nurse led him to the room. The first time he had come to the hospital, he had found the building too complex, the room too difficult to locate, but he was now familiar enough to guide any person to any room across the hospital. And there she was, staring outside the window, and he was gratefully surprised to see her live another week.
Her hands, her face, her eyes, her hair,
She was thin, and tall, and not-so-fair,
Everything about her was very unique,
That love, in her arms, I did seek.
- Shubham Khurana, B08053
Labels: Poem, Prose, Stylus
"Love is the delusion that one women differs from another."
- H L Mencken
I think this quote is only applicable for the testosterone challenged male variety of Homo sapiens.
Mencken was probably one of them. He erroneously saw women as intellectual beings (what a misconception to carry through life?). And I would agree that in his restricted view, he was essentially right.
One of the great learnings of my life has been that on the intellectual plane, women are essentially similar to each other. Just to make a point, I can categorically say that no sane man can even dream of discussing some topics with women (For eg. topics like Schopenhauer, Joyce, Gyroscope, string theory, golf, creative evolution, Nabokov, Puritanism, Zarathustra, etc, etc, etc) without wincing on hearing a ‘practical rendition’ of such theoretical concepts.
If a male variety loves a woman all ‘heart & mind’ then the fault lies with him. One ‘heart & mind’ engagement is enough to render the man impotent to carry on intellectual intercourse of a level similar to that of ‘good old single days’. And on top of that, if this fallen fellow embarks on a repeat mission disbelieving the ‘Mencken delusion’ then there is no saving him. Each encounter pushes him more deeply into a feminist regression vortex until he loses his identity & becomes just a voice without a tenor ( ref my article ‘From Masculinity to metrosexuality- the women empowerment trap ‘)
Having said that, I would say that my take on the above quote is totally different- I do believe that the fundamental difference is essentially structural. And in this regard, I unabashedly yarn off the famous Hollywood quote- women in her infinite variety. There is no doubt that sans embellishments, each bare sculpted form is unique. Infinite points of exquisite elegance exist that highlight the differentiation- the droop of the curve, the varying color tone, the distribution around the mean, vital statistical differences, folds & creases, to mention only mentionable few attributes. And every new experience in structural explorations makes you not only wiser but also richer.
So in the final analysis it all comes down to your definition of love. If you are looking for the intellectual variety kind of love then the delusion becomes real.
BUT if you are smart & are looking for that common ‘bang out of your buck’ kind of love then there is no delusion. Variety exists…..
- Suhas V Tendulkar, G08092
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Why do we bother worrying ‘bout love!!
They say love is blind, devoid of boundaries, oblivious to age, and blissfully unaware of sexes! Then why is every soul worth its salt wanting to be loved by that one special person? Why does everyone talk of chemistry doing the magic when it is something so biological in nature! It’s a concept as bizarre as trying to listen from the eyes and sing from the nose (Although people out there are hell bent to prove the feasibility of such a thing and damn well succeeding!)
To say that I want love and want to be loved is true. But to put my love requirements into silos and expect one person on the face of this earth to accede to my demands is something that challenges the very spirit of opportunity and freedom of choices. I propose to stand for the rights of every girl that ever existed to express her desire in me in the fondest of ways possible. I propose to whole heartedly accept the reality that two hearts are better than one and four are definitely better than two when it comes to expressing love and fondness.
Religion and upbringing, I must say plays a crucial part in inculcating this spirit of opportunity for all. To say that some religions and beliefs have been grossly misinterpreted would be an understatement. To say that a religion that believes in providing opportunity to look into options and gives unprecedented freedom to take multiple chances at finding love, is stifling and martinet in character would be a blunder as big as having George Bush re-elected to the President’s chair!
‘Upbringing’ could mean different things to different people. To some it is a way of life, to some, well, life. To some it is the birth of a relationship and to some unfortunate adventurous ones (read as betrothed), its death outright! ‘Upbringing’ is probably the single largest indicator of interest and passion imbibed in an individual. For the fairer sex, it is a measure of how well groomed and well rounded they are and for the darker lot, a self realisation. When ‘upbringing’ does not differentiate one woman from the other on any (well most of them) basis, why does the mind ponder to move on!
All these words lead to the simple fact that,
Love doesn’t choose,
‘cause love is all blind!
It is but a river of fun,
so benevolent and kind.
Love knows no boundaries &
Knows no rules to abide.
All it knows is if this one goes,
There’ll be someone else by my side!!
-Tushar Walwadikar, P08057
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Lead the Change
Sometimes change is difficult,
Yet we all need to change.
At times life may be easy,
When matters remain the same.
But it can be distraught with ills
Which only change can change.
Life now needs a change,
And the change must be for good.
Whether it is easy or tough
Good is good and bad is sometimes worse.
Believe in your convictions,
Believe that the best is yet to come.
Because the day will definitely dawn
When things would get brighter.
This is the world I always dreamt of
A world which is good for all.
Work hard and pursue relentlessly.
For the best possible results,
Think of the best possible way
To drive change, to change.
Stagnation can spell doom,
Change is the need of the hour
Life needs to change,
And change for good.
Because, change can change
The world ahead of us.
The world in which we live.
The world which we all love.
We are the agents of change
Change for a better world
Change for good.
Change for the best.
- Sanjeev Kumar Jha, G08086
Labels: Poem, Stylus
P00r and not so poor
The old lady, begging and pleading for empathy,
Waited by the roadside,
For some angel to come across her way.
But, no one seemed to alleviate her plight.
Moved by her painful agony,
I stopped at the sight, thinking to myself
How could god be so cruel to her?
As I pocketed out a coin and dropped in her bowl.
She heard the clank and her face gleamed
She looked up with gratitude, to thank
Only then did I realize, she was blind.
“What was her fault? Why this skewed luck?”
Crossed my mind as I crossed the road.
A sudden feeling gushed in the back of my mind
Thank god I am so lucky, to have what I have.
We don’t learn to appreciate what we have.
We feel restless for what we don’t have.
And never realize what god has gifted us with.
We don’t know the worth till we have them no more.
God, you created this world,
Reframe this world so that there is no suffering,
No pain, no grief, no cries, no failures.
You are the creator, the sole manager.
Change this world, purify it.
Heal the world: make it a better place.
- Sanjeev Kumar Jha, G08086
Labels: Poem, Stylus
My Love - When Will You Know?
Blind ! Love is.
Told, I was.
On a maiden, all my gaze I poured .
A beauty nonpareil , I always swored.
Seduced I was, by her artless charms.
Wished I did, to be always in her arms.
Momentary thrills she bestowed in plenty ,
Making me feel like one in a billion and twenty.
Slave I became, to her appeal and ornament,
“How am I to live without you?” was my constant lament.
Capable though I was,
Of eulogising my sweetheart
Words failed me in her ubiquitous presence.
Sweet-nothings I wanted to whisper.
Only to wonder,”Power of speech, did it ever grace I ?”
Ergo,gave up I did, my relentless battle
Of owning her through my will and my zeal !
Rest I did and silent I became,
Eloquence-silence hath more than speech*
Then, she did hear……
A heartrending cry
From the depths of one soul.
In a torrent she came,
To embrace that source.
Surprised, I was not ,by her impulsive act.
'Coz .True love is rewarded, I knew in my heart.
“Why, the delay?” I asked my beloved
Experiencing her in my everexistent heart,
“Why the delay?” , she retorted back,
“It was your fault ! ” was her reply to my shock.
My faults she pointed out with love and grace
“Duality as long as you felt, shy I was to kiss”,
"You and I are the same, you resisted to accept”
Hence the delay, hence the delay……
“True, my dear….true ”
My lover You are .
My father You are .
My mother You are .
I ,You are ,
Nay, You-I am !
Whom “people feeling duality” call NATURE…..
*Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech-MARTIN FARQUHAR
- Ramaswamy V, P08041
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Riding the high spirits, and
living the dreams,
memories affront eyes with lovely face within
dangling heart, frozen mouth
shaking lips for fear unseen,
the jerky flaming life...
seems so lush and green.
lovely nature, lovely spring
lovely thoughts,lovely scene
lovely faces, lovely 'ring'
lovely song the fairies sing,
thoughts presents an opera,
with life beautiful as ever been.
nay the feel that poet need,
nay the words that writer heed,
nay the colours a painter seek
nay the songs thou soul bleed,
its all amazing, all awaking
a new sail to pleasure unseen.
the grandeur of raw emotions,
brings the doom to, captive motion
sweeping over every 'wall'
drunken mind , drunken soul
a drunken wish to lead them all..
Be! the last gaze of mortal self,
thou lovely face, my assassin!
- Bhaskar Sharad, P08014
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Love the word that is most overused and misused, it is not an attempt to define the indefinable. Why we fall in love, for whom and when these are the questions no one can answer. But is it a delusion that makes us choose to a person, and say yes I am for her and she is for me, or is there something more. Is it the appearance or is it something else. Can we do the statistical analysis of this, can something like ANOVA help us here. There is no urn models for this. (better get other perspectives)
There is definitely a soft corner people have for special someone. Is there some reasoning involved, one himself don’t know the reason as love don’t expect anything in return, but there is always something, some agreement, unwritten-unsaid that is never broken. It is not about a women being different from other, it is just not being able to see someone else in her presence. It is just not being able to think about something else when in her absence. It is not delusion it is love.
Do love look for comparative analysis before happening. Do we make choice in love or does it just happen. Some says it is the first sight, but some says it is over the time. Some says it takes time to understand, some says it does not involve understanding. I feel that love is not about difference, its about standing for someone. After all if someone can’t stand for somebody he will fall for anybody. Love is not a fall it is rising for something you believe in and belief does not just happen on basis of difference. The only thing required to have belief is belief.
- Sachin Paul, B08105
Labels: Prose, Stylus
IS IT HER?
It is not the clouds that rains,
It is she who weeps.
It is not the tree that swings,
It is she who wanders.
It is not the earth that cracks,
It is her heart that breaks.
It is not the air that moves,
It is she who breathes.
It is not the sun that shines,
It is inferno inside her that burns.
It is not the forest that spreads,
It is her hand that longs for…
It is not the ocean that stands,
It is her tears that accumulate.
It is not the antique clock that stops,
It is her heart waiting for real love.
It is not a leaf that falls,
It is her soul dying to reborn.BUT, WHO IS SHE?
- Vineet Sharma, B08062
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Every time I fell in love, it was her all over again. Every time I decided to tell, it was the same sweet pain. I am no different from an addict; I am a slave to my own crimes. I am far from happy, and yet these are the best of times.
It all began in innocence, before I had learnt of love. It was that angry look she gave me; when I dared to hold her hand. I had no clue why I wanted to do so, but I did and the anger stole me away; I was hers for eternity. Lunch box stories and snack time tales, her presence blowing like the wind, filling up my sails. I knew there was something here, but what it was I knew not, her hand begged to be held, and I said to myself ‘why not?’ It was disastrous of course, the story ended right there. A classic romance cut short, a lady lost, a hero ruined. I was left groping at her cold stares for some warm comfort.
And then again it happened. I met her in college, she went by a different name, but she couldn’t fool me for long. My longing eyes had seen past her face, it was her! Yes! And lo! I wasted no time falling head over heels in love. We moved in the same circles, and we also moved around in circles. We flirted a little; me a little more than her in retrospect. We ate lunch together, and we spent time discussing life. I did her chores, and I did some more of them. There was no hand holding nonsense this time, but then I never knew that the rules had changed. The wind did change direction, my sails did deflate. I had done the right things, but just a little too late.
I am no sucker who gives up. I am the epitome of optimism, my time in history was at hand and my plans for it were rather grand. Here I was, in place far from home, and far from her. I was sure that this time round if I find my match I’d make it work. I was not expecting to see her here, no sir! Then again the quirk of fate has its say, and you end up in the same, age old play. I resisted long, I looked around for other wonders to admire. My fixation with my own tombstone got the better of me, I relented. I played the game a little, but the endgame beckoned. I was a junkie in search of his next shot. No point in being late, I confessed right away, expecting my reward. Sure enough the rejection came. I now write this, basking in the sweet ecstasy of the pain it brought.
I’ll delude myself that it isn’t her again to inflict upon myself this pain. It is classic conditioning and I respond to the same stimuli.
- Hameeduddin, P08022
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Modern Loving – The Relative Grading Effect
There she was walking down the street
Her hair was the color of spring
In her eyes I saw my life
My desires, my aspirations take wing
That moment on I knew for sure
That we were meant to be
In sickness and health and all that was said
It was but a dream to me
Thereon life was a heady high
One shot after another
Till the day I barfed and said
“I believe this is the end of my tether”
In the grasp of incremental change I lay
In search of something far improved
Someone who could make me smile again
Someone to whom I’d be glued
There she was walking down the street
Her hair was the color of spring
In her eyes I saw my life
My desires, my aspirations take wing
Damn! This cycle shall never end
Your conscience it shall smother
For Love is but a delusion then
That one woman differs from another
- Ankur Sawhney, P07007
Labels: Poem, Stylus
i love the little girl
who makes sand-castles
jumps into puddles
and loves the rain
i love the friend
my shoulder to cry upon
someone i can confess to
without fear of being judged
i love the butterfly
who colors my dreams
and at the end of the rope
shares her wings of imagination
i love the superwoman
who looks after me
the one who holds my hand
through the dark night
i love the sunshine
who strews smiles around
the one whose light
i feel with my eyes closed
and each one is as different
as chalk and cheese
a delusion, i know
that love makes me see
all the different women
love made me see in her
i love all of them
i love all of her
- Naween Kumar, B07032
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Behind Closed Eyes
Waist-deep in white cotton
Shadowed angles ontop sheets
Laboured breath against my neck
Besides whomever I sleep.
Whatever should come with the morning
Be it even me with her
Still we'll catch up over coffee
With little need for words.
In goodbye, my arms around you
You'll kiss me to be polite
I'll miss her through next morning
Though I'll lay by someone else tonight.
Waist-deep in white cotton
Digits clutched tight to sheets
She might aswell be nameless
Behind closed eyes.
- Tapan Malhotra, B08057
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Drifting along the ocean’s tide
The ocean we all call life
No shining star, no guiding light
I’d had enough of staying alive
Then I had a vision
You were there next to me
You were there with your magical smile
Is it land that I now see?
Love is too small a feeling
It doesn’t even give you a clue
Love is for human beings
I feel more for an angel like you
Is it delusions then I ask?
Are you not the angel I desire?
Is every woman of the same mould?
Forged in the same heavenly fire
They are my love she subtly replied
For all women are but the same
Selfless and caring, the epitome of love
Yes each and every dame
Yet matters of love are different so
Not an illusion so to say
There is only one who is made for you
To love till your dying day
- Ankur Sawhney, P07007
Labels: Poem, Stylus
Monday, January 14, 2008
DRACULA IN ASSOCIATION WITH FLIX
Presents to you "THE XL FILM FEST- A Celebration of Movies"
Select the best five from the ten terrific movies shortlisted by the experts from FlixOMania and Transylvania. The movies of your choice will be screened for you over the next five cine-nites!!
And the Nominees are...
1. AMORRES PERROS
Three interconnected stories about the different strata of life in Mexico City all resolve with a fatal car accident. Octavio is trying to raise enough money to run away with his sister-in-law, and decides to enter his dog Cofi into the world of dogfighting. After a dogfight goes bad, Octavio flees in his car, running a red light and causing the accident. Daniel and Valeria's new-found bliss is prematurely ended when she loses her leg in the accident. El Chivo is a homeless man who cares for stray dogs and is there to witness the collision.
2. ANBE SIVAM
Two travellers, a trade unionist - Nallasivam and an advertisement executive - Anbarusu get stuck together when their flight from Bhubaneswar to Chennai is cancelled due to bad weather. They both take an eventful journey on trains, buses and taxis. They pass through what can be considered a reflection of the 'real' India, engaging in comic self-reflections and engaging in philosophical debates. During the journey, Nallasivam recounts the love of his life.
3. APOCALYPSE NOW
Based on Joseph Conrad's Heart Of Darkness, this is a controversial addition to the multitude of Vietnam war movies in existence. Set in 1969 Vietnam, we follow U.S. Special Forces Captain Willard on his mission up a river into Cambodia to assassinate a renegade Green Beret who has set himself up as a God among a local tribe.
4. Der Untergang
In the last days of the European fighting in World War II , the Red Army is reaching Berlin, while in the Fuhrerbunker under the Reich Chancellary, Adolf Hitler has his last birthday and final ten days of life isolated from the world and ordering desperate counterattacks. Hitler is a sick, exhausted man dreaming still of a Greater Germany amid the ruins of Berlin, callously ranting against the weakness and deserved destruction of the Germans. As the Red Army and defeat loom over the Third Reich, he is alone with his clique:Goebbels, Speer and Himmler
5. No Man's Land
After various skirmishes, two wounded soldiers, one Bosnian and one Serb, confront each other in a trench in the no man's land between their lines. They wait for dark, trading insults and even finding some common ground; sometimes one has the gun, sometimes the other, sometimes both. Things get complicated when another wounded Bosnian comes to, but can't move because a bouncing mine is beneath him. The two men cooperate to wave white flags, their lines call the UN (whose high command tries not to help), an English reporter shows up, a French sergeant shows courage, and the three men in no man's land may or may not find a way to all get along.
In 12th century Japan, a samurai and his wife are attacked by the notorious bandit Tajomaru, and the samurai ends up dead. Tajomaru is captured shortly afterward and is put on trial, but his story and the wife's are so completely different that a psychic is brought in to allow the murdered man to give his own testimony. He tells yet another completely different story. Finally, a woodcutter who found the body reveals that he saw the whole thing, and his version is again completely different from the others.
This movie of the psycho-thriller genre was critically acclaimed and was remade after nearly 10 years in Kannada(Apthamitra), Tamil (Chandramukhi) and Hindi (Bhool Bhlaiya).
A young couple, Ganga and Nakulan arriving at the ancestral mansion of the latter. Ignoring the protests of their superstitious uncle, they move in to mansion, when unusual and supernatural events begin to happen.
8. The Deer Hunter
Michael, Steven and Nick are young factory workers from Pennsylvania who enlist into the Army to fight in Vietnam. Before they go, Steven marries the pregnant Angela and their wedding-party is also the men's farewell party. After some time and many horrors the three friends fall in the hands of the Vietcong and are brought to a prison camp in which they are forced to play Russian roulette against each other. Michael makes it possible for them to escape, but they soon get separated again.
9. City of God
Brazil, 1960's, City of God. The Tender Trio robs motels and gas trucks. Younger kids watch and learn well...too well. 1970's: Li'l Zé has prospered very well and owns the city. He causes violence and fear as he wipes out rival gangs without mercy. His best friend Bené is the only one to keep him on the good side of sanity. Rocket has watched these two gain power for years, and he wants no part of it. Yet he keeps getting swept up in the madness. All he wants to do is take pictures. 1980's: Things are out of control between the last two remaining gangs...will it ever end? Welcome to the City of God.
10. Miller's Crossing
A highly styled 'genre' film which can perhaps be seen as a pastiche of all gangster movies. Tom Reagan is the laconic anti-hero of this amoral tale which is also, paradoxically, a look at morals within the criminal underworld of the 1930s. Two rival gangs vie for control of a city where the police are pawns, and the periodic busts of illicit drinking establishments are no more than a way for one gang to get back at the other. Black humour and shocking violence compete for screen time as we question whether or not Tom, right-hand man of the Irish mob leader, really has a heart.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Once Upon a Time, there was this creative writing competition held during the OktoberFest.
Entries came from far and wide, over a weekend of intense competition between the senior and junior warring camps. For best results, some entries were reputedly written under the influence of the theme for the contest,“Here's to alcohol! The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems!” - Homer Simpson
The battle was intense and hard-fought, and the verdict had to be decided by two wise men from the Finance world, Professor Sengupta and Professor Uday.
After due deliberation, Ankur Sawhney pipped Sonali Ahuja to the winning post, giving a big boost to the juniors' morale for the remainder of the Fest.
But in the end, it had been an enjoyable exercise in creativity....and everyone lived happily ever after!
Below are all the final entries which maintained any kind of link with the theme for the contest....!SeniorsKailashSeema Narera/Bharath RaoShivani NigamSonali Ahuja
(2nd Place!)Swati JenaJuniorsTushar KatariaRamakrishnaKartheek KanumuruSrinivasKrishna BhaskarAnkur Sawhney
(1st Place!)Ankur SawhneyMukund Madhav
A new day, a new beginning
arising from within,Ii know its coming.
Seen the madness, seen it consume,
been consumed, been the atrophy.
In moments of bacchanalian stupor,
one wishes to find one's purpose and place.
Fools we are for we shall never find,
for its all a farce and mere hearsay.
A sane night in a communion of inebriated souls and
there dawns the moment of clarity,
propounding thoughts with ruthless alacrity.
and you are stripped down to yourself
and there you find what you always wanted
and there you find lies happiness abounded...
Seema Narera / Bharath Rao
B06105 / B06074
Waiting for the evening to fall
and the moon to raise above the wall!
When will I go to that place in the next street
and will wait for that night to repeat
For that night was a memorable one
but some things were left undone
So long has been the wait
and i am raving for my mate
Unbearable is this agony
starting to make me feel loony
The longing to hold that slender beauty
and satisfy this soul so thirsty
Oh! the moonlit street is a welcoming sight
and i rush to her upright
Through that lighted door I dart in
and find that shiny body already waitin
A tap on the bottom and I devour her
she opens with an ease as if waiting for this hour
The body so frail
a shining glass with a beautiful trail
Her name for u is a must
"Alcohol" fills it the best
Once upon a time, I used to think,
Why was the Indian dress invented,
So cumbersome, and elaborate,
I thought the inventor demented.
For in jeans and shorts,
I felt at home,
Kicking and jumping,
I could play and roam.
Till that one forsaken day,
I can never forget,
For it taught me the use,
Of the long, Indian dress.
For I had made it to XL,
And wanted to celebrate the news!
‘It’s family time’ said my parents.
‘We’ve planned a small get together for you.’
‘Go wear a Salwar Kurta.
The whole family is coming,
No shorts or capris,
They are very unbecoming.’
So again I whined and complained,
For the Indian dress was so irritating,
But they wouldn’t budge,
So I silently changed and quit debating.
Chachas, chachis, aunts and uncles
The ‘small’ get together, didn’t seem that small,
They were drinking and chatting all at once,
Everyone seemed to be having a ball.
So I joined in and had a drink too many,
Turned green and headed to the loo,
Crossing my fingers that the nausea would pass,
Or it will turn all the fun into blues.
But gladly it passed,
And it seemed I was fine,
I peed and headed out,
All ready to dine.
And suddenly in the room,
Everyone seemed to stare,
I wondered were they drunk,
Coz I had some lime to spare.
As I followed their gaze,
I looked down to the floor,
And saw my bare legs,
With the salwar bundled at my soles.
I hadn’t put it back on!
In my inebriated state.
I gasped and ran,
With laughter in my wake…
The nausea returned,
As I dashed out of the hall,
I think I passed out,
Coz that’s all I can recall.
And as I lie now, mortified,
And hung over in a mess,
The one thing, I can think of -
‘THANK GOD for the long, Indian dress!’
Here’s to alcohol...alcohol did they say??
Cheers to alcohol, my bud through night n day...
Marge starts her day with her hot mornin tea,
and milk it is for Lisa, Bart and Maggie..
but me, I'm a man of not too many a need,
a peg or two n maybe some weed.
Talkin of problems, oh there aint no dearth,
U wanna have the moon, but U gotta make do with earth..
I'm sure U understand what I mean to say,
it can't be Jack Daniels all the way ;)
Now that we're talking of trouble, lemme tell U some more,
this drinkin 'problem' of mine, Marge has come to abhor..
especially when I mis-filled Lisa's milk bottle,
and I had to face the music full throttle..
And this other time when I threw up on the persian rug,
Oh! it was almost like my own grave i'd dug..
I was punished with two days of no food,
but they forgot i had my booze, dude ;)
So problems there'll be many and the list can go on,
when U think Ur through with one, a new ones born..
But its best to look at the brighter side of things,
by drownin Urself in stuff that 'gives u wings!'
It may get u into a lil trouble, but its all worth it,
Once Ur on the 'higher ground', U love every bit!
So Cheers! to drinkin...its what sets u free..
n its bottoms up time now....one two three!!
- Homer (Hic!) Simpson
Once upon a time, there was a king;
He never liked to smile, dance or sing.
‘Dry Hall’ was the king’s name;
The kingdom of Dryland was his claim to fame.
In time Dry Hall begot a beautiful daughter;
Her skin was pearly- her eyes as clear as water.
She grew up to be enticing – she was shapely and tall;
She was named after the king – they called her Alka Hall.
Alka had secret – a talent – a powerful gift;
She could make people do what she wanted;
Without them getting a drift.
So Alka always got whatever she wished;
Be it jewels, clothes or slaves on her list.
Not far away, there lived a very handsome boy;
He was intelligent, strong, brave and coy.
He became a warrior out of his valor sheer;
That he was the best – was loud and clear.
Alka ventured out of the palace one day;
On this good looking fighter her eyes then lay.
She fell in love with him that very instant;
She dreamt of him wherever she went.
She tried to make him feel the same way;
But her beauty didn’t help her – she realized that day.
Furious, Alka Hall got him locked in a cellar;
The brave, handsome warrior James T.Totler!
The cellar was cold and deep into the ground;
A way to escape was nowhere to be found.
T.Totler kept thinking if Alka was the cause…
She was the only way to survive that was.
He sent her a message “Will you marry me?”
She released him instantly and invited him to tea.
They got married with great fanfare;
There was intoxicating jubilation in the air.
They were happy together as say some;
They had a daughter named Tequila, a son named Rum.
Even years later people still remember their story;
On every Dry-day, they relive the glory.
Let’s remember what T.Totler learnt that day;
That Alka Hall was the cause and the solution they say.
So here’s to Alka Hall and the legend
Which survived through years to be told in the present….
Tushar KatariaB07124The following is the story of an alcoholic who is suffering from “distorted reality disorder” (due to his drinking problem). He weaves a world of his own, and perceives people and circumstances in the way he sees and wants. The story revolves around how he meets a girl, falls in love with her, misinterprets the situation due to his state of mind and again finds solace in alcohol. The cycle, as the story progresses, becomes complete. Bottoms up!
I am an alcoholic. I know I am, and I am not afraid, or guilty, to admit it. Everybody looks for something or someone to cling on to…to lean on in times of need. I drink, and that helps me. People say it is “bad”, and that excess of it will make me addicted and wasted and dependent. But isn’t that true with everything, for everyone? I mean, if you look at your lover for support all the time, it just means that you too, in a way, are addicted to him/her. In a way, you too are dependent on him/her and you too, are wasted.
But I am not here to preach today. Today, I want to tell you a story. My story.
It isn’t right, you know, to ask an alcoholic just why he started drinking. He wouldn’t be able to tell you for sure. But ask him when, and more often than not, he’ll be able to tell you a vivid account (The why is hidden in the when, but he wouldn’t know this!). It’s because people don’t take to alcohol for a reason, but for a cause. For support. Solace. Comfort. For that one thing in Life that every person keeps hoping for from others, but doesn’t get. The cause to Live. The solution to Life.
I realized I wasn’t reaching home at night some four nights in a week, and when I did, more often than not, would have fallen somewhere and hurt myself before reaching home. I decided I had to reduce my drinking. What could I do? I wasn’t able to control myself…my work was going for a toss (yours truly writes for a living), I had stopped speaking to people, stopped routine things like shaving, TV, shopping—no I wasn’t unhappy, its just that I had started to love booze so much that I didn’t want to waste time doing anything else—so I decided to join AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) chapter in my city.
I had just started going to the jogger’s park for some jogging and free-hand exercises, etc. I had to do it as part of regimen we had decided upon at the AA. I wouldn’t have cared a bit for all this had my condition not deteriorated so much in the last couple of months. But, a la even a camel has to drink water sometimes, I too had to do this…. Hell, who would have even thought that I would wake up every day before sunrise, get ready and go for exercising! Till now, that was my time to go to bed!! Anyway…
I saw her coming from the opposite end as I was jogging through the park one day. She wasn’t a ravishing beauty, but one of those rare people endowed with a perfect blend of sharp facial features, shiny hair, toned figure and a confident body language. One who would make you lower down your pace so that you can admire her beauty a little longer…
She noticed me almost as soon as I did, but for some different reasons I guess. I had absolutely no stamina, and used to huff and puff almost as soon as I started running. By the end of the first round, I’d look as if I have just been saved from drowning! As we came closer, I somehow tripped. She helped me get up and we got talking a bit. I lied to her that I had some medical problem some time ago and so was trying to “get back into shape”. She was a consultant at one of the big firms in the city. I guess I must have made a decent show of myself, for we decided to meet up again the next day.
I felt motivated to go to the park now. Everyday, I’d wait for sunrise, so that I could meet her. We couldn’t meet at any other time, as she had erratic working hours. I appreciated her commitment, and drew inspiration from it. Now I didn’t drink the whole day. I mean I did, but not in the way I used to. Now I drank in small quantities. I drank for and because of happiness. As they say, it kept me in ‘good spirits’. I started feeling I was in better control of my life (read: drinking).
We were coming closer. In some days only, we had become good friends. We had even started meeting outside sometimes. I was happy to find that she too loved a good drink. She didn’t have too much capacity, but she knew when to control herself. Day by day, my admiration for her was increasing. I used to look for ways to impress her. I started shaving regularly, kept myself abreast of the current events, had resumed my work as a writer, and tried to keep myself ‘tip-top’ in general. Not that I had too much to show for myself, but we writers have the ability and knack to create reality out of fantasy in a moment.
By now, she had found out that I drink too much. But she didn’t know about my AA meetings. However, it didn’t seem to bother her much. And that’s what I liked most about her. She believed in giving space. No preaching, no nagging. Moreover, she used to give me some cues of her interest in me. Like, that one time, when she called in the middle of the night to check that I wasn’t drinking myself to oblivion. Another time she brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate our six-month old friendship. Or, consider the time when she brought movie tickets for us, but readily agreed to stay at home when I said I wanted to spend some time alone with her, away from people. She could read me completely.
We had started meeting more frequently. I felt I was getting used to her. I longed to be with her always, wanted to tell her about every moment of my life. I had never met anyone like her before…never felt like this. There were times I didn’t even know what I wanted to talk, but I just had to be with her. And when I couldn’t, I drank. In a very paradoxical manner, she was driving me away from, and at the same time, pushing me towards, my only love before her. Yes, I loved her.
I decided to tell her. But how could I? After all, I wasn’t settled in my career. Writing is not always a very rewarding profession. On top of it, practically speaking, I didn’t know where I wanted to go in life. But, I convinced myself, she was not somebody who’d be bothered by all this. After all, if it’s a question of money, well, her salary was good enough to support us both. And of late, she had even started showing that it was alright for me to spend her money. She didn’t seem to mind, and didn’t let me spend my money. Moreover, Life is not only about working and money. It’s about Love, something that we could create between ourselves.
I reasoned I wasn’t hallucinating. I am a practical man and see both sides of the coin before tossing it. I reflected that she too is in love with me, but is shy to admit it. Otherwise, what can explain her frequent visits to my place? What can explain her readiness to go out with me anytime I said so? What could explain the ease with which she stayed at my place for hours on weekends? What could explain the right with which she brought order in my house? Certainly, it had to be more than just a passing interest or platonic friendship…So I decided to tell her.
I had it all set that evening—the lighting, décor, soft music, her favorite food, elegant crockery, the works. I had even written a few lines for her (she really appreciated my profession, she said so). I could tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she was very surprised with all the arrangements. “What’s the special occasion?” she asked, still looking around. I smiled and recited a small poem I had written about her and on (I thought) creating the right moment, popped the question.
The next few minutes were completely unbelievable. I couldn’t quite comprehend what Andie was saying…not only that, I couldn’t understand why…how…she could say something like that. “What?! Marriage?!! Are you out of your mind? What made you think I would do something like that?” “But Andie! I thought you liked me…”
“I do…as a person. But that does not mean I love you.” I felt as if a boulder was thrown over my chest. It was getting difficult to breathe. So I poured a quick drink for myself. “See what I was saying Robert? You can’t even spend a couple of hours without a drink. How will you take the responsibility of a family? You have no focus in life, no ambition. I mean, it’s your life and you have the right to live it the way you want, but you shouldn’t expect me to do the same”, she said.
Her voice seemed so cold. “But Andie…Andie…you make me complete. You take such good care of me. You understand me so well…”
“Woah! Hold on Robert…it’s nothing that. I take care of you because you can’t do it yourself. I knew you had a drinking problem the day I met you. Why, you were stinking of alcohol at that time too! You came across as a nice guy, and so I wanted to help you out.
I am part of the AA Mumbai chapter committee. I checked with them a few days back as to how we can help you, but found out that you were already a member. Your case file says you have a critical drinking problem. That’s why I used to check even in the middle of the night. I didn’t confront you as I thought you might be uncomfortable discussing it. One of the ways to cure an alcoholic is compassion therapy. So I ignored the times when you would be staring at me, and tried to be your friend. Listen, I was concerned about you as a person, okay? I tried to be your friend. I don’t know when or why you thought this could even be possible!...”
I could feel rage inside me. This woman was obviously lying. She wanted to use me for some purpose. But now she thinks she doesn’t need me anymore. That’s why she is trying to severe all ties. But how can I let her go? I was desperate for her. I have given so much to this relationship. “I know you are saying all this because of some motive Andie, though I can’t understand what. Doesn’t matter. Listen to me Andie. Leave all this behind. I’ll start working again. We’ll start a new life…together. I know you long for me, but your job is coming in our way. Leave it…” I smiled. I knew I was saying the right thing. Now I understood the reason behind her reaction. So I poured myself a large drink. I felt better now.
“Robert! Shut up!” she shouted. Then, suddenly, she stopped and took a few deep breaths. She seemed calmer now. Her voice was also soothing. “Listen Robert, listen to me carefully. You have a very bad drinking problem. The doctors at AA have diagnosed you with having a problem of ‘distorted reality’. It means that you perceive things the way you want it. You want a certain situation to happen in your life at a sub-conscious level. So, at a conscious level, you convince yourself that it is what is actually happening…”
“You mean to say I am mad!?” I sneered.
“No…I am only saying that it is a distorted perception of the events around you. And before you ask, it is not even schizophrenia. It’s not a disease, or a symptom. It’s just that your constant drinking keeps your mind in a constant state of dizziness…”
“It stimulates my thinking…I am a creative man”, I protested. I couldn’t quite grasp what all she was saying. It wasn’t making any sense at all. She was just trying to prove that I was mad, so that she doesn’t have to marry me. What a woman! I thought to myself. First, she befriends me for some reason, then gives me enough cues to make me fall in love with her, and is now telling me that I am not living in reality!
“…this is why you sometimes have a problem understanding the people around you. Look around you, Robert; you have lost all your friends too. I am concerned about you and that’s why…”
“Enough!” I shouted. “If you don’t want to marry me, it’s fine! But I will not have anyone telling me that I am living in a fantasy world. I know what the reality is. I know I am an alcoholic, and I am fine with it. I don’t want to leave my drink. I joined AA just because I thought I might be slipping away a bit. I have brought that under control. I don’t need it anymore. I love my drink…and I love it more than I love you. Go away…I don’t need you no more”
“Robert…” she tried to say something.
“Just go!” I shouted, throwing the glass on the floor. I could see that she was frightened. Somehow, I liked it.
She got up and went away. Suddenly, the room became very quiet. I could now hear the music. Soft, romantic music. I felt very lonely…and thirsty too. So I poured myself another drink and switched on the television.
I kept drinking the whole night. Well, who needs her anyways…its no use spending time with a person who thinks you are a lunatic. And I don’t despise her either. Every person has his/her criteria of a partner, I told myself. I was happy at this “understanding” behavior of myself. “That’s being rational, see! Who says I can’t understand reality?”…and such is my story. I am an alcoholic. I know I am, and I am not afraid, or guilty, to admit it. But now I cannot leave it either. I know that if I do, I’ll die. But I have realized one thing in life—the cause of, and solution to, all my life’s problems is alcohol.
Let's get through with one side of the argument real quickly. When was alcohol invented? The first documentary evidence of alcoholic beverages was written in Sumerian around 3200 BC. And problems date back to..? So, alcohol was not, cannot and will not be the cause to all of life's problems. Never. Ever.
Now, for the interesting part. Alcohol - The solution to all of life's problems. Yes it is. And here's a poem (if you can call it one) supposedly bringing out this universal truth.Drunken Revelation
Things aren't what they seem to be.
I am sober, others are soberer.
I look too tied up to let go.
Things are better left unsaid.
The turmoil stays within,
Passions restrained, demeanor perfect!
This way its' safer? Hmmm...
Elixir! I found in it.
The other life I was looking for?
Dulls the senses? Who said so?
I become aware of what I want to be aware of...
The rest don’t matter...anymore
I look around, I see smiles,
They look like smiles. That will do...
Passion unleashes, I become what I am
Integrity. Is this what they call it?
There is no conflict.
Mind, body and soul unite. I'm in bliss...
There's stands the man that world should've seen always
For what he is and not anything else
This is as primal as it would ever get
Ask him any truth of this world, he will tell you...
There isn't a need to hide anything anymore
He is the role model the world has to look up to
They simply look down upon him..
And say...He's sloshed!
I passed the ticket through the hole,
and saw the lips of a little soul,
that said "welcome to devils workshop"
"idle brain's last stop"
my heart pushed my legs back
and felt as if I hit a sack
"welcome"the voice held me still
I turned around and saw another devil
"for the next hour, i would be your guide,
dont let any of your questions hide
for we know what they are
and we believe here, everyone is at par"
he was the devil himself
with the horns of ram and ears of elf
he had a long red tail
so strong , that it could be a flail
he led me into the long hall
where every devil had a crystal ball
they leaned over it and chanted spells
I could see the humans trapped in those shells
"before you could ask" said the devil
"I shall answer that those are people idle
those who rest their brain
and let time fly in vain"
"we work on them and make them work,
and turn them as clumsy as an orc
and lead them into more sin
then the master from hell says "you are in""
into some of the balls did i peep
some I saw were in love deep
some I heard, talked no sense
and some had their own ways of indulgence
then I wondered, and before the devil could know
I asked, "is there a ball for me and that you can show"
the devil smirked and said "you are all at your will"
"in your ball, talking to the devil"
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
“Here's to alcohol- The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems!”
“Homie…Only last night you used the word women instead of alcohol”
“But daaad…54% of alcoholics have an alcoholic parent. Don’t you have some conscientiousness over your lineage facing the liability of holding a dubious depiction of inebriation? "
"Hey Bart… Give Maggie her sax will ya? The dogs’ll know what to do with her. "
"Sure Homer… When have I ever disregarded your words?"
"tssuck, suck" *
*Maybe NOW you know why I never get to speak on the show
Once upon a time roughly 200,000 years ago the intercourse of genetic evolution and chemical combination (research still has doubts on some other intercourse in play) manufactured the first product of our species. And as one of my professors would say, incidentally, he was male…
Since gene composition is simply a random sampling (more famously known as beer-noulli distribution) of parent genes, we can safely base all our discussions on the study of the father of all our fathers – Homer Simpson.
“I am not as think as you drunk I am”
Permanent State: "Mmmm…"
That explains the origin and the import of the empty ‘hmmm’
Homer’s life teaches us the nuances of life that provide it a meaning. A silly neighbour who doesn’t know the difference between a Duff and a Guiness, an over-optimistic wife who expects you to give up on alcohol sometime, a disrespectful son who throws his beer can, a daughter who seems to know everything else apart from the composition of a tequila shot and a baby daughter who can’t say “vodka” – even such horrors have as much impact on him as water has to a man in a bar.
A small quote from his own life in an exam hall sums up the living of a great man who we can always respect and remem-beer:
Homer: All right brain, you don't like me, and I don't like you. But let's just get me through this, and I can get back to killing you with beer.
Homer's brain: It's a deal!
“Here's to alcohol- The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems!”
(Have I said this before? Hic…)
Across forty thousand sugar mills on the planet, alongside the depths of the Bavarian oaks and Amazonian jungles, inside the tonnage of a thousand proteins that six billion people ingest daily (for the sole purpose of eventually ingesting more), and yes, in the depths of each beer guzzler’s (bartended or bloated, likely both) belly, runs a common strand that precludes these agents’ preferences – it has out survived each of them by prehistoric era.
It composes itself of little probabilistic building blocks that spring to life at the exact moment the junkie kicks herself up from placidity, and the Zulu screams out to revenge his pet salamander.
People have attributed to it fancy (and unverifiable) descriptions, calling it protoplasm and adrenaline rush, but there is only one common manifestation that fits into all their air-guitars.
That glue is glucose – in stealthy and still undiscovered forms it has cohabitated and co-opted the Planet’s Identity.
Glucose, it turns out, is what alcohol is made up of.
Alcohol is not really the cause of the world’s problems. It is the World’s problem. Life.
Nor does it cause the solution of the World’s Problem. It is the solution of the World’s problem. More life.
(Even if ‘more life’ is strictly unreproductive – it merely involves knocking over a few more trays.)
The world, it would seem, resonates to such a hypothesis. Why else would it neatly cleave itself into two distinct groups – the Whiners and the Winers, who between themselves, make up practically everyone with an appendix?
The Whiners are the righteous group – they sight the might for a fight, take the right for a right, and if necessary, draw up their height to fight the Tight.
They don’t like the Tight – his intentions are not all white
The Winers, on the other hand, see right and wrong as two sides of the same bottle cap. They let the fizz uncork out into fresh air, and let nature sift through her own little distribution – the Tight and the Uptight. But the Winers don’t mind the Uptight; they only wish his intentions were not all white.
History, though, seems to have come up with a verdict – if we could call it one.
The Winers have come up with their own webs of sweeping emotions- imposing tragedies, generated passion, crafted timeless romances, mournful elegies, and monumental music. They wrote literature, created notes, and inserted flesh into cardboard characters. They also founded empires, invented orgies, and devised courses on managerial communication.
Most importantly, they invented the bottle.
The Whiners also came up with their own version of the third form play. They invented minimalism, generated heat, and locked swelter into a single whirlpool of eddy currents that could make the coldest heart pump alive.
They invented the hot water bottle.
(They had a life too).
Drowned in alcohol, senses betray
Linger on unspoken, make me stray
Manifested in thought, they dwell unknown
Feelings I’ve killed, urges better left alone.
Creep up beside me, silently they tread
Devour me inside, the ego I’ve fed
Consume me slowly, they stay by my side
I've run a long time, I’m trying to hide.
Miserably i fail, to swallow my dark desires
The mask, it has failed me
All inhibitions are swept aside
My 'Id' has been let free!! (‘Id’- The Freudian Concept of Id, Ego, Super Ego)
Intoxicated i wander, in search of my prey
It's been a while now, how long i can't say
The last sip of whiskey, the last whiff of the night
I've succumbed to alcoholism, without a real fight
Morning light, they find me long gone
They say I’m dead, i think its dawn
Freed from my misery, the soul set free
Today they find me, hanging from a tree.
A warm sunny day, my hearts on a song
The beer sure is chilled, the smoke does belong
I take a long gulp, ah that went down nice
Crap my girlfriends waiting, I call it sacrifice
I see the phone ringing, but that just happens every day
I take another sip and hope it goes away
I hate it when people persist, but it’s something they just do
This time I empty the bottle and yell aloud ‘screw you’
The wrong side of the bed I did wake up, coz my neighbour heard me scream
Oh did I forget to tell ya, she looks like a dream
You lookin for a screw she asked, I simply nodded in delight
“Take me out for a drink” she said, “and well then I just might”
So off we went hand in hand, the nearest bar I did pick
Had to get her sloshed I figured, and it better be quick
I ordered myself an ‘old monk’, she asked for a wine
Oooohh she had exotic taste, dude she was so fine!!
One drink down followed by two, two drunken souls strove on
The third one followed and the a fourth, till all my money was gone
Out came my credit cards, and then my beaming smile
I asked the barman for some credit, it sure was juvenile
Sloshed we landed on the floor, two souls entwined in passion
She promptly took out a screw, in the most mundane fashion
“What??” I gasped in surprise; I thought I was in for a lay
She looked at me, her hair a mess-“Boy you’re too young to play!!”
That was the day, a day too bad;
The exam results had made me sad
To pacify the self, I went to the old monk;
But the path to salvation passed through my father’s bottle bank;
I never knew what I did then, but this is what happened.
Ant Aunt Ant’s Aunt’s
They were in millions
On my book, in my book
Upon my book, through my book
On their way to make some hay
One fell down on my gown
Dropped in a village from a town
Wandering to and fro
In search of line to go
Climbed my ankle upto my temple
Had an African safari among my scalp cover
Now going lower and lower
On my toe is my greatest foe
I was enjoying foe’s woe
On the ground climbing the table
With the grip held tight
She found the grip with eyes bright
But how could I allow her go
I trickled her with the scale
Well the line turned into a plane
I was ready for the attack
Got them all with all wreck
Went to sleep satisfied to the brim
Results got drowned, the monk was crowned
Dream was sweet, many girls to meet
Dawn came omaxi waned
Mother with a smile so unknown
One hand of her had the ants dead
The other had the old monk made
Which I had dynamically taken away
From my father’s cupboard yesterday
She was calm; the voice came as a balm
“If you hadn’t drunk before examday, father would have invited you to drink today"
Friday, October 5, 2007
No beer, though ;-)
DRACULA is pleased to launch the first edition of its intra-college lit-fest: Oktoberfest
. Spread over the two days of this weekend, teams from the junior batch and the senior batch slug it out for moral superiority, in the following events:
- Mock Press
- Pot Pourri
- Creative Writing
- Dumb Charades
All these will be rounded off by an A/V quiz, Sunday night. No dries during Oktoberfest!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Hello world. Team DRACULA from the XLRI School of Business and Human Resources at Jamshedpur welcomes one and all to its blog.
DRACULA stands for the Dramatics & Cultural Association, and we handle the various literary, cultural and dramatics activities on campus. As this blog unfolds, we will give further insights into the exact nature and scope of our responsibilities. The purpose of this blog is to showcase the distinct flavours brought to the committee by the individual members as well as to give a shout out about the activities of DRACULA.
DRACULA is a much sought after committee on the XLRI Jamshedpur campus, consistently topping in the number of applicants year after year. This is primarily due to the diverse nature of the activities promoted and supported by DRACULA, which consequently appeals to a wide cross-section of the student community. As a result, DRACULA is composed of 16 members: 9 from the senior batch, and 7 juniors. While this number changes every year, it hovers around a ballpark figure of 12-15 members.
The Secretary of the Committee for the current year (till the 2008 batch passes on the baton) is Srijit Vijayan
, who, in the true Mallu spirit of the "Vijayan" name, happens to kick some serious behind in kicking a football around.
The rest of the members? All in good time, ye blog readers, all in good time. In the meanwhile, do bookmark/syndicate us, and of course, do comment!(Shrikant - BMD 2008)