Monday, 24 May 2010

Dear Lord

Dear Lord, I ask not for very much
Not for omniscience, or immortality, or some such
I ask merely for a load of money
To buy a house where the land is sunny
To buy myself a cool red car
So I can drive down, to where the beaches are
To be able to jet off to exotic places
Eat exotic fruit, see exotic faces
All I want is a big TV
And a gigantic safe with a miniscule key
And a load of things that go Bang! and Boom!
From which away I'll quickly zoom
On my fast overpriced bike
A Harley Davidson, or the like
Hey Lord, could you please do me a tiny favour
It's not gigantic, though you'd be a life saver
I've always wanted my own island
Not somewhere in the cold wet highland
Just an islet, minute, small
I hope that's not an order tall
I'd just like to be a little private
Along with an ocean, I'd like to dive it
And Lord, I know, you're a busy guy
But it's not like I'm asking not to die
And before I forget, and my wishes you void
It's what your wife's given me that I've really enjoyed

Wednesday, 12 May 2010

Not a Tamil Film Romance - Part Two

Three weeks later, Suresh and Nikhil had just left another of Sathya Sir's endless lectures. The man knew no limits, his endurance for teaching partial differentiation was matched only by his ability to put students to sleep in the hot Madras sun one hour after the canteen lunch. Now, at four in the afternoon, they did what they always did at four in the afternoon; stand outside the university gates and ogle every hot girl that came past. And every day for the last three weeks, Suresh would do what he always did, compare every girl that went past with the idealised version of the Girl in the Coffee Shop, and find that she came up short.

This time though, Nikhil was having none of it. His irritation had been building up ever since Suresh had declared that Ananya Kumar was not worthy of his attention in front of his Girl. Ananya Kumar was the apple of Nikhil's eye, and as far as he was concerned, no one was allowed to say anything that was even vaguely disrespectful of her. Sometime Suresh suspected Nikhil was the more stalkerish of the two. But he knew that look in Suresh's eye, and he was, as has been previously stated, having none of it.

'Ok, no. I don't want to hear about that girl. You remember Anjali? From tenth class? Two years you went on and on about her. Boohoo, she went to Bombay. Every time we went out, you'd have one drink, just one drink, and you'd start your sob story. God, every girl in our class thought you were so cuuuute. And they didn't give you a second look! Not that you cared! But then, they didn't give me a second look either! Just because I was your best friend! And now, you don't even know this girl's name? Dude, spare us. I don't need Ananya discovering my best friend stalks girls in coffee shops. As it is she's not sure about us dating. Macha, if you fuck this up, I will kill you.' His voice during the entire speech had been at a high pitched wail. Despite puberty, Nikhil had always had a higher voice than most, and stress only made it worse. It had been months before anyone in class could talk to him just after the engineering exam, and he would never forget the looks on their faces when they realised the noise in the background who was crying about how he was going to fail was, in fact, a guy.

Suresh looked at Nikhil, knowing that just the admission that he was going out with Ananya was worth hearing the tirade. He wasn't going to be cowed, though. 'Dude, you have no idea! Just to be in her presence, my god! It was like Sita Mahalakshmi herself-'

'- had come down from the heavens,' Nikhil interrupted, 'forsaking Vishnu to come to our mortal abode. We've heard this a dozen times already. At the very least get some new material!'

'Dude, you should have been there. If you'd been there, that stupid coffee shop guy wouldn't have laughed. I mean, we were having like, an actual conversation'

'Yeah, that conversation, it was about marriage. Anjana has been going out with Prashant from section C since seventh class, they're the most irritating lovey-dovey couple on the planet, and they don't talk about marriage. Clearly, your relationship was doomed to fail.'

'You can talk about anything with the girl of your dreams. Not that you would know, of course.' Suresh said, snidely.

'DUDE! I don't need dreams! I have Ananya! Just, don't keep going on about it, ok? The whole class thinks we're big enough geeks as it is. Dude, it's KK! KK! OVER HERE MAN!'

KK, Karan Kohli, was quite possibly the most laid back geek in the entire engineering department. He would spend days on end on his laptop, playing Counterstrike, or Half Life, and suddenly he would decide that he was wasting too much time on the computer, and undergo two intensive days of studying out of some random textbooks he got from shady people he knew. And then he'd give up, and go back to playing Half Life and Counterstrike. KK seemed to live in this perfect world, where playing games most of the time was somehow not only possible, but even conducive to his studying hard and doing well in university exams. Thus, he had the respect and admiration of every boy in the class, and the distaste and contempt of every girl in it.

What neither Nikhil or Suresh knew was that KK would be the one reason Suresh would meet his Girl in the Coffee Shop, and why Nikhil would finally break up with Ananya Kumar.


hello. i am liking this, even if it sounds rather formulaic. how nice it is, to be able to write. how irritating it is, that it is coming at the cost of revision. all things have a price, i suppose. PS, i quite like having inspiration, but i hate having it only when i'm on the internet trying to watch maths lectures.

Friday, 7 May 2010

Not a Tamil Film Romance - Part One

‘I wouldn’t suppose you’d talk to me if I told you that I’m quite sure you’re the girl I’m supposed to marry?’

That was how it had begun, in a dilapidated old café somewhere on the university campus. They were the only two people in the café, him and the girl who didn’t think it was strange to drink elaichi tea at one in the morning. She didn’t pay attention to him the first time Suresh said it. Probably because he was practicing it, under his breath. He supposed this happened. People met, randomly, in cafes, at odd times in the morning, and went on to spend the rest of their lives with each other.

He said it again, this time louder, and with a smile that hopefully said something like ‘I’m not a stalker; I’m just someone else who happens to be in this broken down excuse for a place to drink coffee.’

This time she looked up from the book she was reading, and gave him a look. It said ‘I can’t believe you just said that, so I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen.’

‘Ok, look, I’m being serious. This can only be fate. It’s just me and you, in the same time and place, at one in the morning. There is someone watching us, and he is trying to tell us something.’ Suddenly Suresh thought of five hundred things he could have said, none of which would have made him sound like a stalker. Top of the list was ‘Hi, I’m Suresh.’

But they had sat in silence for the last hour, and he was going to go mad if he didn’t say something. It looked like she was reading War and Peace, or at the very least a literal translation of the Mahabharata. There was no other book he could think of which could be so huge.

Then she spoke. And the voice that came out could only have dropped down from somewhere in the sky. The words, on the other hand, left much to be desired.

‘I don’t really know where you come from, but here on planet Earth, one doesn’t tell people they’re going to marry them before one gets to know them. In fact, most people marry people who they know really well, and have some sort of relationship prior to that kind of commitment.’ Her voice sang like some sort of unearthly music, but she was clearly not happy.

Still he stuck with it, resisting the temptation to point out that arranged marriages essentially consisted of people who'd never met each other before, and then continued to have perfectly normal and happy lives.

'Arranged marriages are for the desperate and the socially inept', she shot back.

Ah. So he had said it out loud, then. And hadn't impressed her with his traditionalism, either.

'I resent that allegation! Lots of perfectly nice people who are neither desperate nor socially retarded have had arranged marriages!'. Crap, he was getting into an argument about marriage with her. It was too early in their relationship to talk about such things!

The guy behind the counter, who could usually be counted on to be missing at this time of night, had decided today would be a good day to man the front desk and ensure no one was stealing napkins and straws. At that moment, Suresh could have killed him. Luckily, she did it for him, for it was at that moment that he burst out laughing.

'EXCUSE ME! Don't you know that eavesdropping on other people's conversations, however weird or creepy, is extremely rude? What kind of coffee shop is this? Don't you have any respect? I am never coming here again! Chi!'

Suresh's respect for her, already at Sachin Tendulkar levels, went up at least ten times. However, his hate for the coffee shop man also went up by that much, since in her disgust and anger, the girl stood up and stormed out of the shop. Before he knew it, she had gotten into an auto and sped away.


many thanks to the person i will only refer to as 'Coffee', perhaps because that will make the writing of this sound more exciting, for semi authoring and semi editing this bit of fiction i wrote about a year ago and found floating around on some part of the internet. will continue once exams are over, which should be in about a month. my first semi decent attempt at fiction since i started this blog. how exciting!

Thursday, 6 May 2010

Will Shaxberd

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare. 

I like this one more than his other really really really famous poem, which starts 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day', maybe because of the way it makes fun of poems like it. Shakespeare's poems read extraordinarily smoothly, probably because of the form he uses. In 'A Wrinkle in Time', Madeleine L'Engle uses the sonnet as a metaphor for lie. It's slightly pretentious, but cool nonetheless. 

Mrs Whatsit: 'A sonnet is a very strict form of poetry is it not? There are fourteen lines, I believe, all in iambic pentameter. That's a very strict rhythm or meter, yes? And each line has to end with a rigid rhyme pattern. And if the poet does not do it exactly this way, it is not a sonnet, is it?'

Charles: 'You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?'

Mrs Whatsit: 'You are given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself.'

Shakespeare's sonnets are incredibly amazing, not only because he manages to write them in that form at all, but also because he manages to do it so brilliantly.

'The remarkable thing about Shakespeare is that he is really very good — in spite of all the people who say he is very good.' - Robert Graves