At 16, Cesc fabregas is the youngest goalscorer for arsenal football club.
At 6, Puneet varma is the younest 3rd grader in school (or proabably the whole locality)It makes a good news item and only a good news item.
There is nothing to cheer about for being way younger than the bunch. The endless list of being the "paraolympic kid" follows:
a) Outdoor
- I used to get beaten up in every fight in the school
- My sole aim in any outdoor competition was NOT to stand first (from last)
- I celebrated when i made it into the 10-men kho kho team of our class (total strength - 11)
- I've never won any prize in any outdoor gaming event
b) Lovedoor
- Indians have this stupid notion of not falling in love with elder women (i am an indian)
- Junior and most of subjunior girls join the above cadre
- At any stage, i am always too young to crib about this to my older "still-single" classmates
- The sarcasm in "you are still a kid" is just unbearable
- My little brain is unable to comprehend the increasing levels of feminine complexity
c) Miscellaneous:
- My advice is always disposable by a single sentence "arrey.. he's a kiddo! forget what he said"
- Most of the times there is truth in the above sentence
- There is that odd feeling that lingers all the time during the ragging sessions (most of them
are 3-4 years elder to me)
- Brain is expected to work over-time to make up for the lack of experience (though it ended up in hibernation, that's a different story all together)
- People presume i'm 24 while i'm still 22 (it feels painful, especially when u claim u're still
21years, 10 months old and round it to 21)
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The train
After three hours of hassles resulting from a mixture of
- ghaziabad's amazing transport system
- my own punctuality
- my superb understanding of hindi as a language
- my watch deciding to run 10 minutes late
I stand there surprised to find some jagjit singh, 42 assigned to my berth. With two minutes for the train to leave i realised that i have got upgraded to 2nd a/c (was pretty delighted) and took my berth (side lower it was)
I sit there disconnected completly from the outside world by the curtains, long and thick ones dipped in dark blue with white roses embroidered at will all over them. I sit there with my legs streched out peeping through the window, laughing at my hindi and at the past 3 hours that made me almost miss my train. The long journey, 27 hours in lenght starts ticking. I just re-check my defense against it which include a laptop, 3 india todays and a brain ever-ready to dream. I chose to dream for a start. To dream of being the producer, director, actor, lyricist, singer, cinematographer for a movie titled "say something new". As the protoganist dressed in full black jumps off the eiffel tower suddenly the curtain opens leading way to a beautiful hand that caught my gaze followed by a more beautiful face. I knew that the train halted at agra and for a moment wondered if i was staring agape at the taj. Two beautifully carved eyes stuck like pieces of art amidst the marble white of her face. They are followed down south by a beautiful long nose and a pair of small round pink lips that wrapped up the mastepiece. She looked pretty emabrassed at my gaze and i soon followed course and managed to divert my eyes off her. Both of us waited in silence, waiting for the other to talk/smile whatever. Both stood by our adamant silence as she sat in front of me cross legged peeping through the window. The train picked speed and the silence is growing dangerously silent. Barring excpetions of a few throat clearences and faked coughs there was no other sound to be heard. Finally unconsciously i started to appreciate the better beauties of the nature that lay beside the india today i was faking to have been reading. She broke the silence with her sweet voice and extended her hand as she pronouced her name. I was too dumbstruck to hear it. Struck by the sweet movements of her lips, I could not hear a word of what she's said. She waited for a response but i was long lost in her thoughts. I managed to regain my senses and introduced myself and said all sorts of pompous things which i would not have said even if i were asked to introduce myself to some mukesh ambani.
She said that she loves reading books and talked at lenght about ayn rand and sidney sheldon. With my limited acquaintance with those authors i managed to speak some no "non-sense" (or atleast i thought so). Then the topic slowly shifted to poetry (my strength) and i decided it's now or never. Armed with a few tens of poems (which lacked any form of poetic sense) my confidence boosts up, but not for long.
she: What type of poetry to u write
me: what type? (god.. i didn't know the types of poetry, i only know rhyming and non-rhyming and meaningful and meaningless... help help, F1, F1)
me: ohhh.. type... hmmmm.. not one in particular u know
she: but still u must be liking a genre right?
me: yeah.. i'd prefer romantci
she: ohh.. shakespearean or lakeside
me: hmmm... both
(i didn't know what they meant and decided i can't take this any more)
me: ok.. i don't like any type of poetry. I write poems and i write for fun. They only have a thought and an overall meaning that are in coherence with me and my mood. That's it, no genre, no inspiration. yes, i know, poetry ain't that way, but i am like this only
she: (burst into laughter as soon as she heard that from me).. we've a name for that.. that's called my-type. As a matter of fact i am also a "my-type" poetess who write just for fun and timepass but still love it more than anything else. Except for some wikipediaed info, i am an illeterate in this genres and stuff
me: (sighed in relief) haa! we've got a poetess.. great! can we have a poem.. please
she: (blushing) no.. no.. sometime later
me: sometime LATER, later, later (kept repeating the word with a hint of sarcasm)
she: ok.. ok.. one of them
I dream of a song
a song with a meaning
a song that carries a feeling
I dream of a song
a song of love
a song that's about you
I dream of a song
a song in the rain
a song that takes away a pain
I dream of a song
a song of the farewell kiss
a song on how i much i miss (you)
I dream of a song
a song of life
a song on us
I DREAM...
(All the time the poet inside me is slowly dying of inferiority complex and by the end the funeral cermony is long back completed). I stare at her with an emotion that's a mixture of awe, envy and just everything.
Some-how, just some-how i appreciated her whole heartedly (i couldn't have done this to any other poet) and i stare at her with a wide smile that made her blush further. Then she asked me for a poem but i couldn't recall any of the "good ones" partly for fear of looking stupid, partly as i was yet to come out of the surprise and delight i just experienced.
she: now, the my-type poet.. your turn!!
me: u make me feel envious of you and feel down and out.. i can't with a smile
she: don't try to run away! i won't let you (signalling that she'dnt)
me: k.. since english poetry is already covered, i'll say one in telugu
ninnu parichayam chesindhi naa chelli
aa taruvtha kanapadledhu nuvvu mallee
vethikaanu nee kosam prathi galli
aarateesanu andarini gilli gilli
chivaraku deeni talli
adhe telugu cinemaa story mallee
settle ayyindhi nee pelli
naa gunde talla dilli
manasu sanna gilli
aina attend ayya nee pelli
endukante
raadhu kadhaa malli
free gaa oka killi
(This was a rhyming poem about a lover attending his lover's marriage for the sake of eating a pawn). Absolutely senseless, but amazing rhyming!!
I cursed my choice of poem selection as her eyes grew wide and wide and the smile extended from the left to the right ear. She suddenly burst into a heavy laughter that lasted long enough for me to join her in the act of laugh riot.
A few strands of her silky long hair slipped over her lips as she laughed incessantly. without any answers to "why did i do", "what am i doing", "have i gone mad", i extended my hand to clear the hair off her spotless face. The magical touch of her cheeks took me off by delight and surprise. I retreated to immediate silence realising the gravity of the act. She casually ignored it and continued with her laughter.
The time of seperation has come. The train halted and i've to leave now. i refuse to accept the hard fact. I get down the train saying good bye to her and the sweet time. Just as i was to go back home i recall that i've forgot something in the train. I reboarded the train and asked her for her mobile to call my parents as they haven't yet come to recieve me. As i dialled the number, thephone rings in my pocket ;)
- ghaziabad's amazing transport system
- my own punctuality
- my superb understanding of hindi as a language
- my watch deciding to run 10 minutes late
I stand there surprised to find some jagjit singh, 42 assigned to my berth. With two minutes for the train to leave i realised that i have got upgraded to 2nd a/c (was pretty delighted) and took my berth (side lower it was)
I sit there disconnected completly from the outside world by the curtains, long and thick ones dipped in dark blue with white roses embroidered at will all over them. I sit there with my legs streched out peeping through the window, laughing at my hindi and at the past 3 hours that made me almost miss my train. The long journey, 27 hours in lenght starts ticking. I just re-check my defense against it which include a laptop, 3 india todays and a brain ever-ready to dream. I chose to dream for a start. To dream of being the producer, director, actor, lyricist, singer, cinematographer for a movie titled "say something new". As the protoganist dressed in full black jumps off the eiffel tower suddenly the curtain opens leading way to a beautiful hand that caught my gaze followed by a more beautiful face. I knew that the train halted at agra and for a moment wondered if i was staring agape at the taj. Two beautifully carved eyes stuck like pieces of art amidst the marble white of her face. They are followed down south by a beautiful long nose and a pair of small round pink lips that wrapped up the mastepiece. She looked pretty emabrassed at my gaze and i soon followed course and managed to divert my eyes off her. Both of us waited in silence, waiting for the other to talk/smile whatever. Both stood by our adamant silence as she sat in front of me cross legged peeping through the window. The train picked speed and the silence is growing dangerously silent. Barring excpetions of a few throat clearences and faked coughs there was no other sound to be heard. Finally unconsciously i started to appreciate the better beauties of the nature that lay beside the india today i was faking to have been reading. She broke the silence with her sweet voice and extended her hand as she pronouced her name. I was too dumbstruck to hear it. Struck by the sweet movements of her lips, I could not hear a word of what she's said. She waited for a response but i was long lost in her thoughts. I managed to regain my senses and introduced myself and said all sorts of pompous things which i would not have said even if i were asked to introduce myself to some mukesh ambani.
She said that she loves reading books and talked at lenght about ayn rand and sidney sheldon. With my limited acquaintance with those authors i managed to speak some no "non-sense" (or atleast i thought so). Then the topic slowly shifted to poetry (my strength) and i decided it's now or never. Armed with a few tens of poems (which lacked any form of poetic sense) my confidence boosts up, but not for long.
she: What type of poetry to u write
me: what type? (god.. i didn't know the types of poetry, i only know rhyming and non-rhyming and meaningful and meaningless... help help, F1, F1)
me: ohhh.. type... hmmmm.. not one in particular u know
she: but still u must be liking a genre right?
me: yeah.. i'd prefer romantci
she: ohh.. shakespearean or lakeside
me: hmmm... both
(i didn't know what they meant and decided i can't take this any more)
me: ok.. i don't like any type of poetry. I write poems and i write for fun. They only have a thought and an overall meaning that are in coherence with me and my mood. That's it, no genre, no inspiration. yes, i know, poetry ain't that way, but i am like this only
she: (burst into laughter as soon as she heard that from me).. we've a name for that.. that's called my-type. As a matter of fact i am also a "my-type" poetess who write just for fun and timepass but still love it more than anything else. Except for some wikipediaed info, i am an illeterate in this genres and stuff
me: (sighed in relief) haa! we've got a poetess.. great! can we have a poem.. please
she: (blushing) no.. no.. sometime later
me: sometime LATER, later, later (kept repeating the word with a hint of sarcasm)
she: ok.. ok.. one of them
I dream of a song
a song with a meaning
a song that carries a feeling
I dream of a song
a song of love
a song that's about you
I dream of a song
a song in the rain
a song that takes away a pain
I dream of a song
a song of the farewell kiss
a song on how i much i miss (you)
I dream of a song
a song of life
a song on us
I DREAM...
(All the time the poet inside me is slowly dying of inferiority complex and by the end the funeral cermony is long back completed). I stare at her with an emotion that's a mixture of awe, envy and just everything.
Some-how, just some-how i appreciated her whole heartedly (i couldn't have done this to any other poet) and i stare at her with a wide smile that made her blush further. Then she asked me for a poem but i couldn't recall any of the "good ones" partly for fear of looking stupid, partly as i was yet to come out of the surprise and delight i just experienced.
she: now, the my-type poet.. your turn!!
me: u make me feel envious of you and feel down and out.. i can't with a smile
she: don't try to run away! i won't let you (signalling that she'dnt)
me: k.. since english poetry is already covered, i'll say one in telugu
ninnu parichayam chesindhi naa chelli
aa taruvtha kanapadledhu nuvvu mallee
vethikaanu nee kosam prathi galli
aarateesanu andarini gilli gilli
chivaraku deeni talli
adhe telugu cinemaa story mallee
settle ayyindhi nee pelli
naa gunde talla dilli
manasu sanna gilli
aina attend ayya nee pelli
endukante
raadhu kadhaa malli
free gaa oka killi
(This was a rhyming poem about a lover attending his lover's marriage for the sake of eating a pawn). Absolutely senseless, but amazing rhyming!!
I cursed my choice of poem selection as her eyes grew wide and wide and the smile extended from the left to the right ear. She suddenly burst into a heavy laughter that lasted long enough for me to join her in the act of laugh riot.
A few strands of her silky long hair slipped over her lips as she laughed incessantly. without any answers to "why did i do", "what am i doing", "have i gone mad", i extended my hand to clear the hair off her spotless face. The magical touch of her cheeks took me off by delight and surprise. I retreated to immediate silence realising the gravity of the act. She casually ignored it and continued with her laughter.
The time of seperation has come. The train halted and i've to leave now. i refuse to accept the hard fact. I get down the train saying good bye to her and the sweet time. Just as i was to go back home i recall that i've forgot something in the train. I reboarded the train and asked her for her mobile to call my parents as they haven't yet come to recieve me. As i dialled the number, thephone rings in my pocket ;)
Friday, September 05, 2008
What can you do if....
The keyboard works awesomely wrong and you get a w++ when u type a w
(This seems a crazy case, but yes! it is a true case)
- kick it, smash it
- kiss it, cuddle it
- intoxicate it (preferably scotch if the keyboard's a costly one)
- blame it on moon (since it was vinayaka chavithi)
- add a "-" after every plus to negate the effect
- spell w as uu.. after w is double u
- go for a version fallback (w++ could have been a modified version of w like c++ for c)
- Define w in your keyboard as a static key (then it's value can't be
increased to w++)
- get w out of redcross ('+' is the symbol for red-cross and proabably w is a new volunteer wearing the badge
- Get a dozen sumos load of shouting and sword rotating rowdys from karampudi to seperate the love-struck couple w and +
- last and probably the worst of all.. call the service center
-------------------
You see a girl and you like her.. but she's french
- Grow a french beard
- Go watch french kiss (for those "who thought something else" folks, it's a romantic classic starring meg ryan)
- write your name with a dash over every e and pronouce d as dhhh
- go and say "nenu ninnu premisthunnanu".. If she asks to repeat, tell her el neno ninno el premisthunnano.. This time, just walk away.. don't wait for the reaction
- Learn to eat pasta without hand-picking out that sticky material that glues to your mouth
- just say "irava mupiambre ____".. fill ___ with whatever u want to ask her.. "irava mupambre means it's better to take" as far as my french knowledge goes :D
- get her out on a walk in the rain and write a poem on her... believe me! it works.. after all, french and drench rhyme (use wrench, bench, clench, trench in case u fall short of rhyming words :P)
- be prepared to wear 1-2" soles (average french female height exceeds the average indian male height by the number of medals india's going to get in next olympics)
- last but by far the best option, forget her and get some indian girl on track!
(This seems a crazy case, but yes! it is a true case)
- kick it, smash it
- kiss it, cuddle it
- intoxicate it (preferably scotch if the keyboard's a costly one)
- blame it on moon (since it was vinayaka chavithi)
- add a "-" after every plus to negate the effect
- spell w as uu.. after w is double u
- go for a version fallback (w++ could have been a modified version of w like c++ for c)
- Define w in your keyboard as a static key (then it's value can't be
increased to w++)
- get w out of redcross ('+' is the symbol for red-cross and proabably w is a new volunteer wearing the badge
- Get a dozen sumos load of shouting and sword rotating rowdys from karampudi to seperate the love-struck couple w and +
- last and probably the worst of all.. call the service center
-------------------
You see a girl and you like her.. but she's french
- Grow a french beard
- Go watch french kiss (for those "who thought something else" folks, it's a romantic classic starring meg ryan)
- write your name with a dash over every e and pronouce d as dhhh
- go and say "nenu ninnu premisthunnanu".. If she asks to repeat, tell her el neno ninno el premisthunnano.. This time, just walk away.. don't wait for the reaction
- Learn to eat pasta without hand-picking out that sticky material that glues to your mouth
- just say "irava mupiambre ____".. fill ___ with whatever u want to ask her.. "irava mupambre means it's better to take" as far as my french knowledge goes :D
- get her out on a walk in the rain and write a poem on her... believe me! it works.. after all, french and drench rhyme (use wrench, bench, clench, trench in case u fall short of rhyming words :P)
- be prepared to wear 1-2" soles (average french female height exceeds the average indian male height by the number of medals india's going to get in next olympics)
- last but by far the best option, forget her and get some indian girl on track!
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