The Last Eleven Years

The C.J.M. Chronicles...

Sigh!
Sigh!
Sigh!
 Weird how this syllable can be uttered in despair and nostalgia too (sometimes, even when you eye a particularly striking guy, but that is besides the point). In this case, it is mainly of nostalgia. I won't say that I couldn't live without the time I tripped on a bag-strap and fell in front of the entire school or when a teacher considered me holding a short-put as a potential threat, but hey, we all have had to be embarrassed sometime or the other (more or less). All those incidents did teach us how to get up after every fall, pretend to be not hurt, and fall again the next second on some smart Alec's foot. We also learnt how to say “Give me those marks before I reduce you to a splattered watermelon” in ten different accents. And, of course, we most importantly learnt how we aren't “a sack of potatoes, nincompoops, a bunch of morons, lousy louts, pathetic dunderheads” and so on, my memory fails me any further. We learnt five ways to sneak past the princi.s office, twenty-five places perfect to bunk (though I, very honestly, used none), six ways to say “please” to the canteen-guy to give us free food and various tricks to hide whatever-it-may-be in wherever-it-may-be and the list is far from ending and steadily growing. We have much of our seniors legacy to be thankful to and I am sure that our juniors shall too, for we strive each day to squiggle out of situations we caused, however unintentionally. But you see, what happened in the process? We did, indirectly, boost our confidence, learn to speak out (I hear screams and guffaws of laughter as I write) and fill our heads with spider-webs (minus the spiders) and fluff, but then, at least the aren't empty anymore! But really, I might complain, I may curse, but had I the option to do it all over again, like in 1996, I would do it all over again.

Hail Seth

I read a poem by Vikram Seth, perhaps you have read it, The Frog and The Nightingale. Fun. That's when I realised how I've never tried my hand at the kiddish kind of poetry. Well, I did and I liked what I wrote.

A Ghost from World War I

There once lived a billy goat
Grazing on the banks of a moat.
The poor thing was a bit cock-eyed
As his tail caught fire once and he nearly died.
Now it was only slightly charred
And his vision occasionally marred.

One day, during his evening chow,
He came across a moaning cow.
Billy asked him "What's up, buddy?
How did you come to be so muddy?"

The cow started on a blood-stained tale,
With bomb-blasts ans gun-shots, Billy went rather pale.
The cow ended saying "It was the World War I"
"But the last was II and then there have been none"
"Well, that is the thing that saddens me most.
You see, I am no more, I am just a ghost."

Cool, right? I smile every time I read it. Okay, I am being called. Gotta dash.
Ciao.

Well, my exams ended and the aftermath left me thinking about the more morbid aspects of life and the all together absence of it. I wrote a little something...

Will Someone Please Turn On the Lights?
Have you ever realised how insignificant life is? One day it is there, the other it is gone and the world doesn't care unless it is its own. Weird, isn't it, how the people who are intent on hanging on to life forever are the ones who lose it first, perhaps in the efforts of ensuring their eternity itself. The ones who don't wish to die, life is stolen ruthlessly from them. Maybe it is the same life that is mercilessly given to the people who wish for nothing more but to die.
Entire life. We don't think, like jackasses, and suddenly we stop. Look back? No, ahead. Much ahead. We look and try to imagine. The sad thing is we still don't think. Frightened, we turn away, resolving never to look again but we know; who are we kidding. We certainly do look again. Infact, the only time we stop looking is when we needn't seek any further. Curiosity killed the cat. The irony is that what the cat was curious was, after all, death.
Suddenly the world seems a darker place. Hollow. Empty. Meaningless. Outrageously hilarious. We struggle through all the trash life gives us and we still love life. Either all of us are comedians in our own different ways, or are simply insane.

So, how's that? Nearly there, right?

Sincerest 'poligies.

Most sorry for being missing for such a long time (or for coming back again). Life just hasn't been that smooth really. Chem teacher hates me. Phys teacher hates me. Infact, what's-her-name hates me too when she doesn't even teach me! What?! Is there some kind of notice on my head which says "Watch out! I am an eeeeevil thing. Ye have been warned."? Whatever. It has been a very depressing half-a-month. Guess what? (Oh forget it. I'll tell you anyway.). Fellow CJMites might recall the ancient grey boxes stacked in a room in the basement of our school. I think they called them computers and they expected us to fall for it.
Well, things have changed. Oh yes they have! These people have just bought a whole bunch of new computers! Plasma screens and speakers, the works. And should I tell you what is even more amazing? They AREN'T MEANT FOR OUR USE! Oh no, of course not, big girls are used to scum. Why bother. They don't need proper computers which have decent fonts in word and better animations in Power Point. Nah! The kids, i.e., the KG people, who don't even know how to use these things and can't even appreciate their luck are the ones who are going to use them. Hallelujah! Joy to the World! @#$$@@#%%^%$#$$%**&$$%#$!!!
The library that the kids had has been converted into this amazing place which is now the home for these super cool computers at their disposal.
Remember being in junior school and awaiting the day we would be in 6th and be allowed to use the senior library? Remember the way we cursed the stupid books in the junior library and fantasized being able to issue decent books? Well, better news yet. The kids get the new comps. AND they now use the senior library! Amazing, isn't it! (I would flunk on purpose just to be able to use these new facilities).
Well, isn't our school generous and considerate?
God bless them all. Oh yeah, they NEED it!

This is a new one...

None of you must have read this one. This is one of the rare few which I've not written during classes.

Perhaps it is better to give an introduction before I start. Please do not be very critical. I noticed that the night of 7th July was surprisingly orange-ish. This poem is just idle speculation (hardly that either) and hopefully you will forgive me for offending any... well... anyone.

Look, the Heavens Have Caught Fire!
Look, the heavens have caught fire,
See the blazing sky!
Others say it's only pollution,
But otherwise says I...

Maybe the gods got drunk
And went rowdy and started a fight,
Hurling canon-like fireballs,
Setting the blue alight.

Maybe the sky went red
And fiery out of anger
Seeing the way we treat the Earth,
The way we mutilate her.

Perhaps it is just His way
of showing us his hate,
A view of the ruthless hell;
A foresight of our fate.

But He could also be showing off,
So that him we dare not tick.
Could be His pride of His power and strength.
(Well, I AM agnostic)

Look, the heavens have caught fire,
See the orange night!
You now know what I think.
Do you know why it is alight?

That IS pretty good, really. Hmmm... come on, comments?

Hi again...

Sorry, my dearest followers, to keep you waiting. There has been a net-crisis here. My net hates me. When my dad logs on- nothing to it. But as soon as I try, be it just before Dad or right after it- "sorry, the server refuses to respond because it really doesn't like you". But fear not, I've come back, fighting through inconsiderate servers, battling through ruthlessly slow network.
So anyway, my life has been very dull. And when I say very, I mean VERY dull. So I guess, as nothing else is happening, I'll just post a couple of my poems. Perhaps, a few of you might already have read a few of them but for the sake of the others who are yet un-enlightened (I AM a proud bird, am I not)...

A Request...
This poem is dedicated to a teacher I had till last year, who, even after teaching me for three whole years, did never get my name right.
You have this bugging habit
Which I have often brought to light,
And I once again ask it
If you'll ever get my name right.

I know there are many things
Which occupy your thoughts,
But does my face never bring
A memory which three years might have got?

And now as this academic year ends,
A parting road just in sight,
I plead and beg and bow and bend,
Please, finally get my name right.

Hello people...

Me here. So... hmmm... I have absolutely no clue what exactly am I suppose to do here. Let's just start from ME. Well, with all due honesty, I am the closest you get to being the best (I wonder why they say that I have my head in the air, but, perhaps, they were referring to my height...). I tend to go somewhat overboard with my imagination but am not eccentric... not that I think I am... Anyway, I think (don't you DARE!) I have got a fairly tolerable vocabulary, though people take me for something like an English teachers' dream. Believe me, far from it, though I do enjoy the languages finer points. Well, what now? Hmmm... let's see... I love playing tennis. It feels just amazing to run around the court and give a sweet return to a particularly tricky shot. I am a complete fan of music. Not only rock or only pop or any such category. I feel it wrong to classify music to various groups as music is something that you enjoy to the full extent, let it touch you, and be flown away with it. Music is just music. Everlasting, profound, beutiful. But if I am to list favourites then I would start my list with Linkin Park closely followed by Limp Bizkit and Shaan. Then a few songs here, a few beats there. I am strictly allergic to Pretty in Pink kind of stuff. They make me scream out for mercy or reduce me to helpless peels of laughter. Similar things happen when I am in the close proximity of Cartland (is that how you spell it?) and Mills and Boons. But I am not a total anti-feminist-book fan either. Holt and Heyer are the ones I prefer over weeping 'Damsels in distress' fainting all over the place. Really, if there was ever a terrible representator of females, it's got to be one of them! I? Judgemental? Nah! Apart from all this, I am generally a fiction freak. For instance, I am a total lover of Harry Potter and Eragon (but please spare me the movies). Then, a couple of years ago I was an animorph addict. I could never bring myself to sensible reading. I found Shakespeare ridiculous and Leon unbearable (couldn't bring myself to read beyond a page). So, you have me, more or less. I have recently taken to writing poetry and any guesses for what I found so inspiring? Not nature, not human hardships or even the mysteries the universe hides in its cloaks but TEACHERS! and our every day battles which starts, ends after 35 minutes only to be followed by another one for another period. Now go away, I am sure you have got other stuff to do.
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Not gone yet? You need a life!
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I said SCRAM!
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You love me, don't you? Well can't blame you for that, now, can I?