weather is bullshit

Haunting the corner coffee shop, sitting down in my favorite corner I wondered why some buffoons who came in ones and twos, cribbing and smoking, saying "shit man this weather is bullshit!!"

I had half a mind to "say look whos talking? at keast stop adding to b'lore's pollution!!" ( but one ws refrained by a curiously funny thought of securing a pg seat in the handicapped quota ;))

As i go around ,seeing familiar places crowded with coughing and mufflered masses of people.

I see many pairs of eyes follow my tread as i go about in my regular shirt and trousers.

what is weather really?

An excuse to stay off office?
An excuse to stay off school and drink chicken soup?
An excellent opportunity to rekindle that amorous feeling in a disintegrating marriage with a large rug and hot chocolate?
Is it an excuse to bug everyone saying "sob! i have the blues, blame it on the weather."
Is it an excuse to throw a snowball at someone and say pleasant change of weather?!!

No it just a curious consequence of all the shit we have downloaded onto this planet. maybe not in front of our own homes, but into the living rooms of millions of whales and other sealife.

Stop making all those sissy excuses and get out there with me and do your green deed for the day.
Work up a sweat walking to office/grocery store whichever is nearer.
Instead of "draggin" and "vrooomin"to impress that cute girl next door,
join her for a jog or something. Carry a trendy huge bag when going shopping. shopkeepers will smile, when you tell them that you have a bag/ paper covers only.

Yes indeed, its all that bullshit we have given our surroundings thats giving us one tight kick in the butt back.

So get out there and Show weather is plain old bullshit, lets have less of it and more of a good season.

when winter comes to the heart

It is winter. A Cold, sand papery wind blows against one's face, the sun is a brilliant coin stuck on the bright blue clear sky.

The place is stripped off all colour,burdened by gray leafless skeletons and a dusty unbeckoning road.

As one walks through these roads of a memory far too old.
The heart craves for the footfall of the One. A nook here, a corner there, where we stole a few moments from the din those days were. A tear bleaches hot on a withered skin.

Wait!!!!!!!!!!!!

What was that? A footfall? wishful thinking maybe.

Again?! its too real to be a hallucination. running helter-skelter in the ruins, seeing glimpses of a dark garment flitting around the edge of one's eye. One is hauntingly drawn, seduced maybe for that one last glimpse of HER.

Coming in to a blind alley to find a dusty old rag and nothing else, a despair creeps into one's mind to encompass it like the shadow of fangorn.

Slowly, in despair as one turns back to return, the sight so unbearably true.

Its her.

After the initial surprise clears, one notices her flowing clean robe of black, it used to be blue.
Those eyes look clear. Too clear in fact: calm and restless,
not at all like her: fiesty fiery and with abundant commotion.

As she spreads her arm beckoning one, a sense of darkness envelopes the mind. A silent scream of something forbidding. As we draw closer and finally into each others arms the darkness grows,Like unwilling eyes closing. Everything grows silent. But im alive, the only thing i hear is my heartbeat, throbbing evidence of a clinging life inside me.

In a sense of completeness, I smile.
Lucky, I think, to be dying in her arms.
and let go.....


A point of light appears from a distance, growing closer, Its is a raging tornado engulfing me in its inferno, it hardly singes me, it makes me alive. I feel the flames leaping off me like solar flares.

As i open my eyes, they meet hers. brown and wet. Real.

**********************

I had gone out to see the northern lights when I was caught in a blizzard. I almost died of hypothermia while I was brought to the hospital. But something brought me back. yes .

why did she look like death? she completes me in every way.
The way death completes life.

**********************

Still looking for her

MY SPRING...
MY FLAME...

THE CONCEPT OF HER

THE CONCEPT OF HER..

Of what maybe considered beautiful,the form of a woman is a major chunk of a man's imagination.

To an aesthete form means function.

Function here is the smashing of mans logic to smithreens and reducing him to a whimpering mass of adoring, incoherent, neural activity,
A mind numbing,art evoking force.

Analyzing this one can really fathom the innumerable ways of how SHE can overwhelm one's senses.


The gentle turn of an exposed wrist,
the sleep shattering sound of her bangles,
the eloquent swish of hair,
an angry twirl of an eyebrow,
a hesitant teardrop on the precipitous cliff of her eyelashes,
the soul piercing all seeing stare,
a loving caressing sleepy gaze,
that all revealing blush,
her courage arousing grip of his sleeve,
of confoundingly impressive feet and the shiver of the anklets as she twitters around one's mind and abode,
of reverie evoking rose petals which speak magical words,
and those heavenly curves that inhabit her.

oh man!!!!! this is just information overload and system failure.

Why are Women so Beautiful?
Friend the answer is a self effacing truth, which most of us and even they seem to believe is just plain old flattery.

Women are Beautiful because we, the men, love beautiful things.

They are the the curve to our angles,the dream in our logic,the warmth to our passion,the love in our lust,the caress in our grip,the heart in our mind.

In ways more than one, they complete us. our individual concepts of HER might differ. but the basic SHE doesn't.

Listen to the song 'you fill up my senses' by john denver.

It aptly reflects the utter failure of vocabulary to describe what one feels and experiences around each of HIS individual HER.

sorry for rambling away...

STILL SEARCHING..
SHE REMAINS MY ULTIMATE ANSWER.
(to this and to everything else in my life)

Me revisited

Night seems to bring out the real me.

Born on the 25th on jan a long time back precisely at 2007 hours (thats 08:07 pm for the no comprendez people). Blogging between 2 and 6 am totally renews me and makes me creatively inclined.(maybe i'm missing HER too much in these silent lonely hours ;))

Just tell me how the new look and feel of the blog is...

be sure to check out road maps

especially aiims goers.

and photographers click on the photos or go as directed and comment

happy hunting...

ASPIRATIONS

just tips for city biking- The importance of engine braking

well friends , most of my realtime friends know how much of a motorhead i'm.
learning the nuances of the myriad vehicles that one may come across is but essential for survival in the world.

driving my activa i'd held a deep respect foe the engines designers. its indeed very versatile right from bumper to bumper peak hour traffic to the hour long open throttle on high ways.

today however, as i drove a unicorn from the sister stables, i came to realise how much of a safety feature i'm missin in engine braking in my own vehicle.

What is engine braking ? you may ak..

here it is

while driving a geared vehicle, sudden downshift from a higher gear for example,4 to 2 and then 1 to bleed off speed is called engine braking. it truly does what no brakes can do, nad more safely without wobbling or throwing you off balance. particularly useful in avoiding such cute objects in your path like beauties,puppies and the neighbours' teddy.

the one and only thing against it is that if repeated for many times it may kill off the engine sooner. and of course the hell raising rpm shriek that the engine lets out.

sometimes its good to scare the skirts off to a safe distance. however be ever mindful of the rearview mirror. if anything is approaching you get out of its way. because you ll end up stopping in front of a hurtling tail gater. so better of with few bruises than a broken back.
just tips for city biking

Teaching and its attendant JOY

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Part 1

(I will use the term guys for all of you (including girls) just out of habit. It does not imply any discriminatory stance. People everywhere sounded too impersonal)

Firstly I’d like to thank ALL OF YOU - the students of my alma mater MES KK as I’d like to fondly call it for enduring my hour long drivel.

I felt as if I was on stage in BMC and you people, my friends pulling my leg when on stage (in med college.).
Though I do completely and whole heartedly apologize for playing mind games with you guys (the 'jittery prof' at the start of the talk.)
The next part of the fat gizmo freak whose 18 going on 23 is closer to me.

What makes you so special that you find mention in my blog is that it was my first 'trial by fire'(speaking to an unknown non medical audience).

I wholly enjoyed the experience as I indeed didn’t expect you to be so aggressive at the outset.
Frankly, we NEED JUST THAT.

We are 'youngsters’ and if we lack the aggression that tears up incompetent teachers to learn on our own, believe me we are not going anywhere.

Coming to the talk per se, the points noteworthy of mention were:


(Good news first, keeps it up):

You are well informed (not bookish)
You are more mature than you get credit for (but integrity, I’ll not comment on, due to lack of prolonged exposure)
Most if not all know how to shred opposition (BEST POINT)
Most, if not all still have a very alive and active child in you (KEEP IT ALIVE)
You are consistent (rare quality, keep it up)

(Bad news, if at all)
Hell man! it sounds so clichéd!! Lots of scope for improvement (the world is a sick bitch, you are way too naïve)
No takers for basic sciences and teaching(don’t stare, I know parental, peer and economic pressures are too great)
You are not decided about what to do in life (judging by the few responses I got for profession of choice, so set your goals and then hunt 'em down)


Some observations-

1) I heard someone say "I’m not going to listen to some Greek and Latin...” while on the way to the Audi.
Well, I hope I have not spoken in Greek or Latin except in some unavoidable circumstance.

2) Your zoology teacher seemed too old fashioned, is he??
We had teachers like

anand
(English, he used to have noisy discussions on grisham and cook and co...),

Sreenivas sharma
(the bhishma pitamah of kannada,
The guy can literally act every page of the textbook,
He can speak to you in your language, literally,
Extremely humorous for his age and almost 15years+ jokes only
He was the chairman of the textbook we studied-we found out later only)

Veena, shesadri iyengar-for Sanskrit both taught at the 17+ age level.

Anandi people called her goddess for weird reasons; she was just a cool buddy for most of us.

3) College is an acquired taste- most, if not all, would never sit through that Audi talk.
Being the most talkative nut in class IN THE FIRST BENCH, I had average 97% attendance and just had fun.
Frankly we couldn’t live off college, its funny teachers and the attractions in class being the main reason.
The damn thing helped coz we studied the same thing twice.

The defining points are however,

HAVE FUN ALWAYS (within safe limits and never get in trouble)

SUCCESS IS A RELATIVE AND RETROSPECTIVE DFINITION, STRIVE TOWARDS IT HOWEVER.

DO WHAT YOU LOVE TO DO, NEVER LOVE WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO OTHERWISE.


All the best and see yo around sometime.

Ciao





Part 2


The importance of being contemporary in teaching:

This is a rant sparked of by some of the statements made in my presence in college.
Visual aids and the works are what students expect of teachers when they walk into class.
Teachers expect the students to be pliable".
But frankly we need not be, then where is the answer to such diverse hurdles that plague our teacher-student relationships at the PU level?

The answer lies in: BEING EVOLUTIONARY

Most of the teachers expect us to be ram and laxman, prophets, apostles in most of the cases.

But this my dearest of teachers is the most unworthy of thoughts that can enter your mind
Because it’s just professional suicide. Being a notorious guy in class, I need no other example but myself.
Restraint was one of my shortcomings in PU College. But if I was pliable to the extent that was really expected of me then I don’t think I would have spoken to the college students on stage that day,
Because today, I’d be an engineer (after my parents initial wishes).

I was taught aggression within restraint.
Thanks to you, also, I have mastered the art of repartee. Leaving no worthy comment unanswered.
Developing a healthy professional attitude, living with difference of thought and opinion and the also the abilities of compromise and convincing, I honed in college.

It was not taught. It was learned however, because you expected me to be PLIABLE WHICH I WAS NOT (BLATANTLY, SOMETIMES).



What the student expects of the teacher is a little understanding and a little bit of modern outlook
(I’m not gonna prescribe teachers turning up in bling and chav styles) and the ability to make a mental connection.

This mental connection is the key to a beautiful relationship that a teacher-students’ can be.

It is this connection which leaves no gap between the mental ages of the teacher and the student.

And of course this mental connection makes classes into fora of thought in each stream for that period not some didactic lecture and notes time although each has its own specific importance.

Evolving is not bad both for teachers and students, especially, as they learn the older school of thought and can use it as a yardstick to compare and contrast and if found worthy to use it as a compass.


Hoping for better times in teaching.

for all of us , in all ways..

Random ramblings

It has been long since the active thought of you has indeed crossed my mind.

It’s not that I’m happy or anything. But the life is getting more hurried, more weird a kind of annoying buzz in the background of all the others at work; feverishly, as I sit here lost in my eternal reverie.

I’m growing old, really mentally. Feels like I’m 40 or so now .

As my picture of you sleeping in the night gone late.

Smiling in the heavy moist breeze of the early monsoon.

Bathed in the moonlight which steals such moments away from my daily existence.

For yet the glimpse is yet to come to me.

How far away can one be in a situation like this?

As these melancholy thoughts rage in the chilling blizzard of my barren mind, my picture of you is strong yet misty, or was that just the wind? bringing in new rain to conceal these tears of lonely pain?

Mist of lost memories...

As the mind wanders mindlessly through the forgotten lanes of the days bygone, I m in awe of the dust they have gathered. They, of a time, tinged sepia and torn and tattered through the vagaries of daily life leave in my hand but a crumbling mass of emotions.

It leaves me in a muddle of emotions, an intense swirl, to find the memories, both cherished and the abhorred alike, fading away into the minds unknown leaves a wake that is more blank than I expect it to be.

The most endearing of faces, sounds and smells, the textures of yesterday all lose the clarity and gain a certain misty but altogether mystic quality that makes one wonder if it all really happened.

All the senses that I m so sure of suddenly appear deceptive to the point of being unnatural and artificial.

Case in point being; the loss memories of all the events that I had made a mental note of to remember to cherish to treasure and to keep in touch always elude me in the clarity or the detail or in the matter altogether.

I cannot remember her face as it was, I can no longer remember her voice; no longer remember the glow of her hazel tresses glowing in the dawn. Not the pain I felt in my calves trying to walk ahead of her so that I could catch a passing glimpse through the parallel street. No longer the way she said “you are welcome” to my trembling congratulations on her mathematical success.

The mind tears apart every fibre of its making to find the missing details to remove the mystic mist of lost memories. Tears stream down my minds eye as the loss hits home. Did she like me? Did she mock me? Should I have told her? Did she know? Was her woman’s instinct aroused?? What would have been her answer??

The ramification of these tattered memories is a very friable canvas of her of today. Would she know me today? Would she say something? Or am I a stranger?

What is a stranger’s poetry to her? Being a woman in rapture in someone else’s heart!

I have actively avoided using the words love and committed in the above sentence because of my morbid fear that she might have and might still be reciprocating someone’s affections, of which I harbour no jealousy but a resigned acceptance of defeat and of having not played out in a fair ground.

If I have a complaint it is against oneself and god simultaneously for not having a serviceable memory in the matters of a feeble heart which requires all the help it requires to take decisions on the matters of consequence in the immediate and distant future.

The day I meet god is going to be an interesting one I suppose; gauging by the make up of this strange excuse for a human being. I have come to the conclusion that I will first ask him out to coffee or tea whichever he may prefer, not the heady stuff of the heavens because I d want him to be in my shoes and think for a moment and tell me what he d have done in my situation, just an opinion that’s all. I just hope and pray he obliges.

1.

as the wisps of wind pass me by
the grains of time prick my heart as i lie
the life of life isnt here
where is she? where is she?
my love
my life
my dear?............................................

2.

where came i from it makes me forget
behind a whim i ran hopin to get
yet here i stand i dazed
when her glimpse i saw in the twilight heat
stay still my heart
yet im to meet her
DONT MISS A BEAT....................................

3.

How I wish you were here,

These ravings, to patiently hear.

How I wish you were mine,

To hold tight in these empty arms.

How I wish you were real,

Escape I’d to utopia unreal,

Lord this din hems me in,

Spending each day without her

In living sin.

4.

Really dead

As these eyes burn so bright,

This head, mine, feels so light.

Losing, I’m, I feel this fight.

Not for fear or heartless fright,

Just that I’m so tired,

As it approaches night,

Or wait!!!

And see if it’s just me.

As the vision grows red,

Waiting I’m to be really dead.

5.

The devil

One feels the rain fall.

Your heart feels the pain crawl.

tyrannously the thunder rolls.

The lightning stealing souls.

I walk the deadly forest

The soul of ghouls.

Speak, my friend, to me.

For other than us.

Are none that speak or see.

Speak my friend here to me,

Of doubt that nags a heart dear to thee.

Speak my friend its bliss to me,

To see you cry.

And your love to die.

Look in my eye

And you shall see

The devil’s YOU

Not the hissing me

6.

Your road

The road she saw
dusty and raw
but she didnt care
for the heart was out in the open
wounded and bare
or was it just how she felt??
.... just as she thought of him not being there..........................

7.

You
my sunset
my haunting
soul of this ghoul
this is the you of me.........................

7.

Final words

Time it is that flies

Your dreams haunting

Memories of that October daunting

Lying among dreams shatter’d

Among reams of poetry blunder’d

Cringing, crying, in the agony of rain

Calling out to dance away the pain

Come to me now, fast

These may be the one that are last

The words form the dying breaths blast.

8.

So many sung and many more dreamt

Of eyes shining golden and bright

On such moonlit, sleepless night

Sleep, evades you at the turn

The boughs bending

As if to mourn

The heart had once raced

Her, once, these empty eyes braced

Thinking if I could have held her

But then of a dream has she remained

Only a cinder, not a bright burning ember.

FoToFiNiSh

The first showers...and the storm is just starting

as the fresh showers fade to june

April showers

• Mood: Euphoric
• Listening to: guitar greats
  
• Reading: kannada novels and academic stuff
• Watching: just world go by in slow motion
• Playing: Doctor.. with a sense of humor
• Eating: people and chewing on thoughts
• Drinking: water., as always

As the rain falls,
in the first showers, the dance of lightning on my face
the familiar pain rears up
so close yet so far away she is now
Drenching myself in the tears of rain
This mellow pain agonisingly ravages another me another time
strained are my senses are for another glimpse, another whiff of her
Looking for her dis far i have come
some rare hints
how much further i have to go I yet dont know
yet another time Rain, her messenger smirks again
twisting in my heart this mellow pain.......................................

(no punctuation because my heart heeds to no grammar)

the storm is just beginning

The setting is a grey cloud ridden sky underneath which theres a grey sodden gnarled path that hisses at each step.
The man, dripping hair in a medival cloak walking alone in this path, his head swimming among the many thoughts- his love- a pure white in colour, his 'friend' has news where she might lie after her abduction. but the violet evening around him bring strange sounds that chill the brave warrior's heart. His friend waiting, bowed as a hyena, for tidings of some loot turning as he feels the ground creak "there you are friend, have you brought the heart ? The kings heart??". the sudden change in the face in the warrior makes it evident that the work is done- the heart wrenching 'job'. as the familiar refrain runs in his head "What one may do for love?". The hissing sadist says in jest- "speak to me, speak to me(about it) seeing the face contort and break in a million ways. but even evil has some honesty to it and ridding himself of all the blood, says the devil's YOU not me........................


One feels the rain fall.
Your heart feels the pain crawl.
tyrannously the thunder rolls.
The lightning stealing souls.

I walk the deadly forest
The soul of ghouls.

Speak, my friend, to me.
For other than us.
Are none that speak or see.
Speak my friend here to me,
Of doubt that nags a heart dear to thee.
Speak my friend its bliss to me,
To see you cry.
And your love to die.

Look in my eye
And you shall see
The devils YOU
Not the hissing me.....................