Shackles of Gold...

The room was dark as the night,
Darker men drank within.
A sweet song set the room abright,
So sweet it seemed as sin.

Silence stood humbled and ashamed,
As he sang in his mellow pitch.
Knights and lords in the room stood tamed,
Not a muscle did they twitch.

Sweet serenade embraced the silence,
In a slow crescendo the song did die.
Fiddlers four they rest their violins,
Rested the pipers five.

For a moment time stood still,
Breaths in the room were bated.
Down theirs spines shivered a chill,
The lull in the hall abated.

The crowed drizzled a mild applause,
and went back to its seat.
Voices began to fill the house,
But one man still stood his feet.

He was big black bearded and bald
and he stood beside the ornate wall.
"Come here" his voice had called,
His baritone filled the hall.


The singer eyed across the hall,
searched for the booming voice.
He saw the man whose voice did call,
Now he knew he had no choice.

The man was dressed in red and gold,
By his waist, hung a crafted sword.
The singer bent his knees and bowed,
And said, "Yes , Milord".

The man spoke with no prologue,
with an air that was fine and rich.
"I have been shackled by your song,
I am the Grand duke of Grimwich".

"It was indeed a great pleasure",
The singer said with a bow.
"My joy for now knows no measure,
Milord, I’m glad to know".

"Your carriage waits", the man said.
"In my court hence you shall be".
"Grimwich will welcome you with carpets in red,
Pride and fame beckons thee"

The singers face shone like gold,
Like the gold he shall receive.
"Milord, its an honor" he told,
"Forthwith, I shall leave".

"Cheer the day" the duke had told,
"Let us dance drink and dine".
He handed the singer a goblet of gold,
Brimmed with sweet red wine.

Before the cup and lip did meet,
There erupted a laughter raucous.
Not a titter so gay and sweet,
The brute's sneer was vicious.

Like a windy gust, stirs up the dust,
His words were sharp and fine.
"Raise your glass if you must,
But there is poison in your wine".

The Duke here with rage grew red,
"Dare you say such a word".
"On the floor shall roll your head",
His hand he gripped his sword

All heads in the hall did turn,
To see this drunken brute.
Their glances were cold and stern,
Dare the duke he disrepute.

The glow on the singers face did fade,
As the duke he drew his sword.
"Pardon him for my sake" he said,
"I beg of thee milord".

The duke he put his sword to sheath,
But his anger had not die.
He spat the words through gritted teeth,
"Why did you say such a lie"?

"In the court of Darkmoor", the drunk uttered,
"Was a painter grand and great.
Four bags of gold he was offered,
To make the king's portrait".

"Stop it now" the duke told the bum,
"Or I shall whip your hide in prison".
The bum resumed with unfazed calm,
"Pride is viler than poison".

"When she was done, she shone like the sun,
She hung at the courtroom hall.
Commanding awe from everyone,
The king deared her than else all.

The duke's calm grew thin with time
"Aaah" in wrath he cried
The brute ensnared him with his eye
The duke at once complied

The king, one day saw a thing so strange
In her, he had never seen
His pale white face reddened with rage
His blue eyes, in her, were green

The king took him to court and asked him "Why?"
"Why are her eyes so green"
He replied " It s not just the color of your eye"
"Green eyes are what I have seen"


The king said "I dont get your verses witty"
"What was it that you have seen"
He replied "Other man's wives are ever so pretty
"Oh, I see your eyes are green"

The king threw him in prison and called him liar
had him whipped till he was numb
The king in ire set her on fire
and cut his right hand thumb.

The painter could not weep or cry
He know not what made him so cold
was it to watch her burn and die
was it the brush he could not hold

Left with no reason to be alive
He wished death would knock at his door
But one wish, made him survive
If only he could make one more

The singer now he saw the light
He said "I have to make a choice
shackles of gold or wings of flight";
"The skies await my voice."

The duke gripped his blade in wrath
"Dare you do me such disgrace
Brace yourselves to meet your death
My anger you shall face".

In the eye of the storm the brute stood calm
He walked with a rude swagger
He said "You shant do no harm".
His left hand held his dagger

The rogue fend the singer with his right.
"Run my friend, have no fright,
spread your wings and take flight
for your freedom this brute shall fight".

Like a drop of venom in wine does spread,
shock spread through the hall.
Dames in the room, shut eyes in dread,
Death had cast its pall.

The brute he fought with a blazing zeal,
but till the singer left the hall.
Sparks flew as steel hit steel,
he smiled, as his head did fall.

Eyes in bloody horror stared wide,
as though turned to stone.
On a galloping horse a man did ride,
To lands still unknown.

Miles away in time and space,
Songs sweet are still heard.
Thier mild melancholies revere and grace,
Some silly and old drunkard.

Vegas Vacation...

Her golden shawl glittered in the darkness, i groped in the darkness to reach beneath the sheer veil of gold. As though a gust of wind had blown the shimmering fabric on my face, our car sped along into the city of sin. I was not blinded by the brilliant lights, because i was too inebriated, by and excitement and anticipation. Las Vegas, where duplicity was larger than life and cheap replicas dared to challenge the genuine. I shall refrain from desecrating the city anymore, as the saying goes "WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS."

Ambigram - Soumya

What a devil.....

Ambigram - Zeenath

Wats with the color??? She reminds me of the stuffed toy of a tiger... No matter how they try to snarl and roar, they still remain cute... A very nice person

Ambigram - Thunder

Taste the THUNDER...

Down Downtown...

No, it wasn't Manhattan, but the trip to Houston Downtown was certainly special. At first sight, it was ironical why they were called "Downtowns"; after all they had the largest buildings in the city.

Through the Perspex glass of the car, my vision being refreshed by the passing headlights of vehicles on the interstate highway, I saw the skyline bejeweled by man-made wonders, although they may have been unintended to be so wondrous. I pondered if the poor accountant who left the lights on in his 46th floor office had any idea that he had just painted a faint brushstroke in the huge masterpiece of the downtown skyline.

It was funny that such beauty arose out of sheer randomness. Each building erected in its own accord, the millions of drafts rejected in board meetings, the limitlessness of technology, and the unchoreographed array of lights. I almost see the sleight of hand of nature in this magnificent skyscape. I respect each building as a structural wonder in itself. But did the architect who drafted the design, keep in mind as to how he would be filling the skyline as seen from 2 miles away.

As the glittering skyscape approached closer, blocks of concrete gained contrast over the dark sky, as if they were gradually painted with the colors that the builders intended. We took a walk between the shoulders of giants, the car rolled down Smith Street. I mused; Downtown must have been named at night. It was as though this part of the city was “SHUTDOWN” by some mysterious switch. The streets were so empty that, it felt almost criminal to drive through them at night. It was ironical that the glittering skyscape which symbolized, the busy commercial and industrious face of the city, the skyscrapers that personified the giants and tycoons of the industries, stood so lifeless and empty. The energy corridor, with all the powerful “power” companies stood lifeless and enervated. The atmosphere was like inside a monument and I wonder for whom. Maybe for those who lived for the rise of technology and died for it.

As we drove away from the Downtown, the ashen painted monoliths, merged with the murky skies and I saw the illusion yet again, the illusion that the city was still awake. But I liked the mirage better, for it gave me a sense of happiness that the mill was still running, an assurance that work was going on. Work that done today, makes what we will be a decade later. The symbol of productivity stood tall.

Ambigram - Gitendra

And its not my fault that he spells it this way....
Aaah spellings are killing me

The funny blue shirt

It is a good thing that I am now trying to write in silico. I am getting increasingly frustrated about my inability to write and sometimes feel like breaking my pen and throwing it away. But since I cant afford to smash a computer every time that I am unable to write, I end up just looking at the white page in the word-processor, with its cursor blinking at me, in a mockery of my inability to write. If Microsoft gave me a penny every time I hit the backspace button, I would me a millionaire by now

Often writing is analogous to crime; I always look for motive and intention. When I write it is crime by itself. This time the inspiration (motive for murder) comes from my friend’s funny blue shirt. It had a fuzzy design on it. It is the kind of design that gives me a headache if I stare at it for too long. It had an array of lines slashed across it in seeming randomness. But when I squinted my eyes a perfect symmetry of checks jumped to the foreground, to console me that hidden amidst these seemingly random lines lie the beautiful symmetry of my thoughts. A lot more between these lines, and a lot more behind these words.

Ambigram - Padma / Subhash

Atleast this one doesnt have a spelling mistake

Ambigram - Faraz

Slashy and fast strokes like the guy himself

Ambigram Challenge

My Entry




Not my entry

Oh and guess who won?????

From the devils workshop

From the devils workshop, the CLASSROOM DEMON...

She shall....

Eyes bleed as I look around me
All the sights I should not see
Thoughts and dreams lie raped and killed
Wise man's blood rot waste and spilled
Cold down my spine I shiver
I shudder I think of her
I cant see the day she bled
For I shall be long cold and dead
My blood my life for her I give
I'll kill this world to make her live
She shall stand as she has to be
She shall stand for me to see
I dare to create I dare to kill
I dare to fight till I have my will
Stand to fight till my final breath
In this world where wise are whipped to death
She shall stand with her shine and my pride
Untouched for all time or tide

Important Education Reforms

People just don’t seem to realize that I am dead serious when I come up with my suggestions to improve the education system in India. I don’t understand how the educationists of this great nation missed out on certain crucial aspects of education. “Corporate ass-licking”, “Back-stabbing and Double-crossing”, “Nepotism”, “The Art of Plagiarism” should be indispensable part of curriculum. Education should prepare the individual to face the real world. When people around the world will be struggling to climb the corporate ladder, we can bungee-jump right to the rooftop. The syllabi can be structured in a highly interactive fashion with good emphasis on the practical aspects.

Now that basic education has been dealt with it is time to make improvements in higher education. Loans and subsidies should be offered to poor-farmers, carpenters, cobblers and other blue-collars so that they can start engineering colleges on their own. This way education will really reach the “masses”.

In order to provide more opportunity to students, engineering degrees should be offered in fields like “Hotel Management”, “Zoology”, “Sociology”, “English”, “Psychology”, and “Economics”. This is because all the mass wants is an Engineering degree mindless of what subject they are actually studying. If engineering degrees are offered in these fields, it will encourage more people to take up these fields for which there are very few takers if offered as a Science or Arts degree. Then we shall have technically qualified people in all fields who still end up working in software companies anyway.

Another plan I have for engineers is to make the Engineering program a 3-year course. After this they will automatically be promoted to a year of pre-TCS and 2 years of TCS. This is because invariably every engineer in the country seems to be working only in that company, so why not make it mandatory that all engineers serve 2 years of TCS and at the end of which they will get actual jobs with work to do.

When it is up to discussing the education system there is one very critical aspect – Examinations. It is indeed evident that the people who frame the syllabi, the teachers nor the students have any idea of what the subjects are about. So it becomes tough to set a benchmark for evaluation of papers in a fair and foolproof manner. So I have proposed a new equation to overcome this difficulty.

M = [(m/100) + a (W x l) ^N e^x] + k

M = Marks obtained

m = money taken for paper tracking

a = +1 if the evaluator likes the candidate, -1 if not

W = weight of paper in grams

l = No. of lines

N = No. of colors used in underlining, decoration and drawing boxes

e = eccentricity of the evaluator (on scale of 1-10)

x = Number between 0-1 depending on mood of invigilator

k = Arbitrary constant

There are three kinds of people. First are the ones who find faults in the things around themselves. Second are the ones who find faults crib about it and make a big fuss. The third are the ones who make a difference. I have made a conscious effort to remain in the third category. The output of this effort is exposed in this article, which is the fruit of the many classes that I have cut, the papers I have copied, endless hours of interaction in the canteen and my research in core topics like paper leaks and paper chasing etc. Thus I have been able to venture to the crux of the education system and come up with these valuable suggestions.

Ambigram - Stone Temple Pilots

You're the champion of sorrow
You're the love and the pain
You're the fighter of evil
Yet you're one in the same

SACRILEGE...

A book I certainly wouldn't keep on my coffee table. A book I felt ashamed after reading. Everyone I have talked to tell me it is one of the most awesome books that they ever read. Well I don’t think the Fountainhead deserves that kind of praise.

The book doesn't deserve the readership that it has acquired over time, the sense of glamour and foolish pride people take in claiming to have read the book. It comes as a slap on the face to the intellectual community of the world. It has not been written for the purpose of people to read it. The book influences the dormant mind of the naive man, convincing him to believe that he can live his life directed by his own whims and fantasies.

The book glorifies the perspectives of the capitalistic world, places the self above the society, the individual above common good and achievement over sacrifice. The book challenges the very essence of altruism, charity, equality and fraternity as it is seen by the world. It preaches uncompromising obstinacy of individual ideals. It comes as a thorn in the flesh of the society that has developed with emphasis on attributes like sharing, helping and harmonious symbiosis.

The protagonist of the story, Howard Roark, proclaimed to be a master in all he does. He is portrayed as a paragon for an ideal human being. The ornate and clever writing of the author fires a spark in the ingenuous readers mind, makes him crave to be like the protagonist. Whenever someone tells me that they would want to be like Howard Roark, I get outraged and feel like burning down every copy of the book, the character doesn’t deserve such patronage.

The storyline is not a saga of success, as one would generally expect. But of failure, and more failure because of Roark's unyielding and inexorable nature. At points in the book, the story spawns some sympathy on the minds of the reader, an unworthy sympathy that our hero does not deserve.

I pondered for a long time, trying to figure out what was the point the author has to prove, but I have come to realize that the author has no point to prove at all. A book that has been written, because it had to be written.

From the seeming popularity of the book I guess the molestation of ideals and perspectives shall continue. Nil Magnum Nisi bonum

Freedom

Give me death or give me pain,
But I cannot bear a fettering chain

A New Language....

Lingua Nuova

I wrote this a pretty long time ago, but its still worth posting here.

I have always been jealous of the Germans, French, Japanese, Chinese etc. Germans speak German. The French speak French. Indians don’t have a language called “Indian”. Well, we do have our National language Hindi and a couple of hundred other languages each spoken in a dozen different dialects. But well it is a really a disturbing thought that we do not have a common language that every Indian speaks.

But recent happenings have led me to realize the evolution of such a language and I would like to call it “Indian”. Some people tend to confuse it with “English” without realizing what a grave offense they are committing. Indian is a far more powerful and better-evolved language. Furthermore, India being the second largest population in the world, this language is expected to be spoken by 1/5^th of the world population by 2007.

The language derives its vocabulary from English and all other Indian languages, but has evolved a grammar of its own. In its rudimentary stages, the sentence structures used in the language were pretty simple. Indian sentences were initially derived, by constructing a sentence in any local language and translating each word into English. Typical examples for such structures are “ Your good name please” and “The cake is good, eat and see ”. With the evolution of the language, sentence structures became more complex. New words were soon coined to cater to the diverse vocabulary requirement of our diverse country. A useful example would be “Afterwards when you have finished fillupping the form and byhearting the poems, can you catch some water for me no”.

I was under a misconception that one can understand Indian if they are proficient in English. I was shocked when I was proved wrong. The language has evolved to such a stage that it demands recognition and awareness.

I was at my work place and was expecting to receive some instructions from my mentor. Unable to find him, I walked up to a graduate trainee and asked him if my mentor had told him anything about it. The reply left me both bewildered and confused. He replied, “Ask somebody open there in the next room”. I took a few deep breaths and tried to contemplate what that really meant.

Should I ask somebody to open the next room?

But then, it was already open.

Should I ask somebody to open up in the next room?

Well, that’s interesting. But then, my mentor wouldn’t ask me to do something like that.

Should I ask if there is somebody open in the next room?

Doesn’t make sense.

Then like a bolt from the blue it struck me. He was a genius. He had propelled parsimony of expression to a new level. I was astonished by the amount of information he was able to pack into such a small sentence.

The next room is open

There is somebody there

Ask that person

It then dawned upon me that Indian has evolved to such an extent that it is no longer comparable to English and truly deserves to be respected as a separate language.

Out for lunch...

I always expect lunch like a school student in a math lecture. It is the days like today that stir up trepidation in me that I might stop relishing these small pleasures on an otherwise packed work schedule.

It is very rare that I decide to do something healthy and I have always regretted these decisions. Today was no exception.

They tried to convince me that it was GARDEN SALAD, but still I was not very happy eating a box of leaves. The box was deceptive. Across the glass counter I saw cucumbers, carrots, 2 cherry sized tomatoes and half an egg and it seemed a reasonable deal. But realization hit me like a bolt from the blue when I opened the box to find that its contents were not homogenous. Veiled away beneath the seemingly attractive dressing was half a pound of leaves, in Technicolor. Leaves in Green, Yellow, White, Orange and trust me Violet. I spooned through the bowl tring to find the other half of the egg, but with no sucess.

But I have to give myself full credit for being prudent under such trying circumstances. I fought the instinctive urge to gobble up the 1/2 egg straightaway. An instinct I learned to overcome the hard way. The moments of torture when my sister would leave the cherry on top of her ice cream till the very end whereas I would eat up mine at first and regret it for the rest of the bowl. This time the move was more tactical. I would eat the egg in the very end, that way my burp wouldn’t smell of Chlorophyll.

I felt shy and maybe ashamed of what I was eating. I could hear those unspoken comments from the diners on the adjacent tables. "Hey.. look at the guy eat the green thing..." ; "Oh my god!!! he is really eating that...". But one very wide grin belonged to a guy in a cowboy hat. A grin that expressed sheer contentment. "You fell for the name didn’t you??? I did too last week... Boy I am not the only fool around ... *Chuckles*"

As I walked to the lab after the traumatic lunch, I was trying to convince my conscience tat I had only said "Char grilled Chicken Sandwich" but it was the deaf girl behind the counter who got it wrong. If all this pain wasn’t enough I had to walk into the lab right after my Chinese friends had finished their lunch of what I guessed to be "Raw fish in assorted pond scum".

My stomach started to turn and the bile began to rise up into my mouth. I struggled hard and stifled a puke. I didn’t want to flush down the sink all the vitamins, carotenoids and the other supposedly good stuff that I had worked so hard to eat. I hurried out of the lab, pumped the fetid smell out of my lungs and counted to 200 for the smell to dissipate. I had a few mints before I returned, at least that way I could smell my minty breath instead.

It is not everyday that you become so philosophical about having lunch. Thats when you know something is wrong. Maybe I am working too hard....

Ambigram

This design is a tribute to GIRIDHAR, my alter ego, a really smart and nice dude.

No copyrights on these designs, but by Ordinance of Lord Ripper the IInd this design may only be tatooed in the lower back just above the buttocks.

THE UGLY DUCKLING

Oh the ducks, they called him ugly,
but he bloomed to a swan of sheer beauty.
His flock with him didn’t get together,
for he was a bird of different feather.

They jeer him not, they cheer him not,
he found the pack a boring lot.
He felt they were just not enough,
he knew he was made of better stuff.

But one day he did find,
more blossoms of his kind.
Then that day he had to break,
for he was not just another drake.

He was just a class apart;
he had just one thing to heart.
Beyond the ducks could ever dream,
to reach the skies of purple sheen.

When he spread his wings to reach the skies,
the drakes they gave their pithy cries.
They hurt him with say, stick and stones;
they beat him but to break his bones.

Say stick and stones in vain,
he broke free the shackle chain.
Cause his heart was not with him now,
but in the purple skies up above.

No weep, no cries, no tears in eyes,
he spread his wings to reach the skies.
For his heart lay not in this pond,
but in the purple skies and beyond.

Will the drakes ever understand?
Nothing shall stop this flying swan.
Stubborn, stupid and insane,
forever so they shall remain.
Lost inside their social maze,
Milling around in a hazy daze.
Wasting all their worthy days,
burying their dreams in their pillowcase.

Too scared to break free and run,
too scared to reach out for the sun.
When he soars far beyond
they shall die and rot in this pond

Gone Fishing...

Writing became impersonal the day use and throw pens were devised. Who maintains logs in paper nowadays. I still like the dusty feel of my "GONE FISHING" note book with good ol' Garfield as smiley as ever, all tangled up in the fishing line and that green fish looking rather philoso"fish"ical.

Having it digitized makes it easier to edit some embarassing mistakes that I have made, and then there is Photoshop and Spell-czech. Maybe its time to move on. But ink is like an old memory the words they fade away but the feeling lasts forever in your heart. Here I am, gone fishing forever...