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Found this is an old notebook. February 11, 2008

Posted by K in From The Attic, Gender, Poem.
1 comment so far

A haunting tune

Runs my ears

A ghostly voice

Singing aloud

 

Who is she

That sings so long?

A part of me,

Extended to the world.

 

A silence in the dark

Shimmering with stillness

A lone leaf shaking

In the breeze that is blowing

 

A footfall

That stops

A footfall

That stalks.

 

The haunting tune

Spinning wool

A thousand years

Of preying eyes.

 

It’s today

Womens’ Day.

June 30, 2007

Posted by K in Abstract Ramblings, From The Attic.
1 comment so far

To be old, to rest on one’s laurels…is that ever to be? Does one ever get old, or for that matter, when can we rest on our laurels? Who are they who rest on their laurels? What do they expect from their passive action? Certainly they can expect no adulation, for the crowd goes where the action lies. Only they, who live for themselves, can ever rest easy, for their lives aren’t measured by the public. They lend a ear to the near and dear, but if it comes down to it, they will stick on their own.

   Are they selfish, those who celebrate life with themselves as the sole audience? Or are they the realisers of the beauty of life as can only be perceived by the best judge of it- themselves. Only then can they get the illusion of perfection and god alone knows they will bloody well settle for it.

   Everybody’s chasing perfection, and nobody’s finding it because everybody is living by somebody else’s rules. The idiocy of the situation strikes one a hefty blow, but only if they think it. Convention, not tradition, is the greatest of great evils. Logic defying actions are explained away as conventions. Just because it has always been done, it will continue to be done. The fools, them all!

     When does inaction cease to become a fault but a condition? When does a syndrome become tagged by a fancy name? If every human fallacy can be explained and put down to some gene or the conditioning of a gene or…just ask Freud, why then do we punish mistakes? It’s all predetermined. A man kills because he is pre-programmed. So why does he rot away in jail? Are we so stupid that we are unable to come up with a solution? Who are we to croak about our superiority?

      Yet we ignore some things. Man is stupid and inferior to its fellow creatures, if not by the so called intelligence, but by his laughable pretences. Atleast the creatures don’t suffer the delusion that they were born leader of the order.

     So much thought and research goes into the whole concept of life. We never hear from the successful pioneers. You know why? Because they see so immediately that we live in such a fool’s paradise that they make good their exit, fast. Who wants to stay back and explain something to the intellectually slow, especially as they do not wish to hear it?

  Yet as long as one doesn’t reach that exalted status, one must go through the useless motions, living life the way they are expected to. Small changes here and there, refusal to be led by the nose is only met by conflict. But it is that conflict that strings them together. Sometimes.

   

The Candle of Life May 15, 2007

Posted by K in From The Attic, Poem.
4 comments

The candle

Burns while we live,

The flicker in the flame-

Those bursts

Of glorious light.

The candle of life

Shortens, shortens;

That flame remains

Alive as ever;

The candle withers-

The flame leaps,

The candle loses shape,

The happy flame heeds naught.

The wax trickles down,

The flame shines forth;

The candle is just a stub,

The flame is the brightest;

When all of a sudden-

Phut!

There is no candle,

There is no flame.

That

Is Life.

 

(This is what I was referring to. I did warn you its bad 🙂 )

And more… December 2, 2006

Posted by K in Extreme Nostalgia, From The Attic, Life, Poem.
7 comments

My Ring

This was my second poem of sorts..written in class 6, so that would make me…10/11. I remember a little maroon diary that I had appropriated and put in scary drawings to keep people off my property :). I used that diary for the first time when I needed rough paper for a rough draft of a project in history, but ended up making it my own, in all senses of the word. The first poem in that diary, and in my life (in a matter of speaking) was called My Shadow (and no, it was not a misnomer 🙂 ), and I remember being so surprised that it rhymed regularly enough, and had some sort of a rhythm. I was so kicked that I proceeded to write this second poem the very same day :). When this ended, I was on a high. I liked what I wrote, I surprised myself, and that unleashed my ‘poetry wave’,lol. I think I must have got in 20-30 poems in 2 years. I remember i particularly favoured long, ‘epical’ poems, :D:D, and I still have pages and pages of eulogising a bud(flower bud), a spirit, among other things 🙂

I’m not going to apologise for unleashing this one.. 🙂 ; I’m still very fond of it 🙂

 

On every market day,

When men and women so gay

Sell their wares

And attend fairs

I hold up a little ring

And start to sing

“Come and get it!

Come and get it!

This ring

Is fit for a king,”

I continue to sing.

“Look at this pearl,

Fit for an Earl

Do not miss this chance

And have a glance

At this pearl

Fit for an Earl”.

The day whizzes by,

And darkness lights the sky.

I give a sigh,

My hopes are still high

Someday,someone will by my ring

Till then, I will continue to sing,

On every market day,

When men and women so gay,

Sell their wares

And attend fairs…


Regurgitations December 2, 2006

Posted by K in From The Attic, God, Life, Poem.
1 comment so far

Some Old stuff I now proceed to put up owing to an acute case of I-don’t-want-to-write-but-want-to-update-blog 🙂

Home

This is a simultaneous example of terrible poetry and lying through my pants. I was 14 or 15 when I wrote it and even at that time I knew what trash it was. Why it still lies undeleted is because I take strange pleasure in occasionally(hopefully) spewing utter trash (not to be confused with nonsense, which I delight and pride in 😉 )

The strange land freezes my soul,

I cannot make any friends.

For deep inside, my heart’s calling

Out loud to my homeland.


My home is by the green blue sea

Where cries of the gulls sound through the day

The smell of the sea, the sound of the sea

How I survive without them is a mystery.


The sand at home is golden and warm

I yearn for the feel of its shells.

Oh, the sun’s lazy rays,

I long to bask in there.


My home is a little cottage,

On an island in the sea.

Its rich brown wood

Encloses all my needs.

I had a sandy garden

Oh the marvels I grew in there!

Lettuce plants and bushes of rose

They all grew in my care.


Behind my cottage there grew a tree

So big, so old, oh so green!

On a hot summer’s day I yearn and yearn

To lie in the willing arms of its shade.


No more is that little path

Walked upon by feet

For the door of my cottage is locked and barred

And dusty has grown the friendly porch.


Years ago the letter had come,

And seduced me to a land far away

Money sufficed not the needs

The needs of my hungry soul.


I’ll go back, unlock and unbar that door,

Will sweep all the dust

From my porch floor.

Un-weeded, my garden will spring to life,

My tree will share its shade.

The sand, the sea

Will once again beckon to me.

The gulls, their cries I shall hear once more.

My island will yet be in sight

When I board the homeward bound ship-

And return home once again.

God’s Hand

Same age, written in a moment of I’m-amused, not to be taken too seriously, a funny-funny poem. :eyes: Yup, I realise thats a terrible description, but I’m felling funny-funny, a different funny-funny, at the moment.

A whip, my whip, so handy a tool

It’s shaken and worked up many a fool

It can stir up a storm, or calm a squall

Under its power lie one and all

One crack, a smack, and trees will deliver,

One wave, a swish, and time goes on forever.

One twirl, a flick, will fill a pea pod.

For I am Nature, I am God.

Behold, you humans, you think you are so great

In my whip I hold your fate

One gesture, a mere twitch

Can undo you world, your every stitch.

What stays my hand?

What saves your land?

It is my favourite creation,

It is Man.

 

 

Since I went the attic way.. August 1, 2006

Posted by K in Fiction, From The Attic.
3 comments

The Werewolf

 

I couldn’t believe it. I definitely couldn’t believe it. For the fourth time that week, I heard a werewolf’s howl!!

My hand was shaking slightly when I groped for the phone beside my bed. I dialed a number and waited.

“Hello?” yawned out a sleepy voice.

I gripped the telephone receiver so hard that my knuckles turned white.

“Lee? Its back!” I whispered.

Immediately Lee’s voice became alert. “Are you kidding? Don’t tell me that you’re actually hearing it now!

I looked out of the cabin window and saw the full moon. I could distinctly hear the cries of the werewolf, never mind the cries of night animals! I considered myself an ‘animalologist’. I knew the cries of a wolf and these weren’t it.

“ You just come down to my cabin and hear it yourself!” I said to Lee.

“ You know that’s not possible. We aren’t allowed to leave our cabins at night.” Came Lee’s voice.

She was right. We had been put in charge of 10 children each, in the yearly summer camp, and our duty was to see that they were kept safe, occupied and happy, in that order. We weren’t allowed to leave our cabins at night unless we put someone else in-charge to look after the sleeping beauties.

“Oh right!” I sighed. “Well, we’ll think of something tomorrow.”

Lee agreed and hung up. I hung up, too, and tried to get some sleep. It was impossible. Although, by now, the howls had subsided, I could not help worrying about the werewolf, or if there WAS one. I looked outside the window again and saw that the moon had gone behind a cloud. I wondered if that was the reason for the howls stopping.

I sighed. When this summer camp had started I was in the highest of spirits. I loved camping and I loved organising stuff. Now, however, I couldn’t even feel a shadow of that old enthusiasm. Those howls were driving me crazy!!

I didn’t mention it to my batch of kids; they were too nice (for kids!) to be frightened by anything, and especially a big, bad, scary werewolf! Ishita, Savitri, Sanya, Jyoti, Manita, Anuja, Shreya, Nidhi, Leela and Karishma would most certainly have had lost their night’s sleep if they had heard the howls!

I shook my head. I had to try and think positively. I had a phone in the cabin at least! We considered it a great privilege to be allowed phones in the cabin. Personally though, I think that the camp coordinators gave us the phones because were pretty inexperienced. Besides, we were 12. Trouble strikes an amazing number of 12 year olds! They probably knew that we’d have to consult our fellow in-charges frequently enough, to aright things that went constantly wrong!

Half an hour later, I finally fell asleep.

 

The next morning, hearing the bugle, I jumped out of bed. The girls in my lot were known as the Horses. One of them (Sanya) came up to me and said, “ Falabella, what are we going to do today?”

Falabella? I thought. Who’s Falabella? An instant later I remembered. As our group was known as the Horses, each of us had to chose the name of any breed of horse, and that name would be ours till the end of the camp. I had chosen Falabella. I also remembered that Sanya’s ‘name’ was Hackney. I gave her the ‘to-do’ list for that day, remembering to use her camp name.

The day passed pleasantly, with no sighting of any werewolf (thank god!).

That night, Lee camped by my cabin with her group. We had decided to listen for the werewolf that night. Together.

Midnight came. I waited apprehensively for the howls. I wondered what the reaction would be like if word got around that a werewolf had been heard howling near a children’s summer camp area. Our yearly camping site would become Werewolf Site. Our camp would be dissolved. My thoughts weren’t pleasant. Neither was the wait.

Finally, though, I heard a rustling sound, and the door of my cabin opened.

I froze. Silhouetted against the moonlight was a grotesque shape- a half man-half wolf.

I couldn’t even scream, my voice wouldn’t come out. Seconds seemed like years, and after a decade, it seemed, the door closed, and I could hear soft footsteps heading out of the camping area.

I let out the breath I was holding, and pulled myself together. Taking a torch, I slipped outside to see if I could follow it. It would be pretty easy to spot the big footprints, and I would just go where they led me, I decided. I went into Lee’s tent and woke her up. Quietly I explained everything and she grabbed a torch and followed me.

I tried to find the footprints, but they had disappeared. Lee wouldn’t believe me when I said that the werewolf had come into my cabin. She said that I must have imagined it all and went back to bed.

Imagine it all? I heard the howls! It wasn’t like a mirage. The werewolf I saw, was real, too! I knew it was!

I trudged back to my cabin, but sleep eluded me. Just as I was about to force my eyelids shut, I heard the howls! They were different, this time. They were more intense, more chilling, more continuous. But this time, I had a point to prove.

I took my torch, again, and dressed quietly. I slipped out and went in the general direction of the howls. In the middle of the woods, I stopped short.

Somebody was following me.

I heard a twig crack, again, behind me.

I turned to face my shadower, fearfully. Slowly, out of the trees, stepped a calm looking person- Sanya!

Before I could say anything, she took my arm and walked with me towards the mountains. Her face looked so calm, so much at peace…

“What are you doing here?” I finally managed to ask, snapping out of my trance.

“You’ve been hearing her, haven’t you?” asked Sanya. I realised she was talking about the werewolf. I also realised that she knew something about it.

“She’s my cousin. She was born a werewolf. She stays here, as the members of her family did not want her. They were cruel to her, even though they knew about the curse. She could have killed them, but she did not. She went away and chose this place to live her unusual life. According to the family curse, for every person who hears her howls, her miserable life gets prolonged by a year. You heard her, and you saw her, but you wont die like the others who have heard her. You will live because you had the courage to find out for yourself what was going on,” said Sanya, still looking serene. “ I’m her only friend and advisor, but I’m not like her. I am human. You need not be afraid of me.”

She took my hand again, and resumed our walk towards the cliffs. She told me that she had asked her cousin not to come to the camp, but she hadn’t listened.

Full moons were painful, for it was then that the change occurred. I glanced up; it was full moon tonight.

I found all this hard to believe, hard to digest. Sanya, the little, friendly ‘Hackney’ of my group was a werewolf’s relative? A werewolf who killed?!

Sanya stopped, suddenly, in front of a bush. She parted the branches and pointed. Up there on the huge cliff, right on the edge, marked against the moon was the werewolf! It was howling for all it was worth, and I saw it happen right before my eyes. It changed! Soon the half-man-half-wolf became a full wolf.

The branches snapped shut and Sanya was guiding me back to the camp. “You’re the first human being to see that, after me. And that’s how it should remain.” Sanya remarked.

Was that a warning or a threat?

I looked back.

The wolf was sitting on the cliff, still howling. Suddenly, in one gigantic leap, it was beside us. Sanya let go of me, and asked, “Is it time?”

The wolf howled in reply.

She walked up to it and wound her arms around its neck. “There is one part of the legend that I did not tell you. One day, it was said, that she can hunt no more, and then she’ll return with her friend to the End Place. Today is that day.” Said Sanya. “You wont tell this to anybody, will you? It’ll only mean that I’ll have to be born as a werewolf next life.”

I shook my head.

“Nobody will miss me at camp. They’ll not remember a thing. It will be as if I was never there, so you need not worry,” she said, even more calmly.

She smiled and waved at me. The werewolf too seemed to be grinning.

Slowly, slowly they began to fade away. They were reduced to dust.

A gust of wind picked them up and scattered them among the trees.

As I walked back to camp, dazed, mystified and astonished, I heard what sounded like a distant howl. I also heard Sanya’s voice, saying goodbye to me.

I looked up. Yes, the moon was out, the full moon.

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

 

Dug out from the attic… July 27, 2006

Posted by K in Abstract Ramblings, From The Attic, God, Life.
8 comments

Merely to kickstart the blogagain.

Fairies and pixies are not of this world. Much as Enid Blyton and her clan of fantasy writers would have you believe otherwise, these creatures are created so man can have a feel-good factor once in a while. They are distractions from the harshness of the battle of life. They are distractions from the unpleasantness of your everyday hurdles, they are a distraction from me.

I am not really of this world either. How, then, do you know I exist? Maybe because I wasn’t created by anybody to take you into a dreamland once in a while. What am I? Now that’s a difficult question. Lets just say I cannot be defined. Some people perceive me as Fear, some as the Lord of Darkness himself, but what is fear, but a few electrical impulses in the brain; and is there any Darkness, not to talk about the Lord of it, himself? Yet I am not so far removed from the concept of them both. Talk about Darkness of any sort, and there’s fear associated with it. Talk about fear, and most people would tell you in an embarrassed whisper: the dark. Fear of the Dark. When you’re walking the dark road, you’re the man who walks alone. The rustle of a gnarled branch, the shadows from behind, the sense that something’s watching you. You have a constant fear that something’s always there. Maybe you’re not wrong; and maybe when, in bed at night, you feel your hair standing on an end, its not the fear of the unknown. Because you know me. That you don’t want to acknowledge my presence or existence is a different matter.

Spirits, phantoms, ghosts… these are names that have been assigned to the sensation of my presence. Supernatural occurrence, paranormal activity; pseudo-scientists holed up in ancient castles with meters to detect my presence…where does it lead you? Back to square one. Sometimes a few lines jump a little on their monitors and they call a press-conference, only to have their claim counterbalanced by a thousand scientists with even more theories and proof to my inexistence, leading to doubts, confusion, and tales of the Boogie Monster under the bed. What you need is not what you get. You get penny worth bottles of Boogie Monster spray; why would you want to get rid of me anyway? I cause you less damage than you cause yourselves in one day. In a strange way, I am the connecting link between you and yourself.

Perhaps I have been building myself up, wrongly, as a dark, evil power. I did mention that it is difficult defining me. Why am I even bothering to do so? Because it is Time.

I don’t expect you to understand or comprehend the concept of Time. There is a saying, the sands of time doth run through, slip through those slender fingers of Lady Time, as she standeth alone in a quest to finish time. Does she herself understand Time or the purpose of it? Does she know me? Know of me? Perhaps. Does she acknowledge me? Never once in the aeons gone by. Perhaps she has her version of pixies and fairies to blind her. It bothered me at first, how everybody closed their eye to some realities, pleasant and unpleasant. It doesn’t anymore, especially as nobody is immune to it.

Am I the Supreme Power of the universe? Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps you have wondered at and even questioned the Big Bang Theory, you most certainly would have questioned the theory of spontaneous creation. After all, what are physicists but a bunch of fellows with a line of university degrees and a wild imagination that they kid themselves is science. How advanced IS this science of yours? After all, its so basic that you can even test it sometimes. You cannot test the Big Bang, you cannot test Stephen Hawking, so does that make them Science? Who knows, least of all, them.

Ever wondered where it ends? After all, doesn’t everything have to have a boundary, even the universe? Perhaps it is contained, perhaps it is not; perhaps I know the answer, perhaps I don’t.

Perhaps I know of others like you, not of your world, but not fictitious like the fairies and pixies either. Perhaps they know of you, perhaps they are you. You wouldn’t know and I would never tell you.

Those of you who rant about God and his various classifications would call me Satan if I questioned Him. And if I didn’t, the agnostics would term me a fool. But do I question Him? Perhaps I AM him.

Is your world a lie? Should you trash your science? Perhaps. But then you would have nothing left, would you? Just a big empty question mark, a null, an endless void? Perhaps just thinking of me inspires a sense of emptiness, of loneliness, of insignificance. I wouldn’t tell you what to do or what to think, only to think. For as long as you think, you will sense me, feel my existence. When the day comes that you go through this diary entry of mine that I am revealing, and don’t agree or disagree at any point, that will be the day you know you are lost. Perhaps such a thing has happened before, maybe I have seen many such happenings, maybe I have seen none.

Maybe someday you can put an age to me, but I doubt you will ever reach that stage. You will never reach that stage where you can define or even feel me to a large degree; if and when that happens, you will become me.

Is anybody then supposed to find an answer to me? Most definitely. The day you stop looking for me is, perhaps, the Doomsday that you like to talk about.

What matters is that I exist. I am not bad news, but am I good news? I have revealed myself endlessly to each and everyone of you when you weren’t looking, will you prepare to look? There is no reason for you to look though. You are not deprived of anything through your ignorance of me. However, this I can promise you: when you discover me, you will have Raihzorrh; a reason, an answer to everything.

Is that enough to motivate you? I await to see.

 

This is something i wrote when I was 13… March 17, 2006

Posted by K in Fiction, From The Attic.
2 comments

In calcutta for my mum’s operation, and i was sleeping in nani’s house and suddenly i woke up and remembered this dream i was having. so i wrote it down :D:D. Corny posts are allowed…its a masssive dose of nothing afterall!

BirdGirl

17th August, 2030

I, Dr. Zirzya Zarlow, am on the brink of bringing alive the first ‘Bird Man’, rather ‘Bird Girl’. Even now as I speak, the incubating term is about to end. Just a few more hours left.

I have had many dreams about flying, dreamt of the day when by some scientific magic man would be able to take to the air.

One night, I suddenly woke up with an idea of cloning a bird man.

Dolly was possible, so why not my pet dream?

Sure, it would be a LOT more difficult and people would think me mad. But I Could Do It.

I gave up on my other dream of being a surgeon(I still cannot stand the sight of a needle penetrating skin) and pursued my fantastic dream.

I went into genetic engineering and spent my first few years doing the normal research in a top institute in Australia.

I became very bored.

This was a lot more boring than what I’d expected it to be. I let my imagination lose and came up with lots of fascinating ideas which, according to me, were workable, even if it took years.

My fellow workers refused to work on anything for so long if it did not benefit the human race. They gave me several hints about starting to work on one such project, which I ignored.

Maybe that wasn’t nice of me, but I do not have the patience or ability to sit down and work on something like that, difficult and interesting as it maybe, simply because the ratio of imagination, real imagination, was a lot lesser than good thoughts and Science in them.

I only find imaginative work interesting.

I voiced my ideas in several World Wide Conferences(WWC) and found that though many were willing to sponsor my work, nobody was willing to work on such a far fetched idea. They all thought it to be useless.

I met one scientist from my country, Dr. Xa, who suggested to me that I work on my own, and set up a lab in some remote place. She was willing to help me part time with my research though she would be unable to help with the practical work because of her own work. Her advice was valuable, as I would hardly get any privacy in the institute, and I cannot work with people breathing down my neck.

So, with about 500 sponsors, I started my work by getting the lab built, stretching from underwater to the limits of the sky, in order to study all environmental needs for my clone. The construction took 2 years to complete, giving me ample time to study.

I now felt the butterflies in my stomach. Would I let down my sponsors and the world? Could I do it? I dismissed these thoughts the best I could, and went back to the drawing board.

I would have to make my creation in an egg. I had to give it a human face, body and legs, leave the birds wings and attach robotic arms.

I would extract the necessary genes to make it talk, feel and have human emotions. Calculating every detail, I set up in my now complete lab, and I put it to use.

I took the specially cloned egg of an eagle and inserted the human genes in them and extracted several eagle genes. That completed, I put it in the special incubator and left it there for 1 year.

That year was nearly up now.

One hour to go… 30 minutes… 15… 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1!

I carefully picked the egg out, and with my tools, made an opening at the top. Breaking the rest of the shell, I placed a small creature on a tiny spongy bed. I hardly dared look at my masterpiece.

After 7 years, she was here! Being a great believer in girl power, I had put female genes in it , and I now beheld a petite little birdgirl.

I immediately put her through a trainer and attached the robotic arms. She came out as an end product, able to talk, move, sleep and do everything that we can do.

I named it Zani , and ran it through a special cricket course. I am a great lover of the game though I don’t have much time to catch up on it now.

I started a conversation with my girl and was DELIGHTED when it conversed back!

17th August, 2050

My Zani is now grown up.

Her height is 5 feet nothing and in mard(man-bird) years is 18 years old.

She has a great imagination, and has ‘inherited’ my love for cricket.

I have finally got my 129 autographs with her help, as she can simply fly out to get it.

She amazed the world.

She was a human on wings!

There was a small error in her though, her bones, although designed to resemble a human’s, were hollow like a bird’s, to support her weight in air. This endangers her during a storm, as she can blow away. I am working on a way to overcome that.

I am proud of her. My dream is being realised through another.

I am also working on an artificial pair of wings. Afterall, I want to fly too!

We live in the lab, the safest place for her.

She is as normal as anybody. And she can fly! I feel as satisfied as scoring 35 centuries, making 11,175 runs, taking 500 wickets, and averaging 99.99! I must sign off now. Zani and I are going out for dinner and then to watch a match. Tomorrow we attend yet another WWC and after that we are to meet a cricketer! Goodnight.

Dr. Zirzya Zarlow