A woman with the potential to make it big. It is not that she cannot: she simply will not.
The closest anyone has come to being an adopted daughter.

Saturday, February 20, 2010


The Sun's first rays kissed his cheeks, and he realised that another sleepless night was over. He groped to reach out for his white cane, and fumbled inevitably. Of course he didn't have a guide dog, and he knew it was a solitary journey from here, as it always had been. Solitude was something he had got used to over the years.

As he staggered helplessly, the perpetually impregnable white light obscuring his vision, he knew that not everyone was this unfortunate. The Sun was actually supposed to provide light to The Universe; he knew that there were the elites, who had the privilege of basking in the first rays of The Sun every morning. He craved for that vision, and though his composure was renowned, he couldn't accept the fact that the vision, the most sensuous of spectacles shall remain alien to him forever. He shall never get to see the world in the first rays of the Sun.

He let out one of those silent screams that he often did. They tore his lungs out, but his vocal cord never reciprocated. His entire body shook in spasms. He had to accept it, he knew. But then, some things are simply too difficult to digest. He knew that he deserved The Sun as much as anyone else. The suffocating white darkness was all he had to be content with.

He wandered aimlessly as the day progressed; he knew soon it shall be night, and then dawn all over again. He hated dawns. He absolutely hated them.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


No one reads my blog. Possibly because it doesn't have pictures of nude female celebrities, doesn't tell you how to motivate yourself, go up the corporate ladder. It doesn't even have links to live streaming IPL videos or downloadable Bollywood movies.

I shall now sit down in a virtual corner and sulk.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Milk and meat

When I was growing up, some people (albeit with not much of an digestive system to boast of) had always tried to discourage me from having meat and milk in the same meal. They had always insisted that the combination isn't the most easily digestible. I could never find out why, since I had never found one disagreeing with the other as far as I'm concerned. But then, some people are like that: they think they're always correct, and try to impose their views on you. I wish they could keep their views to themselves.


I saw a Google Talk status message once which said that one should toss a coin whenever stuck for a decision. It's not just about probability: it's also about knowing what exactly you pray for when the coin comes down; and once you have that bit of knowledge, it's always easier to take the decision.

I thought about this, and threw the coin as high as I could; I can sense it losing its velocity and reaching that point where I shall be compelled to start praying (okay, hoping; atheists don't pray).

Thursday, February 11, 2010


I've just let out a zero-decibel scream that tore my lungs off. My lung went AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and my vocal cord went (plenty of space bars, but blogspot would insist on showing them as a single space).

Beat that. :D

Cribbing time

My office chair is quite comfortable. But I suppose, when you give someone an inch, he's most likely to make a mile of it. So, these days, even these seem uncomfortable to me. The backrest could've been higher to support my head, and it could've been softer as well. I've tried to rest my head backwards and have hit an unmistakable nothingness; there isn't anything.

But then, it's supposed to be a workplace, correct? You're supposed to work there, not lay back for some rest or solace or whatever.

What was this article about? Plain, simple cribbing, right? Isn't it time that I grow up? I mean, what office provides chairs that would provide you with shelter?

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

A Bollywood cliché

I love Bollywood clichés. I mean, I simply love them. Right from beta, maine tere liye aaj kheer banaaya hai to the mysterious brittle wooden railings that fall apart whenever the goons get bashed up by the hero on the first floor of that mysterious godown, I really adore them.

One of my favourite clichés, though, is when the goons tie the hero down. There's usually a gang of reasonable size; once they get tired of approaching the hero one by one (never as a group) and get smashed, they ultimately realise that they need to work as a group. They pounce on the hero from all sides and hold him down, preferably with a stick; alternatively they strangle him with a rope.

And then, when we all start thinking whether our man is doomed, he suddenly repels them magically; they scatter like ninepins in all directions, and our hero emerges like a phoenix, and starts bashing the bad guys all over again as if nothing has happened.

I couldn't find a picture of this, so I decided to go with a clichéd face instead. :D

The Pigeon's Whole Principle

The Pigeon, as we all know, was one of the greatest bowlers the world has ever produced. Many people would complain that he wasn't really a tearaway option; some others would say that he lacked aggression; and some others would come up with the fact that he didn't look as menacing as fast bowlers should.

But then, he had this unique method of hunting: He would bowl at a spot, consistently, hour after hour, day in and day out. As batsmen, we know that we should go forward to pitched-up deliveries, and back for short-pitched ones. We should leave balls outside off-stump alone, and we should play the ones within the stumps.

This is what he used to count upon. He basically made the batsmen think, and you had to be correct every time while taking a decision. There wasn't anything called a 99% probability with McGrath. You had to be spot on every time, otherwise it might well have been the end of you.

He used to romp the world of cricket till a few years back. He had made batsmen commit errors; but the batsmen who had committed errors over the years had learnt their lessons, and hence they had been keen on teaching batsmen of future generations not to make mistakes. That's the only way to counter McGrath and his successors. I hope they succeed. I sincerely do.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

The Angel, the Metal and the Mine

Till a certain age the angel was under the impression that all images inside a tunnel consisted of a light at the other end. Tunnels cannot be constructed otherwise. He wished all tunnels were like that. He wished there was a light somewhere and he could chase it mindlessly, irrespective of how long the tunnel was. However, this one doesn't have an exit, and shortly after he had been into it, the entrance had caved in.

He got stuck. He groped, he shouted for help, he banged his head incessantly against the walls; his halo provided him with some light, but that wasn't sufficient. Halos are to provide a cute effect to angels, not to illuminate. His small wings fluttered hopelessly, but they reached only dead ends in the relentless darkness.

He felt trapped.


He shouted louder. And then, he realised that there was a faint voice somewhere.

"Who are you?" He asked.
"I'm trapped inside this mine, just like you."
He gaped. It was a female voice.
"Oh, so it's a mine, is it?"
"Yeah, didn't you realise that? It's mine."
What a pathetic joke, he thought. "Can you see light anywhere?"
"Yes, but it's a long way off."
"You mean, it's miles away?"
"No, I meant that it's ages away. Mines like these cannot be escaped that easily. Time is the only entity that can ever show us the exit. You can travel fast, but you shall still need a minimum amount of time."
"But how do you know?"
"Female instinct."
"Why are you not trying to reach there?"
"Because I heard you. I want us to be there together."
The angel's heart missed a beat. Angels are supposed to be alone, who had ever thought of a partner for an angel?
"Why?" He asked.
"It's a long story. I've been here for millennia, lying, just like that. I was told by someone that I shall gain speech only after that very special someone comes across and talks to me. And now I do."
"Are you a miner?" He asked.
"No. I'm a metal."
"Stop kidding. Metals don't speak, do they?"
"This one does. Angels don't get trapped either, isn't it? But I believe you, so why wouldn't you believe me?"
"But what's your name?"


Time passed. He had lost track of time, actually. The tunnel had grown darker, possibly because the effect of the halo was fading. He grew frantic, and tried to dig his way out of it. He had managed to create a dent, a serious one. He had got optimistic, but then, the walls were too thick. He groaned and writhed, shouted and begged, but he knew that the tunnel was where he had to stay, however desperately he wanted to get away from the tunnel.


"Did you find light?"
"What do you mean? I had told you that we shall seek it together."
"I feel choked, suffocated."
"So do I."
"But what are we going to do? Are we going to wait mindlessly for ages?"
"We'd talk to each other and build a light bulb for ourselves."
"But... how?"
"You've got the physical body and the halo to do all the work. Being copper, I know how electricity gets conducted. We shall work this out, and shall seek light together."
"That's incredible, how did you ever think of this?"
"I'm smart. Not some dumb angel."


They did start working on the bulb. The last I've heard about them was the fact that they have actually met in the darkness and have been working hand in hand to light up the tunnel that's
otherwise so dark. Once they manage to do that, they shall actually be able to see each other, and their stay inside the tunnel might not seem so strangling. And then, they might even hold hands (as if copper had hands) to pursue that infinite journey towards the realm of permanent light. But till then, they're not going to complain about the darkness: they shall find out a way to lighten the situation.

(Why couldn't I end this meaningless story without making that pathetic pun?)