Doom....

Reflections many, of death, of despair

State grim, the gloom all beyond repair

With tears tainted, the skies they swell

Doom! Have the evils cast their spell?

Clouds dark, darker flows the water

Pain scathing, all that it offers in barter

Shrieks gory, we hear more than a few

Plead we guilty, next not me, not you.

Vultures waiting, beaks they sharpen

Allies the skies brooding, they darken

Crawling, cried the lizards from far

Creeping they announced it’s war.

That we are running from, we know not

That we are running to, we care not

Stuck are we with the last resort, praying

Pray! Where’s the great master gone missing?

Random...

From 140 characters to 10000 pages. Modi’s reply to the BCCI spans ten thousand pages. In the face of trouble, brevity definitely is among the first casualties.

Coffee with KJo. Season 3 will shortly be unleashed. If you believe that SRK is the best thing that has happened to life on planet Earth, then the show is not recommended because it would just state the obvious to you. If you do not believe it, then the show is even more not recommended because it will make futile attempts to make you rethink. Mallika fans need not be disappointed. A surprise or two will always be on the cards.

Sunil Gavaskar says that young Indian batsmen should train against the short pitch delivery at the National Cricket Academy. BCCI welcomed the suggestion but felt that dance classes at Shiamak Davar’s academy were more important. Dancing at IPL parties was more pathetic than batting in the Caribbean. Sreesanth is touted to be the next captain. BCCI is banking on him not forgetting his dancing just like he did his bowling.

A general observation is that there are as many men addicted to news as women addicted to K serials. To the men addicted to K serials: “Get a life”. To the women addicted to news:”Welcome to the club”.

Sanctimonious self proclaimed bibliophiles have come up with unsolicited reviews bashing each of Chetan Bhagat’s four books. Neither Rupa publications nor Chetan Bhagat forced the books down their throats. Long live the closet Chetan Bhagat fans.

A TV news reporter eager to break news caught tears flowing down RGV’s cheeks. The reporter claimed that RGV had finally seen his Aag. In depth enquiries proved that the report was partially true. Emotions got the better of RGV after he saw Phir Mile Sur Mera Tumhara. All his hopes of his Aag winning the award for the worst sequel ever were quashed. Competition does come in from unexpected quarters.

India in the T20 world cup reminds me of Subhash Ghai. India’s presence in the world cup is overhyped, inconsequential and Blink and you miss. How similar is it to Subhash Ghai’s presence in his movies?

Summer Times

Grandpa waiting to pick us, no mobile but fine will he do

The train chugged to a halt, out came we and huge bags two

For grandpa I would have always grown thinner

Said he to dad, the luggage could have been lighter

Dad always said that heavenly charm this place has

As mom glanced towards grandma, a pearl drop it was

Didn’t mom and dad look a few years younger

More than these drops of rain, can anything be truer

Summer was the time for the king among fruits, mango

Innocent were we that beauty caused a tango

Mangoes we devoured even if it meant rashes on our faces

A cousin so tempted that she could not mind her braces

Lunch, the table bore brunt of our hunger the highest

Wasn’t Darwin right when he said survival of the fittest

Everyone demanded fish fry one piece too many

Flicking an extra papadam, of me was it canny

Afternoons for hide and seek, today a long lost game

Temporary lock up in the dark room was punishment so lame

For never did we allow grandpa to take his nap

Today the hiding places I see, I ask, why in our bones no snap

Evening we played cricket, our Sachin batted left handed

Into Mathai uncle’s compound, often the ball landed

He and his dog roared that the police they would call

Didn’t he realise what happens when kids have a ball

Indigenous where the games that we found

Surprise that we had no computer, but still games abound

Guests when the girls played kitchen were we

Girls passengers when we played bus, driver and conductor we

Days passed, rushing came the time to go back

Promises made, next year again will we back

One month gone, I was darker and stronger

Question my mind asked, why can’t this be longer

Final Frontier

Ignominy of defeat blunted by the pain

Dripping sweat camouflaged the tears

You toiled in a void, lone goal to attain

Of a victory that could alleviate your fears

Once again it was a story we had seen

Heartbreak,was it failing at the final frontier

Contemplating the finale that could have been

Doubts marched about the great warrior

Of all the times when you were put to test

In defeats wrenching, in you we saw a winner

Now you could bear not, being second best

History whispered, I'm never kind to the loser

As you sharpened the edges in oblivion

Lingering images of the past blurred

Fate brought you a chance, one in a million

As you saw, it was victory that you feared

Mind liberated, the final lap was a breeze

As tears solemnized your rise after the fall

Celebrations, not for a moment did they cease

And smiled the great writer who has scripts for all

Unsaid it is..

Storms passed, clouds vanished, always were you at play
You shielded me, the one with feet of clay
You dreamt for me, I quashed your dreams so dear
The Sun shining magically, destiny I did not fear
Destiny, the master reveals not what's up its furrow
Edifice crashed, He said for you there's no tomorrow
Today, they say, of you I am a reflection
Tears well, can there be any bigger a redemption

Gracias

I feel like thanking a few entities who have left indelible marks on my impressionable mind. If the reader finds traces (read loads) of sarcasm and a total absence of gratitude, then please be assured that it’s purely intentional.

If the term ‘online social networking’ ends up as the oxymoron of the decade, you know who told you first. I have realised that I should be eternally grateful to the people who think that it will be life changing for their friends if they tell them about the pink (doesn’t say much about the person who could think of this) cows that they have found, the black (no racial discrimination intended) goats that they have lost, the dogs that they are training (Maneka ji..Opportunity!) and the potatoes (Onions are a better choice. Sometimes you get gold at a lesser cost) that they have grown.

After a few hours spent shopping with members of the fairer sex (Is ‘darker sex’ the masculine gender?), I realised that I was wrong when I thought that lavender was a flower, peach was a fruit and magenta had something to do with a magnet.

I read a few blogs this weekend. Thanks to a few bloggers for cementing my belief that posts should not be both unbearable and long at the same time. Now you know why most of my posts are short and why it’s Narcissism when my posts are long.

Thanks also to the Hindi cricket commentators who are a genuine source of entertainment (unintentionally so). Yesterday, someone talked about Kallis preserving wickets at the other end. Blasphemy!!! Only Rajnikanth can do that.

I want to go on but this is one more post that I should keep short.