A day in Haiku

(In 3-5-3 ‘s and 5-7-5 ‘s)

(1)

Smoke, rising
Blends with the early
Morning fog

(2)

The sway of the swing
In the night’s moulded darkness

Silent, but the creak.

(3)

Rain, lashing
A leaf falls, dancing
In the wind

(4)

Dreams nestled
Inside another
In sound sleep

Movi(e)ng thoughts...

I wish I could frame myself in a movie – a movie that captures every moment of my life, every day. There are times when u believe u’ll get a better picture of a situation if u were in someone else’s shoes. Looking from a third (or second?) person’s perspective at me doing something will certainly give me more insight into the state of affairs. This solves a certain dilemma – when u need someone’s help and u are not sure who to talk to. U r not able to solve it urself and u don’t trust anyone enough to talk about it. What better way than to do it in ur own leisure, as if u were watching a movie, literally!

Perhaps a background score in tune with what I’m supposed to feel would be convenient. At least u won’t feel that crippling helplessness when u are (sometimes) not aware of how u r supposed to feel. That small cue could potentially save u from many an discomfited situation.

Speaking of background score, I had this thought. Usually, movies treat the background score to accentuate the mood of the movie. Why not do something opposite? I would love to see how viewers react. Will it go unnoticed? What effect will it have on the movie as a whole? Will it reduce the effect of the movie and ‘average’ out the mood of the movie? Or will it make the movie crappier than ever?!!

And I'm ;aughing as ever!!

...and back!

You might want to read To Vizapur before reading this post.

The place is a beauty - very much untouched by civilization (apart from the ruins of the fort itself). The undulations of grass-covered land offer a vision of tiny hillocks waiting to be explored. There are small ponds of fresh water. For the perusal of the army, we concur. The flag was now in our reach and it now looked certainly insignificant and dull, so much as it had looked magnificent and majestic from down below.

And suddenly, my mind is gripped by thoughts amorous. Quiet, away from civilization, heaven above, the entire world below you - just short of becoming one with nature. The king and his queen. Perhaps, in the midst of a full-fledged war? Sighting heaven is one thing, having it all for yourself is another.

Somehow, the place manages to give me a sense of security and fear at the same time. The place is empty but for a score of cows, buffaloes and bulls grazing all over the place. They seem scared of us and run hither and thither on sighting us. One thought bogging our mind is: how the hell did they manage to come over here? Surely, there must be a way up here, and an easy one at that!

We roam around the place a bit but are unable to find a proper way down other than the one where we came from. Finally, Jaat convinces us that that’s the best way to return, which we do.

The night is falling at a fast pace, as we try to cope with it. Anywhere the path clears up a little, we step up our pace. The path which had proved so convenient in the light now suddenly becomes treacherous. Rocks turn up from nowhere and step in our way, slowing us down. We finally reach the place where we had left the village, but it is quite dark by then.

We see a person in the distance. Human number 3. He offers to lead us down to the Bhaje Gaon, as we heave a collective sigh of relief.

He leads us for quite a distance, explaining us why we should come earlier and not tread on this part the land when it’s dark. We could have been glad he couldn’t see our faces then. He suddenly stops in his tracks and asks for the fees of his service. 100 bucks?? We’ll give you 30 or 40. After a tussle of bargaining, he agrees at 50 bucks. Or so it seems at the moment.

He takes us a little further ahead. He tells us the path from there is very obvious and we should find no trouble in finding the way on our own. We thank him profusely and depart. It’s only after a minute’s walk that we realize we have been cheated. He had taken 50 bucks to lead us to ground and we are as distant from the ground as ever, and the guy is gone!

Our ego crumbling on having treated thus, we have to find the path on our own. By now, it’s completely dark. With no moonlight and no torch of our own, we are finding it difficult to see ahead of 5 meters.

We climb down carefully. With light absent and the slope getting steeper, we have to slither down the slope. We first try to find a footing by feeling with our feet, at the same time holding on to grass, or some plant so that we don’t lose grip, and then take the next step. Our arses are dragged along, and of some they get bruised! The parts where we have to cross the waterfalls prove a bit tricky; the rocks being slippery and it being tough to find a foothold.

After a few minutes of climbing down we realize we can’t proceed further as it is too steep. Actually, it is just too dark to fathom the steepness, and we don’t want to take our chances. One bad step and we could be heading straight to the bottom of the hill.

We debate on how proceed from there. Do we try to find a way, or do we go up there to the village, or do we just spend the night somewhere we find a clearing. By now the last option doesn’t seem so extravagant, and we discuss thoroughly the pros and cons of each one of them.

The main things we took into consideration: a. our safety, b. our energy (we were quite tired by now) c. our hunger (we didn’t have any food, apart from the packet of biscuits left). We decide to try find a way for a little more time, as the village is already quite behind us and crashing on the grass, we’ll use as a last option.

We continue our trials for another two times, making the treacherous climb down. But we are led to disappointment as either bush blocks our way or a steep fall cuts our way. Each time we have to climb up again as it is impossible to spend too much time there.

We have now run out of energy, patience – in fact anything that could keep us going. Sardar comes up with the idea: we go to the village, wake someone up, and ask him to lead us to Bhaje Gaon. He sounds extremely determined and says we’ll definitely reach Pune tonight for sure. Thus, with a renewed zeal we start climbing up.

A 5 minute climb later, Jaat gets the idea of the century - one last try. We should now try moving to the right a bit, as we have been moving to the left a lot until now. Who knows, a path will spring out of nowhere, say hello to us and take us on its back safely down there!

We hardly climb down for another 5 minutes when we realize the futility of our attempt. Beaten by exhaustion, hunger and frustration we finally decide to spend the night there.

We find the perfect place for that. It is a small clearing on the slope – around 10m by 10m, and surrounded by bushes. We can see Bhaje at a distance and the expressway at a further distance. The lights from the distant houses, of fireflies and of a lone person walking with a torch all seem to blend together.

We lie down out of sheer exhaustion. It’s 9:30 pm. When does the sun come out here? No later than 5 30, or 6. That makes it no less than 8 hours! We should sleep.

10 minutes later, Sardar speaks up, as if woken up from a long slumber. “Arre, it is only 9 40!”

It’s going to be a long night, I tell myself. Jaat and sardar are engaged in conversation as I keep quiet and let my mind wander.

Jaat and I cover ourselves in a windcheater that sardar had brought. I feel a terrible need to relieve myself, but dread getting out of the windcheater. Overcome by need, I finally get out and do the needful at a distance. I’m already shivering profusely. I can’t stop myself from shivering as I get under the windcheater.

I fold myself up and start taking long breaths. I realize it’s not entirely due to cold I’m shivering. But of what, I’m unable to figure out.

All of a sudden, ISI lets out a scream. An insect had bitten him and he’s scared if it might be some poisonous snake. I’m too tired to be excited and I thought he was making a fuss out of nothing. I just lay with my eyes closed. After sometimes, the excitement dies down and ISI too is back to normal.

I drift off to sleep in patches. But every now and then I’m jerked awake by the biting cold, especially when touched by a whiff of wind. I change my posture in a futile attempt to make myself warmer.

It’s around 4 when we are woken up by a torch flashing all around us. Human number 4. He is searching for his lost buffalo. We somehow convince him to lead us to the bottom of the hill. He agrees and leads us down. But before long, he succumbs to his more serious needs and leaves us to go in search of his buffalo. We are still nowhere; Bhaje is as distant as ever.

We can’t go to sleep now. It is late anyway, and we should be able to witness the sunrise. We do a reality check, reflecting on our adventure. Our clothes bear the mark of all the slithering and slipping around. Our Bai is gonna have a hard time, I observe. Jaat and ISI have received bruises, while I have been fortunately spared of any. We are hungry as hell and make our food plans that we will set to motion once we reach down there.

The first sign of light and we head down. The way clears up in front of us, and it doesn’t seem so challenging now after what we had gone through a half dozen hours before. The moment we see the stair leading to the cave, we almost hear our own sigh of relief echoing.

To Vizapur

The Plan
We leave Pune around 10:00 am in the local train, reach Malawali in an hour, do some peaceful trekking, come back home before it is dark.

The Execution
We leave Pune at 1:30 pm, on bikes. Isi assures us we’ll reach there in half an hour. Half an hour stretches to an hour and another half an hour more, before we reach the place.

We lose no time in parking our bikes and head straight for the stairs (that ISI told us would lead to the fort). The stairs lead to some caves. We start having some serious doubts as to the existence of a path to the fort from here.

We start asking for directions. The guy points in the general direction to a mango tree and offers himself as a guide. “Guide?” we almost laugh. Not for this trip, buddy. We reach the mango tree in no time, but find no path leading from there. Giving a knowing look at each other, we decide to climb!

The climb is steep, but we are sure that in no time, we’ll find a path leading to the fort. We climb up, holding on to grass with our hands, lest we might slip. In patches, we climb up dried up streams of water that fooled us into believing them they were paths used by people. But alas! a real path is nowhere to be found.

A half an hour of climb later, we reach a grassy knoll. We heave a sigh of relief, but only momentarily as we realize we are lost. Isi decides to call up his friend of experience and asks for directions, which was a bit tricky considering we were in the middle of nowhere. His friend tells us to find a village of half a dozen houses and ask directions from there.

We decide to go ahead and find the village. A 10-minute-walk. No village. We find a house with a cow-shed nearby.

“Is this the village?”
“But he said there were around 5-6 houses.”
“No harm. We can ask for directions anyway.”

The resident of the house - an old fellow - points to a general direction towards the fort and offers himself as a guide. “What is this business with guides,” we wonder before heading off towards the fort.

We have almost forgotten about the village when I turn back on a whim and find the village behind us. We let ourselves feel a mixed emotion of mystery and a minor eruption of joy on discovering the place and decide to head straight over there.

The village is surrounded by hedges all around. “A possible sign of wild animals. They might be doing it to protect themselves from animals,” ISI offers his explanation. Jaat and I laugh at the sardar’s words. A slight tug of fear pulls at my guts, but I’m ashamed of admitting it, and remain quiet.

After walking by the arc of the hedges for sometime, a wave of frustration hits us and we decide to go forth on our own. I offer my theory: if we go around the fort, we are bound to come across a path that leads up there. If there’s an entrance to the fort. I could sense the reluctance with which my theory was received, but as we run out of options, the general consensus is to continue the climb.

We find a path, finally. Guarded closely by overgrown plants and bushes, but surely a pre-defined path. But, right or left, where do we head? All of us offer our own theories, none convincing enough. And right is where we head.

From here, the red flag at the corner of the fort looks enticingly close. A whiff of wind blows, and the flag waves, as if teasing us, inviting us. We’ll reach you in no time, honey.

The path leads us to an old tree. We stop for a few photographs - mementoes for having survived this far.

The path had reached a dead end and our only way was to retrace our steps and head to the left, which was what we proceed to do. We find a packet of biscuits (without the biscuits, of course) and our hopes are revived. “Civilization has, indeed, crossed this path before.”

As the path is now well defined, we walk faster, and with more enthusiasm. The undergrowth beside the path requires us to bend for stretches, or use our hands to clear the way. But the climb is not so steep. You could say we are walking, and not climbing.

And suddenly, a firangi jumps out of nowhere and presents himself as Human number 2 of our climb. He had gone to the fort through some other way and was on his way down now. I feel a sense of loss, as if we are in some sort of a race to the top. This guy had already reached there. I hate him for telling us the way and robbing us of the pleasure of discovering everything by ourselves.

We reach the waterfall in no time, as the firangi had told us, and we start climbing it. The rocks are in place and help us in getting our foothold as we climb up steadily. A torn shoe appears in front of us. We are too tired, and thrilled by the proximity to our destination to discuss the matter of its origin.

We finally find the stairs, again as the firangi had told us, and our collective joy knows no bounds. We are welcomed by a statue of Hanumanji, just at the bottom of the staircase. Water falls from the edge of the wall at the top, washes the stairs. The wall adjoining the stair is thick with moss accumulated over the ages.

A butterfly and the wind

I sensed the wind coming from a distance
Steadying, preparing myself
To battle against it
Or was it to welcome it?

She came with the wind,
Taking me by surprise –
Complete, pleasant, jittery.

My wings hurt as I tried to steady myself
My strength ebbed.

Was it an illusion?
My senses cheating on me?
But I saw myself – or a part of me..
I can, still.

I moved to touch her – but my limbs were immovable,
Paralysed.

The flutter of her hair – hurting my eyes
Blurring my senses
The scent of her hair but eluded me
Lost in the wind, perhaps
As my senses sought, desperately

Her voice I could hear
Slow, lazy, dissolved in the wind
I scraped the parts of it, putting them together
It was mine!

I tried to steady myself.
Tried to go back where I was
But I had been blown away!

The wind is long gone.
I still try to steady myself,
Despising myself for having blown that far.
I beckon my strength,
As I lay,
Thinking of the wind,
Of who was riding on it, and
What was taken away from me.

Thoughts

I have quite a few Thoughts born in the recent months waiting to be put down in words – like a bunch of small rats jostling for a place inside a small cage, waiting to get out. Tough for me that way, don’t you think? Form a queue, I tell them. I’ll give each of you an opportunity to present yourself. Let’s make this an organized affair, shall we? All right. ‘Without further ado’ and all such things…

Thought 1: I’m C’s Idea Of Change. As you might know, C has shifted his place, and he’s no longer doing what he was. Put bluntly, he’s started earning and is no longer a student. This has had some repercussions, and a shift in the kind of things C can do and can no longer do. For example, playing football and DC++ing are out, at least for the time being. While C used to watch a lot of movies; he’s now reading a lot. He’s enjoying buying all these books by himself. He finds a small joy in being able to do away with all those half–priced pirated copies that he used to (and was compelled to) buy! And he doesn’t listen to music anymore (I’m obviously not counting what comes on the music channels 24x7 as ‘music’). But C has no regrets. When he thinks he wants to listen to music, he will. He’s waiting for the right mood to come along and say hello to him.
C is now writing a lot of code, and somehow, he’s enjoying it. It’s not something you’d expect him to end up doing, especially after doing what he did for 5 years. But for the time being, he enjoys what he’s doing. I think that’s important – enjoying what you do.

Thought 2: I’m C’s Idea Of Geography. First thing first – I’ve had a complete loss of the sense of direction in the city. I try predicting the way every time C goes out somewhere, but the twists and turns each route undergoes leaves me flummoxed each time. If C had to go to other parts of the city using me as his guide, he would be lost in no time. I can guarantee you that. One small thing I’ve noticed is the lack of shared autos in this part of the city. The other part where I used to stay 2 years back depended solely on shared autos for commuting. I can’t put it in words, but I’ve also noticed a difference in the attitude of the places itself. Something like, the place here is sponsored by the new age IT and financial companies and the other by the old manufacturing companies.

Thought 3: I’m C’s First Impressions. The place where C is working has treated him well. It offers an enjoyable, friendly and helpful atmosphere where C feels pretty comfortable. But C is a bit scared looking at his flat-mates. They spend an excessive amount of time in the office and that’s not something C would like to end up doing. As of now, his project has treated him generously and he’s been fortunate not having to spend long hours at his office. C also enjoys explaining to people where he works and what he does. Usual queries include –
#So you work in a call center?
#Must be an IT company then?
#What does it make?
#What does it do?
#What do you do?
#What’s the name of the company again?
#‘Jet ess’?
#‘G ess’?
#Can you spell out the name?
#What do they stand for?
#Hah! You don’t even know what your company name stands for?
This is usually the time C calls it quits. Anyway, what he does is pretty confusing. He puts it something like this – ‘developing software for a consultancy firm for (mainly) pharmaceutical companies in the US’ (after doing 5 years of mechanical engineering). I have been digressing! Let me pain you no further and stop myself with this - as far as C’s place of work is concerned, I’m good!

Thought 4: I’m C’s Arbit Thoughts. There are quite a few things on my mind, but the reader will forgive my inability to organize them properly within this framework of time and webspace.
There is this concept of Serializer in asp.net. It, basically, is used to convert every kind of object into something binary – which we can use to transmit over the net. What a neat thing to do! Imagine something like that for our thoughts and memories. Say, 10 years hence, you want to relive the Now. You just switch use your Memory Serializer and extract your memories of this time from your Memory Database. How convenient!
Even the most seemingly innocent or outrageous of choices you make will make you feel good if you can justify it. For example, faced with 3 choices – 1 getting a pet dog, 2 getting a potted plant, 3 getting a pot and putting a plant in it yourself – how will you proceed? C was presented with these choices and he chose the 3rd one, without much thinking. But I think I can present a justification for what he did. The superiority of his choice over the first one is pretty obvious, given C’s limited time he can devote to such activities as tending and caring of pets. And the various difficulties that might arise leaving the entire flat in the hands of a movable object with a mind of his own. And who knows what sinister ideas he starts getting when put in such a situation. I mean, all of us get ideas sometimes, right? The other argument is a bit vague and the reader may even see it too contrived, but unfortunately, I don’t give a damn about what the reader might think. The reader will accept my humble apologies. The point is, if you just buy a potted plant and place it inside your flat, it is just that – a potted plant that you bought and placed inside your flat. While if you have your own plant, it is your plant that you have in a pot inside your flat. I hope you got my point, because I can’t explain any more.

Thanks guys for the help. It couldn’t have been possible without blah blah blah. Good day, everyone. Good day, everyone.

we r the champions (ii)

(standing (from L to R) - raj, sandeep, senti, prasanna, yahoo, vivek, popa, l2, lp
don't know what he's doing - bobo
kneeling/squatting/sitting (from L to R) - fm, pogo, G, talli, deja, soody/shaggy, shampoo)

i've taken my bows and my curtain calls
you brought me fame and fortune
and everything that goes with it
i thank you all
but it's been no bed of roses
no pleasure cruise
- queen ( we are the champions)

this is the story of the champions. the story of a team that defined what 'winning' is. this is the story of footer@iitm.

footer@iitm began the year riding a wave of confidence. the gold that we brought iit madras after fifteen years was still glowing in the minds of most of the players. with that incredible win on 18th december, 2005, the team had been transformed from a no-star team to, as someone put it, an all-star team!! the team did attract some lavish criticisms for its 'seemingly' defensive tactics which was compared to that of the italian national team. but footeer@iitm was unfazed, and had set out to prove wrong every critic who saw the win as an abberation.

a glimpse of what footer@iitm was capable of was seen in the match against satyabhama in sportsfest. the win was remarkable, not so much for the fact that it brought us silver, as for the manner in which it was achieved. one goal down in a match against a seemingly superior team, the team fought back with a ferocity and confidence that the opponents couldn't cope with. the 2-1 win proved how much fight the team was capable of putting.

sadly, chaos reigned in the run-up to inter-iit with a chunk of the main players opting out of the tournament due to personal reasons. replacements were sought frantically. it was an opportunity for some, and oh boy, did they use it to prove themselves.

the problems were not over when we reached guwahati. it began with a terrible disappointment for me: getting injured in the first quarter of the first match that left me out of the field for the rest of the tournament. players got bogged down by the sudden change in weather - many of them taking ill. and yet, no one was able to stop our march to the final!! the match that we played against kanpur on the way to the final (in the semi-final) was one gritty exhibition of the team's skills and temperament under adverse conditions.

the final against kharagpur was one match whose memories would linger on for years to come.

footer@iitm was, but crippled. i was out because of my fracture, raj because of his anjle injury. yahoo and senti were unfit to play the entire match. what ensued in the next 2 odd hours was totaaal drama.

towards the end of the second half, me, raj, yahoo, senti, popa and vivek (for a funny red card!!) were sitting out. and we were to play with ten men for the rest of the match - a full 40 minutes.
the 10 men team now led by talli with l2 played like champions and not only managed to keep the now weary kgp players at bay, but launched some incisive attacks of our own.

after the extra time was over, the two teams were still in a deadlock with no goals scored from either side. 3 madras - kgp matches had been played in the last 3 inter iit's and all of them had been deadlocks, with no goal scored by either team! the better team had to be determined once and for all.

what unfolded before our eyes was a treat to watch!! iit kgp was decimated in the penalty shoot out with talli, g and prasanna netting in the only 3 penalties tht we needed to take. sandeep, our custodian, was one force to reckon with as he psyched their players to some nervous errors. iitm had achieved an unbelievable and unexpected feat - win gold for the second time, that too with a depleted, 'crippled' team!!!

so, this was the story of footer@iitm. it is incomplete without the memories that each player must have harboured in his own way, and that's the way it will be. suffice to say, it was an experience that culminated in tears of joy for almost all the players. others may see the team in different ways - 2 time gold winners, the team that got lucky, the star team, the ultra defensive team etc etc.

for us who have played for the team, it's different. personally, it was a defining moment in my foooter 'career' and i couldn't have asked for more. having played with and learnt from people like jet li, jimmy, bongi, mallu in the insti and ash from our own hostel for over 3 years, being a part of this winning team was coming of age for me. we had achieved something that had remained elusive to all those whom we have admired. it was a fantastic feeling indeed. i bet it has been one unforgettable experience for everyone involved with footer@iitm.

and finally, the secret. (well, it's not so much of a secret anyway.) iitm's winning strategy consists of 3 fundamental principles or acts which are -

• score and don't concede. could be just 'don't concede'. in the two years that we have been champions, footer@iitm has but conceded just one goal (in 8 matches) which is a remarkable feat in itself.
• listen to 'we are the champions' by queen before the match.
• take the right side of the players arena

ah! to be the champions!!!

p.s. this post is written with my 'un-fractured' hand. so forgive the capitalization (or lack thereof), grammar, etc.

Haha

Gunda II

If you are searching for the epitome of a pure Bollywood movie, go home and have a hot drink of coffee, or whatever you do when your search for the epitome of a pure Bollywood movie is over. For, I have here a movie that every bollywood movie strives to be, a movie that a Karan Johar or a Ram Gopal Verma can only dream of making, a movie that’s bound to leave every movie-goer’s every inch of the body taut, and itchy. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let me present, without further ado, Gunda.

A lyrical masterpiece, the movie takes one through the atrocious underworld where villains commit heinous crimes behind the curtain of corrupt policemen and hypocritical politicians. “Cliché,” one might be tempted to dismiss. Wait, for Gunda has more to offer.

Gunda offers, among other things, flawless editing where scenes overlap, propelling the movie to new heights of alacrity. The two hour long movie leaves no scope for boredom to set in. The scenes, seemingly unconnected on the onset, knit together to form a larger canvas. Remember 21 Grams or Memento, anyone?

Gunda uses a powerful method hitherto rare in Hindi cinema. In many scenes, the actors face the audience while delivering a dialogue. Thus, while maintaining a realistic backdrop, the actors manage to address a larger audience, securing themselves a place in the larger canvas. One is reminded of the technique used by Fritz Lang in his movie, Metropolis.

The dialogues are replete with similes, metaphors and rhyme lending the movie a dialogic force. Viewing the movie thus becomes a lyrical journey.

Ah! The cast. Gunda boasts of such actors as the uber-versatile Mithun Chakraborty, who has acted in over 190 movies in roles as diverse as a Tamil coconut seller (Agneepath) to the Indian James Bond—Gunmaster G9 (Suraksha), and a pimp (Dalal) to Ramakrishna Paramhansa (Ramakrishna Paramhansa). Mukesh Rishi, remembered for his role as Inspector Salim in Sarfarosh proves why he is the coveted actor that he is. Not to forget Shakti Kapoor who proves his versatility in the role of a villain coping with gender confusion.

The protagonist is presented as a superhero in its subtlest form, not its essential Hollywood underwear-outside-the-pants counterpart. He is as human as any one of us, albeit equipped with superpowers that every hero would envy in superheroes.

The women, in the brief roles they get, form the crux on which the story revolves. One cannot but be impressed with their dynamic style, substance and vital statistics. The rape victims are quickly eliminated, thus saving the viewer from going through the tribulations that they would gave gone through.

The movie leaves a few questions unanswered, and some riddles that are bound to haunt one long after the movie is over. The repeated appearance of the airport as a backdrop makes one wonder if the director wants to depict something. Should we strive to 'take off' and escape all the dirt of this inhuman world, or try to clean it up ourselves?

Quotable quotes:

“Hum aise laashen bicha denge jaise kisi nanhe munhe bacche ke nunhi se pesaab tapakta hain—tap tap”

“Mera naam hai Ibu Hatela.
Maa meri churail ki beti.
Baap mera shaitaan ka chela.
Khaayega kela?”

“Kala dhanda karne walon ki maa, behn, beti ki zindagi ka koi bharosa nahi hota. Magar tune meri behn ka rape karke, bahut bura kiya. Bahut bura kiyAA..”

“Main hun jurm se nafrat karne wala.
Sarifon ke liye jyoti.Gundo ke liye jwala.”
“Tujhe banaakar main maut ka niwala,
teri seene mein kaat dunga main maut ka bhaala”

Gunda

“If it were not for Him, I’d have been an atheist.”
-God, on Mithun

"Dekh! Upar aasman mein! Ek pakshi hai…ek Hawaii jahaaz hai!.. Woh to Mithun hai!”

- Junta, on Mithun.

[Translated:
“Look! Up in the Sky! It's a Bird...It's a Plane... It's Mithun!”
- People, on Mithun ]

“On the number line of arbitness, Mithun is infinity.”
-Anonymous

“A guy who has acted in over 190 movies in a 30 year span has to be god.”
-Another Anonymous

“Mera naam hai Shankar – garibon ka dost, luteron ke dushman. Dikhne me bewada, daudne me ghoda, aur maarne me hathoda hun main.”
-Shankar, on himself.

“Dushmano ki laashon par bhangra karne wala kabhi langda nahin hota”
-Shankar

"Curiosity not only killed the cat, but threw it in the river with weights tied to it's feet.”
-Winston Churchill

“Hey, that’s my quote, you quote thief.”
-Terry Pratchett, on the above quote.

“Your quotes have got nothing to do with Mithun.”
-Oscar Wilde

“Include a quote of mine in your post da.”
-Talli

“For more quotes on Mithun, please contact the Guild of Mithun Quoters, P.O. Box 3 , Daryaganj, New Kotwali, New Delhi – 110 001.”
-the Guild of Mithun Quoters

“Ok, guys. Enough for now. I’m wrapping this up.”
-the author of this blog.

Shaastra coecelanth equivocate s zeppelin durbatuluk

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go (to durbatuluk)
I'm standing here outside shaastra
I hate to wake u up to equivocate

But the dawn is zeppelin
It's coecelanth
The taxi's shaastra
blowing his durbatuluk
Already i'm so lonesome
coecelanth

so equivocate and durbatuluk
tell me that u'll coecelanth
hold me like u'll shaastra (aaaaaa)
coz i'm leaving on a zeppelin
don't know when i will durbatuluk
oh babe, i equivocate

there are so many coecelanths, i've shaastra
so many times, i've zeppelin
i tell u now, i don't durbatuluk
every place i go, i equivocate
every song i sing, i equivocate
zeppelin about shaastra, durbatuluk, coecelanth
when i won't have to equivocate
about shaastra, i won't have to say

so equivocate and durbatuluk
tell me that u'll coecelanth
hold me like u'll shaastra (aaaa)
coz i'm leaving on a zeppelin
don't know if i'll durbatuluk
oh babe, i equivocate


john danawade
(I'm leaving on a zeppelin lyrics

Google wars

Coecelanth, shaastra, zeppelin, equivocate and durbatuluk are the words specified for shaastra's SEO competition.

A fishers' family

Nganthoi woke up, rubbed his eyes, and looked ahead into the day. It was dawn, and time to go collect fish from the net he and his father, Chaoba, had cast the previous afternoon. Nganthoi, like most children in his neighbourhood, had no particular liking for fish.

His neighbourhood comprised of a group of around ten floating islands on the lake. Each island was just big enough for a hut (for a family of five at most), and a garden.

In spite of the abundance of water in his surroundings, Nganthoi still did not know how to swim. His friends would smear his ego with taunts on his inability. But Chaoba was steadfast in not allowing him to learn how to swim. He wasn't allowed to stay away from his father's line of sight, and he felt cramped. He would be allowed to go on a boat only with his father, his mother or some of his friends that his father thought could be trusted. He was too old to be pampered thus, he thought.

Chaoba felt luck throbbing in his heart-beat. The previous day had been dismal; they had consumed the fish they caught themselves. As he pulled up the net with Nganthoi's help, he realized his premonitions had been right. It was a magnificent catch. Considering his job done, he sighed relief. It was now his wife's job to fetch a decent price for the fish, and from his experience, he knew she would.

As they docked into their island, the exuberant father and his indifferent son noticed the dhoti-clad sage standing in front of their house at almost the same instant. They had never seen a sage in their neighbourhood, and approached him with apparent surprise. The sage's eyes bore a blank expression.

Without speaking a word, the sage opened the bag that was hanging from his shoulders. Seeing its contents, Chaoba sent Nganthoi to fetch half a miruk of rice. No one spoke, and Chaoba stood, awkwardly staring at the door. When Nganthoi returned with the rice, the sage put his palm on his head, as if blessing him. A smile appeared on his face. For some strange reason, Chaoba felt the air become a lot less humid.

As Nganthoi withdrew his hand after emptying the contents of the miruk, the sage caught his wrist. The sage's face had assumed a look of consternation now. as he stared at the palm.

The sage uttered to no one in particular, "The next time the sun gets swallowed by Rahu, the shadow over this house will be darker. Be careful."

With this prophecy, the sage turned away and left the island on his boat - a boat that Nganthoi and his father had not noticed before.

Chaoba could not sleep for a subsequent three nights. He lay with his eyes closed on his bed, but knew he was awake. He continued his daily rut and told no one about his bout of insomnia.

Three days later, as he was having his lunch of rice and eromba, Nganthoi showed him a butterfly origami. Before Chaoba could finish praising his son on the excellent work those nimble hands had done, the origami started flapping its wings, and spending a bewildered minute or two inside the room, flew out of the window. That night, Chaoba slept like a log.

Days flew by, and the sage became but no more than a forgotten passage in the book of Chaoba's life.

Nganthoi, meanwhile had learnt how to swim with the help of his friends, in spite of the strict opposition of his father. He swam naked and made sure that he had completely dried himself before he wore his clothes. The day when he learnt how to do the backstroke, he could not hide the exuberance on his face. When his father enquired him of the reason for his exuberance, he lied, and attributed it to a game of marble that he had played exceedingly well.

The monsoons arrived, and the lake swelled with pride in the abundance of water it had. As fishing became more difficult, Chaoba worked harder.

Nganthoi 's concern was something else. It was breeding season, and the bulge in the abdomen implied, according to Nganthoi, that the fish was carrying millions of eggs. When he asked his father about the mechanics of eggs turning to small fish, Chaoba kept silent. Not because he felt it awkward to touch upon such a subject, but because he was ignorant of the piscine mechanics of giving birth. When one his friends told him that each egg would become a fish each, Nganthoi was so upset that he lost his appetite, and could not eat a morsel of his dinner.

His mood changed the next day, when his mother told him he could accompany her to the market where she went to sell the fish. While his mother sat in her allotted place selling fish, he would roam around. His favorite place was the toy shop, where he spent most of his time revelling at the numerous contraptions. He would then spend the next two or three days trying to make his own replica of something that endeared to him. Today, he saw a rifle that was a little longer than both his arms stretched out.

His mother was waiting for him when he went back. She bought him a kabok, and they headed back home. Midway in the journey, when they were in the middle of the lake, the place suddenly seemed to grow darker. Initially, they thought it was the clouds getting in the way of the sun. It turned out to be something else that was blocking the sun.

It was not a full solar eclipse, and Nganthoi, for whom this was the first ever, threw a slew of questions at his mother for some explanation on the spectacle. They continued to row.

In the distance, they saw Chaoba on the shore of their island waving his hand frantically. As they wondered why he was behaving so weirdly, their boat slowly steered itself to the left. The mother and the son stared at each other in complete bewilderment. Nganthoi felt a dampness in his shorts and when he looked down, saw water entering the boat from the side.

In the distance, they saw Chaoba diving into the lake.

You have two cows (2 cows)

[My tribute to the insti footer team]

Aravind G: He likes colorful cows. You will find him in cow races, cow jumps, or for that matter, any cow event that’s going on right now.

Yahoo! : Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Two cows.
Two cows who?
Moo. Moo.

Talli: Yeh kya haraamipan hai? Two cows ki maa ki ch***. [3 sentences down the line, the content is too ‘mature’ to be printed here!)

Praveen: See, macchaa, the funda of two cows is….(10 minute lecture)

L2[with an arm in slings]: Ek cow ne tang laga di peechhe se, aur ek cow ne dhakka diya.

Popa: Two cows, yaani do gai, two guys, matlab do aadmi..hahaha.

Om, senti: Cow1> what if cow2 scores an own goal? Tab to main kuch kar nahi paunga.
Cow2> (pained to the core and just short of hitting cow1) arre nahi karunga yaar.

Hati papa: Abbe, dono cows ke pair zameen mein ghus gaye the.

Coco: In cowland, these youthful bulls get seduced by despo cow aunties. These aunties with coconut shaped udders like bulls with thundering thighs.

Vivek: Main two cows se milne Delhi jaa raha hun. Shaayad late se aaunga ya bilkul nahi aaunga.

P.S. Can’t think of anything for the rest now.

Two cows - 1