A little learning, a dangerous thing!

there is a phrase that old men say,
which, to me, was always fey,
for how can knowledge be a dangerous thing,
and pray, what sorrow could it ever bring?

but oft, of late, a look at the heart,
and it's bleeding, as it's been stuck by a dart,
and you try, you try, not to give a fart,
"fuck you", comes the answer, ever so tart.

you keep yourself busy, to block the mind,
keep it occupied, you fear what it'll find,
but in a moment it comes, and it comes real bad,
and to be honest, it hurts, not just a tad.

for knowledge gained, is one never lost,
to not acknowledge it, one must be of frost.
but it's not for me, whatever the cost,
and sometimes I wish I'd done a Dr. Faust.

and then it strikes me, again those old men,
accompanied by the shriek of an irritating wren,
for while knowledge is power, ignorance is bliss,
and at long last, I finally understand this.

The deed is done, the act is past,
I seek to forget, and forget fast,
for time will forge surely, as will come to bear,
a set of blinkers, that I will choose to wear.

Never again will I question an old man's wisdom,
For their phrases are lore, in every kingdom,
to the future I look, and all seems bright,
then what is that in my eye, that's impeding my sight?

The rime of the traitor

‘Tis time, my friends to tell you a tale,

A time of struggle and sorrow, I would recount,

Where the spirit of man is seen to fail,

All in all, I hope, a moving account.

Of the players, or the scene, I dare not tell,

In my heart I must keep this secret so fell,

For they, I am sure, must have been through hell,

And their trust, mon ami, is not something to sell.

“The night was dark, the shadows long,

The moon, as in so many a famous song,

The harbinger of doom, the ringing bell,

A message, that made my heart quell,

O, god? What sin is this, what wrong?

I ramble and I rave, I beg and I plead,

Such words, that you and I wouldn’t read,

But, there it was, this terrible deed,

Who, then, would ever take heed?

In a time of strife, while we defend the keep,

And the twisted knife of treachery plays its ugly hand,

You look around, and who do you find?

A leap of faith, nay, just a leap

And then, in raging fire do you stand,

The images of the dead one, playing on your mind.

And then it starts the struggle so real,

Adds bitterness to every sweet meal,

You shrug it off and then sleep, or rather, try,

But, sadly, all that you can do is helplessly cry.

For what’s done is done, the dead are gone,

All’s that left is solitude, and the dreams of the sin,

And slowly, in its place, hatred will spawn,

And repulsion, so dark, it crawls up your skin.

The sorrow is real, and the sin is too,

But both will, stay, whom will you swear allegiance to?

At the end of the day, when the die was cast,

Did you think that it would be over so fast?

A slip of the tongue, an unthoughtful act,

And you, my friend have broken an immortal pact,

Trust ‘twas that built the halls of this earth,

Who then were you, to cause such grievous hurt?

Life goes on, in it’s merry way,

With it, your will cannot hold sway,

For it is the sum of all parts, the universe a hole,

What does it care about you, you mole?

The spine is bent, the spirit is gone,

The war that was fought with pride is no more,

Where is the meaning in life now, mon?

I’m afraid, even time will not heal this wound, so sore.

Is there a way, I ask, to turn back time?

Or is this dreadful past to be forever mine?

Forgive me O lord, for I have sinned

I humbly pray that this deed have no kin.

Of all the people, in all the worlds,

This curse that you so honorably bore,

would it be that your suffering is stopped,

forchance, I may be allowed to carry the load.

But O fool, this burden is not mine alone,

Along with me, you also will atone,

You think you are free, but you fool yourself dear,

Remember, O remember, what happened to king lear.

I wish I could, I wish I might,

Blaspheme you with all of my spite,

But somehow, sadly it doesn’t feel right,

For when both repent, where is the fight?”

But hope no more, of turning back time,

It will not happen, at least in the course of this rhyme,

You will kill the seed, You will halt the flow,

Of those creative juices that created this prose.

And thus my friend this tale must end,

I’m sure with more questions; and bridges to mend,

It must be me, to get on with life,

And that, of which this world is rife,

I hope that then, my spirit will not quail,

And I will not crush another so frail,

But of the subject, I must say, all Hail!

For a truly magnanimous one it is that graced this tale.

Gods

sA man's faith is a funny thing. It's not something that's based on reason, or whatever mankind chooses to call reason; I'll be damned if the Mumbai blasts are anything close to what could be called reason. So anyway, there are thousands and thousands of gods. Religious gods. Spiritual gods. Demi-gods. Lesser gods. Greater gods. Children of a lesser God. And those who believe they follow a Greater God.

And there's Andre Agassi. And there's Iron maiden.

As different as chalk and cheese. But both icons of a generation. A generation which, one feels, is long gone. A generation of spandex. Long hair. Flamboyance. And truckloads of talent.

My Gods. Not Gods because of what they won, or the number of albums they released. But because of what they meant to me, growing up. Every high. Maiden by my side. Every low. Remember Agassi. Every sorrow; Maiden's there for you. Every adrenaline rush; you know what he feels every time he walks out onto center court.

Goodbye and Adieu Andre Agassi.

Rock is Dead. Long live Iron Maiden.

PS. I do not like Michael Schumacher. I absolutely detest him. Nevertheless, he's God. All of you who swear by his name, I respect you. On the day of his retirement, a toast to his greatness.

There's an audit going on. I'm escorting the audit team around. 4:30 PM. We're in the finishing house, near the winder, near my office. Checking on a previously known issue. The place is, as usual, noisy. Suddenly, a scream. I see a guy running. For the fire extinguisher. I look at the machine. I see smoke, a small plume. Then Wooosh! The whole machine is billowing smoke. The fire alarm goes off. I think I should run. But I stand. There's chaos around me. I stare at the smoke. There's a fire. A big fire. Time speeds up, as it is wont to do. I scream at the auditors to get out. They react, too slowly. Fire training lessons kick in. Step 1. Shout Fire Fire Fire at the top of your lungs. (I have pretty good lungs, so no problems there) Step 2. If fire generates smoke, cover your face. (shit, no handkerchief) Step 3. Locate source of fire. (can't do that now, haven't covered my face). Somebody shouts "Check all the rooms! Make sure everybody is out!!"...

...The building has been vacated. I run back toward the fire. I'm stopped. No mask. I walk out. Colleagues run to me, as if I had returned from the dead. I find out my boss was stuck in a room with no escape, and had to be taken out through the window. Thank God he's safe. I sit down, and look at the smoke...

...I go to the stores. Torches and masks are required. I load the car. And go back inside. There is smoke everywhere. Can't see. We bring welcome light in the gloom. We need to get some paper cores out. Lots of it. The fire warden puts us in human chains. We start pulling. We're knee deep in water, the fire at our backs; and we're emptying the place. The firemen hold the flames at bay, while we get all the cores out...

... It's been 2 hours. The flames are out. All flammable material was taken out. We go upstairs. The damage is huge. At least 10 days lost. Feel empty. God knows why. It ain't my 8 crores. No lives were lost. Why did I stand, and not stay safely outside?

Then it strikes me. The company does matter. It's a part of me. As long as I'm with it, I own the company. I'm mad. But I feel good. The soot doesnÂ’t matter. We'll get this place up and running. Soon. Real soon.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder

I'm doomed. There's no more to it. The only thing I can think about writing here, is something that happened at work. Somebody please save my soul... But anyway.. Here goes...

I took two of my colleagues to the factory for a trial, one from the procurements department (which for the uninitiated gets us all the raw materials for our mill, and keep trying to cut costs on all inputs) and the other from our marketing department (which again for the the oh! So uninitiated sells our finished goods, which for the even more uninitiated, in this case happens to be paperboard; and hence is trying to increase the price we get on them).

The factory at BCM is huge, and we spend a great deal of our time just walking around the place. Now, that's not pretty much different from college, but you never got blasted for not turning up in the afternoon cos you were tired. So, anyway, while we're walking, I listen to the two chaps discussing about the price of the dollar. I'll call the procurement guy P and the marketing guy Q for the time being.

Mr. P: Yaar pulp prices are shooting through the roof! and as if that wasn't enough, the dollar is predicted to rise!!

Mr. Q: Yeah, there is a sensitivity to the positive trend in pulp prices, but I'm sure that we'll be able to gain positive mileage out of the increasing dollar/euro exchange rates.(jeez.)

So P wants the dollar to fall, Q wants the dollar to rise.

Mr. P: Import duties are killing! I wonder why they decided against dropping them.

Mr. Q: But I hope you do appreciate that we're able to maintain a significantly higher price table, solely because of the buffer that the import duties offer us. (jeez. doesn't this guy speak English?)

Hmmm.. Interesting. (not so much actually)

so anyway, we complete our trial. and then both of them look at a pallet being packed. It's usually packed with stretch film, wrapped in several layers around the sheets of paper. The operator, seeing the burra saabs, very lavishly spreads more film on the pallet.

Mr. P: arre please stop him yaar. Waise bhi film ka cost is rising, we'll be ruined if your men operate this way!!

Mr. Q: boss, let him apply as much as he wants, and then more! My customers are killing me because I'm not packing well enough!

I could go on and on. my question here, however, would be: Quo Vadiis, mom ami? (forgive the mixing of phrases)

Reminiscences

... and the train stopped. The screeching brakes and the final sickening jolt had a decisive ring to it. As i stood at the door, I was taken back in time, a very small duration in the grand cosmic scheme of things, but a time that defined me, my character, and my very being.

I think of those clear eyes of mine, the unfettered dreams in them and the fearlessness that is born out of ignorance and inexperience. The beginning of a journey, and a rush of blood to the head, and I am onthe train, riding the wave, so to speak. The world seems all nice and rosy; after all I'm the wide eyed fresher, and on top of the world. And then I step in, those dreams go pop! and I'm faced with what seems like brutal reality... a seemingly harsh, biting, scorching surrounding, and the train starts; now I can't get off. I'm on the ride, for better or worse. I look around; there are other people; I look closer, and I see all kinds of faces; some are care-worn; others, care free; some are worried; some, frightened; and others hojpeful. There are those who boarded long ago, and are de to leave, and then there are those like me, who have just got on.

I am suddenly hesitant; gone is the confidence and the swagger, words hesitate to come to my lips, but my mind is bursting with a barrage of questions, and I wonder, " O god, whatever made me come here?" I make a few acquaintances and a frew friends, I have some guiding lamps, and I find some dead ends. The other travellers don't seem as scary as they were before, as I find my way through the labyrinthine byways of the train. And then, I realise it's time for the first stop, and as I bid my first guides adieu, I realise I feel a little sad, and just a bit lonely. I look at myself, and I realise that I have changed; I am no longer a greenhorn, but I still have a great deal to learn. And so it goes on, I learn the workings of the place , learn of the pitfalls, and the haystacks, of the goldmines and the landmines. As I ensconce myself in my seat, I look out, and realise I see the world with a slightly different perspective, for i know now there is no free lunch, I realise the value of things, like food and money, things which i once took for granted, and begin to respect them. I start adjusting myself, try to fit in, and then i realise that I am no more as pure as the driven snow. I find myself more pragmatic, and a little cynical.

Another station comes and goes, and suddenly, I am taught the meaning of responsibility, not like a toddler, but just by being thrown into the deep end. All along this I absolutely detest the experience, hating every moment, using every opportunity to either run away, or go below, or high above the trials and tribulations. But the train draws me back, inexorably, like iron to a magnet.

There is darkness. all around. I quail. Fear. Desperation. Panic. I'm in a tunnel, a tunnel of my own hopes and dreams and confusions.I grope in the darkness, fearing a total loss of direction and purpose. An then i see a light. At the end of the tunnel. I turn towards it. With hope. but I am cautious, so i prepare myself, hoping against hope that the light isn't actually a freight train coming my way. And then there is light, I feel ecstatic, but lonely, for I have lost my last guiding lights. I feel old now, and bent, but I am experienced, and I am the guide! the one who holds all the keys, the one in charge, and therefore, the one directly in the line of fire. I should hate it, as i have always done, but strangely the feeling is exhilarating and I am actually enjoying myself, not knowing whether I am awake or asleep, alive or dead, and frankly, not caring. All throughout, my only constant companions are my batch mates (and of course those eternal bovines), they exist, I exist, we coexist; that is all. But there is something more to this relationship, for we are bound together by fate. We live together, trying to understand each other, learning from every step and every misstep. It is with these people that I understand who I am, and what I need to be, say or do in this journey of mine.

Then I look out of the window, and i realize, I'm next. It's my turn to get off. The staggering finality of it hits me like a slap in the face. It all pours down on my head, pounding it incessantly, and I am enlightened, for I have understood the eternal paradox of life. I'm ready for the world. All through this journey, I yearned for the end. Now, i'm faced with it. I don't want to get off. This journey has ended too soon. Also it dawns on me that the train has been moving faster and faster with each passing station, with the last leg of the journey being the swiftest. I wish it were the other way around, for now I am sad, for there are a million things i wish i did, and a thousand things I wished I could undo. And then the train stopped.

... and the train stopped. The screeching brakes and the final sickening jolt had a decisive ring to it. I got down, and looked back at the train that I had just left; my heart willed me to stay, but the journey hadn't ended, for the next train... awaits.

... ONE YEAR LATER... I STILL FEEL COMFORTABLE THE MOST WITH ALL MY BATCHMATES. EVEN THE ONES I NEVER TALKED TO IN COLLEGE. I WISH I COULD HAVE MY BATCH BACK WITH ME. GOD BLESS ALL OF YOU GUYS (AND GIRLS) I MISS YOU PEOPLE.

Silver NB.. rewound

another of my exploits on the baddy court.
the first ode was by a guy from IIT kanpur, who is also fortunately (for me), or unfortunately (for him) my baddy partner. I dont remember well but this was the day i learnt about parallax error. Then some time later he sends across this thing he calls an ode... the poem reminded me of the ides of march 2005, (refer mandolini.blogspot.com for "of Geese and G-strings"). so any way.. while the college burns in hatred a la last year... here's a small side dish to savour..

he said:

An ode to the unsuspecting baddy player

A dank, dark, weary groggy day,
the sun barely around to make any hay.
Camouflaged in the background, in comes Adi,
he rings the bell, makes ur morning snooze hell,
asking grumpily, "game for baddy?"
Out we trudge, the few lost souls,
walk in for the big fat kill.
Smiling assasins (more like malicious grins)
Adi (and all that crap), falls into the trap,
gets ready to show his skill.
He huffs and he puffs, he bluffs and he snuffs,
once in a while letting out a cacophony.
Screws shot after shot, somehow gets one 'on the dot',
audiences applaud, Adi manages a nod,
after all, wasn't his 'dot' where they put their money?
We trundle back home, the sun's past chrome,
Adi Singh with the regular morning 'daant' on the phone.
We try to prod, he quotes Skeletor,
like the same old dog without his bone.

Amen!

so said he.

my turn.. i'm not too proud of this.. but anyway.. for posterity's sake.


haha, my friend, on this day your fortunes are bright,
on the court today i could barely put up a fight,
but dear friend, remember the faint light,
when your missed shots were such a sorry sight.
Remember the day, nay, that was your darkest night,
with drops shots galore, this weak armed man did fight,
with precision, that could put to shame a kite,
On that day my friend, you had no might;
For on that day did the dust you bite!
A dog maybe, but to the water i can take,
In alien territory, without skill, or a gill;
but i wonder what will happen to you, O fish
for the dog (nay the bear), an easy kill;
after all, i shall have my day, but you? You wish!!
I shall learn soon, and I shall learn fast,
and then against me you shall not last,
but while we talk about my baddy game,
this ode of yours, is a blotch to your (shoddy) name!!


I take the joke well, and i hope so will you.
hail Beelzebub
aditya

i still suck at badminton. sigh.