a pome

This was one of chain of mails. The circumstances are not important. but the poem i liked .( i am a firm believer in the belief that the best things in the world are those i created ) so here it is.


Do not worry, friend, for i am STILL alive,
but you should not push a bee out of his hive,
for it doesn't know what or whom it will sting,
to all of us, unfathomable sorrow it will bring.
the lure of the west has always been strong,
but to judge it, in rupees, will be terribly wrong,
for the money you state, is given for a song,
such petty cash, is worthless in the land of oil,
i might have to burst your bubble, o my dear bong,
in far lands, great hours you have to toil,
don't worry too much, rewards here shall come ere long,

Fly, my friends, if you wish it so,
but please don't chase the golden doe,
have a care when you jump to work with another (old) man,
it should not be into the fire, from the frying pan,
after all this, do not consider me your foe;
else i might have to consider the recourse of lying low.
i have decided though, that this shall be my source of dough,
so in this sinking ship, i shall stand at the bow.
but don't kill the spark, this thread of mails,
although its pace has reduced to that of snails

the HR here shall run chasing their tail,
for we are no less than a mighty hail.
but in case, do'st our resolution yet fail,
and the fire is put out with water in a pail,
it is in the barren lands, and the sign of the four,
shall we, in all our despair, our entire hope pour!!

Noah's Ark

Dreams are nice. sometimes. I usually have okayish dreams, dreams where i'm the superstar.. living a life of luxury (sigh!!).. the only wierd things that i usually see in my dreams (from what i remember) is that the cows always keep jumping over the moon. guess they're armstrong cows..

any way.. there's this one dream that i remember very well. i dont remember how it started.. but all of a sudden i was noah's left hand man, and i was the one responsible for getting the animals into the boat. There is this wierd thing about people understanding things in their dreams that they never comprehended in real life. It's uncanny. Like the shape of benzene. While i was herding Mr. and Mrs. Oliphaunt, Mr. and Mrs. Zebra, Mr. and Mrs. Cat, Mr. and Mrs. Lion, and a whole lot of other couples into that *&^%$ boat (although i must confess that, in all my dreams, noah must be the greatest engineer that ever lived. Even the Queen Mary was a midget compared to this thing he made!!) i realised how a traffic policeman in ahmedabad (they're called "thulla" or "tholla" in that part of the country) must feel. And i pitied them, and my eyes were wet.

A little information about the weather would do us good now. there wasn't a cloud in the sky, nay, not even a wisp. Until my eyes were wet with tears (i know i should say i cried, but somehow it didnt feel right then). Then it happened. The skies burst. Burst Asunder. The wrath of Zeus. Of Jupiter. Of Shiva. Of all the other gods in the pantheon of the great civilizations.
All sense of traffic lost, the animals (god bless they're souls) rush into the boat. I'm outside. I cannot move. I look to my feet. Only I can't see them. They're below water. I hear water pouring. And strangely, I hear music. I strain, trying to make out the tune. It's chumbawamba. They're tubthumping. great song... What the hell!! wake up aditya, you're in the old testament! that cant be right.

I open my eyes. And i figure out why it was raining. my room is flooded.. there's water everywhere .. and not a drop to drink. My god. I close the tap. Some dream. Now i have to clean up this mess. Good morning Bhadrachalam.

panchali

a knot in my gut tells me, look mate, you don't want to be here. Every muscle in your body screams, run away, You BIG, FAT, SENSELESS, five-toed sloth, GET OUT!! but wiser counsels (dunno who they are though) bid me stay, for fear of losing my employment. so, i sit. and wait.

a few smiles, and a few drinks later (of which i have had none, which is reaally bad, for i know not what lies in wait for me) the conversation turns to music. this could be good, or very very bad. it takes only a few seconds before i know, it's bad. they seem to think i know a lot about music (i thought so too. not any more though) but strangely, it's almost as if i am from a different country, a firangh. i'm lost in a sea of vague names and (to me) vague songs. strangely, i'm the only one. next to me are people with boisterous voices, swearing that they have listened to Mr. Mukesh kumar since they were born, and they burst into song. i listen. hard. really hard. i try to fake knowledge of the song. a second. two seconds. and then i give up. i can't recognize the song. i send my brain into standby. the titbits on the table need no cranial activity. so, i feast.


i'd heard stories about an akshayapatra, which was lost in the sands and mists of time and epics. after some time gorging and feasting, the plate seemed just that. This is not good. i'm in front of draupadi(or was it her), and she takes the plate away, and presses something in my hands. it must be a sondesh. no wait this isnt anything like that. this thing has a tail. and a very rounded head. it's faintly metallic. this isn't right. i'm dreaming. This is REM. snap out of it. i look up. and i wished i never had. i was holding a microphone. THIS IS BAD. i look around, and everybody is looking at me. why am i not surprised? my boss tells me, come on boy, sing. Everybody's done. It's your turn.I protest,and profess to a complete lack of the art/skill of singing. But no! I'm a fussface. I'm just trying to be pricey. Yeah right!! I'm Tansen, and i'm going to make rain!!...


I've often read about OBE. it's really interesting trying to figure out how it would feel to be out of your own body.. seeing yourself.. watching you make a total, utter, complete, FOOL of yourself. And now, I'm living it. I can see myself open my mouth to sing. And then it happens. The words flow out of my mouth, my vocal chords struggling hard to put word, beat, and scale together. and i sing.


i sing.i sang. and then its over. i had sung. i look around. i'm happy now. there's adrenaline rushing through my veins. i can see some of my colleagues swallowing hard. and they're desperately trying hard to smile at me, and say, thats great addi, you sang really well!! i'm getting good at this. a rush of warmth courses through me. With parties like this, who needs vodka?


i smile, and return to the food. mission accomplished. another group of people who will never, ever ask me to sing again.