Test Post

Just checking if my Blog is still working following the brouhaha that the Indian Govt has started censoring websites.

Recently my friend in Iran told me that Orkut was banned in Iran. And i, unfortunately, took the liberty of giving her a lecture on the democratic form of Govt in India. I probably should not have done that.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Currently tripping on this song by Greenday.

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone

Also Theirry Henry is going to Andamans today with family. And the Godfather is in Baroda. Atleast someone is having fun. Henry's skills in CS have improved a lot apparently thanks to his kid bro. He now gets to say LOL more than n1. ;). The tales of da mahn in Baroda will not be chronicled. The author is afraid.

Memoirs of a Sheesha

I was born out of boredom. Out of a sheer sense of unsatisfaction. And as such i tend to be neglected. Remembered only when needed. That dosent bother me much. Each being has its purpose and i serve mine more than adequately.

I am chimeric at best. Made of the most diverse pieces of trash possible. An empty coke mobile bottle, a ball point pen barrel, some water, some cardboard and some tape. I am used. As an accessory.

When i was young i was fascinated by myself. I looked very different from other beings. I felt proud. My creator gave me a fond look after bringing me into existence. It was obvious that he was proud of his creation. He immediately proceeded to test my efficiency. He stuck a cigarette into the bal point pen barrel -my arm- lit it and gave a mighty suck on the bottle neck. The barrel instantly filled with smoke and bubbled out of the water. My insides were filled with smoke. I watched in horrified fascination as he continued to suck for a long time till his insides were filled with smoke. He then exhaled and gave me a look of pure satisfaction. Of immense pleasure. Despite the smoke i was happy i performed well.

For a few days i was completely ignored. Left in a corner. Completely out of my creator's favour i thought. But then one fine day another cigerette was stuck into my arm. And i was back in demand again. This time there was another guy along with my creator. He too gave me a look of approval before proceeding to suck on the neck. The creator and his friend took turns sucking at the smoke before relegating me to my corner. I would be lying if i said i wasnt offended. I might be a coke bottle after all but use and throw!! But then soon he returned to stick another cigarette into my arm. Or atleast what i initially thought was a cigarette. As the sucking began a very vague smelling smoke began to fill my insides. The smoke repulsed me but i kept quiet(duh!! what else could i do. i was a coke bottle after all). My creator and his friend took turns sucking this vague smoke into their insides. They really looked happy after that. They kept smiling and laughing for the most time. It so happened that i was christened that day.

Creator: so?
friend: awesome dude! (lots of laughing)
lets call it Messi da. Because you made it.
Creator: *laughing uncontrollably.

I now had a name. Messi. I did not know if it had anything to do with the Argentinian striker. I was just happy i had a name. After that day conversations like " Dude, is Messi playing today?" became common. Soon 4 to 5 guys joined my creator in using me everyday. Then twice everyday and then i lost count. My creator was not my creator anymore. I was passed around like a bag of chips and then deposited in my corner. The water in me turned greenish yellow and was replaced and that turned yellow too. I acrid smell of the smoke was all i could remember.

The guys generally were irritated or unhappy when they start off with me. But after they are done they were always happy. This was the only bright spot in my otherwise sad and dreary life. They laughed a lot and listened to music and in general were happy. They talked much more.

1: who is playing France in the round of 16?
2: not yet decided.
1: cool! what is the capital of that country?

3: abbe c-lay, what could be the possible nick names of your alter ego?
4: c-dont lay?
3: no da. its b-uncle chip. copyrights reserved.
4: why cant it be d-uncle chip?
3: because i said copyrights reserved.

Meaningless conversations like these were accompanied be vociferous laughing bouts. I was sad and soon disgusted. Soon my insides turned greenish yellow like the water. My creator gave me one disgusted look and i was trashed. And my sister was born.

Bored

Its 5 in the morning
Why didnt i sleep?

I should stop thinking
Maybe start acting

stop thinking
stop thinking

Seven Deadly Sins

I have committed/ am committing the following sins.

1. Procrastination
2. Gluttony
3. Sloth
4. Pride

4 out of 7. I am going to hell for sure. I am incapable of Envy and Wrath. I have never been tested at the alter of Lust.

1

I tried remembering the past. As far back as i can go. Long Long time ago. Nothing came back at first. Then some vague mental images. Almost like watching a 70's Eastman color movie written on a very scratched CD. I was small. Tiny almost. Wearing a school bag. No NO. I think i can go back further. I was in my mom's arms and she was feeding me whilst showing every animal/human passing by on the street and telling me that it/they were about to grab the next bit of my food. So hurry up and eat it fast son! I used to fall for it every time.

Now i was wearing a school bag. I had the glummest(neologism?!) possible expression on my face. Maybe i did not want to go to school. I reluctantly walk out of my house followed by my mother holding my baby sister in her arms. She says bye. I turn around to say bye. My mom raises my sisters hand and waves it signifying that my sister is saying bye. I grab my sisters tiny tiny hand and pull her. She almost falls out of my mom's clutch. I turn around and go happily to school. I still smile when i think of it. I was jealous. Jealous that my baby sister was suddenly the darling of the household instead of me. My mother figured that out real quick and made sure i did not turn into some psycopathic killer.

Most of the memories up untill then are very vague. I dont know if they are actually my mental images or images that i later recreated when my mom told me stories about my childhood when i was say 12 or 13 years old. They are sketchy at best but sometimes the colours are vivid. I remember that i was wearing khakhi uniform to my school. I had a green colour basket with pink hoops to take my lunch in. Some details are etched in memory. Some are not. Colours dominate. Feelings dominate. Instances and intensity fade.

I remember my first day at school. Vividly. Of my own recollection. My parents prepared me. I knew they were gonna leave me. Bitter tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked hard. My parents left me with my teacher and slowly left waving to me all the time. I turned and clutched the railing and stared horrified at the retreating figure of my mom. I swallowed hard to suppress the black bile that was raising in my throat. I was angry with the world. I wanted to cry. I did not cry. I was made to sit in the last bench ( i was tall back then too). I resolutely stared at the black board. All the while making a conscious effort not to cry. Other kids around me were howling. After sometime the teacher lost patience and yelled at some poor kid. He urinated right there. I watched in horror as the yellow liquid wetted his shorts and trickled down his thighs and into his shoes and onto the floor creating a puddle. The kid just stood there too frightened to move. I decided that not crying was a lot better than wetting your pants(or shorts in this case) in public.

I stayed quite. I copied my notes. Made a note of my homework. I was (and still am) a left handed person. That attracted quite a bit of attention from teachers and students alike. The teachers noticed that my handwriting was amazing and then realised that i never made a racket in class. And presto! i became the class monitor.