WHAT’s Da CatcH.

A dude called Horace once said that you need to Carpe Diem. Apart from sounding really scholarly, practioners and procrastinators attest that there could be some semblance of truth in what he said. But sometimes we are just too happy to become comfortably numb to our mundane existence. We waste the winters in, well, wasteful activities and ruin the summers frolicking and listening to Pink Floyd.
“Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them.” ---- on Major Major, with whom it had been all three.
Okay, I confess I have been harsh here. I have no right to generalize my way life for everyone of my noble readers and voters . Because honestly, I have no idea what you did last summer. This is not because I don’t care for or respect you, my dear reader and voter. If there is anything that even a thankless brute of genius like me values, its fellow renegades like you, my dear reader and voter. And also votes. And comments. As a matter of fact I also value money, ice cream, football, foosball and deodorants. But that is not the point. The point is that I value you. And votes. And if there is any reason I don’t remember what you did last summer it is just that my mind and consequently my power of recollection atrophies and hibernates in winters.

And stays that way during the rest of the year.

Digressing a bit from our philosophical ruminations, I must bring to the attention of my dear reader and voter (I shall herewith use only “voter” to imply “reader and voter” to reduce the length of this post *) to the really witty way in which I opened this post. I have cleverly encompassed all topics that we were given the choice to write on, thereby proving effectively my command over the concept of blogging and comment earning. Not that I harbour any doubt whatsoever that you could have missed such a legendary legerdemain but there are chances, howsoever small, that unseasoned voters* (unseasoned to my blog) could misunderstand the nuances of my avant-garde style of writing as insane ramblings. Although pretty much it’s the same thing but a nuance still exists.
I know you are desperate for me to illuminate and enlighten you from the tome of my erudite Weltanschauung. And I won’t test your patience. A thing, you, my dear voter*, should always remember is that to understand what great writers write, you must be clear about their way and style of writing. As an example, notice my style of prose at places where I have highlighted, italicized and underlined it. Alliteration (as it appears in” legendary legerdemain” )and command over English vocabulary (as can be seen in usage of “avant-garde”) are just some of the styles that give you, dear voter*, a sneak peek into my psyche. And that will help you understand and profit from my philosophy more comprehensively.
My philosophy is that you don’t need to Carpe Diem. Rather you should lead the lead the remaining of your limited life at your own pace. In fact the slower the better. Live your life in the present and for a better tomorrow all you need to do is believe that tomorrow never comes. I believe you should not worry about mediocrity, mundaneness or being numb to everything, comfortably or otherwise.

I end this post here somewhat abruptly because I don’t feel like writing any more. In case you want to know more about philosophy I will refer to you this book called catch 22 and another book called Bhagvad Gita. They are a pretty decent read for humans.

And probably Gods too.

“You know, that might be the answer - to act boastfully about something we ought to be ashamed of. That's a trick that never seems to fail.”
----Colonel Korn to Colonel Cathcart

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Sophie's world?

The Philosopher's Drinking Song

"Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out consume
Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.

There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya
'bout the raisin' of the wrist.
Socrates himself was permanently pissed.

John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
after half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away,
'alf a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
and Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am."

Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed."

-- Monty Python

a song

"Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seein' that he's chasing.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you."

Emo Shun

What the f man. I am a looser. I have realised that i only blog when i am at home and vella squared. What does this mean? I always used to think writing came first and foremost for me among the various forms of The Art . The plausible explanations are that either i have no interest in writing grub (which is obviously untrue) or i have no aptitude for it (due to which my brain keeps pulling me back from this strenuous activity whenever i embark upon it). Or my attitude towards a blog.

I have come across many an awesome blogs which have momentarily spurred to me to passionate madness about blogging. Then i sit down to belt out a masterpiece but before i know, 2 hrs have passed and i am on my Facebook account adding random but totally interesting strangers. I had avowed once that whatever i write shall always be of the fun, humour genre, at the very least light and non critical stuff. But majority of the times i end up in hyper serious analysis of things so trivial like why to write what to write.

So finally i have decided to apply the Kao philosophy to my travails and find a solution here and now. From now on i am going to “ Keep it Real”. This is to say that rather than looking at my blog as a literary review or critique or jokes site or self deprecating humour page , i will now see it as a modestly honest journal that keeps a track of events around me. Something of a sashay between a true Diary and a true Blog. All this because i know i am seriously going to love it when i have like 100 posts to guide me down the memory lane and remind of the events that happened. For the emotions that events arose in me at that time, i guess their ephemeral nature is best left undisturbed. Its always good to look at old things in new ways.

My last few days haven't been very good.I lost my calculator.I lost/misplaced the calculator which i borrowed to make for the original loss. Not that the absence of a calculator contributed heavily to my downfall in the recent exams but for all practical purposes that shall be my official excuse. I also need to change my room in which i have happily settled like fungus on its walls. Living in f-47 but officially assigned g-50 you can excuse a man of my alertness for committing the himalayan blunder of filling in f-50 in the official record. There is no net in my room and probably in the entire Govind bhawan. PnI, my branch, was all out for colossal score of 1 run(thanx to a wide) in the Intra-Govind Bhawan Cricket league while i was enjoying and trying to drown myself in Rishikesh( a saving grace in these low days of mine). Our(yes, i am a branch man) loss was compounded by the fact that the opposition team somehow made 60 runs in just 5 overs. My TT skills seem to be going down the more i play and the less i play the lesser my skills can be quantified.Super senior Jaggi of EDC fame wants me to write some articles of a news letter and all i want to do right now is take a voluntary(temporary) retirement scheme from this campus. Also these days, my old school day dreams of being a management grad with a big suitcase of cash and a tux leave me feeling sad and vacuous.Nobody seems to be accepting my friend requests on facebook and the scheme i contrived for having 1000 friends ASAP is in tatters in the true sense of the word.

You may breathe for one line.

But as all epic cribbing posts this one also promises to be one, at least in the magnitude of problems if not also the number. I had realised in class 10 that i wasnt exactly allergic but at the same time also not very receptive to permanent colours. This realisation of mine has had no influence on the external world or so it seems because year and year again i get plastered in the choicest of permanent colours. While my plastering session was going on and i was trying to calculate the time i will have to spend(in parsecs and light years) taking a shower our Chief Warden appears and ta-da...

We have to pay a pittance of a fine of RS2000 inr(per person) for playing Holi. The shock and surprise were way to dominant for emotions like fear or resentment and before we could plead or attack,the Chief Warden was in his home(probably playing holi).

But then India made 401, Dhoni made 64 and Sachin made history.

And so will i.

(PS: i did cause flutter in UG annals of time although didnt make history altogethor.

I had almost missed Sachin's double ton.Even while watching, i got confused and assuming the penultimate over to be the last one i exhausted my entire vocab of expletives ably assisted by my vocal chords on to poor Dhoni. This behavior of mine generated a lot of surprise among the general crowd and embarrassment among the guys with gals.)

(PPS:Qayamat ki raat, up in Neelam is true masterpiece. Watching it after having bunked Physics class made realise true greatness (of the movie and to some extent mine).The movie is a Tarantinoish work with multiple plots so varied that they belong to different movies altogethor.)

Even this too will pass.

Time to go back home and chill.

Happy Holi to all.

HappY BddaY BaGGa

I am writing a poem

which inspite of my hardest efforts seems to still have exceptionally long lines

But i shall try my best

To put them to rest

As i write this poem

This poem will be deep

So if you are one of those dumb eternal patients of bathophobia

You better stop

Else u'll gradually drop

As death upon u will creep

On the other hand

If you rather prefer being murdered than committing suicide yourself

You may continue

Be my retinue

Lets build castles of sand

Continuing on the other hand

If you think i used the phrase "castles of sand" just to match with hand

You are a moron grand

For i could i have used land

and band,and gland and ...band

Just to match with hand

Castles of sand are but empty dreams

But to be washed away by the waves

of life, misery and facial creams

And forgotten in the sickly graves

I long for oneness ad nobility

And of light from darkness within

But as i look at my fragility

i shudder from my own sin

But as the innocent hand

that never leaves

the castle of sand

which never lives

I too shall build and strive

to make that castle on the shore

so that when the wave will strike

I can fall no more.