Random Muse -- 6 : Sorry

There is a park on the Derby Lane
Beautiful flowers and lush green grass
We sit on a bench on one end each
And he sits between us like an alien from Mars

We both are a bit afraid to speak...
You know how fights are...
She does not know how to break ice...
I don’t know why I should apologize...

So he steals the thoughts from our minds...
And gobbles up all the unspoken words...
He grows fat and greedy and fatter and fatter...
Till he bursts like a balloon and scares all the birds...

In a non-silent, sort of unexpected way...
Mr. Pregnant Silence dies unceremoniously...
When they come to investigate they don’t find much evidence
Except for the traces of one single word-weapon – “Sorry”.

Fingerprints were hers before I smudged them with mine.

Book Review - 3: The Last Song of Dusk

The Review:

The last song of dusk revolves around life of a couple. Their misfortunes are never-ending. Their struggle to find solace remains an endeavor throughout the novel. They try love but love is fleeting, they try songs but the words seem meaningless, they try to dance but the music keeps changing and at the end of the day, try dancing with life and your toes get stubbed, don’t they? But so much misfortune in anybody’s life is unimaginable. And that is precisely what makes this novel a tad artificial. The beauty of fiction is that it should not appear like one – it should be so real life-like that you can feel what the characters are experiencing, which seldom happens in this novel. The novel is set in 1920s but in some parts you feel that you are reading a contemporary piece – which is in fact a weakness of the novel as in some parts, characters don’t match the settings they are in. Still, the language of the novel is beautiful. Some characters are quite interesting, but then they look carefully crafted and not so real.

Metaphors are aplenty and so are lovely words. The expressions are flawless. Characters are unique and out of the world. Theme is love, songs and heartache.
Ingredients of a good novel? Yes.
Ingredients of a breathtaking masterpiece which you might read and re-read? No, I don’t think so.

Rating:

6/10

Why I read this book?

The author -- Siddharth Shanghvi was quite hyped and so was the novel. In fact, it won the Betty Trask award for best debut novel in year 2004.

Next read:

Have recently finished reading a wonderful book -- The Kite Runner -- gonna write about it shortly.
Dying to read Shantaram.
Till then, The mating season. For those who are thinking its a biology book or something else -- its a Wooster classic by Wodehouse.

Celebrating today

They say that when you have nothing much to talk about, discuss weather. And what an amazing weather-day it is today! Delhi weather does not provide many opportunities to say good things but somewhere around mid-October, the hot-stickiness transforms itself into that skin-tingling feeling when wind rushes into you. There is the warmth of sunshine and the hint of rain, and the smell of the coming winter in the wind. The wind comes like waves, and you feel a sort of current run down your body. It is a day to maybe throw a wind- cheater or a shawl on your shoulders and feel cozy, to eat pakoras or chaat, to hold hands if you have a sweetheart, to go for a walk, to listen to ghazals, or just to sit outside, close your eyes and breathe in the happiness such a day brings.

So, how did you celebrate today?

Hopeless Haiku - 2

No passing foot kicked it.
No little boy picked it.
It is lonely being a stone.

Prayer meeting

No, I am not obsessed with FD. Far from it! I just want to bury FD with all due respect. You see, it is a great subject taught by a great teacher, prescribed to all who want to study it. But then they should mention the contra-indications in the course outline. In some cases (like mine, of course), the side-effects can result in a disturbance of mental faculties.
Do you want to know what people like me do when they are mentally disturbed by FD?

They draw cartoons while trying study for the exam.



They tend to understand swaps in a different way.



They, like all great men in great difficulties, write poetry, when awaken from sleep during the class.



Then when they get their result, they shout with joy. They expected a zero because they had guessed all the answers but see, lady luck was on their side (You say what big deal...exam was out of 70 and I say psst....you are such a pessimist!)



Though one secret desire remains -- wish I could open up and check the brains of those 15 odd people who got full marks plus FD prof.--- I am sure they must have got some FD microchip installed.

People like me(including SW, of course) are so happy it is finally over!
Come on, let's bury the damned subject.
I have already said my prayers.

Flip!

They are planning to kill me....
Why do they give me so many choices?
Are not they aware that I am hyper – allergic to choices?
First year of MBA was cool – no electives = no choices
Second year, even compulsory courses are turned into electives... don’t they realize that the first thing they should teach is a course on choice management?
People like me don’t mind if life is thrust upon them.
Even if fate or circumstances offer us lemons...we know how to make the lemonade...but if you ask us to choose the lemons...then just trust us to choose the ripest ones.
After the Financial Derivatives disaster (it’s a very long story...), I am extra cautious.
So, I have decided to let the law of probability decide.

I called heads to stick to this elective in place of International finance.



Sadly or not ( and that I will let you know three months later)...it was tails.

Stupid message!

Why should anybody doubt that I won't consume this cake the same day?

Tid-bits

We study hard (at least some of us)...but then we (try to) party harder. Weekend after weekend, month after month, term-end after term-end, plans are made, undone, re-made, some successful and many not so that much. Our strike rate of a successful party plan( if such a thing exists) will be one out of ten. But at least we try.

Then one thing every term-end I really look forward to is going home. Usually, I am accompanied by good-old, intelligent and methodical PB – co-Lucknowite. She takes care of everything – tickets, food, auto et al for I am quite lost most of the times. But guess what MBA does to people? It makes you forget tickets in your room and your luggage in the hostel. The only reason we could make it to Lucknow was because of good time management skills of PB (again? Why am I not good at anything ever?). Hope you soon recover from fourth-term trauma, PB, for you are my guiding light in journeys back home.

I don’t know how many of you have ever traveled or travel by sleeper class. It brings you face to face with some crude realities of life. Like heat and humidity, the never ending noise of wheels on rails, paper-soap sellers, all kinds of beggars, people sleeping all over the floor of the train, the whiffs of urine-salty air that hit you so hard that you wake up from sleep.
Also the fact that not journeys of all lives are traveled in air-conditioned compartments.

Then when I reach home, my parents are mid-way into some kitchen renovation (Why, Why, When I have to come back? Why only then?) The only duty I am assigned is to put the kitchen stuff back into the kitchen. Pretty easy, did you say?

Just see a sample of the stuff that has to be put back.



For the past two days, I am trying to convince myself that this is just a co-incidence and my parents don’t actually hate me.