Teetotaller Of A Different Kind

It's a very proud moment for all of us at CircusMouse. And we wear that pride up our sleeves, literally. Hence the t-shirt.

What the bloody hell is this?

From the world's best blahg comes the world's best t-shirt. To cut the long story shirt short, here's the t-shirt for you. Do not get distracted by the wonderful modull model posing with the t-shirt, pay attention to the wonderful t-shirt instead.

Front:




















Back:




















Damn, it's such a stupid t-shirt

Really? You either get it or you don't. And if you have not, get out on the road, walk for 23 meters - not a meter more, not a meter less. Wait there and ask the first female walking by
carrying a purple handkerchief. She will know for sure. Huh.

Ok, I've got it. How do I get the t-shirt?

See, now you're talking sense. This t-shirt might be the best piece of visible fabric your body has ever had on it. Of course, there are better pieces of fabric your body would've had on it and much closer than this t-shirt. But we have learnt our Moral Science lessons well and we know exposing is not appropriate. Hence, this t-shirt comes with an OK certificate from the Exposure Control Authority Of India.

If you want to get this amazing creation, indicate in the comments to the post or write to 10plus3i@gmail.com. Here are the details -

Size - The model in the photo above is wearing an M size t-shirt. So an L would probably fit most men to the tee. An M for most women?

Cost - Higher the quantity of the order, lower will be the price. Estimated price is Rs. 200. And we'll try to keep it within that.

Quality - Fairly Decent.

Delivery - It's that good, eh? That you want it delivered right away? We're glad. Tell us if you want the t-shirt either by comments or by e-mail. We'll see how many t-shirt we're printing, arrive at the cost of one t-shirt and then get in touch with you for the address. Delivery charges extra. Definitely lesser than most maternity hospitals.

To hell with you. Absolute bullshit this is. Such huge fuss over such non-sense.

We're happy. At least someone is honest. Now if you'd only let us what about the t-shirt makes you feel that way. That it's a t-shirt and not a t-short? That it has Gabbar and not Mogambo? That the idea in itself is ridiculous? Tell us, please.

Melancholic Ecstacy

The Indian Ocean track

Realised two things over the last two weeks. Two days passed by without spending much time with anyone. For two hours I listened to 'Sound of Silence' and wrote this in two minutes.

1.In the final months of final year,if you are not in the habit of enjoying something burning close to your lips,you lose 50% of your 'friends' whom you could hangout with.

2.Funnily enough,if you are not a nature lover,don't like things green,say grass, you are in for some more time alone.You lose 30% of 'friends' to hang out or pass time.

And things get worse when the remaining 20% are not too enthusiastic about what you are interested in. Then the true meaning of 'bore' dawns on you.( For 9 hours,you sit in front of the comp to do something which people won't appreciate anyway, and then when you no one to talk to or go with for a cup of a coffee,it is sad)

Call this a whine,a rant,a crib, it doesn't matter.Yes, I'm like that little kid crying for a chocolate. But who'll get me the chocolate?!

And during one of those boring hours, I wrote this poem. It's after a long time that I'm trying this stunt. My earlier attempts at this form of literature were meant to be funny and time-pass types. This one I believe, is a serious attempt. What's your take?!

Conversation with cloud#9

I'm not sure if it was day or night.
But I saw a magnificient light in full might.
There we were, 3267 metres high,
When I met cloud number nine.

Asked him,"What keeps you so happy,Nine?"
Said he,"The key lies in always being high"
But then I come from a dry land,
How to be always high, I don't understand?.

He smiled and said,"Make one thing clear,
If your land is dry,how come I see you here?!
I see you have no fear,
Arrange for 'stuff' without shedding a tear"

I said-"Your words are very true,
But it's difficult to get good brew.
It comes at a costly price,
If caught,have to pay a heavy price"

He said,"Come meet this guy.He's new here,
Hasn't even tasted beer.
Hails from a place where 'it' flows like a river.
To 'that', he hasn't even gone near.

Between you and the world, going on is an eternal strife.
I know you need means to relax and fly.
Leave aside those means for a while
And try getting high on life."

Less boring and more interesting news coming up in the next post.

The Ultimate Pot-boiler.

Ok, this certainly is not the best of my posts.It was inspired by this and the sorry state of roads in my home-town Dharwad.This was the best I could come up with after traveling almost the length and breadth of Mumbai for JMET and NMAT(One more post definitely needed for that).Dharwad->Thane->Powai->Koparkhairane->Vashi->CST->Dharwad.That was quite a trip and this post was written during the return journey. This was the best my tired mind could come up with.Have some more posts in the offing on my father's experiences as the returning officer during the upcoming Gram Panchayat and Zilla panchayat elections here. They talk of decentralisation of power and village empowerment, but all that has happened is that the rot has precipitated down to the bottom.Imagine a village being divided not only along caste lines,but also along political lines now.Politics is one of my favourite subjects and I saw how little of that is reflected in this blog.

Returning to the current post, it could have also been titled


The Monk who drove his Ferrari over a pot-hole.
or
Zen and the Art of pot-hole maintenance.
or
Harry-potholer!
or
The Autobiography of an Unknown Pothole
or
The Argumentative Indian Pothole

I don’t exist on paper.(I exist on road, of course!). what I meant to say was that I don’t have an official existence like most of you. The census of 2001 was conducted well before my ‘birth’ and I doubt if I’ll survive till the time the next census is carried out in 2011. Actually, the whole pot-hole community around me has been officially declared . In the dusty files of the Public Works Department consigned to some corner, they have been given the best possible burial a pot-hole can ever imagine. Covered with the supreme quality tar, and then rolled over by the strongest road-roller in the whole region, specifically ‘bought’ for that purpose. That is all ‘for the record’. The actual story is something else. Neither the tar came nor the road-roller. The holes weren’t filled, what were filled though were the beds of the executive engineer who floated the tender, the bank lockers of the contractor and the cup-boards of the minister. The minister actually made money twice. Once, while awarding the contract and the second time a 20% cut in from the same contractor after he began working on the ‘project’. That was two years ago. Some work was indeed done. It was the perfect patch work ever done. It was patchy both in terms of the quality of the work and also that it left lot of patches were still left untouched. Those which were covered up soon opened up and in pothole-speak, they are called ‘ghost-holes’ . The whole colony talks about them in hushed voices. Children pot-holes aren’t allowed to go close to them. That is why the area around those ghost-holes is quite deserted.

In the slum world, I live in what is the real world equivalent of a small locality in a city. there isn’t much of an activity, but once in a while I’m woken up from my slumber by a truck or two running over me carrying heavy goods. It hurts, not only physically but also in the heart. Not only these people run over you but also abuse you with choicest expletives for no fault of yours. It may sound a bit cynical, but we potholes do extract our pound of flesh. The faster these guys run over you, more is the pain they suffer. These humans are so strange. I’ll never be able to understand them. Two days back, this handsome hunk was riding what has been our latest nuisance, the hayabusa. He mutters such obscenities under his breath it spoilt my whole day. And yesterday he comes again, with his friend in the pillion, runs over me again and thanks God for my presence there. The reason?. He gets that ‘close touch’ with his -friend. These humans think that Gods must be crazy, but what they don’t know that it is them who are crazy. Just the other day he was cursing me no end, but at that moment he was glad I was there. I could make that from the gleam in his eyes. I pray to God to give me enough strength and make me grow in size such that the next time he runs over me, he gets such a ‘touch’ he’ll never forget in his life.

I often wonder about my parents. The elder potholes in our colony have taken such care of me that I don’t really miss my parents. But sometimes during the night I wonder if my parents might be among the countless stars in the sky. I dream of leading a quiet, peaceful life with papa pot-hole, mama pot-hole and a lil’ brother pothole until another one of the devils runs over me.

Let me share a secret with you all. We pot-holes are not actually very sure about our gender. Most of us assume our genders. What makes our situation even more piquant is that we are not ‘born’ normally. We come into existence by an , a tiny somewhere ‘evolves’ into a fully-grown pothole. I often wonder about what my name could be. Few days back, a bespectacled engineering student was almost kicked to by his friends when suggested a name for me. ‘Harry Pot-holer’!. His idea didn’t quite appeal to his friends. I guess I know what name I like. A female, the most beautiful I have seen till date, came close to me, slowed down and passed over me with such gentle care that I almost felt like I was in an embrace with her. Then with her soft, silky voice she gave me a name-‘Oeemah’. Yes, my name is Oeemah.

Ok, I guess it’s time to move on. I wish you all the best in this roller-coaster jouney called Life. And remember, no profanities the next time you come across a hurdle(pothole) on the road or in your life. It’s your creation and that your backache is not my headache. Don’t fall down, but recover soon and keep your eyes wide open and reach your destination without any hitches.

A 'short' story and 'THE stroke of genius'

Wrote this in a short time, 3 minutes?! During the seminars. Practical exams from Monday and I'm writing this here!! My previous experiences should come in handy and no Ram here for that reassurance you guys,b@$!@^d$!

The 'short' story
His name was R.Ram. He was 5' tall. Like his name, his height was also very short. He used to cut his hair every fortnight, for he liked to keep it short. Hewas a good cricket player. While batting he used to despatch anything short, beyond the ropes. He was a brilliant fielder at short point, short fineleg and short mid-wicket bowling his main weapon was the shortpitched delivery which rose to an awkward height for the batsmen to tackle it. His memory lasted for a very short period, the time he spent in the exam hall was also very short it took a very short time for his teachers to correct his papers and he always fell short of the passing marks.

He was extremely short-tempered. His temper used to flare when his friends used to tease him for 'that thing' being short as well, owing to his short height. He used to get into serious fights over this. But, those fights were also shortlived for he lost due to his short stature deep inside he knew,'it' was indeed short.

When he was 18,he wanted a girlfriend. He wanted only a short term relationship. His wait was shortlived, for he found an equally short female. Their short relationship came to an end and they went separate ways.

While on a short walk, he came under a truck. He died on the spot. A short article tucked away in some corner on an obscure local newspaper made a mention of his death. His funeral also was very short, for he had no mourners.

The stroke of genius

This occurred to me while I was peeing in the 'hygienic', germ free, hazy(due to just then sprayed DDT to keep away the mosquitoes) bathroom. No, it was not in the bathroom. My next best idea will occur to me when I'll be peeing. This actually occurred to me while I was almost killed by an OPEL CORSA number GJ-5 PJ 5456!!. I know my death will come while crossing the road.

Pong was with me then. I asked him,"What's the most (ab)used line in personality contests?". Personality contests!, well there's another post waiting to be written on that, which again reminds me of Ram!. And Pong had some/no clue.It was 'IITIAM' or I think therefore I am. Poor Descartes must be turning in his grave! Then I told Pong something which would've made Descartes roll over 142 times in his grave. I told him-"My parents thought, therefore I am!". To which Pong replied-"My parents didn't think, therefore I am!" No offences Pong, but!!!:))

P.S Now you decide who's the bigger genius!!

Update 1: I stand vindicated in writing the previous post. We still haven't received the prize. And heard the prize money will be cut down.
Update 2: If you haven't watched Yahaan, hang yourself and ask your bhoot to watch it.Minissha(s,with that extra s)is so cute, ooeeemaa.

Back with 'back again'!

I'm back after exorcising some demons inside my head. I'm feeling much better now having accomplished that, and what makes me more glad is that I did it all alone. I went to some people looking for answers and realised most of them lay within me. Realsied that running behind/with the crowd just doesn't help in my case. There are some inherent 'quirks?' and inexplicble contradictions which only I possess and there are some things which I do and have perfect explanations which appear totally convincing to me and I guess that is what matters most at the end of the day. Raghuram has more faith in me than I do and it is vice versa I guess!

Expect more of such philo'soupy' in coming posts!!

Hope the purgation is successful.I realised that there's no point geting stuck in a hole and then complain, crib about how things are not going on well. The best way to come out of the hole, I thought was to attend some classes and resume the old routine of writing poems sitting in the last bench, with the teacher wondering as to why am I the only one taking down notes. I finished the book that I was writing my 'class notes' since third year and had to borrow a page from Lakshman to write this poem.


Geometry of life

They say life comes a full circle, but why is it that,
I feel like it’s back to square one,
When what I’ve been through is just a semicircle.
Yet they say, angle in a semicircle is a right angle!

You and your goals become parallel lines,
You’re stuck in a maze as complicated as a dodecahedron.
Life goes into the third quadrant and people suddenly become obtuse
Your sorry state turns more acute and the cylindrical cup of woes overflows.

You pause and reflect, wondering why
The angle of incidence is not equal to the angle of reflection.
And realize that life isn’t governed by laws of Euclid or Euler.
That there are paths longer than the hypotenuse, and shorter than the diagonal.

You feel you are living on the edge,
Length breadth and height of desperation threatening to multiply,
You sit back, contemplate and analyze your graph
And then that diminishing flicker lost in some vertex of your heart,
Tells you to look at life as a trapezium.

Hope and faith the parallel sides, always running along.
All you need to do extend the non-parallel ones,
And don’t they meet, that extension needing tonnes of patience and hard work.
So clear your mind, start from the base and work your ass off!!
- Nikhil
23/09/05

Rendezvous with someone 'special'

It was sometime between 2:30 and 3 in the night. I was dead tired the previous night and tiny crackers were bursting in my head. I somehow managed to fall asleep(how does it matter if I was still with the same jeans,T-shirt and shoes since morning and didnot bother to take them off,how does it matter if the fan was running full speed and the door was wide open?!)


Suddenly everything was hazy. The sweet fragrance of Cycle Brand 3-in-1 incense sticks permeated my room.Strains of veena and the chanting of 'OM' could be heard in the background.The chants were getting clearer now. And then there was this single beam of blue light emerging through the balcony door. The whole thing was getting eerie.Before I could even think what the whole thing could be, this guy with his hair rolled into a bun appeared out of nowhere. For a moment though, I wonder if it was Shashank playing a prank on me.

I start scanning him with the bottom-up approach followed in hindi movies.How many times have we not seen the hero and the heroine make that typical 'entry'. The hero- start with the shining black shoes a tight black pant, a broad jet black belt with a gold buckle, a black leather jacket open at the front , a T-shirt with a 'puchline', accentuating his abs, and to 'top' to it all, a black helmet out of which emerges our kinght in the 'shining' armour(literally!).Sometimes some great directors like Vikram Bhatt get better of you and instead of the hero it's the heroine. Remember Rani's entree in Ghulam??. But the heroines' entry is sedate and marked by a degree of authority as most movies have the usual rich boy- meets -poor girl-love- father, also the villian -opposes- love wins in the end storyline. She steps out of the Merc, left leg first,ceramic white high-heeled sandals,(legs cleanly 'veet'-waxed!), stockings if she's to be shown as ultra-rich, and then as the camera starts moving up her leg the audiences' pulses begin to zoom up like the BSE sensex and threatens to cross all barriers, the skirt appears where the knee ends and then a 'correction' takes place with a large collective heave from the audience.Then there's nothing much at the top( to see ) because it is fully covered!She gets down from the car, takes off her goggles and then turns around with her 'sunsilk'y her covering the entire screen and her face as well. The repetitive shots of her Fair and Lovely face get lost amidst the shrill whistles and catcalls of the 'hungry' audience.

Now I become the hindi movie cameraman. His toes are as dirtier than mine and it appears as though he's walked quite a distance on the rain-soaked roads of Surat, his legs hairy as any normal male!, and when I don't see any signs of clothing as I move up his legs,it starts to get uncomfortable. More than assuaging this feeling of annoying discomfort, the piece of tiger skin draped his thighs scares me no ends. There's no sign any clothing as I move the 'camera' upwards except for large rosary around his neck which laters occurs to me that it's called 'Rudraksha'(which again reminds me of a horri(bheja-f(r))ying Hindi movie by the same name). His neck had a
bluish patch as if he had a bad throat(aggravated by those wicked khich-khich causing agents!) and needs Vicks urgently. His face was the most striking feature. There was something about this face. Something powerful, something enigmatic. What heightened my astonished state of misery was that I-know-it-all smile on his face. The trishul in his hand made me wonder if he was a Bajrang Dal activist. For five minutes he stands there akin to a statue at the Tussade's and I do nothing but stare at him. Just as I recover and am about to yell out aking him if that was some kind of a practical joke, he broke his smile and with a calm soothing voice called out - "Vaths!". Before I could ask him if he was Shiva- The God, the smile reappeared on his face and he said-"Yes, I am". It was Bruce Almighty redux. Not wanting to be the fool that Bruce Nolanwas in that movie, I let God do the talking!(At the back of my mind, I thought Ramanand Sagar had indeed got it right, Gods do address others as Vaths, even the costumes were accurate to the minutest of the details.

He parks his trishul in a corner, but it falls down. While he's picking it up, I restist the temptation to break out into a giggle which I do whenever the teacher drops the teacher in the class. He replaces the trishul and clasps his hands indicating he means business. I sense he's looking for a place to sit down and I quickly clear the pile of clothes on my chair and dump them in my cup-board. He's certainly out of sorts in DF-7 hostel-6 NIT,Surat far removed from the serene, calm environs of Kailash mountains.

Unmindful of this, he begins."So, do you know John Barry Adams?.He lived in the UK between 1863 and 1927. 5' 8", 73 kgs,comlete family man. Wife and two children. Achieved nothing great in life.Ended up as just another statistic in the register at the city council of Yorkshire."

I just parted my lips and there he went-"Yes, I do know English.Had to learn it with many Hindus praying to me in English. Globalisation, you see!"

I was left wondering why did God 'appear' to talk to me about some good-for-nothing John Barry Adams.He then smiled looking at puzzled look on my face - "No, don't do that with atleast me right infront of you" and this left me with no doubt that it was indeed God infrontof me.What exactly was going through my mind was-"How the *&%^ does this John Barry Adams matterto me now?" and he being God himself couldn't have missed it!.And added-"By the way, you were John Barry Adams in your previous birth.

The puzzled look still continued to be there while he carried on-"Well it was quite disturbing to see you curse me for the last few days and that last outburst of yours was very very unsettling. So I was quite upset with you and ran a check on your antecedents andfound out that there was a mistake on our database. it was found out that John Barry Adams had killed 768 ants more than we'd thought initially. So, to account for that, I had to punish you over the last week.That is wh`y your computer's RAM crashed,your keyboard stopped working, your specs broke, the tube-light in your room hasn't been working since the last 3 days and you had a stye in your eyes. I delayed your specs getting repaired for that outburst. But I found you worrying too much over such small matters,you have bigger things to worry and think aboutin your life.As they say, stop making a mountain of an mole-hill,learnt this idiom recently".

And then he walked away calmly out of my room, the crescent at the back of the bun on his hair clearly visible as was the spring where Ganga originates.Ramanand Sagar got this one wrong though. Gods just don't disappear, they silently walk away!

God was perhaps right.I have better things to worry about.Maybe I should worry if I have to attend the first class tomorrow having been up so late to write this, worry if with the last ten rupee note left in my pocket I should go to the canteen and have samosa and tea or go the gateand have vada-pav and sugarcane juice during the break, or maybe worry if i should clean my room after two months or two months and one day.

Yes,God was right.How does it matter if there was a stye in my eye and I don't have my specs for three days and I have to bunk two labs for that,how does it matter if my RAM crashes and keyboard stops working and that my room is without a tube-light for the last three days.C'mon God, small things?.you must be kidding!

P.S. It's been 4 days since I wrote this. My room is still without tube-light. The new keyboard I bought is giving problems and adding to the never-ending list of woes, my CD-ROM drive stopped working suddenly yesterday. And to my surprise, I'm not cribbing or complaining about what's happening to me. I'm currently flowing with
The Last Song of Dusk. Will try and post the review.

Such a long journey!!

It's been (only?) about 15 days since I last posted. To say the least, my experiences in the last fortnight have only made me more philosophical and it seems to me as though those were not 15 days that passed by, but 15 years. I also happened to meet 'someone special' during this period. The post is ready, waiting to be posted. Once we get net in our rooms, which'll hopefully happen in the next 2-3 days, I'll put up the post.

Clean Fresh Normal......

Donno why the poet in my has suddenly 'woken up'.Here's is how i was this weekend.


Finally cleaned my dirty room with a clean broom,
Now the broom is as dirty as my room
And my room as clean as the broom.
Am I proud of my room.

Got down to my knees,
Mopped the floor.
Oh god! the dust and my back,
But am sure, mom would be glad back home.

Went into a long slumber
Caught glimpses of a vivid dream
In my mind's innermost realm
My folks called up, thought -yes have to do it for them.

Have come some distance far,
Still a long way to go.
Am barely out of my teens,
Can't yet come to terms with this world's niceties.

There's so much to learn,so much to listen,
So much to know,so much to read.
And i'm not talking classroom here.
Only then you realise how 'small' you are.

In my mind,while these were being contemplated,
Bharath says I was 'frustrated'.
There are times when you need to switch off,
Have to sit back , think and watch.

Now that I've woken up,dreamt that dream
My mind like my room,fresh and clean
And for Bharath
I'm normal again

P.S. Is the poet in me lousy??Shall I keep him awake or put him to sleep??

Sense and Non-sensibilty

Bharath tells me,for the last 10 days or so
I've been speaking non-sense.
What does he know,
for what I'm doing makes perfect sense.

I need a lot of rest,
My room's in such a mess.
And I've hardly slept ,
For the last 10 days.

There's a stye in my left eye,
Which refuses to die.
And I want to read "Catcher in the Rye"
Oh! the stye in my eye.

Ok, I talk a lot and crack a lot of jokes
Am really bored of class and notes.
I am still very much sane
But my PJs will continue to rain.

There's very little time to go,
Before exams usurp our fun.
My subjects' names i still don't know
Have to wake up now,how far can i run?

I just need a break, and some rest.
Long hours of deep sleep.
Then Bharath won't complain
For him, I'd be normal and sane then!

one more .....poem???

WHILE I'M YET TO WRITE ON WHAT ALL I WAS 'BUSY' WITH FOR THE LAST 20 DAYS OR SO, HERE'S SOMETHING WHICH I WROTE DURING THE FIRST PERIOD TODAY!!(STILL CAN'T SEEM TO RECONCILE TO THE FACT THAT WHILE IN CLASS I'M SUPPOSED TO LISTEN TO THE TEACHER!!)

SO HERE IT GOES..(COULDN'T FIND A TITLE.. ANY SUGGESTIONS ..APART FROM THE BRICKBATS,CRIBS,RAVES AND ....)

...............................................................................

THE DATE AND TIME WERE SET
FOR THE RENDEZVOUS.
TO SEE THE PRETTY ONE,
HE'D BEEN TRYING TO WOO.

HE STILL CANNOT FORGET ,
THEIR FIRST ENCOUNTER
IN A VERY PIQUANT SITUATION,
BOTH OF THEM WERE.

HE RAMMED INTO HER FROM BEHIND
I MEAN,HIS PULSAR INTO HER SCOOTY.
SHE CREATED A FURORE,WORDS ADDING FUEL TO FIRE.
AFTER ALL, A FIERY YOUNG WOMAN SHE WAS.

PROFUSELY HE APOLOGISED, BUT TO NO AVAIL
SHE FINALLY CALMED DOWN, AND APOLOGISED IN RETURN.
FOUND HIM VERY NAUGHTY , WHEN ASKED FOR A CUP OF COFFEE.
COFFEE CAN WAIT, SHE SAID AND GAVE HER MOBILE NUMBER INSTEAD.

HESITANTLY HE SENT THE FIRST SMS FORWARD
WAS PLEASANTLY SURPRISED BY THE DELUGE OF REPLIES.
MOVING AHEAD FROM SILLY SMSES
THEY BEGAN TALKING SOON.

HE FOUND HER INTERESTING
SHE FOUND HIM SILLY,FUNNY AND TEMPTING!
BOTH MOVED CLOSER TO EACH OTHER
THOUGH THEY NEVER MET ONE ANOTHER.

FINALLY HE CONJURED UP ENOUGH COURAGE
ASKED HER OUT FOR A DATE.
SAID WE'LL MEET AT THE COFFEE PLACE
AND TALK OVER PASTRIES AND FRAPPE.

TO HIS JUBILIATION SHE AGREED
SAID- WILL COME IN MY FAVOURITE COLOUR- GREEN
CONFESSED EVEN SHE WAS EAGER,
TO MEET THE PERSON WHO'D RAMMED INTO HER.

HE WAITED ENDLESSLY AT THE COFFEE SHOP
BUT THERE WAS NO SIGN OF 'THE ONE'
NOW THOUGHT HE, SOMEONE ELSE HAS RAMMED INTO HER.
RETURNED DISAPPOINTED WITHOUT THE ENCOUNTER.

AND THEN THE SKIES OPENED UP
HE STOOD DRENCHED WHILE EVERYONE SCURRIED FOR COVER.
PETALS OF THE ROSE WERE ALL WASHED AWAY,
WHILE THE SKIES OPENED UP AGAIN!

©nikhilkulkarni 2005(COPYRIGHT..EH!!)

ThE LasTBencherS' SOng!!(incomplete!)

Sitting in the last bench,
Far away from the hostel stench,
Our knowledge thirst we are here to quench,
Sitting in the last bench!!

This teacher makes our guts wrench,
This period seems like a never ending trench.
But,our knowledge thirst we are here to quench,
Sitting in the last bench.!

Away from all this, in heavy rains we want to drench
Dancing with girls Brit,American and French!!
But, dreaming of all this our knowledge thirst we quench,
Sitting in the last bench!!!!

My first StoRy!!!!!

Where do I begin? Like any other teenager who thinks he can do anything under the sun and somethings even beyond that!, I’m also setting out to write a book (a book??!)[There haven’t been many teenage “authors” , have they?] I have a “novel” idea of writing a book directed at teenagers, as I've realized after my recent short pursuit of reading as a serious hobby (If you can call it so after reading a few Forsyths, Ludlums, Haileys, Grishams, Archers, Sheldon- well most of them!! and a few Dan Browns too thrown In for a good measure!)))

The main protagonist of my book will be Abhay -the fearless a hero who fights against all odds..... ---- Hey wait a minute!!! Wouldn’t that be the same dramatic s@#t!!!! People do like heroes, but then wouldn’t people like a book with characters that they'd identify themselves with. [[[That’ll mean my book will sell more and if I really become that celebrated "celebrity" which I hope will get me an entry Into one of those page 3 parties .Man,after seeing (NDTV 24 * 7 NIGHT OUT) and reading (on page 3 ofcourse!) I desperately want to visit one of those parties to find out why the hell do they get so much airtime and eat up newsprint so that we know what (un)dress was a particular drunk lady wearing!!]]]] . Oh, back to the story!!!

So, we'll call our main protagonist Rahul!!(Where In India would you not find a person named Rahul after those countless Shahrukh movies in which he's called Rahul in each of them? That'll give my book a wide reach, wouldn't it? If the main character is say Pattabhi Subramanya Shrihari! Naidu Why would a Bengali bother to read it? And remember my book has to have maximum reach!!! )) How about a girlfriend for Rahul?? ((Forgive my engineering brains for obsession with girls!! I hope engineers will understand this better!!!!))) . But then aren't only "heroes" supposed to have girlfriends!!!?? . Maybe we’ll introduce a girl later in the story like an Item song In Hindi phillums (a bad joke huh!!)


Ok so Rahul is neither a topper nor a person who flunks, managing just about marks to be called average to good at academics. But then he isn’t noticed by many people. My book will cover things that Rahul goes through (Even ordinary people can have memorable and enjoyable experiences, but again who hears them?? )))

All Is quiet until this happens to Rahul one day .... He Is ........ ... . .. . . . . . .


Hey you, at the last bench. What are you writing?? Tell me how wIll you transfer a data of 16 bytes to a memory of 8 bytes??(( I "bite" my teeth In frustration here!!]] If you not concentrate In my lucture!! u are mercilessly out!!!! . Get out now.

Sir, I'm sorry sir.... I ...was......

No first you get out second you talk!!!!

I get out

End of story

End of my book.!!!!!!!!!!!