Sooner or later, it's going to catch up with you.

Just when you discover that lady-luck is really a hooker, you're fresh out of cash.

Into The Shining Sun

Where were you, when I was burnt and broken.
While the days slipped by, from my window watching.
Where were you, when I was hurt and I was helpless.
Because the things you say, and the things you do, surround me.

While you were hanging yourself on someone else’s words,
Dying to believe in what you heard.
I was staring straight into the shining sun.

Chhutti Khatam

Today marked the end of a wonderful set of holidays. They were brilliant. They were not too long, so there wasn't much scope for boredom, and they were not too short, as for us IIT students, nine days is anything but short. We don't usually get those many holidays at a stretch.

As I said, the holidays were perfect. I had the most wonderful time. I read a lot. I slept a lot. I blogged a lot. I ate a lot. I caught up with friends. I watched a lot of movies. I listened to a lot of good music. I played a considerable amount of cricket and badminton. I went on my first Delhi Metro ride. I did a lot of strange things, like blindfolding myself and running around the house, and trying to take a pee upside down (Don't try this at home. If you, however, do, I strongly advise using facial protection). It was, in short, one of those weeks when things just kept happening one after the other and plans materialized out of thin air at astonishingly short notice.

Today, however, I went to college. I had to sit through 3 hours of lectures, followed by a 4 hour long Mechanical Drawing Practical. And then, I walked into a door and hurt my nose. I've been continuously sneezing since.

College sucks.

Oh, Bloody Oh!

What I wouldn't give to get my hands on one of these babies.

Solely on poetry

Regular readers of this blog, especially the ones who have been around long enough to have read an earlier (much earlier) post on poetry, would know that I'm not too good at it. People, who happen to know me decently well, would also know that I'm not too good at it, besides knowing that I'm slightly insane. Mr. Karan Misra, who happens to be unfortunate enough to be both (a regular reader of this blog and a person who happens to know me decently well; not bad at poetry and slightly insane), put it very aptly, when he once said, with characteristic eloquence, that Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz could have written better poetry. I am quite sure that he was correct.

What I am trying to convey is that I have never been very good at poetry. I haven't even been a little good, and have escaped being dreadfully bad only by the skin of my teeth. A very long time ago, I had tried, and failed, and being a man who knows his limitations, I had, until very recently, resigned myself to a poetry-less existence.

But recently, when I took a look around, as I tend to do every couple of months or so, I saw everybody writing, believe it or not, poetry. It seems to me to be the latest fad. All my good friends are writing poetry. All my not-so-good friends are writing poetry. All the people I know but am not quite friendly with are writing poetry, and I am very sure that quite a few of the people I don't know at all would be writing poetry as well. I feel, to put it bluntly, quite left out.

A friend of mine, a real stud, recently said, "Today, if you're writing poetry, you're cool. If you're not, you're not." When I heard that, I told him I wanted to be cool. He laughed at me. But when I told him I was serious, he said grimly, "Manu, I'm not going to lie to you. It is going to be tough. But just do as I say, and I assure you, one day, you will be." "Where do I start?", I asked him. He thought a bit, and then said, expectedly, "Let's start with poetry."

So Ladies and Gentlemen, without much further ado, allow me to present my first step on the road to cooldom.

Another Day

He wakes up from a dream,
And sees the daylight streaming in.
He sits up in bed,
Trying to remember himself again.

He looks at himself in the mirror.
His face is drawn and weary.
His eyes are tired,
Yet they seem to him to shine.

And he knows he's still alive,
And forces himself to smile.

In case any of you got what I was trying to say in that poem, do let me know. I didn't understand much of it after the first couple of lines, and I would love to know what it means.
Thank You, and a very Happy Belated Dusshera to all.

Arbitaapa - 2

At the very outset, before I move on to other, less important things, I would like to explain the title to this post. I wrote a post titled Arbitaapa about a month back, and since I prefer to name all my posts uniquely, Arbitaapa - 2 had to make do for this one. The title, however, is not read 'Arbitaapa Part Two' or 'Arbitaapa the Second' or even 'Arbitaapa Hyphen Two'. It is read 'Arbitaapa Dwiteeeeya', BigB-style.

I just finished reading a wonderful book called Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger. It is a most delightful book, and a wonderful read. It's not too long, and most of it written in the form of a conversation. It is, as a result, an extremely difficult book to put down midway. In case any of you have an afternoon on your hands, and don't really have much to do in it, I would strongly recommend a read.
Immediately after Franny and Zooey, I started on this book called The Shadows of Sherlock Holmes. It's a collection of detective short-stories, put together by this man called David Stuart Davies. It has a few short stories which I have already read, a few I have merely heard about, and then some more. It seems like a wonderful combination of the well-known and the obscure. I haven't read much of it as yet. I have read, in fact, just a couple of the stories in it. Yet, it seems, already, a very, very interesting book, and I am, presently, eagerly looking forward to picking it up again.

The other subject I wanted to bring up during this post was that of my 100th post. I have been a bit busy over the past few days, and, as a result, forgot all about the 100 post milestone I was about to reach a few days back. I checked my post counter a few minutes ago, and I was surprised to see that not only have I already posted my 100th post, I have posted 15 more since then. This, then, is my 116th post. So happy 116th post to me.

Before leaving for the day, I have a request to make. In case any of you reading this possess the new Coldplay X&Y original Audio CD, or a copy of George Orwell's Animal Farm, kindly get in touch with me ASAP.
Thank You.

You'd better get busy, though, buddy. The goddam sands run out on you every time you turn around. I know what I'm talking about. You're lucky if you get time to sneeze in this goddam phenomenal world.

I like to move it, move it...

I saw Madagascar yesterday. It is, as I am sure all of you would know, an animated kids' film; the kind that is watched by 7 year-olds in huge groups on class-outings. I, as a result, loved it. It is by far the funniest movie I have seen in a long, long time, and the best animated film I've seen since Finding Nemo. And I should know; being an avid follower of animated movies. They, I think, go well with my intellectual level.
The movie was full of colourful and amazingly well thought-out characters. I personally found the lemurs and the penguins pretty cool, but the best of the lot were the monkeys. They had delightful English accents, and an uncanny tendency to come up with absolutely brilliant lines like, "Of course we're going to throw poo at him."

I also saw Raincoat at a film-festival at Siri Fort a couple of days back. It was a nice movie. The story, loosely based on 'The Gift of The Magi', by O Henry, was expectedly good, but the direction could have been a lot better. The movie also tended to drag a bit in the middle, although not for a very long period of time. The most interesting and entertaining aspect of the movie, however, were the English sub-titles. English subtitles in Hindi movies are always rather shabbily done, but it was amazing just to what extent the sub-titlers had messed up in Raincoat. Bhabhi was translated as Madam, and khichdi as pulp (??). The cake, however, along with pretty much all else, was taken by the sentence that appeared on screen during a scene that had Ajay Devgan shouting at Annu Kapoor, who was playing Ms. Rai's landlord. "Aap to bade hi bekaar kism ke aadmi hain.", yelled Mr. Devgan, which was very unceremoniously, if somewhat erroneously, shortened to, "You asshole!"

And then there were these two kids who were sitting next to me during the movie. As usually happens when two kids between the ages of 4 and 8 converse, one of them was playing the role of the all-knowing, all-powerful stud, while the other was playing the reverent and meek disciple, hoping that some of the stud's gyaan would rub-off on him, and he too, one day, would have his own legion of adherents.
"Yaar, yeh picture khatam kab hogi?", asked the disciple, with suitable obsequiousness.
"Tu ye bata, ki picture shuru kab hui thi?", boomed the stud, playing his part to perfection.
"Teen baje, yaar.", replied the disciple, making sure he kept his voice low.
"To phir chheh baje khatam hogi, bewakoof. Tujhko itna bhi nahi pata. Cinema hall mein saari picturein fixed time par chalti hain. Yeh waali teen se chheh. Phir chheh se nau. Phir nau se baarah. Phir raat ke show; baarah se teen aur teen se chheh. Phir subah ko chheh se nau, nau se baarah, baarah se teen, aur phir phirse teen se chheh. Log saara time baith kar picturein dekhte rehte hain. Samajh aaya bewakoof?", said the stud, surprised by the extent of his companion's ignorance.
"To kyaa hall mein chaubees ghante picturein hi chalti rehti hain?", asked the disciple, now awed beyond comprehension.
"Aur kyaa.", said the stud, now clearly trying to recall why he had agreed to sit with this dufus in the first place.
"To phir, yaar, yeh cinema hall waale log sote kab hain?", asked the disciple, with much anticipation.
With infinite simplicity, the stud replied, "Arre bewakoof!! (He was, very evidently, in love with the word 'bewakoof'.) Saturday aur Sunday ko sote hain naa."
The disciple was too overwhelmed with the simplicity of it all to continue the conversation.

Before I leave, I would like to post some lyrics. They are from a most delightful song, probably one of the best ever. Download the song, and sing along. Dance, if you can. Jump up and down, and wave your arms around. You'll love it all, I assure you.

I Like To Move It Move It
-- Sacha Baron Cohen

(Chorus)

I Like To Move It Move It
I Like To Move It Move It
I Like To Move It Move It
Ya Like To (MOVE IT!)

All Girls All Over The World
Original King Julian Pon Ya Case Man!
I Love How All The Girls A Move Their Body
And When Ya Move Ya Body
Uno Move It
Nice And Sweet And Sexy Alright!
Woman Ya Cute And You Don’t Need No Make-Up
Original Cute Body You A Mek Man Mud Up
Woman Ya Cute And You Don’t Need No Make-Up
Original Cute Body You A Mek Man Mud Up
Woman! Physically Fit
Physically Fit
Physically
Physically
Physically
Woman! Physically Fit
Physically Fit
Physically
Physically
Physically
Physically

Woman! Ya nice
Sweet Fantastic
Big Ship Pon De Ocean That A Big Titanic
Woman! Ya Nice Sweet Energetic
Big Ship Pon De Ocean That A Big Titanic
Woman! Ya nice
Sweet Fantastic
Big Ship Pon De Ocean That A Big Titanic
Woman! Ya nice
Sweet Fantastic
Big Ship Pon De Ocean That A Big Titanic
WOMAN!

(Chorus)

Woman Ya Cute And You Don’t Need No Make-Up
Original Cute Body You A Mek Man Mud Up
Woman Ya Cute And You Don’t Need No Make-Up
Original Cute Body You A Mek Man Mud Up
Eyeliner – Pon Ya Face
A Mek Man Mud Up
Nose Powder – Pon Ya Face
A Mek Man Mud Up
Pluck Ya Eyebrow
Pon Ya
Pon Ya Face A Mek Man Mud Up

Gal Ya Lipstick
Pon Ya Face A Mek Man Mud Up
Woman Ya Nice Broad Face
And Ya Nice Hip Make Man
Flip And Bust Them Lip
Woman Ya Nice And Energetic
Big Ship Pon De Ocean That A Big Titanic
Woman! Ya Nice
Broad Face
And Ya Nice Hip
Make Man Flip And Bust Them Lip
Big Ship Pon De Ocean That A Big Titanic – WOAH!

BOP!
WOAH!
BOP!
WOAH!
BOP!
WOAH!
BOP!

(King Julians Bit On The End:)

I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
HE LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
SHE LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
YOU LIKE TO, MOVE IT!

WE LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
YOU LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
I LIKE .. OH I DID I HAVE I DONE I? DID I DO I LIKE?
I THINK I DID I LIKE.. WE? WHAT ABOUT WE? THEY? THEY? I DID THEY.

OH I GOT IT, I GOT IT I GOT A NEW ONE I GOT A NEW ONE.. THEM?
NO NOT THEM.. DID I SAY THEM OR NOT?

THEM LIKE TO MOVE IT MOV... I'M GONNA SAY THEM

THEM LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
WE LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
UMM WAIT THERES GOTTA BE ANOTHER ONE WE... WE... NOPE.. OH US!
CAN WE DO US LIKE TO?

US LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT THATS THE ONE
US LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
US LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT
US LIKE TO.. MOVE IT!

MOVE IT! MOVE ITTT.. MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT MOVE IT

OKAY THEN, WANNA HEAR,
I JUST WANNA TELL YOU A LITTLE STORY THIS LITTLE STORY
THAT MY DADDY USED TO TELL ME HE WAS A KING AS
WELL I WAS BORN, PROBABLY ABOUT 68 YEARS AGO OVER BY
THAT TREE OVER THERE YEH
AND I REMEMBER THINGS CHANGED A LOT IN THOSE
DAYS, IN MADAGASCAR IT WASNT SO COMMERCIAL, YOU KNOW,
THERE WASNT ALL THE FUSS BOUT WHO'S GOT THE LATEST TREE
AND WHAT LEAVES
ARE YOU WEARING AND WHO'S GOT
THE LATEST FUR ON THEIR BACK YOU KNOW,
THOSE DAYS IT WAS JUST ME AND A COUPLE OF THE OTHERS YOU
KNOW, DOING THE JUNGLE BOOGIE YOU KNOW,
JUNGLE BOOGIE... JUNGLE BOOGIE
WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH

I LIKE TO MOVE IT!

YOU REALLY THINK THIS IS NEVER GONNA END COZ IT IS 3,2,1

NOT BAD EH? I LIKE IT

In case you were wondering...

I have, recently, through sources entirely my own, become aware of the fact that some of you; occasional visitors to this rather dormant blog; have been, for some time now, puzzled as to my whereabouts over the past few days. "Where has Manu been?", is the buzz in and around the by-lanes of IIT. "How has he been keeping?", is the oft-heard refrain as one strolls around AIIMS. "Is he dead, or is it just his blog?", is what one hears at places frequented by Dipsites past and present.

And since I happen to be a firm believer in the age-old adage, "Unanswered questions are bad.", I return from near-nonexistence to dispel all doubts, and to deliver to the people the answers they so desperately demand.

The objective of this post, therefore, is to let my reader(s) know where exactly I have been.

I have been in deep shit. Deep, deep shit. What's more, I still am.

A friend of mine asked me yesterday why I always wear shoes two sizes too small for me. "My life is in ruins.", I replied, "My parents are convinced that I have finally lost it, and are seriously contemplating disowning me. My friends point at me and laugh. I've been single for over 7 bloody months. I study at IIT. I have completely messed up 5 minors within the last 48 hours, and by evening today, I expect to get that figure up to 6 (as it turned out, I managed to do just that). My life is an unmitigated disaster. I feel miserable all day. The only time I feel good is when I get home and take off my shoes."

Whatever you do will be insignificant. But it is very important that you do it.

-- Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi