Thursday, January 31, 2008


They played with each other, taunting, challenging, and trying to outdo each other. It was exciting, and though it wasn’t the first time, they never got bored. It really didn’t matter who came first, and who came second, the fun was in playing, not in the result. Scrabbles, a game, a form of textual intercourse.

until next time, double word, double meaning :)

Monday, January 28, 2008


It was easy to say ‘love all’, but he’d have to make a choice. The tall, slim, squeaking Serbian brunette, or the taller, slimmer, shrieking,Russian blonde. Both were too good to be co-recipients of his affection. Perhaps he should watch one more tennis match between them before hefinally chose between Ana and Maria.

until next time, match makers

Thursday, January 24, 2008


And we draw our lines. They might be invisible to those who come in, but we expect strict adherence from them, and sometimes we communicate it subtly or explicitly but sometimes not at all. And when they leave, we can’t complain. Perhaps they don’t like our lines, or perhaps they have their own lines.

until next time, draw your own conclusions

Monday, January 21, 2008

Sister Act

My sister’s college group finished their social project, and built the local tribals a treehouse to show their appreciation, with a strict warning nailed to it -‘maximum 4 people’. A few days later they heard the tree house had collapsed from overloading. We asked her who was dumber – the literate students or the illiterate tribals.

until next time, tree has a crowd

Thursday, January 17, 2008


Quite sometime back, i had written this, in which i had tried to fathom the confusion of a generation caught in transit. That genaration is definitely making progress, marching towards the paramaters of the next generation with ever increasing confidence, but in a sense, giving up on things that used to be sacrosanct until a few years back. Nothing wrong with that, to each his own. But there's one thing that always makes me wonder.
There were things we grew up with - watching potboilers of amitabh in moviehalls with uncomfortable seats and later in VCRs, listening to the nasality of Kumar Sanu on Tseries tapes, enjoying the exploits of Kapil Dev or later Sachin Tendulkar in a crowded room full of cousins, reading Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle and Indrajal, travelling in Ambassador cars and Indian railways, lazing around during summer vacations and so on.
And while they still watch Big B movies in multiplexes, listen to Himesh on Tseries CDs while pretending to say Oh No's, Tendulkar still rocks despite occasional calls for retirement, ACK and Tinkle will soon be available online, Indian Railways is still cool if we go by Jab We Met, and they find a few hours to laze around during summer vacations despite the karate classes, entrance tutions, salsa classes etc that enable them to survive and win in this oh-so competitive world, I wonder whether they'll ever get nostalgic about any of the above the way we do.
Or have they found other things that i haven't heard of that will link them with their childhood and youth, the ones that will give them bittersweet memories which they can jot down like this, the legacy of a way of life they can pass on to the generations that follow. Or will it all be forgotten in the tumble of the life we lead today, in which everyday brings in a faster way of doing things, a quicker way of travelling, a better way to store data, an easier way to communicate and so on... Will it all be lost when things become so transient that the past won't really matter anymore...

until next time, remember....

Monday, January 14, 2008

A Class 1 story

He wondered why he’d been sent out of class. He’d done his homework, polished his shoes, he was paying attention to Miss Mary, and when Arjun, who sat next to him, started talking to him, he’d first ignored him, and then said loud enough for Miss Mary to hear, ‘Don’t disturb me in class, monkey’

until next time, every child is special

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Love story

Unknown to each other, they were..
A smile and a word between them
And thus began a friendship rare
Best of friends, they became
A smile and a word between them
And lo, their love was for all to see,
Dearest of lovers, they were
A smile and a word
One love story became two

until next time, transience..
PS: D gave me a dirty look after this, so perhaps its best to have a disclaimer - Its not subjective :)

Monday, January 07, 2008

The Aftermath

Most of their friends and relatives were dead. They would’ve compared the WMD use to Afghanistan and Iraq. Not just in terms of the damage caused, but also because, in their view, the biggest pest around, the one who instigated all this, was still walking around. She might have agreed, thankfully she couldn’t hear them.

until next time, read this for the big picture