Archive for the ‘Humour’ Category

Social Network

 
facebook पे अपना status लिख रहे हो
तो जिंदा हो तुम
 
रोज किसी एक नए deal पे बिक रहे हो 
तो जिंदा हो तुम
 
जाओ आज twitter पे एक celebrity को करो follow तो ज़रा
tension ना लो job की linkedin पे account खोलो तो ज़रा
किसी post किसी photo में तुम कभी tag तो हो
किसी मस्त बंदी के google circle में तुम भी add तो हो
 
youtube के किसी random video में दिख रहे हो
तो जिंदा हो तुम
 
facebook पे अपना status लिख रहे हो
तो जिंदा हो तुम
 
– मोहित जैन
Credits: Javed Akhtar !
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Those 4 years..

Posted: August 10, 2007 in Humour, Poetry
Tags: ,

A distance chart may shout 1400 miles on my face but i simply laugh at its ignorance. Statistics lie nonetheless, coz i am still there, with my heart and soul, the place i spent my four years at: IIT Roorkee.

  Four years, i stayed there, wid u ..
Rest of my life, u stay here, wid me.. !!
  My Alma mater..

Of birthday bumps and lavish bashes
Of gaming freaks and GPA crashes
Of mess bunks and nesci treats
Of crowded rooms and empty streets
Of changing seasons and changing fashions
Of dilly-dallying and bakar sessions
Of tutorial submissions and boring lectures
Of wild daru parties and leg fractures
Of day dreaming and fun nightouts
Of examination blues and last minute doubts
Of festive celebrations and club hours
Of skyping, messengers and orkut stars

And so much more i wish to tell..
My last 4 years in a nutshell..

PS: For a graphical representation of above, check this link..
http://picasaweb.google.com/intrigue.mj/LifeIITR

Night Of Terror

Posted: August 6, 2007 in Humour, Mystery
Tags: , , ,

I woke up with a startle. My petty plastic wrist watch exuded green radium glow that was struggling to cover up the dark. Jus’ 2 hours back, I had turned 11 yrs and 1 day. Exhausted from last night’s birthday bash, I had taken to bed a little early than usual, cheerily absorbed in memories of how delicious the pineapple cake was; how many(the number did matter at that time) my gifts were; how colorful the balloons looked imprinting my name on the wall; how happy my parents were, my friends were, I were. Lost in my innocent thoughts, i had slumbered soon after.

It couldn’t be a thief. I knew someone had crawled over my legs. I had felt his weight thawing onto my weak small legs. My heart began pumping heavily. The open window doors hissed a screech to the antics of the strong wind outside sending a chill down my spine. The window had been left open, by mistake. Big mistake. It was too dark to see anything except…

I saw a gory black human shadow move behind the door. I wanted to shout but my voice stumbled inside my throat. I wanted to run but i was too frozen to move a fingernail. My blanket was overwhelmed by the obnoxious smell of my sweat, it had never tasted before. It had been a few minutes. They seemed like hours, though. I was still shivering, still frozen, still still. And, shockingly, so was he. The figure hadn’t moved an inch since then except for a slight fling here and there, behind the door itself.

Who is he? Why is he here? Why is he not moving? Could it be a ghost?

The questions bombarded my tiny brain. The last one struck again. Could it be a ghost? I heard Yes from somewhere within. I fretted at the thought. The blanket was soaking now. I closed my eyes. I prayed. I covered my face. I prayed. I opened my eyes. I prayed. The night went on with intermittent interruptions by the noisy deranged January wind, inattentive of my acute horror.

Like every morning, “8 a.m.” triggered the rhythmic pulsations of my radium watch, scorching my every single peacefully resting bone. People aptly call it an alarm. It, indeed, does alarm me. This morning it seemed like a saviour. I pounced out of my bed and apprehensively, flipped open the gate slowly and slightly. Dad’s overcoat flung across my face from behind the door where it had enjoyed its night of terror. I stood dumbfounded as I heard the maid shouting from the kitchen.

“Bibiji, billi saara dhoodh pi gayi kal raat. !! “
(“Ma’m, the cat drank all d milk. !!”)

A smile flashed across my unbrushed teeth.

It wasn’t an ordinary friday evening. I had just stuffed a pile of newly churned out 500 notes(off my first salary) into the shallow discomfort of my 11 yr old tattered rusty wallet, that now started to heave heavy joyous sighs like an 80 yr old on an instant high after a nicotine dose. I walked towards the Marathalli market intending to change the face of my wardrobe that now more or less resembled the remains of my college wardrobe.

The market was brimming with human shrieks all around as if the whole town was paid that very day and to cross the limits of coincidence, all had decided to change their wardrobes. Only that could explain the sorry state of the Pantaloons factory outlet. After around 35 unsuccessful attempts of wooing salesman’s attention, I gave up and walked out for a stroll.

And there amid millions of monotonous tired faces, i saw her: her face bearing the freshness of morning lilies; her beautiful kohl lined restless eyes as if searching for someone (for a moment i wished hopelessly, it was me they were looking for); her exquisite curves cherishing the warmth of a camel brown, velvety wool-cashmere coat; her feet, a powerhouse of energy, making their way towards us lesser mortals(i was too absorbed to check but i can assure u their were hundreds of us gaping at the splendiferous beauty). And then the unexpected happened. Her gaze reciprocated mine. I hadn’t the tenacity to persist and i shifted mine towards a nearby bookshop, wondering if what i saw was a mere hopeful illusion. I hadn’t the tenacity to resist either, so i checked again to make sure. It sure wasn’t an illusion. She almost halted, her gaze affixed at me, and then she resumed her stride straight towards me, this time with more vigour and interest. Perhaps I was the lucky one..

It definitely wasn’t an ordinary friday evening.

Seconds later, as she walked past me, i stood still, hypnotised by the fragrance of her sandalwood rose perfume. I vaguely remembered what had happened; her dark silken hair flew across my face, caressing it, as she came tantalisingly close; the fake fur of her turquoise green scarf cut through my finger gaps; and then the touch. Ah ! the divine touch. I remembered feeling the warmth of her palm onto my back. And then she went, abandoning me, mesmerized and lost.

I suddenly felt lonely in the crowd. So I called off my ‘wardrobe upliftment’ plans and walked back home. The weekend wasn’t a cheery one either. The days comprised of innumerable trips to the Marathalli market in futile hope, that further spiced up my misery. The nights were not dark enough to provoke me to sleep. Even the dreams had altered their timetable as if to tease me. The world suddenly seemed a confusing place to live in. The longest weekend of my life finally ended, leaving me dry n yet hopeful( i m a die hard optimist..).

Monday morning was a usual monday morning. I rushed through my morning chores and somehow managed to reach my stop in time. But my cab had beaten me again, this time by two minutes(i came to know later on..). After 10 minutes of incessant ‘lift-pleading'(i told u i m a die hard optimist..so i keep trying), I boarded an already over-burdened bus dancing to the tunes of a popular(that, i presume ) kannada (that, i presume again..) song. The conductor soon recognized the fresh entrant n rushed towards me for his 5 Rs coin. As I fiddled with my back pocket, tryin to locate my 11 yr old companion, Mom’s words started echoing in my ear, overhauling the bedlam around me..

“Beta, never keep too much money in your wallet, and why dont u use ur front pocket to keep it ??”

I now cursed myself for overlooking her concern then. And suddenly the pieces had started to fit.

Friday evening, the crowd, the resplendent lass, the fragrance and the touch……..

  “bazaar mein wo humse zara sa lag ke chali gayi..
   agli teen raatein hamari yunhi jag ke chali gayi..
   chouthe din jab jebein tatoli to pata chala..
   kambakth zebkatri thi thag ke chali gayi..”

Epilogue:

As I gawked at the fleet of radiant black n brown(i could hardly differentiate..) Gucci wallets secured under a glass cover, I thought of her and wondered, who the divine touch meant more to.. me or her.. ??