Science, Maths And Cricket

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 9:47 PM


  I've been pissed for a long time now.
  My exams are still not over. 
  30th March, goddammit. Students from other schools have went on trips and returned; eleventh graders from our schools have become twelfth graders and had their extra classes started; and what are the tenth graders doing? Studying, most of them; one is blogging.
  I had my Maths exam after a full week as a preparatory leave. It was okay, most of it. I should get an A1. And if I don't, I'll get an A2. That'll just freaking destroy me, man. Maths was the only subject I studied this year, and I did it with all my heart. If I don't get an A1 in Maths I'll consider killing myself. I guess. No, I don't know. Killing myself would be going too far. I guess I'll just have to console myself by saying cheesy shit like, 'There's always a second chance,' or, 'Whatever happens, happens for the good,' Yeah. Like fuck it does.
  I realized something after this Maths exam ended. In my last Maths term exam, I'd scored a 75/80 and I had NO FUCKING IDEA that I'd score that good. I mean, sure, it went well. But not THAT well! I mean, I'd never scored more than, like, 68/80 and suddenly in the first term I score a 75! NO FREAKING WAY! And then I realized, 'I had the potential to do better,' and so I studying like an ass for the second term. And. If I don't get at least a 75, I'll feel freaking sad. The thing is, if I hadn't scored 75 in the first term, I wouldn't have felt as bad as I would now if I don't score 75. You end up knowing you can get more, and you'll never settle for less. I'm greedy for my marks in Maths now; and that's a sad and a happy thing. Eh.
  I also happened to watch the India vs. Pakistan Semi-Final yesterday. I'm not really an avid follower of cricket; never was. But yesterday, I thought if I DON'T watch that match, people will end up thinking I'm some an unpatriotic freakshow, so I did; and because I was COMPLETELY sick of studying Science for my exam on 2nd April. The match was nice. And I don't really know if it was fixed or anything, but each Indian bowler picking up two wickets does seem kind of strange. I'm not hinting at anything; just saying.
  And I have to revise Science again. Man, this sucks. Last exam on 2nd April and what exam is it? Science. Screw it.
  I study Maths and Science like this and still don't score, I'm gonna start wearing this T-Shirt:



The Flip Side

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 1:03 PM


  Okay, so this poem is a part of a BIGGER STORY I'm working on, and it's kind of relevant to the plot of that story, but I thought it'd be good as a standalone poem too. What happens is, there's this guy who looks at a mirror from a distance, and he sees this girl he likes whom he never really had the courage to approach(clichéd, I know; makes more sense in the story). He then starts introspecting and wonders how it might've been had he possessed the courage to approach her and subsequently calls that side of the world doesn't exist, the 'flip(read: laterally inverted) side' and writes this poem.  

The Flip Side

I looked into the mirror again 
And I liked what I saw 
The flip side is always more alluring… 

Lost in its gaze, 
I saw myself with you, darling 
And we were together, yes… 

I never took as long to say hi, you know 
It happened much faster here 
It’s better over here, anyway… 

I asked you for a pen 
You gave one to me with a shy smile, 
I gave it back with a shyer one… 

We got closer to each other, 
Faster than the trees grow 
And the flowers bloom… 

How mad we were for each other was silly 
But in a world full of madmen, 
We were even madder… 

I gave you my heart 
And you never chose to break it 
And I never broke yours… 

We lay cradled in each other’s arms 
And we finally figured for ourselves, 
That love was no delusion… 

But damn the flip side! 

In truth, my heart beats without reason 
And I’m freezing outside 
In the absence of your warmth 

And for the delusion that love is, 
All I have is your shadow 
That disappears in the darkness… 


Been A Dreamer

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 10:05 PM


The bars have been stained
With sweat from my palms
The morbid screams seem distant
To my ears now;
And I've gotten used to the horrifying gaze
Of the ones that roam outside
But once in a while it still terrifies me...

The world around me has grown
Still; motionless, except an 
Occasional visitor walking with steps
That fall louder than thunder strikes
The trees on a stormy night
And another hit on the head
Of someone who chose to speak

The walls around me, all four of them
Are now the color of tears
But they too, like the blood
On our wounds, have dried up
And reveal only a fragment
Of what they used to be...

Be good!, they order me
And I do as they say
But they still throw the food
At me, like I don't deserve it
And I hog at it like the hungry dog 
I am...

'Cause you see, I've been a dreamer
And this is what they do
To those who dare to dream;
They put us behind bars
And forget, that four walls 
Will never be enough
To contain us...


Red As A Plum

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 6:35 PM


As red as a plum,
She tastes like a cherry
Glows like a tomato
Reminds me of a strawberry
Dipped in chocolate...

Sweeter than sugar cubes
Melting in coffee
More feel-good than a
Handful of psychedelic toffees
In my mouth...

Slower than the creepy crawlies
Feeding on a leaf
Yet craftier and swifter
Than a disguised thief
On his job...

More dangerous than a 
Man with a golden gun,
Stealthier than a deranged
Killer on the run
From the dawn...

And at her feet, 
A Rubik's cube takes the fall
The men just might cringe
But she stands tall
Like a tree...

Many do not believe
But the lone cat had wept,
And in grief and distraught,
She'd thought hard then slept
Like the dead...

Over look the depth with wine and rum
Doesn't she look as red as a plum?


Funny Thing...

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 5:39 PM


  I'm sick of studying SSt, man. I'm sick. Dead sick.
  I can almost visualize Bismark fighting wars with Austria, France and Denmark in my head. Weird thing is, I don't know how Bismark looks. That, amongst a series of other visuals, has left me crazy and pining for something interesting to do.
  I still have so much to write for Epigram Magazine. The only reason I'm not starting is because I know if I do start writing, I won't stop. After all, I need to save some of my imagination up for the social science exam day after tomorrow, too.
  After studying it continuously for the past few days, I've figured that if ever later in my life I need help with sleeping, I'll return to my SSt books. No, this is not a joke. SERIOUSLY. One of my friends told me that studying geography requires a fresh mind, so I woke up at 10(I was studying SSt the previous night too) and started studying it first thing. Next thing I know, I'm opening my eyes and lifting my head off my geography text book two hours later. SERIOUSLY. THIS THING FREAKING HAPPENED!
  Anyway, I was feeling blue, black, green, red and whatnot, and blue was the only color that could somehow be classified as a genre of music, so I started listening to blues. Man is blues awesome! All kind, everything. From BB King to Eric Clapton to Stevie Ray Vaughn to even John Mayer - everything. I was feeling like it, so I started listening to the Trio Set on John Mayer's Where The Light Is. Some music, really. Not to mention I'm really, really  relating to the song, 'Everyday I Have The Blues'. Because... I have the blues. Everyday.
  Now, I think, it's gonna be freaking hard bringing myself to care about SEZs and MNCs and how Politicians can be reformed. Dammit, man. This has to end. And with any luck, it will. 
  Did I mention the funny thing?
  See, funny thing... 
  SSt has drained all my sense of humour. 
  That was funny right? 
  It wasn't? 



| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 2:36 PM


Me and social studies, we go way back. From the tender age of ten I was forced to study the subject, and to say I dreaded the whole idea of it would be too much of an understatement. The entire humanities fraternity of my school despised me by the time I reached the tenth grade. Once in geography class I'd written a poem called 'Geography Class' that clearly expressed, in a rather poetic manner, why I didn't care about different types of soil or low quality coal. The poem made me quite popular amongst my peers, and I enjoyed the sporadic burst of popularity till a friend of mine submitted a copy of it to my geography teacher. When asked about the poem by her, I could just give her an unperturbed look and say, 'I think it's decent enough'. She didn't agree of course, and the blank stare she gave me afterwards has since been the cause of many a frightening nightmares. And it was even more so, because our geography teacher spoke in a monotone; and I believed that dead horses could express themselves better.

I got kicked out of science and was thrown into commerce later, but that's a different issue altogether. One of my good friends in the humanities stream once told me that I was an ignorant, disrespectful prick. I should've thanked her for the tip, because over the years I discovered that I was arrogant, self-obsessed and self-centered in addition to being eccentric. And oh, thankless too.

Anyway, right around the end of the tenth grade, I'd gotten really excited because I realized I wouldn't have to study social studies for the rest of my life. But at that point, the final exams weren't yet taken care of, so I had to study social studies one last time. "It's the last social studies test you'll ever take," one of my more bothered friends had said to me, "Why not give it the respect it deserves?" And to that I said, "It's the last test right? Why care about it at all?" Proudly at that.

Social studies had never been my forte, and we had 12 elaborate chapters in our syllabus. That meant endless hours in a room isolated from the rest of the world. My mom used to check in on me pretty often while I was studying, and she learnt it the hard way, why it wasn't such a great idea to allow her teenage son to study with an mp3 player in his vicinity. Based on what I was told by my mother, regarding her experiences of checking in, I was either:

a)Sleeping with the lights on - That meant I was either too lazy to switch the light off or that I was too exhausted after my attempts to study a subject that I felt was too dull and boring. I think it was the latter, because the switch was right next to my bed.

b)Sleeping with the light off - That meant I didn't care enough about studying at that time and I had an adequate amount of energy required to switch the light off. Of course, the energy I wasted by doing that I regained by sleeping.

c)Head-banging to music (position of light switch unknown) - That meant.. wait, what did that mean? I guess it meant...

Hard Rock/Punk Rock/Psychedelic Rock > Igneous Rock/Metamorphic Rock/Sedimentary Rock

Come to think of it, my mother even probably cursed herself for buying a bed.


Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author honestly wishes none of whatever he's written ever happens to him. The views expressed are solely of the author. He would undoubtedly regret it if he has wound up hurting the feelings of any humanities students and would really appreciate it if they put down their katanas and bazookas and call off the murderers hired to kill him. And if they didn't have any such plans in the first place, he's even more thankful. 

Sweet, Sweet Psychedelia

| Posted in , , , , , , , , , , | Posted on 12:12 AM


   Last week's been... crazy.
   I wrote quite a few articles, wasted about two hours in a restaurant, discovered freaking great psychedelic music and fell in love all over again. Almost.
   So tenth grade's almost done with. Well, that's just sad. And what's sadder is that the exams - well, those bitches don't leave for a while. Sigh.
   It's been one of those really dark, gloomy, and whatever times everybody has to go through. But eh, I know I'm in a bad habit of over-exaggerating everything, so this might be nothing significant in my life anyway. And oh, speaking of significance...
   There's this online magazine called Epigram Magazine that published me last month. I wrote an article saluting the invention on the telephone which appeared in the Epigram Salutes section of their magazine. The magazine is freaking great, it's got everything from Poetry to Humour to Movies to a Top Ten List even. And it's a monthly magazine so it's even cooler. Head over to read something killer! 
    And now the real reason I love those guys is because they give me work to do - and I do the work they give me. It's almost like I don't believe myself when I realize I'm working; because working has always been a very alien concept to me. Moreover, I'm doing something significant. All I ever do is waste time and everything, but with them allowing me to contribute it's like I'm getting to do something significant. Something that might actually matter in my life. It's a weird satisfying feeling I get when I look at my article on the screen. It's so weird I can't even explain it; but I sure can tell you it's freaking good, the feeling.
    And speaking of good things, I happened to listen to Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb a few days back. I'd never really payed any attention to it, but when I heard it after eons, all the sadness and everything I had because of tenth grade ending and everything just... left me. For all of the six and a half minutes that the song runs, my soul left me and floated. It left me, and went for a brisk walk in space, and it came back when the song ended. I heard it about 6 times at a stretch. On repeat.
   I'd had my first dose of sweet, sweet psychedelia. In musical terms, of course.
   I heard a few other Pink Floyd songs as well. Damn those guys, they're Psychedelic Gods. 
   Sigh. What feeling.
   So, anyway, I 'ran' my first Blog-a-ton on 5th March too. It was fun. :) 
   And. I probably should study Sst. I mean, well I discovered Sst and psychedelic music don't mix very well, so I'm having a freaking hard time.
   I should probably sleep now too.
   Here's how the world might look if you ever happen to... you know LSD?


   Ciao, fellas.


| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 11:09 PM


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton Season 2 edition 18; the eighteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


  "So... eleventh, huh?" 
  "And science too, eh?" 

   It was another one of our nightly conversations. The last one before eleventh grade kicked in; and the last one we'd be able to have overlooking the colossal guilt of wasting time. 
   We never really talked about anything meaningful. And maybe that's why I was going to miss talking to her, in the swirling wave of change that was to take over my life in the following months.

  "So you're really going to study for five hours a day?"
  "I don't know. I'll try."
  "And we won't be meeting anymore would we?"
  "I hope we do. It's ten hours on weekends..."

   Now everyone knows change is inevitable. And for a teenager, most of it happens during the tenth grade and afterwards. It's not as if nothing changes in the previous years; it's just that the magnitude of change is much greater then.
   The student either takes charge of the situation and starts acting responsibly, or he just loses it all and ends up in a hopeless vortex of nothingness.
   And while I was almost sure I'd be able to make it through, a part of me still flinched on the mention of taking responsibility for my acts. I was a teenager, right? What do teenagers do but waste time and do crazy things?
   "So we won't hang out after class then, I guess..."
   "Yeah. I mean no, we won't. For one, I'm not even going there."
   "After class will be sad without you."
   "Mine would be too."
   We went to the same tuition center. And while I was a tad more serious than her and a great deal more as a student, the amount of fun we had in and after our class was as great for me as it was for her.
   And now I was moving on to more serious things. I was wanting to take charge.
   And whether or not I'd be successful was not known to me. Yet.

   "I don't want to grow up, man."
   "I don't want to either. But we all have to."
   "So we'll all grow up someday?"
   "Yeah. I guess."
   Growing up is a big deal. 
   Growing up is like the elder brother of change.
   When we grow up, we set our priorities right. We change them. 
   We change our outlook.
   Things change. Things that matter do, and so do things that never mattered.
   Feelings change. People change.
   We change.
   And we learn to move on. Most of us.
   "So things will change, right?"

    And we were to brace ourselves.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Liar To Me

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 11:48 PM


You say outside, the world is blue;
A different shade than I see..
You say outside, the grass is green
Greener than it is to me...

You say there is hope, yes you do
But I cease to see any...
You say there are things that matter,
But I don't seem to find many...

The world is filled with different colors,
From blue to green and red, you say...
So I take a good look outside
And it still appears black, white and grey...

But it's all relative, I've learnt
Why don't you just let your truth be?
You're nothing more than a liar...
A liar to me.


Jamie's Hand

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 7:09 PM


Jamie had a girlfriend when he was 14.
She was all he could think of.
He was all hers.

Day after day they spent time together
Using each other as an excuse
To be silly, to live, to love

And he dared to love while she held back.
And it all happened without his consent,
But she... she knew it well

It was their time and they felt it in their hearts
They did what they wanted to
And as they pleased...

And their innocent infatuation came to an end
Just like a calendar year
And she left him

Jamie was 15 - a year older and wiser
But he was heart broken
And his pain resounded inside

She had moved on well ahead of him
And she had her priorities right,
While she was his only one...

He'd lost himself in her eyes, Jamie had
And she'd shut 'em tight now,
And he was lost again

She moved out to another town in a while
And all he got was a resentful look
But she was to remain forever in his heart...

And in a fit of rage, he got his cutter from the drawer
And carved her name on his hand
The part of her that was inside of him, was now spelled across his forearm

On Jamie's hand...

He'd cried and he'd wept and he had regretted
But his wounds remained as they were,
As time was to heal everything...

'Cause she'd died in a month or two
And when she had, he hadn't cared
But she lived on, in his wounds...

On Jamie's hand...