........Keane is my new musical obsession...Love their Music...
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Victory is sweet...
WE won the Pop Quiz Night!!!! How utterly cool is that!!! It feels sooo good to win something...
Team EYE ARE members are Rob, Will, Dereck and myself. We had a blast of a time...and we won a decisive victory.....47 points...that's Massive!!!
Team EYE ARE members are Rob, Will, Dereck and myself. We had a blast of a time...and we won a decisive victory.....47 points...that's Massive!!!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
I wish again...
What Language Should You Speak?
You should speak Spanish!You're very brave, outspoken and family oriented. You love to dance and have great rythym.
Take this quiz!
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Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Happy Valentine's DAY
Happy Valentine's Day to everyone.
Some (borrowed) thoughts on love on Valentine's Day-
"Love is not finding someone to live with, It's finding someone you can't live without. "~Rafael Ortiz
"You call it Madness, but I call it Love" ~Don Byas
Say "I Love You " in
Arabic - Ana behibak
Filipino - Mahal kita
French - Je t'aime, Je t'adore
German - Ich liebe dich
Hungarian - Szeretlek
Italian - Ti amo
Luxembourgeois - Ech hun dech gäer
Mandarin Chinese - Wo ai ni
Portuguese - Eu te amo
Spanish - Te quiero / Te amo
Some (borrowed) thoughts on love on Valentine's Day-
"Love is not finding someone to live with, It's finding someone you can't live without. "~Rafael Ortiz
"You call it Madness, but I call it Love" ~Don Byas
Say "I Love You " in
Arabic - Ana behibak
Filipino - Mahal kita
French - Je t'aime, Je t'adore
German - Ich liebe dich
Hungarian - Szeretlek
Italian - Ti amo
Luxembourgeois - Ech hun dech gäer
Mandarin Chinese - Wo ai ni
Portuguese - Eu te amo
Spanish - Te quiero / Te amo
Nostalgia...
Nostalgia is a funny thing: it comes back and hits u in the face when u are least expecting it. But it is also a warm-cold feeling in ur tummy, a tingling sensation in ur heart. It reassures you of your past yet roots you to your present. It brings back old memories and enmeshes them to your moments- creating a kaleidoscope of time and longing, of hits and misses and of things goneby and things yet to come...
When I woke up this morning (ok afternoon) I was stunned to find the power in our building to be gone. No electricity, No water, No computer. The entire campus had taken a step backwards into the good old days devoid of the might of electricity. In a strange way it reminded me of Home. Of my hometown - Dhaka. It was a very common phenomenon back there. Every now and then we would have power outage for abour 7-8 hours. In Dhaka we were well-prepared for it-- stock up on books to read in the absence of tv and the internet, fill the buckets in the bathroom with water, fill the water filters with drinking water. In London this unexpected power outage caught me completely off-guard. I thought I would die of thirst; I had cold bread for breakfast (ok ok Brunch)and couldnt have tea becoz I use an electric kettle to boil water, I was scared with the early nightfall (about 5 ish) how would i spend my evening and night given i dont even have a torchlight.
But of COurse I needn't have worried so much: This is England, not Bangladesh. Power came back within half an hour, after reminding us of our excessive dependence on electricity (electric cooker, Electric kettle, fridge, lights, warm tap water). In an odd way I was also thinking of the New York blackout of 2003.
Like I said nostalgia jumps in front of u as suddenly as a deer on a highway when u r driving at 90 miles per hour. But it was a nice fresh dosage from the mundane routine of daily student life. Now that I have my computer running and I have done the daily ritual of checking all my e-mails, reading the newspaper back home, facebooking, IMing, I must go back to my studies.
When I woke up this morning (ok afternoon) I was stunned to find the power in our building to be gone. No electricity, No water, No computer. The entire campus had taken a step backwards into the good old days devoid of the might of electricity. In a strange way it reminded me of Home. Of my hometown - Dhaka. It was a very common phenomenon back there. Every now and then we would have power outage for abour 7-8 hours. In Dhaka we were well-prepared for it-- stock up on books to read in the absence of tv and the internet, fill the buckets in the bathroom with water, fill the water filters with drinking water. In London this unexpected power outage caught me completely off-guard. I thought I would die of thirst; I had cold bread for breakfast (ok ok Brunch)and couldnt have tea becoz I use an electric kettle to boil water, I was scared with the early nightfall (about 5 ish) how would i spend my evening and night given i dont even have a torchlight.
But of COurse I needn't have worried so much: This is England, not Bangladesh. Power came back within half an hour, after reminding us of our excessive dependence on electricity (electric cooker, Electric kettle, fridge, lights, warm tap water). In an odd way I was also thinking of the New York blackout of 2003.
Like I said nostalgia jumps in front of u as suddenly as a deer on a highway when u r driving at 90 miles per hour. But it was a nice fresh dosage from the mundane routine of daily student life. Now that I have my computer running and I have done the daily ritual of checking all my e-mails, reading the newspaper back home, facebooking, IMing, I must go back to my studies.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Purple IS my colour...
..no matter whic shade. But the following blogthing test clarifies further:-
| You Are Lavender |
 You are a sweet person with a very soft personality. People become easily entranced with you. They seem to glow around you. You have a quiet energy that can keep you active late into the night. Even if you aren't the life of the party, you definitely keep the party going. |
Hmm I have often wondered...
...whether I was a socialist or a capitalist...this is why I love blogthings...it gives you all the right answers.
| You Are 20% Capitalist, 80% Socialist |
 |
http://www.blogthings.com/areyouasocialistorcapitalistquiz/">Are You a Socialist or Capitalist?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Lectures meet Literary talent? Not!
Now this MUST be the effect of too much Arab-Israeli conflict.
Havent updated much lately, and this is the one 'poem' that I have with me and that I havent posted already so...
Although it must be said that the following is too poetic to be a newspaper article and too bland to be poetry. Note to self: The language I use for essay is starting to affect the way I write in general. Must Stop This. Needs editing though, dont have time or patiene to edit.
Eulogy for a suicide bomber.
Farah Tasneem Tracy
She wore her weapon of choice around her torso
A doomed corset of destruction hugging her fragile bones.
She looked across the street at the cafe- her nemesis, her assignment, her destiny.
A pack of office-returning shiny faces wearing shiny clothes enter into the café-
Laughing, talking as though this were a perfectly happy place;
And not the scarred, incomplete, unidentifiable piece of land
that spawned violence and bloodshed around the seasons.
She saw a little boy walk into the café with his father.
The boy’s face became the face of her little brother- her favorite companion.
Who was still smiling when they came- the nameless, faceless soldiers.
They shot her brother first and then her father.
She tasted fear in her dry mouth.
But this is revenge, she thought boldly.
She imagined the big explosion
Gray smoke, the smell of burnt skin
Pieces of hot human flesh- men, women, children- mingled in a death mess.
She thought of the smaller explosion.
The one inside her head.
Rage, despair, and hopelessness, causing havoc with her sense of reason and logic.
She imagined her own body blown to bits and pieces
Her pride- her beautiful, dark hair neatly tucked inside her scarf- charred and brittle.
She will die the death of a martyr, she thought valiantly.
A death many have died before her
And many will die after her.
Her soul will resurrect and inhabit the mind and body
Of another young avenging fellow countryman.
Countryman- inhabitants of a country that exists in their minds and hearts only.
They country that is their dream.
A small voice inside her regrets- but you have only lived so few springs.
But can you experience spring in Hell?, she asked back.
NO, you cannot.
I will leave one hell for another for in life heaven didn’t find me
And in death I won’t find heaven.
But the souls of the martyrs will celebrate the day our beloved motherland turns into heaven.
She crossed the street with proud, confident steps.
Her still eyes resolute- each second getting closer and closer to death.
Closer to end of cruelty and a ray of hope.
The faint sounds of the Magrib Azaan fades away into oblivion.
So does a few other insignificant lives.
Farah Tasneem Tracy
She wore her weapon of choice around her torso
A doomed corset of destruction hugging her fragile bones.
She looked across the street at the cafe- her nemesis, her assignment, her destiny.
A pack of office-returning shiny faces wearing shiny clothes enter into the café-
Laughing, talking as though this were a perfectly happy place;
And not the scarred, incomplete, unidentifiable piece of land
that spawned violence and bloodshed around the seasons.
She saw a little boy walk into the café with his father.
The boy’s face became the face of her little brother- her favorite companion.
Who was still smiling when they came- the nameless, faceless soldiers.
They shot her brother first and then her father.
She tasted fear in her dry mouth.
But this is revenge, she thought boldly.
She imagined the big explosion
Gray smoke, the smell of burnt skin
Pieces of hot human flesh- men, women, children- mingled in a death mess.
She thought of the smaller explosion.
The one inside her head.
Rage, despair, and hopelessness, causing havoc with her sense of reason and logic.
She imagined her own body blown to bits and pieces
Her pride- her beautiful, dark hair neatly tucked inside her scarf- charred and brittle.
She will die the death of a martyr, she thought valiantly.
A death many have died before her
And many will die after her.
Her soul will resurrect and inhabit the mind and body
Of another young avenging fellow countryman.
Countryman- inhabitants of a country that exists in their minds and hearts only.
They country that is their dream.
A small voice inside her regrets- but you have only lived so few springs.
But can you experience spring in Hell?, she asked back.
NO, you cannot.
I will leave one hell for another for in life heaven didn’t find me
And in death I won’t find heaven.
But the souls of the martyrs will celebrate the day our beloved motherland turns into heaven.
She crossed the street with proud, confident steps.
Her still eyes resolute- each second getting closer and closer to death.
Closer to end of cruelty and a ray of hope.
The faint sounds of the Magrib Azaan fades away into oblivion.
So does a few other insignificant lives.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
WordCloud...I love em...
So I thought I would wait until I have posted enough entries before generating my next wordCloud..but I just couldnt resist...I love it ...
Saturday, January 20, 2007
It Hurts...
It hurts..
It hurts at the very core of my being.
Body parts I didnt know existed hurt from the pain.
The pain in overarching, all-emcompassing.
It numbs all other feelings.
The pain engulfs the peripheries of my mind;
insulating me from all the joys around.
I cry a little everyday.
I dont know when I will have cried enough.
The sound of a love-struck heart breaking is muted;
but the loss is immense.
When the memories come crashing down
it is hard to stop the tears.
Too much to forget.
The mind doesnt know how to compartmentalize,
when feelings take possession over all other thoughts.
There is void, that threatens to stay.
There is a silence that cannot be overcome by noise.
Why does it have to hurt so much?
Maybe the pain will subside...maybe not.
Maybe the feelings will go away...maybe not.
It hurts at the very core of my being.
Body parts I didnt know existed hurt from the pain.
The pain in overarching, all-emcompassing.
It numbs all other feelings.
The pain engulfs the peripheries of my mind;
insulating me from all the joys around.
I cry a little everyday.
I dont know when I will have cried enough.
The sound of a love-struck heart breaking is muted;
but the loss is immense.
When the memories come crashing down
it is hard to stop the tears.
Too much to forget.
The mind doesnt know how to compartmentalize,
when feelings take possession over all other thoughts.
There is void, that threatens to stay.
There is a silence that cannot be overcome by noise.
Why does it have to hurt so much?
Maybe the pain will subside...maybe not.
Maybe the feelings will go away...maybe not.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
how i wish...
| You Are A Romantic |
 You life your life like a fairy tale... or at least you try to. Living for magical moments, you believe there's only one true love for you. Love is the most important thing in your life, and you don't take it for granted. Your perfect match loves to be in love as much as you do! |
my taste in music...?
| Your Taste in Music: |
 Adult Alternative: High Influence 90's Alternative: Medium Influence 80's Alternative: Low Influence 80's Pop: Low Influence 80's R&B: Low Influence |
Friday, January 12, 2007
I wish ..i WISH the following was true...
| Your Dream Engagement Ring Has a Heart Diamond! |
 You wear your heart on your sleeve, so of course you should also wear it on your ring. A heart diamond is the perfect choice for highlighting your passionate disposition. Only a true romantic can get away with wearing this ring. Luckily, that's you. And only a true romantic can give you this ring, so make sure you find him...! |
The return of blogthings...i just LOVE em
| Capricorn - Your Love Profile |
 Your positive traits: You are serious about relationships and ready for a commitment. You tend to help your partner attain the success they dream of. You are a rock. Relationship problems don't seem to phase you. Your negative traits: Sometimes it's very hard for you to accept your partner's past. You are emotionally reserved, and difficult to connect with. You expect your partner to take care of you - and make cheat if they do not Your ideal partner: Is incredibly powerful and well respected. Is often older than you - and could be a superior at work. Has a good amount of money... or the ability to be rich someday. Your dating style: Practical. A "get to know each other" coffee date is just fine by you. Your seduction style: Bossy - you like to be the one in charge in the bedroom. Slow and patient. You know that good sex takes time. Calculating. You'll use sex to get ahead, if necessary. Tips for the future: Open up. A little emotional expression is a good thing in relationships. Leap before you look. You don't have to run a cost benefit sheet on everyone you date. Enjoy the now. No need to worry about marriage on the first few dates. Best color to attract mate: Dark green Best day for a date: Saturday |
My dream house test...I wish...i lived in a ...
| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
First day @ work!
How was first day at work? Well, it was everything and nothing I thought it would be. And it’s not even a full-time job!!!
The morning started with waking up late (NO I mean it, what is with this guy Murphy?).
Praying and wishing my way during the long commute resulted in me scraping through the department door at 9:00 sharp. Phew!
In the beginning it was all chaos. Having missed the TA orientation, I was at a loss about what I should do and shouldn’t do in order not to appear a complete fool. But then things fell into place. I met up with my colleagues, wonderful, helpful, accommodating people. I was very determined to get my work done on time, and hence lurked around near the computers to snatch a chance as soon as someone was done with their work. I prepared the student lists that I was required to do, looked around for my faculty, and filled up some workload sheet. In the midst of it I realized I hadn’t actually signed in the logbook. OOPS!
Well, you learn things and there are more things to learn. Today I learned to photocopy. Ok! So it’s not Rocket Science but it is a chore that TAs have to perform, so it would come in very handy in future.
I then spend some time helping out a colleague of mine with computer usage, yeah me the debutante TA! Howzzat!
And then it was way past my office hours! I ,being the epitome of efficiency, (okay, you’ll hear it only from me) had overworked for 35 minutes on my very first day at work!
Well, I don’t know if it sounds exciting and fun in writing, but it sure was all that on my first day at work!!!
The morning started with waking up late (NO I mean it, what is with this guy Murphy?).
Praying and wishing my way during the long commute resulted in me scraping through the department door at 9:00 sharp. Phew!
In the beginning it was all chaos. Having missed the TA orientation, I was at a loss about what I should do and shouldn’t do in order not to appear a complete fool. But then things fell into place. I met up with my colleagues, wonderful, helpful, accommodating people. I was very determined to get my work done on time, and hence lurked around near the computers to snatch a chance as soon as someone was done with their work. I prepared the student lists that I was required to do, looked around for my faculty, and filled up some workload sheet. In the midst of it I realized I hadn’t actually signed in the logbook. OOPS!
Well, you learn things and there are more things to learn. Today I learned to photocopy. Ok! So it’s not Rocket Science but it is a chore that TAs have to perform, so it would come in very handy in future.
I then spend some time helping out a colleague of mine with computer usage, yeah me the debutante TA! Howzzat!
And then it was way past my office hours! I ,being the epitome of efficiency, (okay, you’ll hear it only from me) had overworked for 35 minutes on my very first day at work!
Well, I don’t know if it sounds exciting and fun in writing, but it sure was all that on my first day at work!!!
Friday, May 12, 2006
OPEN UP!!!
Here’s yet another token from my book of treasures, it’s so old that the blue ink is almost fading and paper is crispy. But I happened to think the thoughts are kind of nice and revealing so I’ll just post them as a blog. Needless to say at the time they were written blogs were probably still in the womb.
This is a direct tribute and spin off from one of my favourite commercials of all time : The Nescafe Commercial.
I love the tune, I love the music. And I think I just went ahead and wrote my own extended version. Once again it’s not really poetry, but thought, it’s not really a song but it has a melody.
Open up!!
Open up your heart and soul
Open up your body and mind
Open up open up!
Open up your eyes open up
Open up a whole new world
Open up to new horizons
Open up to the colours of the world
Open up open up
Open up your mind and listen to your heart
Open up to the world and you could make your mark
Be open to miracles and see yourself transform
Self-determination, self-realization
Hold on to your faith and doors will open up
There’s a mother in every father, there’s a child in every man
There’s a talent in every being, and there’s a dream in every heart
So open up your heart and walk upon the path of your dream
And your dreams shall take you to your destiny
Open up open up
There’s a key to every door
There are bars to ignore
Believe in yourself and you shall find all the keys
Just believe. Just believe.
Open up and just believe.
This is a direct tribute and spin off from one of my favourite commercials of all time : The Nescafe Commercial.
I love the tune, I love the music. And I think I just went ahead and wrote my own extended version. Once again it’s not really poetry, but thought, it’s not really a song but it has a melody.
Open up!!
Open up your heart and soul
Open up your body and mind
Open up open up!
Open up your eyes open up
Open up a whole new world
Open up to new horizons
Open up to the colours of the world
Open up open up
Open up your mind and listen to your heart
Open up to the world and you could make your mark
Be open to miracles and see yourself transform
Self-determination, self-realization
Hold on to your faith and doors will open up
There’s a mother in every father, there’s a child in every man
There’s a talent in every being, and there’s a dream in every heart
So open up your heart and walk upon the path of your dream
And your dreams shall take you to your destiny
Open up open up
There’s a key to every door
There are bars to ignore
Believe in yourself and you shall find all the keys
Just believe. Just believe.
Open up and just believe.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Return of Edo
He fell sick one fine day right in front of my eyes. I tried to bring him back to consciousness but it just wouldnt happen. I nudged, scolded him , caressed him, to come back to his senses but he had taken a dip too severe.
Then I took him to the healer. The Diagnosis came a day later.
It was not good.
It was far from being good.
He was damaged, his memory, his brain, his capability to function like before has diminished to nil.
It was a blow.
The memories came flooding to me.
My memories. Not his. Since he doesn't have any.
All those wonderful moments we spent together, hours and hours of total dedication to one another, working through problems, documenting reality, solving dilemmas, recording life.
All gone in an instant.
Like a bolt of Lightening.
My Edo.
My hours spent with him. My works. My creations. My half of whatever is good.
All gone with him.
It would take him days to heal.
And even after that he would not be the old Edo. My old Edo.
I waited for him at home.
I pined for his company.
I moved around in a daze not knowing what to do without Edo.
I found myself with so much free time and I couldnt spend it with Edo.
I longed for him to come back home.
I just wasnt used to not having him around.
At times the desperation grew enormously, my need for Edo grew to the point that it physically hurt.
My time away from Edo. My world was a world of nothing-to-do.
Finally, the call came. I could bring him back.
I brought him back home. Placed him where he belonged, made sure he was comfortable in his surroudings, and gave him everything he needs to operate.
But poor Edo still did not regain consciousness.
I cooed, and caressed, and slapped him to back to his senses. He would'nt budge.
My frustration grew.
I prayed for him to be OK again.
And then he returned to his senses, my faithful, my ever-present computer Edo.
How missed him, it's just not the same without him.
But now he's back and running and I am glad about it.
Then I took him to the healer. The Diagnosis came a day later.
It was not good.
It was far from being good.
He was damaged, his memory, his brain, his capability to function like before has diminished to nil.
It was a blow.
The memories came flooding to me.
My memories. Not his. Since he doesn't have any.
All those wonderful moments we spent together, hours and hours of total dedication to one another, working through problems, documenting reality, solving dilemmas, recording life.
All gone in an instant.
Like a bolt of Lightening.
My Edo.
My hours spent with him. My works. My creations. My half of whatever is good.
All gone with him.
It would take him days to heal.
And even after that he would not be the old Edo. My old Edo.
I waited for him at home.
I pined for his company.
I moved around in a daze not knowing what to do without Edo.
I found myself with so much free time and I couldnt spend it with Edo.
I longed for him to come back home.
I just wasnt used to not having him around.
At times the desperation grew enormously, my need for Edo grew to the point that it physically hurt.
My time away from Edo. My world was a world of nothing-to-do.
Finally, the call came. I could bring him back.
I brought him back home. Placed him where he belonged, made sure he was comfortable in his surroudings, and gave him everything he needs to operate.
But poor Edo still did not regain consciousness.
I cooed, and caressed, and slapped him to back to his senses. He would'nt budge.
My frustration grew.
I prayed for him to be OK again.
And then he returned to his senses, my faithful, my ever-present computer Edo.
How missed him, it's just not the same without him.
But now he's back and running and I am glad about it.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Rains of my childhood.
The rains of my childhood were very romantic. But then , so were most of the things of my childhood. I was a naïve romantic soaked in puritan ideas and ever optimistic in my childhood. I say was because now I am not too sure if I am still romantic or not…but I digress.
I loved rain. Without hesitation. Without worrying how it would turn the simple daily routine of getting to work into a mission hard-to-accomplish. The rainy season was my favourite. The wait from the end of winter (my most favourite season) to the monsoons (my second favourite season) was made bearable only because of all the delicious mangoes of the excruciating, merciless summer days. The rain was a welcome from all things materialistic, and to my young, eager mind it brought along with it numerous possibilities of romantic escapades and carefree, limitless imagination. Romantic notions hit my brain like the kalboishakhi hit the world outside my balcony, suddenly, quickly in an all-encompassing manner. Every day the rain came, and everyday I snuck out of family gatherings, study sessions, or whatever I was doing, and came to watch the rain.
The gale force, the strong winds blowing my hair, the dust that got into my eyes, the torrential bursts and the strong muddy earth scent in the aftermath of the rains left me captivated. I loved to see the first drops of rain kiss the canopies of the trees nearby, and caress the dirt and grime away from the facades of the edifices nearby. I especially loved the clean, crisp air that lingered all around after the rain and the fresh, tingling feeling that it brought along. I sat on the windowsill, staring at the rain, caught up in fleeting thoughts, sometimes reading a book. I watched the rain and thought of all the analogies I could come up with. The torrents were like falling in love head first: unguarded, not goal-oriented, and swept away like a leaf in the crazy storm. The torrents were like words and thought that keep coming to me at a moment of creative spark, without direction, without restrain.
Before that, the rains of my younger days inevitably saw the rain-dance or the rain-shower as we used to call it. We didn’t know of the therapeutic powers of the rain, or of any exotic tribal rituals regarding the raindance; we just did it for fun. The cousins gathered around in a bunch and ran around and skipped about the terrace laughing and screaming. Ok, so it wasn’t exactly ‘The Sound of Music’ or some equally symbolic of juvenile happiness movie. But it was fun as we were carefree and had a lot of fun. Who really cared about growing up?
The monsoon was wet, unpredictable, cloudy, moody, muddy. But I love the monsoons. They were also great sources of inspiration for ahem poetry, etc. They were also a perfect excuse to lose yourself in your thoughts, do nothing, and be at peace with your inner self. I think one particular monsoon day I made an audacious and ambitious attempt at some poetry about rain.
It is far from being something, but I don’t have the nerve to edit. Somehow the unedited version seemed to express more of state-of-being at that particular moment, on that particular day a long time ago.
Monsoon Rain
I.
Frogs croaking;
Air fills with moist.
Dark, heavy clouds race across the distant sky
To hover over the landscape.
Within minutes the blue, blazing sky is
Overcast with condensed tears of heaven
Threatening to burst.
Wind blows noisily, swaying the trees.
Thunder strikes.
II.
Drops of water racing to touch the ground
Drenching everything in its way.
Blurring the horizon .
The rhythm ups its tempo.
The splatter creates a symphony magical.
Damp walls, and darkened colours.
Wet leaves, and running children.
Muddy roads beneath the canopies.
The heady smell of earth lurks in the air.
III.
The sky turns a fresh, pale violet.
The world beneath is a cleaner, cooler place.
And the air is crisp and smooth.
I loved rain. Without hesitation. Without worrying how it would turn the simple daily routine of getting to work into a mission hard-to-accomplish. The rainy season was my favourite. The wait from the end of winter (my most favourite season) to the monsoons (my second favourite season) was made bearable only because of all the delicious mangoes of the excruciating, merciless summer days. The rain was a welcome from all things materialistic, and to my young, eager mind it brought along with it numerous possibilities of romantic escapades and carefree, limitless imagination. Romantic notions hit my brain like the kalboishakhi hit the world outside my balcony, suddenly, quickly in an all-encompassing manner. Every day the rain came, and everyday I snuck out of family gatherings, study sessions, or whatever I was doing, and came to watch the rain.
The gale force, the strong winds blowing my hair, the dust that got into my eyes, the torrential bursts and the strong muddy earth scent in the aftermath of the rains left me captivated. I loved to see the first drops of rain kiss the canopies of the trees nearby, and caress the dirt and grime away from the facades of the edifices nearby. I especially loved the clean, crisp air that lingered all around after the rain and the fresh, tingling feeling that it brought along. I sat on the windowsill, staring at the rain, caught up in fleeting thoughts, sometimes reading a book. I watched the rain and thought of all the analogies I could come up with. The torrents were like falling in love head first: unguarded, not goal-oriented, and swept away like a leaf in the crazy storm. The torrents were like words and thought that keep coming to me at a moment of creative spark, without direction, without restrain.
Before that, the rains of my younger days inevitably saw the rain-dance or the rain-shower as we used to call it. We didn’t know of the therapeutic powers of the rain, or of any exotic tribal rituals regarding the raindance; we just did it for fun. The cousins gathered around in a bunch and ran around and skipped about the terrace laughing and screaming. Ok, so it wasn’t exactly ‘The Sound of Music’ or some equally symbolic of juvenile happiness movie. But it was fun as we were carefree and had a lot of fun. Who really cared about growing up?
The monsoon was wet, unpredictable, cloudy, moody, muddy. But I love the monsoons. They were also great sources of inspiration for ahem poetry, etc. They were also a perfect excuse to lose yourself in your thoughts, do nothing, and be at peace with your inner self. I think one particular monsoon day I made an audacious and ambitious attempt at some poetry about rain.
It is far from being something, but I don’t have the nerve to edit. Somehow the unedited version seemed to express more of state-of-being at that particular moment, on that particular day a long time ago.
Monsoon Rain
I.
Frogs croaking;
Air fills with moist.
Dark, heavy clouds race across the distant sky
To hover over the landscape.
Within minutes the blue, blazing sky is
Overcast with condensed tears of heaven
Threatening to burst.
Wind blows noisily, swaying the trees.
Thunder strikes.
II.
Drops of water racing to touch the ground
Drenching everything in its way.
Blurring the horizon .
The rhythm ups its tempo.
The splatter creates a symphony magical.
Damp walls, and darkened colours.
Wet leaves, and running children.
Muddy roads beneath the canopies.
The heady smell of earth lurks in the air.
III.
The sky turns a fresh, pale violet.
The world beneath is a cleaner, cooler place.
And the air is crisp and smooth.
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