Road Nirvana

The first thing that hits me when I get back to the good old city is the tremendous increase in traffic density. To keep the above said statement from becoming literal are a few measures that every indian should take. ( Can be broadened to encompass other parts of the world as well)

"Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?" -- George Carlin
 
It is absolutely essential to keep a clear mind while driving, especially if you like to drive fast, to make sure that maniac on a yamaha doesn't take up the form of the divine being who also shares the same name.

Unpainted humps hiding in the dark can break a lot more than just you speed. The city's roads can surprise you with a pothhole under the least expected circumstances in perfect accordance with Murphy's law.

To dogde and survive the many encounters bad traffic can throw up, one should develop an elevated state of mind while driving, which I term road nirvana. Whilst in this state, one neither experiences joy, nor sorrow while on the road. Joy on the road is dangerous in the city as loss of joy is the cause of sorrow. So when you can never possibly derive joy while driving, there is no sorrow in its absence as well. No longer do your shake your fist at the guy honking behind you. No longer do you swear at the slowpoke in front, but try to seek the path of least resistance to cut through the road, in perfect harmony.

Hoping to stay safe on the road. 

Road Nirvana! May its tribe increase. ( 'Chin mudra held' ( Yes, this is a tribute to another blog if you are wondering))

"The Little Barbershop of Horrors"

The title of this peom is a tribute to the Itchy and Scratchy episode that Bart and Lisa come up with in the episode "The Front."

Blissfully asleep, peacefully adream,
interrupted by an infernal scream.
"My son shall not sport ragamuffin hair!"
Exclaims my dad as his are rare.

Ambling on to the barber shop yonder,
reluctant as I was, I began to ponder,
alteast that pack will be easier to bath,
what scared me was the barber's wrath!

Seats you on his swivelling chair,
sprays his stuff on your darling hair,
combs them and makes them stay,
to make you look like you were gay.

As he proceeds, he surely quips,
"Rarer have become, to me, your trips?"
I thought with a smile of the slightest trace,
"The answer is staring right at your face."

Snip snap snip! Gone is your mane,
lionface to plucked chicken's base you wane.
Dettol washed wounds, burning red,
scars from a battle between razor and head.
Some consolation its the local shop,
and not beauty saloon who at a hat's drop,
will demand what I have spent all my life,
on keeping with my barber, this necessary strife.

English Textbooks

Through the years of schooling, I have always loved my english text books. I have distinct memories of lessons that were a part of my text books, as far back as second standard.

After 10th, I encountered text books published by the Karnataka PU board. I agree that the pictures, which looked like a black and white xerox of something had been copied and scanned some 10 times to produce dirty black smudges which can never further be deteriorated, weren't great. But the lessons were very well chosen. They made good reading material even if they didn't meet "high english standards" and weren't swamped with gobbledigooks. I don't care if the language is simple as long as it can convey meaning. Here I quoute a poem which I remembered reading after seeing my cousin's textbook.


An incident in the modern civil rights movement, which shocked America in 1963, was the bombing of a church in Birmingham Alabama killing 4 little girls. This poem was inspired by this incident.

BALLAD OF BIRMINGHAM

"Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?"

"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child."

"But, mother, I won't be alone.
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free."

"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children's choir."

She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.

The mother smiled to know that her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.

For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.

She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?"

- Dudley Randall

It talks of how the little girl's mother didn't want to risk her child marching the streets in agitation, but sing in church choir, safe in the arms of god. The tragedy lies in how the latter ended up resulting in what the mother feared the worst.

I found this to be a touching poem which is short and very well written. So, to hell with popular opinion. If there is something about pre university syllbus that is worth remembering, it is definitely the english text books.

Nature's children

Well,

Sweet vacations are here. Many jobless friends are in front of comps with an internet connection they are not ashamed of having, the immediate effect being super updated blogs. Then there are those few kind enough to mention my blog on one of theirs. Seeing mine perpetually at the bottom of every one of those, here goes nothing.

There is also the broken promise on that last post.

There is this theory I would like to propound. The most cherished of our nostalgic memories are always those that are closest to nature. By nature, I don't imply wild jungles or discovery documentaries, but those aspects of our lives which invariably bring us closer to the way nature had meant creatures to be. Before I get more vague and deter you away, let me illustrate.

We are more prone to indulge in reminiscence of past times that we indulge in with minimal technology. Whether it be a trip to the beach, where we got held up due to a rainstorm, or spending time, gathering together and playing cards - stuff that we do without computers and the like. More distinct and nostalgic are my memories of first semester, spent in the hostels without the intrusion of electronic devices, which now consume most of our time. A full day without power during the fourth semester was very hard to get by as a result of our marriage to computers. But thinking back, there is always the feeling that I spent my first semester better.

Ever wondered why it is more thrilling to watch a game at a stadium rather where you can just about make out what is happening, without close up camera replays rather than a television? Why the most advanced acoustics can never simulate the atmosphere of a live concert?

The following semesters of college will be dedicated to more exploration, generation of memories than ever before and retying lost bonds with nature. I really miss those days spent downstairs, climbing every tree in the apartment, turning a blind eye to anyone who threatened to complain to my father, who happened to teach me how to!

I would really appreciate your take on this. I want to find out how people feel about this.