The Guy in the Glass

Something interesting I came across, first a few years back and again quite recently.

When you get what you want in the struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what the guy has to say.

For it isn't your mother, or your father,
Whose judgement on you must pass,
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He's the fellow to please, never mind all the rest
For he's with you clean to the end;
And you've passed your most dangerous and difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and chisel a plum
And think you are a wonderful guy,
But the guy in the glass says you are a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You may fool the whole world
Down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass;
But the final reward will be heart aches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass.

The cacophony that religion is

I am irritated as hell and it’s got nothing to do with the general state of affairs around me, the BJP’s implosion, the weather or the creative hate mail on my posts. My frayed nerves are the result of the surrounding cacophony attacking my ears which has left my brain in permanent vibrator mode (that may explain this bewildering blog).

Last week I got a case of the sniffles. Nothing serious, just seasonal flu, which escalated my irritability levels by a few megahertz. So, early Saturday morning, as I lay in my bed(at home) cursing the world and its viruses, my peaceful reverie(an indication that I was not in the hostel, a place where nothing is ever peaceful, and you can accord that to the unusually small bed that I've got. Sleep, thus is a precious quantity. Twisted muscles of the neck aren't!) was interrupted by a violent clanging sound from the vicinity. A quick investigation from the window showed someone looking remarkably like a priest banging a metal plate outside the temple.

Apparently, it’s some new custom copied from neighbourhood schools to lure in devotees and torture every other soul who doesn’t believe in paying obeisance to the gods. My frantic and angry gestures from the balcony asking him to keep it down only escalated the volume and the situation(and my hatred towards God's own man's undiluted act of schedenfreude).

That brings me to a question, the answer to which I seek in all earnest: Why do all religions have to be so loud about their daily rituals? It’s a sensitive topic so I’ll have to tread lightly, lest I get lynched by some religious zealots on my way back to Bawana Land come Monday morning. I also know that temples, gurdwaras and mosques won’t tone down the volume because a certain short-tempered blogger has got the flu. That’s just wishful thinking.

Day in and day out, these places of worship scream their devotion all over the country. I don’t know for sure, but I have a strong feeling that God is not deaf. The priests, however, always turn a deaf ear to these sentiments. Perhaps all these priests and clerics have a secret deal with the ENT specialists of the country. You scratch my back and I’ll send you the hearing impaired.

Another theory could be that these gentlemen want to make the somewhat less devout feel guilty about not going to the temple. If I was in their place, I’d change tactics… this is only driving away the remaining atheists.

Then there are the jagarans(no, not the ones you generally associate with exams). It would seem that the gods are more alert at night. Therefore, screaming your lungs out after midnight is supposed to get you closer to moksha. I believe the Supreme Court has some guidelines about noise levels (religious or otherwise) after 9 pm. Unfortunately, this being a topic of faith, you won’t find too many people willing to take on a mob to uphold a law, yours truly included.

So, how does one sleep when a thousand tone-deaf people are shrieking out devotional songs in unison a few metres from your house. Simple. Invest in ear buds, put pillows over instead of under your head and spend thousands in soundproofing your house. The other option: shift home. Although I doubt the second option is practicable. Religious is ubiquitous, you see.

Another thing I’ve noticed (and I am moving into the rounded-up-and-beatean-up-risk zone again) is that few of these harmless devotees are aware of the harm they are doing to music lovers in the neighbourhood. It’s not just the decibel levels that leave you grimacing, but the murder of melody. Tansen and his ilk must be turning in their grave. I think I should record this mass murder and sell it to the CIA. After Abu Ghraib they must have been looking for new ways to torment prisoners.

Anyway, I need to go and have a man-to-man conversation with the neighbourhood priest. If I cant’t get him to pipe down, at least I can spread some seasonal flu and God-willing give him a sore throat. Just hope I don’t have to participate in a jagaran to get God to listen to me.

Pray!

Of forward thinking and blackmailing

I am going to die within the next 2 days. Why? Well, I kinda forgot to forward a boring forward to some even more boring people. The result: I am as good as dead. Just counting the days, folks.

Readers who have often grimaced with pain after reading my torturous attempts at humour will no doubt be rejoicing at the news of my impending demise. Hold your horses, friends. Apparently, there are some doubts about the credibility of these fatalistic forwards. A ray of hope for a dying man, but I cling to it with my entire body mass index.

Some of you may just be nodding furiously in agreement. After all, these irritating forwards can well be mistaken for email threats from al-Qaida. Come to think of it, I wonder if their terrorists also get such forwards. What a great way to terrorize the terrorist. If I could get hold of Osama bin Laden’s email ID, I’d definitely send him the sob story about a man ditched by his wife because he spent too much time with the other 39 in his harem. “Oye Osama, if you don’t forward this to at least 40 other al-Qaida members in the next 5 minutes, something horrible is going to happen to you…like an encounter with a heat-seeking missile looking for some serious terrorist booty”. Sigh! Wishful thinking!

Truth is, I am something of a serial forwarder. While I avoid terrorizing friends with the goody-goody sob-story emails, I am a sucker for jokes. But even an Internet-addicted, always-forwarding geek like me knows when to draw the line. Sometimes I think even spam from Nigerians asking for money on behalf of some long-lost intolerable relative is acceptable rather than a forward asking me to show my good side and passing it on to others.

I still remember the first forward I received. I got a forward from a friend that dealt with how I was just about to get lucky. Oblivious to the fact that this was a “forward” that someone had sent me to save his/her arse, and was not in anyway a synonym of “Godspeed”, I replied to the sender. Yes, I didn’t know shit from sugar then.

Now, they all begin with something like “I got this mail and I swear it works….” I swear too, at the forwarder I mean. Then the emails proceed to show you dreams of a financial windfall. They usually ask you to do something stupid like putting a coin on your nose and screaming ‘show me the money’. And just as the gullible oaf inside you starts hoping for a solution to beat recession, there comes the catch: Forward this to 50 people in 5 minutes and you could make millions. Forward it to 5 people in 10 minutes and you’ll get a new car free with a house in the suburbs of some congested, polluted city. Not forwarding is not an option. OK maybe it is, if you want to commit suicide. Cyber blackmail, I tell you!

It’s not like I didn’t try it. Before I caught on to what these fiendish forwarders were up to, I would often fall in the trap of selfish emailing. But I am still waiting for my millions.

I am going to rub a lot of people the wrong way with this tirade but who cares. After all I’m going to die because of these very same people?

Oh and yes, before I forget, forward this blog to a minimum 50 of your friends in the next 5 milliseconds or you’ll lose your sense of humour.

A trip down memory lane: Kasauli

You don't always need a sea for a change. Sometimes, 77 kilometres is more than enough.

Far away from chokehold of commercialised Shimla lies the quaint little town of Kasauli. Tucked away in a quiet hill of Himachal Pradesh and hidden and protected from vicious tourists and business minded gentry, this less known hill-station has all it takes for anyone to have an unadulterated experience of pure beauty. At 6,000 feet, adorned with tall and slender pine trees and the perennial burst of wild and ornamental flowers, Kasauli sure drugs the visitor with its scenic beauty and cooler climes. Lack of commercialization, and the fact that you can't buy land, seems to have no correlation with the eating joints here and perhaps this is what makes this place so stunning.

Kasauli is easily accessible by both road and rail. The nearest airport is at Chandigarh. Situated at a distance of around 325 km from New Delhi, the hill resort can be easily reached by hiring a bus or a taxi, from the inter-state bus terminals (ISBT). Buses, taxis and coaches are ready for hire from Chandigarh and Kalka as Kasauli lies en route to Shimla and the upper Himalayas. But I would suggest taking the toy train from Kalka, which is a one of it's kind experience when you travel with the hills and rich flora as companions and steep gorges as adversaries. These trains run in sync with the Kalka Mail that arrives at Kalka early morning each day. For Kasauli, you would have to get down at Dharmpur.

The town, that turned into a convalescent home for British nationals when they stemmed the growth of the ever-increasing hold of the Gurkhas in 1814, can easily cure writers, shutterbags, nature-lovers and birdwatchers of all their fastidious ailments and still leave them gasping for more. It's no surprise that the famous Indian author, Khushwant Singh often takes refuge in Kasauli whenever he wants his creative juices to get flowing.

Kasauli is far from being your archetypal hill station (although you still have Tibetians selling their wares!). It is small and can be traversed almost entirely on foot. It has a central area encompassed by two major roads- Upper Mall and Lower Mall. The Lower Mall has the bus stand and some shops, a photo studio and a departmental store. As you go higher up, a labyrinthine intersection of narrow roads takes you to the Upper Mall or to the children's park, Sanatorium and further on to the TV tower unfurling a couple of trekkable roads going further beyond. The Upper Mall - which is closer to the urban definition of a mall - is a small by-lane studded with stones with an amalgamation of small sweets shops, toy shops, a couple of shoe shops and the only barber shop of Kasauli.

Places to visit are few and far between in a place like Kasauli that is still nestled in the days of yore. Of greenery. Of peace. And most notably, of less concrete. At the juncture of the two Malls lies the "Church of England", a nineteenth century church built for the soldiers of the British garrison. At the end of the Upper Mall, sitting atop the Gilbert Hill, is Gilbert House, built as home to the first Brigadier of Kasauli. The bungalow today, hosts the current Brigadier. And according to lore, Gilbert's ghost is still 'seen' venturing out in the premises. Also named after Gilbert is the Gilbert trail, one of the numerous treks fraught with danger at every step and at every climb or descent. The odd hornet's sting or a wild plant's prick is bearable when weighed against the unmitigated beauty one witnesses on every bend. On it's way up the Upper Mall also lies the 120 year old Kasauli club, a sprawling complex with facilities to satiate any socialite. About 4 km from the Mall lies the Monkey/Manki point, an Air Force base that is known more for being home to notorious monkeys. Visitors are thus thoroughly frisked and not allowed to carry anything, and for more reasons than one! As you tread upon the direction the masses have taken, you will see a colourful temple perched on the top of a steep hill. However, it's your call whether you want to take the precipitous climb or not. Not far from Kasauli is the famous Lawrence School, Sanawar, one of the most famous boarding schools of the country.

Such a beautiful place, Kasauli's exquisiteness lies in its laid back nature. Look anywhere; shoot from any angle; or take any road through the whispering pines on both sides, the place has a naturally reassuring ambiance that, in a way -- I sure stumbled upon this feeling -- permeates into the skin and balms the soul.

P.S. : The credit for the first picture(and in fact, for the entire trip goes to Arjit Arora who will soon be here to revel in his day of glory!)

The Godfather: A Review

If there was ever a book that hasn't fallen short of my sometimes-unreasonably-high expectations, it would have to be The Godfather, one of the most widely read and revered books of all time. The plot of the novel is intriguing, the conversation and the plots so involving. The author, Mario Puzo, an American with Italian roots lays bare the strong Sicilian spirit coupled with the supreme importance given to family values and unity. The protaganist's life is a testimony to the fact that circumstances go a long way in shaping the life one lives.

The novel spans several generations of the Corleone family, going as far back as the turn of the century in Sicily. The book is a riveting page-turner, with little plot lines jutting out from the principal one - Don Vito Corleone, with three grown sons, struggles to keep the Corleone "Family" together and strong. Don Vito is a fascinating character to both the novel's internal characters and to its readers. He is a family man, a man of honor, brave, intelligent, and loved. He is also the leader of one of the strongest mafia clans in the world. The book is inter-sparsed with instances where the Don pulls strings to help his faithful. He has three sons and a daughter- Sonny, the eldest, Fredo, Michael, the youngest and Constantia Corleone. Elder brothers Sonny and Fredo are soldiers in the organization and Sonny is the most feared enforcer in New York. His adopted brother Tom Hagen is the lawyer who handles the financial details of the family business. Young Michael was different from the others in his family. He wants a queit and an honest life with Kay Adams, with whom he falls in love at college.

The story starts with Constantia's wedding reception. Scattered around are such luminaries as legendary hit man Luca Brasi, world-famous singer Johnny Fontane, and Mafia capo Dominic Clemenza alongwith scores of people who literally worship the Don. After the reception, Don Vito, Sonny, and Tom, meet with Virgil Sollozzo, a drug smuggler who wants them to become partners in his business. Though Sollozzo offers attractive terms, Don Vito, who considers drug trafficking to be too dangerous and against his morals, rejects the offer. When, a few days later, the Don is cut-down and seriously wounded by a pair of assassins, the violent Sonny is tapped to take the reigns of the family and vows to avenge his father.

In the midst of the resultant gang-war, "college-boy" Michael, to the surprise of all, volunteers to kill Sollozzo and Captain McCluskey, his police protection. Meeting with the two in a small restaurant, Michael slays them both with a hidden pistol. Michael is then exiled to Sicily by his own father to protect him from the police. And this is where Michael undergoes a complete transformation.

Meanwhile, all the five "families" of New York are engulfed into a war that leads to widespread bloodshed. One of the sons of the Tattaglia family is killed and very soon, Sonny too gets killed while he, in a fit of rage, decides to set his erring brother-in-law right. This forces the Don to call truce and in the bargain, arranges for Michael's return to America.

When the Don is finally felled by a heart attack and Fredo is sent to consolidate the family's power in Las Vegas, Michael is called upon to take control of the family business and take revenge on his enemies.

And the rest as they say, is history..

In every crevice of the story, the reader finds patterns of betrayal causing tragedy to make for a rich buildup of plot and suspense. This marriage of two dark themes makes a story that is a must for any serious reader.

War of the words

While there are some who invent imaginative new words thereby contributing to the art of making language richer, there are others who self-appointedly sit on language monitoring committees to monitor the influx of new words and decide which new words deserve an entry in the hallowed English dictionaries. Who gavith them the right?

And then there is the Indian media, suffering from severe lack of sense of discrimination, which starts drooling with excitement whenever anything remotely connected to Indian cultural landmass gets approval from westerners. A press release by a little-known American company that makes money by monitoring new media for mentioning its clients, announcing the crowning of one millionth word should ordinarily have been brushed aside without a thought, but the inclusion of two words having an India-connection (Slumdog & Jai Ho) was enough enticement for our media to treat a publicity gimmick by a private company as yet another shining example of India's cultural impact on the world.

Would we have stopped using the words Slumdog or Jai Ho had this monitoring agency not included these words in its expanding list? Has our national pride suffered a dent because Slumdog is listed at 9,99,997 and not at 10,00,000? If not, why do such crappy crowning ceremonies conferring chance celebritiness to accidental new words become news?

As a response to such senseless pandering to juvenile fancies, I too have created my own list of new words and phrases that deserve an entry in the English dictionary.

Countupation - (noun - Counting clowns) - The silly and absolutely pointless occupation of keeping a count of new inclusions of items in a given branch of knowledge that are indelineatable due to lack of accepted and clear-cut criteria for inclusion or exclusion of such items in that branch of knowledge.

Languappropriate - Attempt to appropriate or assume pseudo-control/ownership of an entire language through insidious means such as setting up a language monitoring company, unauthorizedly taking up the role of deciding which words deserve an inclusion in official lexicon and pompously crowning words arbitrarily with meaningless titles.

Authoreverence - (reverence or worship of authority) Obsessive obeisance by mainstream media to traditional institutions of authority or institutions pretending to be institutions of authority (like Oxford English Dictionary, Global Language Monitor etc) while ignoring the contribution of popular barometers (such as Urbandictionary.com which boasts a dictionary of 4 million words) to the profusion of new words and phrases.

(National) Gloryearning - Excessive yearning or hankering for national glory. Often exhibited by media by giving over-importance to international competitions of no significance, and by treating every international contest featuring any person, product or an abstract idea related to the nation, however tangential the relation might be, as a matter of national pride and glory.

Are you the champion Procrastinator?

And I'm back!

Having lost all my traffic(not my archetypal pompousness!), it feeels good to see that my indomitable spirit is still alive, something which keeps me aboard besides the want of not wanting my blog to go down as yet another dormant collection of random rumblings. Its almost like starting afresh.

I've been meaning to write this , but I keep putting it off. There always seems to be something to stop me – something better or more important or easier to do.
Everybody is rushing to enter the contest to find India's biggest procrastinator. You subscribed to the offer too, didn't you? As an expert in the field, I will help you win the contest. Even if you are not Indian, just tell them you've been meaning to immigrate. That should actually win you some bonus points.
India is just teeming with procrastinators. Some delay roti, kapda, makaan. Some delay filing IT returns. Some even want to delay the elections.

Bah! Some people hold off on taking courses or changing jobs. Others delay household chores. Indians delay cleaning up and filing. They put off buying a car, washing the car, selling the car, and even learning to drive. Some even hold off on getting born (That was me. Sorry Mom.).
If it wasn't for the last minute, nothing would get done. And many Indians have even eliminated that pesky last minute. Dr. Suraj Joseph(my keen partner and idol when it comes to the Art and Science of procrastination) explains, "It's a lifestyle choice. A professional procrastinator delays walking the dog until the last minute. By then he is busy holding off the lawn mowing. He'll never get to the mowing, even in the last minute, because he spends that last minute not cleaning up after the dog. With so much to delay, the last minute never arrives."

One contestant(from class) bought over Rs. 15,000 worth of software in the past two years "to help me with my computer, 80% of it is still unopened and or unused." It might help if he started by removing the computer from its packaging.
Another contestant(not from class, my class isn't as adept at procrastination as I am, you see) describes how "we go to our sadar bazaar bags to find what we need because we never put them away." I laughed at that one. I thought that was pretty funny. Ha ha ha. My Mom was not laughing. She pointed to the milk boxes piled high beside the door. "But those aren't sadar bazaar bags," I protested with all the conviction of a soggy noodle.
My Mom opened the fridge door. "We have soggy bread. And soggy apples. And soggy turnips. We have a soggy collection. Think it might be time to stop your procrastination and clean the fridge?" Sigh. Master procrastinators are rarely appreciated.
Procrastination has some interesting side effects. A professional procrastinator always marvels at how clean the restrooms are at service stations.
A true procrastinator never gets his Christmas tree up before Christmas. Unless it's still there from last year, of course. Some try to get it down before March arrives, but that calendar always moves so fast!
A skilled procrastinator always reads her mail – but only after the postman comes up to her apartment to complain. One contestant finally emptied her mailbox to find mail from six months earlier.
A determined procrastinator goes several years without pouring his own bathwater or putting out his own garbage. After a while, the community gets involved.
No true procrastinator shovels snow. The snow will hopefully melt in a few months...hopefully.
Even with talented contestants, you can win this contest if you don't try hard enough.
I thought about entering the contest myself. I could delay college graduation by several years. I have a dozen books still sealed in plastic covers. I have a bed to be set, hair to be combed, assignments to be made, projects and reports to be submitted and a "six feet frame" to be cleaned(I'm not all mouth and no trousers, when it comes to procrastination atleast, as you just saw, yet again.)
I was just about to enter the contest, when I came up with an ingenious way to disqualify myself. I offered to put up this open-for-all contest! Now, some credit is due to the person who helps in finding out the nation's best procrastinator. Or maybe not!

With me out of the race, this might finally be the contest you can win. You see, I know a little secret about all the contestants – a fatal flaw that makes every one of them vulnerable. Nobody can legitimately win this year's contest ...unless they enter next year.
Technical notes: To make this note on procrastination authentic, I attempted to withhold it. But my blog gave me "The Frown". If you ever saw The Frown, your boots would still be trembling.
So I decided to submit the post bereft of newer instances of my self-proclaimed-and-attained 'Everest-ine' levels of procrastination. Surely that qualifies as procrastination. But this time my blog gave me "The Double Frown". That sent shivers down through my toenails(which I now remember are still pink from Holi colour!).
I considered sending my post in one word at a time, with each letter cut from a newspaper or magazine like a painfully long ransom note. But my blog told me about its emergency "death ray" frown, so I gave up.
But wait! You can make this true procrastination by not reading any more until next year. Stop reading. If you are still reading, you are failing to procrastinate. Stop now. If you are not reading this sentence, congratulations – you are a champion procrastinator.
Stop, I said. No.. NO!! You can't beat me!! NO!!

And last to last but not in the least, the most useful gyan for the quarter(1st April - 9 December= roughly a quarter, not to be misconstrued with volumetric evaluations, I'm a teetotaller)..

"Watch out for "spam" mobile network messages which say 'Hello! Make new friends with Voice Chat service', for you never know."
Awesome words, I say(Yeah, I did). You'll thank me.

AND, finally the time has come when mighty Zeus and the folk that sit atop the Olympus have conspired to allow me to walk the beaches of the 'parody-siacal' land called Goa(everyone suffers from a bout of procrastination, you see). Fr. William Robert Lyons would turn in his grave if he were to learn that we're traversing half the country in a rotten train that takes 40 hours(no regrets!) to reach Goa to participate in BITS Goa's inter-college football tournament.

O Goa, aqui eu venho!

Adios!

Cut me deep and I bleed RED!

No words can describe what I felt when I saw Ole Gunnar Solskjaer wave goodbye to Man United. It gave me goosebumps, it brought tears to my eyes, yet at the same time, a proud feeling of having witnessed the 20LEgend play at the Theater of Dreams.

I used to be a casual football fan, with no loyalties per se till this happened.
It was back in 2000 while watching the daily sports bulletin that I first saw glimpses of the game Man United played within the hallowed confines of Old Trafford as well as beyond them. United has just won the European Cup, beating Bayern Munich in what had been an outstanding game of football and more importantly displayed the spirit with which the game is played at United. And history has it that it was Ole who came on as a late sub and scored what was his most important goal ever.
That had me hooked.
Well, you could say that it was akin to having a crush on the first girl you saw when you moved to a co-ed school from an all boys school but it could also be called love at first sight. That is what it has been for me. Watching the weekend games that came before the as frequently held Monday tests, week in and week out.. buying Man United books, stickers, shirts, jackets.. its just a part of it all but true love for United is more than just this and it stems from the professionalism, the passion and above all, the loyalty in the air that surrounds the red part of Manchester. For me, its the can of oxygen that I must buy to live a hundred years. I am sure, if Mozart had seen us play, he would've been inspired to compose a whole opera on us!

What I have seen all these eight years is that there are greater values of real life in the beautiful game and that is what United is all about. The real thing about Manchester United which sets it apart is that it stands for something more than any person, any player, any supporter. It is the soul of a sporting organisation, which goes on season after season, making history all the time!

And, you know when you're a true Mancunian:
You try to explain the greatness of Man Utd even to those people who don't even know the basic rules of football(happens everyday). You watch United do the double even if you have the worst possible paper the next morning and don't mind scoring a 47 in it! Even your Mum, when out to buy you a bag ensures that its got nothing to do with any of your rivals(happened just some time back!). You force yourself on your kid sister to be able to watch the United play even on her birthday(happened sometime in October!)! While watching the Flag show at an Iron Maiden concert, you wish you also get to see a MUFC flag. You like to wake up to "glory glory Man United.." People know when to avoid talking to you, when your team drops points. Its just impossible to ignore the odd looking stranger wearing the Red Devils' jersey...

Sir Alex, widely regarded as the best manager of all time and the individual who can be credited for making United stronger by the day continues to reign, unscathed by the wheels of time. That is where loyality starts, right at the top. His no-nonsense attitude, shrewd tactics and excellent eye for young talent are as famous as his 'fairly' (in)famous hairdryer treatment. United owes a lot to SAF and it'll be a sad day when he hangs up his boots.

Roy Keane once said about Eric Cantona, "Collar turned up, back straight, chest stuck out, he glided into the arena as if he owned the fucking place. Any arena, but nowhere more effectively than Old Trafford. This was his stage. He loved it, the crowd loved him." That is what the imposing structure of the Colloseum-like Old Trafford and the 75,000 odd die hard loyal supporters of the club does to you! This is where uncut jewels are transformed into real diamonds. Indeed, its the Theater of Dreams.

The torchbearers of this legacy come from within the system. They aren't poached from Spain and left to "walk alone" after some time. They aren't all members of the French National team and they definitely aren't bought using the Russian rouble! Indeed, the core of the United is still English. And that our first team comprises of products from our youth system is testimony to that fact.
Beckham, Giggs, Scholes, the Nevilles, Nicky Butt, all grew up together at Carrington and went on to represent United and even England.

Rio has grown into a world class player. Rooney, who gets better every season. And always learns to do more, more than just score. He’s deadly in the box, but most of all he’s growing in to the role of a player who can cover the whole pitch wisely. Not like in his first years years at Old Trafford when he ran over the whole ground and one wondered why he was at that spot now. Ronaldo was a talent. Nothing more. An expensive talent. Fergie made him the world’s best player. Looking even further back, Ruud was a talent. He became world’s deadliest striker at Old Trafford. Performing well in the Netherlands doesn’t make you a worldwide fear, just look at Robben's performance at Madrid. Giggs was a talent. Fergie made him good enough to play all the matches he has for us.No one knew who Vidic was, today he’s among the world’s defensive elite, together with Rio and Neville. I could go on for hours with more examples. Fact is, we buy young talents and grow them, turn them in to world’s best. That’s when the Abramoviches, the Mourinhos and the Calderons come into play : they want to buy the best players. We make them. Young talents at Chelsea fail. And when Ince, Staam, Beckham and Ruud turn to Madrid, its not because they want to, its because SAF decides its in in our interest.

From the treble in '99 to the disappointments at the hands of Arsenal and Chelsea, from the fallouts of Keane, Beckham and Nistelrooy to the rise of Rooney and Ronaldo, and the emergence of a new, vibrantly young United and most recently, the double in '08, its been a wonderful journey and its sure to continue for ever!

I feel close to the rebelliousness and vigour of the youth at OT. Time won't separate us and nobody can deny that here, behind the windows of Manchester, there is an insane love of football, of celebration and of music.
United until death!

Ciao!

P.S. Visit manutd.com ! ;-)

The Eclipse

When I find out all the reasons
Maybe I'll find another way
Find another day
With all the changing seasons of my life
Maybe I'll get it right next time
An now that you've been broken down
Got your head out of the clouds
You're back down on the ground
And you don't talk so loud
An you don't walk so proud
Any more, and what for..

That is the tune I've been humming to, these past few days.
Does anyone else wake up with almost the same tune in his/her head every day of the week, or with any tune at all, or is it just me?

Anyway, the frivolity of exam taking has almost ended, with just one more pebble left to be thrown into the clever crow's glass(or flask, I care not!). Water never tasted better. I know, I sound wasted.
These were two and a half weeks of lessons well learnt, if you know what I mean.
Quite unexpectedly, Machine Drawing, not my forte by any stretch of imagination turned out to be my best paper. Well, my best could be your worst, but we're not divulging into the nuances of relativity.

Hmm, no more dawdling.
Its no point commenting on the political leadership, or rather, the lack of it in the country. Newspaper editorials and the news channels are doing well enough to highlight the platitude and alibis being showered in abundance by the 'peoples' representatives'. The internet in its own right is doing good at this too, with every alternate blog baying for the politicians' blood.
I can't help but say that the legislatures should finally stop displaying this schadenfreude aimed at us, as the German who lives across the street would have loved to put it.

By the way, Panache '08, our multimedia quizzing event was organised some time back. Panache is where you get to taste the heady cocktail of fun and work. Here's a look at the credit roll:

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=q2q6SqEqEYk

Eagerly looking forward to the latter half of this month.
Home never felt better.
Ginger Prince is finally back in action. Now we know where the volleys are going!

Adios!

P.S. For all those How I Met Your Mother fans out there, S04E09 is a must watch.

The bigger picture

In my last post, I mentioned something about my exams. Those were the midsems. I know the blog archives would suggest that those were what had me occupied all this while. Hell, no! It was just my newly attained heights of procrastination that has kept me busy since then. Well, I managed to get over with the midsems(and only I know how!). Now is the time for the ENDsems. Starting this week they go on and eat up most of December as well.
However, recent studies by some eminent scientists have shown that I have(or should have), as a matter of fact, no time to study for my exams. Here is this intriguing report I found on the internet.

The world will end in 2012, say experts Several experts from across the globe are predicting that the earth is likely to end by the year 2012. The reason could be a human effect or natural disaster. From Chinese theories to scientific predictions the most likely date is the year 2012.

SCIENTIFIC EXPERTS from around the world are predicting that four years from now, all life on Earth could well come to an end. Some are saying it’ll be humans that would set it off. Others believe that a natural phenomenon will be the cause. And the religious folks are saying it’ll be God himself who would press the stop button. The following are some likely arguments as to why the world would end by the year 2012.

Reason one: Mayan calendar The first to predict 2012 as the end of the world were the Mayans, a bloodthirsty race that were good at two things -- building highly accurate astrological equipment out of stone and sacrificing virgins. Thousands of years ago they managed to calculate the length of the lunar moon as 329.53020 days, only 34 seconds out. The Mayan calendar predicts that the earth will end on December 21, 2012. Given that they were pretty close to the mark with the lunar cycle, it’s likely they’ve got the end of the world right as well.

Reason two: Sun storms Solar experts from around the world monitoring the sun have made a startling discovery. Our sun is in a bit of strife. The energy output of the sun is, like most things in nature, cyclic and it’s supposed to be in the middle of a period of relative stability. However, recent solar storms have been bombarding the earth with lot of radiation energy. It’s been knocking out power grids and destroying satellites. This activity is predicted to get worse and calculations suggest it’ll reach its deadly peak sometime in 2012.

Reason three: The atom smasher Scientists in Europe have been building the world’s largest particle accelerator. Basically, its a 27 km tunnel designed to smash atoms together to find out what makes the universe tick. However, the mega-gadget has caused serious concern, with some scientists suggesting that it’s properly even a bad idea to turn it on in the first place. They’re predicting all manner of deadly results, including mini black holes. So when this machine is fired up for its first serious experiment in 2012, the world could be crushed into a super-dense blob the size of a basketball.

Reason four: The Bible says it If having scientists warning us about the end of the world isn’t bad enough, religious folks are getting in on the act as well. Interpretations of the Christian Bible reveal that the date for Armageddon, the final battle between good an evil, has been set for 2012. The I Ching, also known as the Chinese Book of Changes, says the same thing, as do various sections of the Hindu teachings.

Reason five: Super volcano Yellowstone National Park in United States is famous for its thermal springs and old faithful geyser. The reason for this is simple -- it’s sitting on top of the world’s biggest volcano and geological experts are beginning to get nervous sweats. The Yellowstone volcano has a pattern of erupting every 650,000 years or so, and we’re many years overdue for an explosion that will fill the atmosphere with ash, blocking the sun and plunging the earth into a frozen winter that could last up to 15,000 years. The pressure under the Yellowstone is building steadily, and geologists have set 2012 as a likely date for the big bang.

Reason six: The physicists This one’s case of bog -- simple maths mathematics. Physicists at Berkeley University have been crunching the numbers. They’ve determined that the earth is well overdue for a major catastrophic event. Even worse, they’re claiming that their calculations prove that we’re all going to die, very soon. They are also saying that their prediction comes with a certainty of 99 per cent; and 2012 just happens to be the best guess as to when it occurs.

Reason seven: Earth’s magnetic field We all know the Earth is surrounded by a magnetic field that shields us from most of the sun’s radiation. What you might not know is that the magnetic poles we call North and South have a nasty habit of swapping places every 750,000 years or so -- and right now we’re about 30,000 years overdue. Scientists have noted that the poles are drifting apart roughly 20-30 kms each year, much faster than ever before, which points to a pole-shift being right around the corner. While the pole shift is under way, the magnetic field is disrupted and will eventually disappear, sometimes for up to 100 years. The result is enough UV outdoors to crisp your skin in seconds, killing everything it touches.

So all you people out there blissfully wasting your time, trying to understand things that you do not have a chance of understanding by 2012, writing exams whose results won't be published before 2012, or attending courses that won't finish by 2012, or even if they do, won't have much value unless you can make the modern day Noah's Ark, better do something more worthwhile because its not just this semester thats ENDing. Come on people, look at the bigger picture! I know the world may not end then, but why take a risk? Personally I'm off to do some research on Greek mythology and playing Football Manager 09, something I've been waiting do for sp long now. I'll try to fit in turning up for my exams between all that, but I can't say that for sure. In the meantime, I suggest you lot all start making plans on salvaging what is left of your life. Do come by this blog more often now than I can assure you a lot more than boring dragging Electrical Measurements, or even worse, Power Apparatus. FYI, I opened my syllabus book yesterday and found out that I had a whole module on Induction Motors and another whole module on Analysis of Complex Functions(did I get the name right?). I'm actually glad that the world is going to end!
RIP!

P.S. Se7en is lucky indeed.

Bluh and Bluh-bluhing..

Warning: This is strictly a creation of the author's twisted brain. Get yourself something better to do. This work of randomness wouldn't do you any good!

This is not how I am..
I have become comfortably numb..

Yeh! I seem to have, atleast.
Days are passing by like greased lightning, each one teaching me a lesson here or there. Its so random/arbit/variable/faltu(I could give you more of that, but blah, forget it!), sometimes you just want to sit alone for a long time and stare at the sky and at others you just want to go running barefoot on the green grass with the wind brushing against your hair like you were a Usain Bolt!( Yeah, bad example/analogy/whatever!).
Anyway, now, I realise, understand, learn, walk and grow.. although I'm still difficult to understand for most people around, including my best friends and sometimes even me. Guess, complexity is directly proportional to height! See, I'm sure you wouldn't get it, just in case you were reading with interest.

Berbatov's FINALLY arrived at Old Trafford! I've started liking Friends, more so on a certain someone's insistence. BUT, "How I met your mother" is still BETTER! ACDC and Metallica have come up with new singles. Dream Theater has me hooked on right now and I've got so many new books to read, but sadly, not a minute to spare. And, finally I'll be going for a rock show in sometime. Yay! Just as an after thought, mid-sems are coming up too, in a week or so. Blah!

So take a look at me now,
well there's just an empty space..
(I like to be dramatic at times! :D)

Hmm. Dead groggy, with my eyeballs ready to pop out any moment like that weird woman's, who comes on every alternate episode of Ripley's Believe or not( btw how on earth does she do it??), its hard to keep typing. But, for the sake of my 'dear' blog, I'll go on bluh bluhing..

I guess life comes with a truckload of 'baggages'. I'm glad to have some of mine too.. although, I do prefer to call them friends. Old friends, new friends all the same, the only ones who can be felt in your numbness.

Anshuman/Daadhi/Bawa/etc.. Weird, saint-like, with fluctuating opinions and interests. THE "Advisor", yet the one who needs advise from me(can you believe that?). Umm, the guy's sitting in Karnataka. Sad. Why?? Period.

Aditya/Adi/Red-head(for a brief period of time!).. Weirder, another one of my kind. Difficult to understand yet, the 'bravest' of 'em all!

Yogeesh/Bhalu/Yogi.. Ok, this guy is biggg, in every sense of the word. Despite being a pea-brain he does manage to be a BIG brother!

Arjit/Jit/Jitpot/S*it pot?etc.. Another big brother( Why do I feel like a kid suddenly?). Car-freak. Really hardworking and a big big foodie and most importantly, my doubles partner. Stop listening to Flobots, and I could actually consider recommending you to a few girls! If only you read my blog, Git!

Abhay/Kaul/Call-boy.. Freak! Yeah, freak! Bigtime hog, steals everyone's food while they're looking the other way and can't stop advising you on, well, "some" matters! Wickedly fun person to be friends with. My phone booth and wallet in times of need and greed! My

Suraj/Joseph/Susti/JosPee.. a lazy, good-for-nothing moron. Ok, he's good at quizzing, a little bit of football and a little bit of coding and stuff. Other than that, he's totally useless. Just keeps asking for his four-hundred bucks all the time! Vasuli is his profession.

Rahul/Mallu/Malvinder.. Ok, this guys is like candy, yeah, sweet candy. Too good to survive in this world. Mad at me as of now, but I know he'll be the first one to put his hand up for me. Period.


The other bags being Naman, Attika, Niki, Chak, RA, Chintu, Jinky, Rohilla, Manisha.

I'm sorry, I'm just way too much in need of some good sleep right now.

Adios!

High and not-so dry!

Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
GET drunk!
STAY drunk!
On WINE, virtue, poetry, whatever!

Adios!

Make your own omellete and eat it too!

Warning: Read only if you're as besotted with randomness as I am!

It's 11:30 PM now, and hunger, and the fact that Pizza Hut became Pizza Shut at 10:30 PM, shall soon drive me to the kitchen, where another omelette will join its predecessors in lining my arteries with cholesterol. Only this time it'll be different, this new "kid-on-the-block" will have an awe about it...

What does it take to create an extraordinary omelette? Foremost, Respect(with a capital 'R') as my mum's words rang in my ears. Never forget that you are planning on eating two of some hen's gametes(three actually, one of them accidentally slipped out onto the kitchen floor while me was tossing and twirling the mixing bowl in all his glory like me was the head chef at the Shangri La). Pouring beaten eggs into a frying pan and sprinkling it with 'chedded shreddar' cheese is the addition of an unwanted 'dis' to this most important of ingredients. Only slightly lower in the ingredient gradient is Olive Oil, one of those rare compounds that have been attributed cholestrol-shattering properties(why does chemistry haunt me even while I'm just making my first omellete?). The addition of Olive Oil to a particularly rich omelette is like praying before one's semester examinations -- it may not actually work, but it will give one a sense of spiritual comfort. Render unto me also two sprigs of Coriander leaf, and two small, green chillies -- of the toilet-paper igniting variety -- preferably chopped and with the stalks removed, and you won't regret it. If you live in places where said chillies are pickled and kept out of reach of children, add two of them, and pour in a few ounces of the pickling fluid itself to improve homogeneity and boost octane factors.

Add two pinches of salt and sufficient ground pepper to give the whole mixture a 5% grey-tone, and you're well on your way to making your presence felt when it comes to making "smacka-licious" omelletes(err..). If you have tomatoes, a few very small pieces will help too but I do not recommend tomatoes, which seem to be popular among the masses -- tomatoes make omelettes brittle(and heavy), and render flipping hazardous. Serve me tomatoes in my omelette only if the cautionary hand of Wisdom is forever at your shoulder, or if experience has left you scarred for life(never mind that. Just my pathetic habit of philosophising). Gimme onion instead.

Experience shall also teach you the right amount of milk (or better still, cream) to be added as you beat the eggs. Milk? Verily. Milk will make your omelette puffy, especially if your cover the pan as you fry(I avoid milk coz I loath plump stuff- books, people, girls and yeah, omelletes too! It also doesn't help that I HATE MILK!) For cheese lovers(which I'm not, except for the mozzarella vareity), I suggest 'common' Hamburger cheese. If you want your omelette to stink -- in more ways than one -- use other kinds. A slice is (or two are) to be placed judiciously on top after the bottom of the omelette turns golden. This leaves time for the cheese to melt to the perfect degree, before the bottom turns golden-brown. Then you fold the omelette, so that the cheese is on the inside....

The afterglow will take you as far as the 2AM rerun of "Rock Rules" on VH1. Watch Roger Waters(if he's happy) or hallucinate (if he's not) and be magnanimous in judging him -- if his life possessed the balance that your omelette does now, he'd not be singing hallucinatory songs and Wish you were here wouldn't have existed(that's another story, now). In hindsight, and especially after eating it, calling it an omelette will seem unfair. It's a piece of art. Following this up with some early-morning exercise, will keep you from dying for your art's sake.

If you've managed to read this far, I understand that either you were just too desperate to know how a guy could actually cook(which btw is the most ridiculous cliche I've managed to come across) or you've never made an omelette of your own!

In either case, I'm afraid you just wasted some precious moments of your life reading my first experience with those two gametes(or was it three?) which by the way, was way more complicated than it seems! (And what became of them can be seen right here!)

LET's OmelLETte baby!!

Mess Inc.

Woah! Life's moving way too fast right now. Today, or rather, yesterday was one of those blink-and-you-miss days with so much happening all around.
Anyway, more about that later.
As I went to college to complete the rather painstaking hostel formalities with Mallu (theek hai, for your sake I won't reveal your true identity and your misadventures with that pink slip!), along with the hundred buck worth hostel brochure(and its gibberish) which we had to buy knowing fully well that it was all but someone's diligent work on the control c's and control v's, we were handed out a rather interesting piece of paper(unwittingly so by the clerk). Err.. don't know, it said something, it was something for the people who had taken the hostel for the first time.

Read on-

"Where else would the noun glutton be best suited to the scrawniest guy in your class? Where else would you find such a fine assortment of delectable dishes waiting to be downed? Where else would you wait for that long walk from your hostel to the mess in the senior hostels like you hadn't eaten for years?

Laced with 'pure' desi ghee and atta from the most expensive chakki in the neighbourhood, and the choicest onions and cucumbers from the college nursery, you are sure to have many presumptions about the quality of food served in the mess at engineering colleges shattered, here at the DCE hostel mess! Right from those tables with a rose each and those beautifully crafted chairs (albeit in plastic!) to the fine looking guys who serve you with utmost glee, you are sure to love your time at the mess.

Now lets just get you started with the mouth-watering delicacies we have on offer for our dear students, you being the latest addition to that distinguished army of strong and healthy engineers we churn out each year!

Monday, the day which gets you started with a new week of possibilities and opportunities, holds in store for you Vada and Upma, arguably the best of its kind. Beans from the French farms reach you, blanched and steamed, with a tinge of homegrown chilly and garlic to satiate that huge stomach of yours. Rajma chawal, way better than the one your mum cooks at home, waits for you at night time.
Tuesday provides you with the opportunity to taste the best Mess Inc. has to offer, the famed Aloo de paranthe aur Shahbad dairy da makhan..So sumptuous are these over-sized atta saucers overladed with aloo fry that you're sure to be found in the queue at eight in the morning even if you're generally there just five minutes before your first lecture. Due to the heavy nature of this dish, and our inability to find enough takers for our Hydrabadi Biryani with rice from the granaries of the Nizam himself, we have decided to shut the mess during lunchtime. However, chana and puri await you at night, ready to leave you smacking your lips.
Some peoples' favourite bird is butter chicken. And not keen on disappointing our customers with a distinct interest in birds, we have an 'unlimited' supply of butter chicken gracing the tables on Wednesday. Although, we must add, 20 rupees would be charged for an extra helping! For those of our patrons who suffer with Ornithophobia, we have lentils cooked in tomato sauce with a tinge of masala, commonly known as dal makhani.. but as dal makhi-wali here as we, noble beings do not believe in discrimination and strongly believe that Wednesday must be one dedicated to the non-veggies.
Thursday takes you to the Panju-land. Aqua-pao bhaji, a special variation owing its origin to us will leave you licking your fingers early in the morning. In having a heady concoction of water and bhaji, it takes care of your daily needs of water! Who cooks aloo gobhi? We do, and we do it the best to warrant complete customer satifaction! To take care of your well-being we also serve soya-bean and curry (a mixture of unknown ingredients which gives a mysterious taste, enough to satisfy the taste-buds of those who particularly have a liking for cockraoches).
Keeping to our promise of serving food with a difference, Chinese chowmein with copious amounts of Indian masala is sure to please you on Friday. Also, to give a well-deserved rest to our hard working team of chefs and waiters dedicated to serve you in times of need and greed, we provide you with the opportunity of getting a taste of things outside.
All meals are accompanied with one of the many dals we have to offer- red, light green, grasshopper green, dirty green, black, pale yellow, dark yellow, orange and brown, we have it all. Choose your colour!"

Looks like there is even more to look forward to come August the 1st.
Till then, make hay while the sun shines!

Adios!

Please note- This account is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance with actual events is just a matter of 'coincidence'! :P

Why "Vertical Vertigo" ?

Might be coming a bit late for everyone's liking, but nevertheless, here it is..

If you noticed(I hope you did!), I recently changed the blog's name from "An Anamnesis" to "Vertical Vertigo". The reason behind this was that I wanted to stick to what the wise men say- "Change is the essence of life"!
Bah! Not really..
Its because I thought this title was more apt and more suited to the blog and besides, it sounds cooler too! :P
While "An Anamnesis" literally means "a recollection, a reminiscence of the past", I realised that my blog wasn't going to be a lot about my past. It might contain a post here and there, about how certain events that occurred in the past affected my present or even my future, but I firmly believe that what you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now. We need not destroy the past. It is gone.
R.I.P "An Anamnesis".
So yeah..
Vertical Vertigo..
Vertigo, contrary to popular belief of ignorant people like me, you and almost everyone around, is NOT the fear of heights! The term vertigo refers to the sensation of spinning or swaying while the body is stationary with respect to the surroundings.
Don't worry, its not a disease, and its far from being a syndrome too, its just a feeling! Now what I feel is that each one of us experiences a vertigo(No, I'm not talking about the medical jargon!) sometime or the other in life. There are times you're just left wavering, in your thoughts, in your actions, in your decisions and in almost everything. Your head might be spinning because of the circumstances you're in or you might be left swaying your way to a far-away land while wondering why you did something you did. Its also possible that you may not realise that its a vertigo that you were experiencing, but you might just, sometime, when you try to reflect upon your past. Here, I probably gave "vertigo" a whole new meaning!
For me, its quite different, I feel like I'm in the midst of this constant effervescent vertigo always. That is probably why "Vertigo" is the second word that comes before you when you view my blog.
Now for the "Vertical" part. Be it my love for mountains, the want of being perched at the vertex or highest point at all times or my physical characteristics, I guess "vertical" is a part of me, in a way which I may not be able to justify.
Ha! So thats how "Vertical Vertigo" was born.

Leave behind all that binds you, banish all your fears, dispel all darkness and advance to a better tomorrow! Say goodbye to gravity.. Take a leap!

Keep visiting, folks!

Adios!

A Call to those about to rock!

This is to inform all that I'm fading away, I'm dying.
Bwwahahaha! I'm dying to hit an OAT(Open Air Theater) filled with frenzied people who crave for rock, an audi(auditorium) having no more room, a playground where all present are into a state of disarrayed dizziness yet, a feeling that can only be matched by something like attaining nirvana...
When on earth will there be a Rock Fest/Show/Competition (I give not a damn to what you call it!) worth attending, in Delhi?
Ever since February, after attending a rather avoidable one at NSIT( its Nshit actually, but for decency sake, I avoided mentioning that, didnt I?), I've been left wanting to go into complete delirium, wanting to attend a carnival of rock music! Alas, I'm still waiting!
Forget about Metallica coming to Delhi, Bruce Dickinson living up to his promise of coming back to India again and Megadeth "Rocking in India" once more, when will the Parikramas, the Dem Clones, the Vaayus , the Prestorikas, the Cyanides, the Decibels and others of the like take stage again?
You must be thinking I'm crazy, right?
Yeah, I'm crazy about rock music because :
1) Instruments are key to most of it. Guitar driven music is simply the only way as far as I'm concerned. Making little beats on your techno machines and synthetic stuff just isn't good music. And hey, a beatbox ain't no set of drums!
2) Versatility. Isn't it great that with the same singer, the same instruments and the same band, bands can come up with a beautiful ballad and a thrashing masterpiece? The ability that bands have to decide their styles and how they play greatly enhances all bands.
3) Realism. Now I can't speak for EVERY band and artist out there, so don't give me crap about some rap group you like that doesn't fit the general trash talking stereotype, or some pop artist who is totally creative, because I won't deny them a little tiny bit of credit here and there. But rock music is great emotionally, MOST writers aren't idiots. They don't spit out about their gangs and their ho's and all that through entire albums. Bands have EMOTIONS, unlike artists like Britney and dare I say, 50 Cent. They have a sense of belonging. There is a story about each one of them. And believe me, you can associate with most of them.
4) Decent Lyrics. No, not every rock band has a great poet. But the ones that do are worth paying every bit of your attention to. I don't see anything creative about "oh baby this" and "oh baby that". I won't stand that at all.

Guess, with DU starting soon, my wait should not last long. Till then, the jukebox is my only hope!

For those about to rock, I salute you!!

~Cheerio!

PS- In case you know of some upcoming ones you would do a great favour by telling me about it.
It'll be of great convenience if its free of cost though! *chuckle*

A November to Remember

As the days wore on, drearily like a funeral song
And the stars stared down and took so long to be gone
Clutching onto a memory he wanted to live it again
Walking on a path never walked, he wondered if it was but a feign

As the scenes rushed past his eyes
Fearing the worst, doubts clouded his mind
Followed by haunted shadows on the stairway
He walked,
With sullen eyes, still warding off all thoughts of drifting away

Will this life get any better?
Was there ever going to be a more memorable November?
Was there an end to this treacherous phase?
Will he finally get all that he craves?

Those were times the sun dawned just too late
Those were days the birds were just too muted
Those were hours that passed like greased lightning
Those were seconds so poetic with baited breath he waited

A thousand blinks later, a phoenix he rose
To see the southern sky yet again
With those scenes in his mind safely tucked away
A rainbow shines forth and a presence tells him to stay

Gazing through the window at the world outside
A belief so firm, into his mind it arrived
There was something that was his forever
It was nothing but that beautiful November

There was always going to be another November to remember!

PS- These are not the lyrics to my favourite song as you might believe ( at least my friends did!). Incidentally, I versified it myself.