Ode To A Lost Savior

He came in the middle of the day,
When it was bright & sunny.
He took up the post, tough as it may,
And vowed to protect me, from death and tyranny.

For 1300 days he did not flinch from danger,
Through pain and suffering, hurt and anguish,
To hell, blood, scratches and tears, he was no stranger,
Nor was the dungeon where was stored to languish.

He fell for me, took a bullet for me,
He held my hand through love and hate.
Many a time, my own immortality he did make me see.
When I had accepted mediocrity as my fate.

He would have endured much more.
Of life’s toughest roads and hurdles.
If only some loser so sore,
Had not stolen my savior when he hung on my bike’s handles.

Dear Helmet,

Wherever you are, I hope you are good. I admit I didn’t always take good care of you. I have abused you much and never ever given you a proper wash. I assure you that when I threw you at that hot girl at the bar in 2009, it was purely an accident – I was aiming for the gay guy next to her. Of all the things I’m sorry about, I’m sorry I took you for granted. You have saved my thick skull from many a crack and I am deeply indebted to you for that.

For all your selfless acts of bravery and courage, having you stolen was the last thing I should’ve have done. I hope you find a good home for yourself.

Keep writing to me from time to time. I do miss you. And if by chance I pass you on the streets of Bangalore sometime, be prepared to see an awesome deathmatch where I pummel your current owner to submission, break his hand for stealing you and bring you home in glorious victory.

Until then, I am always –

Deeply Grateful,
Nikhil

PS: On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest, how LAME do you think the post is? Let me know in the comments section.

PPS: I don’t care what you vote. I miss my fucking helmet.

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Writing A Musical, Trying Hard… Hope Springs Eternal, Sharp As A Shard…

Oh here I am, lost in thought,
Trying to write a musical this day…
Looking out the window, into the sun,
Into the faces of men, women and children who play…

I saw the faces walking past me, lost in their own thought, lost in their own little worlds of deceit, greed, lust and love, and didn’t think twice about the challenge that lay before me. I, who have never before embarked on the journey of poetry, never before undertaken the arduous task of making simple little words sing a tune and dance to it, I, who have always hid behind the safe mask of prose and paragraphs, thought to myself, albeit foolishly, how difficult can it really be?

I turned back into the gloomy room,
Saw the mismatch walls and the lack of life.
It needs a woman’s touch, yes it does, I think to myself,
I need to get me a wife.

Pushing these frivolous thoughts away from my head, I sit at my desk and stare at the coffee and the plate of untouched bread. I pick up my laptop and open it’s hood, and I try oh so hard, not to brood. As I type these flimsy words, my head breaks into song – songs of love, songs of death, songs of everlasting breath. Songs of chivalry, songs of beauty, songs of virtue, joy and revelry. I try to catch the thoughts, I try to hold on to them long enough to write. But, it seems, I am bound, irreversibly to a life of prose, bland and contrite. Just then, a voice rings out in the room and I turn to see my cook, standing in the doorway, gazing upon my confused look.

Oh sir, what will it be, your choice,
For today’s lunch – will you have rotis or will you have rice?
I am your humble servant, please get me a cell phone,
And a connection, some decent clothes and a cycle so I may roam.

I send him away for some Pepsi and a smoke, as I continue my attention to the musical, that was disturbed by the funny bloke. Why can’t I rhyme to save my life, I ask myself. It’s because you waste too much time, reading trash, wizards, warlocks and house-elves.

Oh Darling inspire me, I call out to the woman I love,
The woman whose touch I miss, one with whom I fit like a glove.
Inspire me enough to call out to you in your own sweet way of poems so true,
The art that I can never master, never as good as you.

I give up my mundane effort, trying not to think of my failure. I give up my childish dream of using words to lure. I am never as good as her, I can never be. Even when she writes to kill time, with effortless ease, she outshines me. I guess I will leave it here, with nothing more to come. I guess I’ll get back to my coffee and bread and dream of things to come.

I Want To Live

with the blood slowly trickling away
i waited for the countdown to end
i waited for the final bell to ring
for the eternal escape

a wretched life i once lived
a life that no one should have
a life that is not my choice

a life that is not my choice
yet i played the lead role in it
a role that was played to perfection from my end

now at a time when the final curtain is very close to being drawn
i want to rewrite the whole story once again

a story that is full of happiness
a story that is so full of joy
a story that i only lived in my dreams

a dream that i want to make a reality
a reality of a dream coming true
a story, once re-enacted
will fulfill my desires
will fulfill my destiny

a story that i so desperately want to write
will now remain uncompleted
the countdown has already begun
the countdown from life to death

with the blood slowly trickling away
and the story still uncomplete
and the clock slowly ticking away
i want to live
i want to live, once again
i want to live, once again
to rewrite the story
the story that is my life!

Farting Etiquettes

Whatever size, form or shape, toilet humor has always brought a smile to people’s faces. So, even if someone does not like the idea of a whole post on Farting Etiquette, what the fart? I’ll still write it.

Mankind I have always harbored an admiration for the powerful forces of nature. Wind energy is the next best thing to fossil fuels, and as long as there’s food on the planet, there will be farts.

Breaking wind is an essential fart of human nature. The fart of the matter is, no one can hold it any longer than 2 hours. This is scientifically proven at the MirrorCracked labs. There are certain etiquettes when it comes to unleashing our wind upon the unsuspecting public, and not many people adhere to it.

There’s a 4-line poem in Sanskrit, which describes the different intensities of smell that are associated with different levels of farting:

Darrr-am Burrrr-am Bhayam Naasthi
(Loud, sonic-boom farts do not stink)

Koiyyam Kotakasya Madhyaman
(There’s a reasonable amount of stink when the fart is squeaky and forced)

Thissssss-adhghoram Mahadhghoram
(Unbearable attack of stink forces when the fart hisses)

Nishabdham Praana Sankatam
(The unheard fart is a killer)

With this knowledge of the ages in mind, we can keep ourselves aware of what we need to do when we can’t hold it any longer. Here are a few tips on how to behave when we fart:

  1. If you’re alone, then let it out loudly, smile and say, “Wow, what a fart!”
  2. If in a meeting with 4 or more people and you very quietly let loose, then slowly start pushing your chair away from the person sitting next to you and give him/her a dirty look. Others will follow suit. This technique is called Farting The Blame.
  3. If you’re standing in a crowded bus, then make sure that you start pushing your way through the crowd slowly but steadily, moving towards the door, while farting quietly, so that the stink is distributed evenly throughout the length of the bus. (Not applicable outside India)
  4. If you’re with a girlfriend/boyfriend and you realize that you have to break wind, then play some music and tell your partner that you’ll dance for her/him. Unleash the wind energy quietly while dancing. He/she will never know. It’s easier for smokers – they can just light up to kill the stink.
  5. If you’re with someone who’s irritating you and you just want them to go away, then do the sonic-boom.

I sincerely hope this small but comprehensive guide helps people in distress. As usual, contact me for a free demo. 😀

Image Courtesy: Photobucket.com

Roses Are Red…

I have been tagged by RJ to write a love poem. But there’s a catch:

You get transformed to this 4th grade version of you, make the poem ultra cute and super sweet, filled with innocence and write about Love!

I rarely dabble with poetry and I am sure this one’s the most amateurish bit of poetry ever composed. In my defense, I am supposed to be in the 4th grade for doing this tag, so it’s ok. I can live with this humiliation.

This love poem is dedicated to one of the most beautiful woman I have known so far – my dear Ms. Charming, whose smiles light up my day and whose lovely laughter make me want to wake up each day.

Walking along the road of life
I start to think –
Why do I hurt like the stab of a knife
Why do I hate to blink?

Walking along the path to riches
I think I am lonely and sad
Missed chances and too many glitches
I think my luck is really bad.

There you were, waiting for me
You smiled at me and said “Hi”
I lost track of space and time, filled with glee
I never want to say “Bye”

I need your guidance to travel this road
I need your grace to keep me sane
I need you to share my load
I need your smile to light up the lane.

The road is long enough
For us to discover each other
The road is long enough
For us to love each other.

It may seem trivial
It may seem hollow
I assure you it’s not,
When I say I love you.

Apologies for abandoning the rhyme scheme in the last paragraph. I am not a poet! 😀

Play Your Part!

Earth Day 2008!

I won’t join the ranks of all those do-gooders who seem to be hell bent on reminding everyone of how much damage our planet has suffered and how we need to pull up our socks and save our Earth from a certain destruction, which has been round the corner for the past three decades.

Instead, on Earth Day 2008, I’d like to remind everyone of how beautiful our world is and how lucky we are just to be born in it and to experience the pleasures of a warm sunrise, a gentle breeze or the lazy lapping of the waves against our feet.

Take one day; just one day. We wake up to the warmth of the sun streaming from the windows and from the light peeping in from behind the curtains, know that it’s already well into the day. The birds have been up for almost an hour now, their chirping audible from the branch of the tree outside the window. If we listen carefully, we might even hear the rustling of the leaves and the soft whistle of the gentle, early-morning breeze. We stand up, stretch our arms and legs and walk over to the window and pull the curtains aside to reveal the vast expanse of open skies, dotted with white, fluffy clouds here and there, moving lazily with the breeze, casting distant, benign shadows on the ground below. Here and there, flocks of early birds fly towards wherever their instinct takes them. The breeze, now uninhibited by the curtains, move in to the room in soft waves and wash over us, bringing a satisfied smile to our faces with the least effort.

Even as we stand there, the bigger of the clouds move and make way for the brilliant morning sun, still low over the horizon, and throwing the occasional red-orange ray amidst the shining yellow. No amount of words can describe this sight, and no camera however powerful can do justice to it, and we know it. So, we refrain from describing this splendid sight and move over to splash our faces with cold water.

The water cleanses our sleep away and wakes us up in a way that coffee can never do. The cool water, trickles down our faces, accentuating our smile, and we hesitate and reach for the towel. We don’t want to dry our faces. Water has that lingering satisfaction.

We then pick up a glass of water and walk over to the tiny potted plant in the corner of the room, where the young, green leaves are bathing in the gentle warmth of the morning sun. As we trickle the water on to the plant’s roots, we almost feel the leaves breathing and we see the tiniest, almost imperceptible shudder as the cold water hits the stem. we feel light inside. A perfect start to the day.

When we look at the calendar on our way to the kitchen, the date reads April 22. We start thinking of ways to play our part in keeping our beautiful home clean. No plastics today, we think to ourselves. Recycle everything and don’t litter.

No matter how much money, rock shows and propaganda go into spreading awareness about the state of the planet, we know that the change must come from within ourselves. We glare at our neighbor, who throws a half-empty packet of potato chips out on the street and roars away on his motorbike. Al Gore can preach and make all the movies he wants and win all the Nobel prizes he wants, but we know that unless we realize the truth ourselves and unless we intend to make a change, we cannot. Keeping our planet clean for just one day in a year may not sound like enough, but if only we knew the amount of abuse the Earth takes in one 24-hour period, we wouldn’t wonder about it.

Play your part. Be clean. After all, it’s just for one day! 🙂

Tiny Steps

I’ve been meaning to write this post for quite some time now, but never really got the chance. Now, I have the time, the motivation and the inclination to actually sit and write it down.

It’s a Friday afternoon and a lazy one at office. Not much of activity in the PR world on a weekend, and most of the work is to be pushed to the next week. So, I sit back in my plush chair, look up at the air-conditioned ceiling and think back at how to start this post.

This is actually an ode, a tribute to a friend of mine who’s been more than just a friend and never more. I call her Chucks, affectionately naming her after the haunted doll in a series of horror movies called Child’s Play. Chuckie’s in Sydney now, and has been for the past year and a half, studying to become a researcher in cancer genetics. Yeah, I know, she’s got big goals.

Actually, this is not an ode to Chucks, but rather a message of hope and strength that she desperately needs right now. She’s never been one to lose hope and direction in life, but quite recently, she shocked me when she said that she had lost them both. A self-deprecating journey can be disastrous and I know this first hand, when a lot of things didn’t fall in place for me at one point of time, and I fell into so deep a hole that it took me almost a year to recover. Chucks played a vital role in my recovery, and ever since, I’ve looked upon her as more of a mentor than a very good friend. it’s now been five years to the day since I’ve known her. April 18, 2002. 🙂

When a mentor loses confidence, then it’s up to the disciple to take over the mantle and guide the mentor out of the looming abyss. Things happen in life that can’t be avoided. We all go through a phase when we start questioning our judgments and our decisions, and whenever possible, we must be strong enough to back ourselves up. Realizing that we are of sound mind and sound body can help a lot.

Have faith, Chucks. Never lose faith. Believe in yourself and you’ll do amazing things. I am sure of that. I know you and I know your abilities and I’m sure somewhere deep down, you do too. Hope and faith are all the ammunition you’ve got to fight depression and bad tides. I urge you to use it.

Nostalgia can go a long way in your recovery. Remember how you cured me, Chucks. Remember the medicines you gave me – nostalgia, hope and faith. I hope you remember, because if you don’t, then I’d have to come all the way to Sydney now. 😀

I wish you all the very best in your life, Chucks. You’ve got a long and fruitful life ahead of you, and please don’t lose track of your original goals and plans. I’m here for you; we’re all here for you, Chucks. We want you to succeed and I want you to fulfill your promises you made me before you left.

Proceed in tiny steps, Chucks.

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Dear Readers: I apologize if this blog wasn’t really the ideal forum for posting this message to Chucks, but I had to do it. After what she’s done for me, I feel this is the least I could do. I would be grateful if you could leave behind your wishes and good will for my dear Chucks, and hope that she can get over her troubles and depressions and return home victorious! Thanks! I owe you all! 🙂

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