rotten apple

No more 2 left feet.

2008-01-15T18:44:00.000+05:30

I have a confession to make...I've never danced ALL my life. So this time I decided to give it a shot.We have a programme coming up and the dance performance is a part of it. And believe me...it required a lot of courage on my part to go ahead with it. I have spent a lot of days watching people having fun dancing. I've been amazed at how people who don't really have the moves, shed all inhibitions on the dance floor. I thought there could be two reasons for them to do this- 1.They have no idea that they are terrible dancers; 2. They may be aware that they are no good but they don't care what people think as long as they are having fun. Which is very noble. Especially so for me because I was always too conscious of how I would look. For all this while I've been convinced I have 2 left feet. Not anymore. Now I enjoy dancing so much I can't understand what it was that kept me from it all this while. It has also reiterated the fact that when one really wants to do something not much is out of reach. How true! How true! I am now having the time of my life! To anybody and everybody out there, some unsolicited advice- if your convinced you have 2 left feet, just give it a shot. You will be surprised at what you can do.

Great to be back...

2008-01-15T18:22:00.000+05:30

I don't suppose it will ever be possible for me to be a constant blogger. I would say persistence is not one of my strengths, but that would be untrue. Writing is something that comes to me with time and season. When I'm not up to it, I'd rather not waste my time trying.
I have received a very poor response to the poll on the author who handles humour best. However there has been a result - P.G. Wodehouse. I'm not entirely surprised.
I believe I'm up to writing again ( as long as Father Time permits it). So here's to another ( undoubtedly one of many more) comeback!
Alright then fellows...I must end with...PIP PIP!!!

2007-09-13T18:24:00.000+05:30

Hark! The pitiable, patronizing
And the tortured, tormented
Experience and age
speak not of wisdom
And what of the trappings of faith?
Delivering beliefs,
not rational to begin with,
And expecting complete transedence.
Wanting what's passed
-no room for the future?
Enforcing beliefs,blindly followed
-but not by the unaffected.

POW-WOW IN A MUMBAI LOCAL

2007-09-05T17:31:00.002+05:30

                          I was recently embroiled in what one could call a terrifying experience.On my way home after a long day,at about 7 pm, I had the misfortune of getting into a train headed to Titwala, on the Central railway line. What happened next is a sheer mix of the crazy, the wild, and the humorous. While trying to find a place for my feet, I was obstructed by a woman in her forties who stood at the entrance to the seating area. She cockily told me to keep my leg to myself,while she stood like a pillar, neither here nor there. I asked her why she couldn't make up her mind then. That must have bruised her ego because she may not have expected anyone to react strongly to her complaints which were directed at a couple of people around her. She then shifted in. I desperately needed to place my heavy-as-a-rock rucksack on the luggage rack. As I attempted to do so, horror of horrors, it hit the same woman on the side of her head. I immediately apologized and I sincerely felt it. But what happened next made me wonder why I didn't actually, purposefully knock her out in the first place. The woman was speaking on the phone and started complaining aloud about the youth of today, how they have lost all sense of respect for elders (she had been complaining to a girl to move, to a woman to move her bag, in no polite tones, just a minute ago).She now turned to me and said that I had been a bother ever since I entered the train and...well , let's not get into that.
                            Soon she told me, 'Why did you hit me with your bag?' And then she HIT ME IN MY FACE. That was it. All hell broke loose.'What did you hit me for ?', I bellowed. All she did was go on about how bad-tempered and ill-mannered the young are and how we are all good for nothing. And she jabbed me in the face.This happened FOUR times.I hit her twice on the arm to push her off. She was all ready for a fight.I did'nt care. She had punched me, jabbed me in the face, and was now announcing her analysis of my behavioural problems to the whole compartment. All I kept saying was, why hit me in the face? She had no right to do that. And the cake- she was receiving support from a few women. Someone told me in marathi (rather shouted out, with the most disgusting expletives interspersed) ,'why are you hitting an older woman?' I couldn't believe I was expected to shut up and take on a beating I didn't deserve because an older woman was involved. I kept quite for a while on the advice of another woman, because there was really no chance of reasoning with my tormentor. For the next 5 minutes the commuters got a free lecture on the degeneration of the youth.She got the thumbs up from another woman who said this was the only way to teach us people and she was doing the right thing. I just raised an eyebrow. Aah...the icing on the cake...the woman said she hoped I would realize my 'mistake' and feel ashamed, and she would 'pray for the evil to leave my soul' (!) (sic)
                           There's a lot I've left out here. (And to think, all this happened within a span of 15 minutes). This incident gave me much to think about. And the lack of support hurt. Because even though I may not have been absolutely right, I was definitely not wrong.

THE DEAD BOOK

2007-09-02T17:33:00.000+05:30

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you have been so taken in by the appearance of a book jacket or by the sheer number of recommendations and honours awarded to a book, that you have picked it up at the first instance you could and then have been so absolutely disappointed with the content that you have wanted to sue people and get your money back,and then been even more frustrated at the fact that that is not to be? Well,you might think that I have faced this peculiar situation several times considering how I wax not-so-eloquently on it.However, I have been lucky that the books which fall in this category have either been borrowed or issued from the library and have not been paid for from my miniscule pocket. Nonetheless,good,kind soul that I am, I wish to tell you of these literary horrors,to save you the intellectual torture that I went through. I'm not sure of what I would place at the top of the list.Seriously, how do you distinguish between 2 equally dreadful books? Anyways....

1.THE DEAD SCHOOL-PATRICK McCABE
What is this book about? The degeneration of a school. The jacket proclaims something on the lines of - by the author of Butcher Boy-some great masterpiece going by the allusion.A more appropriate title would have been-The Dead Book.

2.THE LITTLE WHITE HORSE-ELIZABETH GOUDGE/GOUD/GOUGE.
The book itself was forgettable.Why bother remembering the name of the author? This sweet-as-sugar saga was actually recommended by J.K.Rowling.I suspect she was blackmailed into commenting on it.

3.THE TRIAL-FRANZ KAFKA
I have already stated exactly what I think of this book.I would rather not remember it.

P.S. I can't seem to remember the others.Perhaps they are truly forgetable.I will make sure I add to the list as soon as my memory discontinues eluding me.

P.S.2. I hit myself on the head on re-reading the prior post, having realised that I had done something close to blasphemous- I had failed to mention the short stories of Isaac Asimov.Asimov,whom I have blogged on before,is a genius in a class of his own.He has covered practically every genre that one can think of ( of course not considering graphic novels or say,poetry). 'MAGIC', a collection of some of his unpublished short stories, circulated posthomously, has several delightful pieces to offer.RECOMMENDED.

SHORT STORIES (TO BEGIN WITH)

2007-08-27T19:51:00.000+05:30

I have been wanting to write on books and authors for a really long time, self-confessed bookworm that I am.While thinking of an appropriate idea in this area that I can enjoy blogging on, I have written on this, that and the other.I have now decided to post EVERY ONE of these ideas.Starting with short stories.I confess, initially all I cared about were novels and mini-epics, the thicker the better. But that was before I encountered the works of that crazy,crazy man-ROALD DAHL. This is one author who changed my opinion on short stories forever. Ranging from the smart to the quirky, the strange to the twerpy, his works had me hooked from the word go. Once I started reading his works I could'nt rest until I'd tried them all. Be it the adventures of wild Uncle O or Dahl's perception of the senses, there is always something intriguing and engaging to look forward to. SKIN,TASTE,PIG..... are a few single word titles for his short stories that are thought-inducing on their own. And just when I'd thought I'd seen all there was as far as short stories are concerned, I encountered SAKI. Saki's stories are in a way, quite twisted. There is a more or less persisting undercurrent of horror in most of his stories, if not all. But this horror is subtle and yet chilling. Then again there is the book 'Intepreter of Maladies' by Jhumpa Lahiri. Contrary to my expectations, this book was nothing short of a disappointment. I failed to see what she was trying to get at. ( Perhaps this is a result of my thick-headedness, but most of the award-winning novellas fail to capture my imagination). Another author I can bring up in this regard is Virginia Woolf. My one attempt at a story of hers,titled RAIN, could not impress me. Perhaps I just picked the wrong story. Perhaps I truly am thick-headed. Alright again, I'll give it another shot. Any recommendations?

2007-08-19T17:48:00.000+05:30

Here's a really cute strip on Calvin and Hobbes- two people I can truly say I love with all my heart.Enjoy!

(sourced from GoComics)

MY TREK TO VISAPUR

2007-08-02T18:29:00.000+05:30

On 29th july,2007, a group of people from our college Microbio Dept. got together for a trek to the Visapur fort ruins in Malavli, beyond Lonavla.After a false start and a late turn up,what we got was a new kind of paradise.I hope I can give you a good picture of what I sensed and perceived.So here goes...

EARLY MORNING BLUES: Got up at 4:20.Kept wondering what to put into my bag.Stared at it for 5 whole minutes.Could not for the life of me think of anything I needed except food and water so picked it up and got it along in any case.

EARLY BUT LATE: I now have one more worthy accomplishment to my credit.A moment unlike too many others because I actually managed to leave on time. Hurrah! But this proved to be of little consequence because the bus did'nt show up.Not for a loooooong time to begin with.So we left off behind schedule,and I can proudly declare...it was NOT because of me!

TAKING A RIDE(THE WHEELS OF THE BUS GO ROUND AND ROUND) : The first years were pestered into introducing themselves but the seniors obliged them too,so fair game I should say. The seniors then proceeded to advertise everything from Nirma detergent to Himesh Reshammiya.

Beyond Khalapur and through Kusgaon,and then on the Expressway,the view morphed as follows;

Rocky hillsides with several waterfalls,ribbons of white cutting through brown; fields of green with patches of dewy,lemony yellow grass neatly arranged in squares,providing a stark contrast to the deeper shades of the leaves of the trees.A few windmills, their arms in rapid rotation thanks to the breeze...speaking of which I am reminded of the weather,charmingly delightful,with overcast skies and a cool breeze and yet no heavy showers to dampen the mood. The white-washed and pale yellow walls of the farmhouses with red rooftops making a pretty picture...

THIS IS IT! : Several people from the group had never been on a trek before and I'm ashamed to say I've never been on a proper hike myself.The initial 15 minutes of the climb were a little disconcerting because of the moss and the slope (I'm sure there are people sniggering saying that was the easiest part) and I pretended I was Maria from the Sound Of Music with the Mother Superior singing to me,'Climb every mountain,cross every stream'...Initially I also got quickly out of breath but the climb did'nt take long to get adjusted to.All such thoughts were dispelled within minutes as we got higher and obtained an increasingly improved view of the surroundings.At the first stop that we made to look around I became pretty much delirious with happiness.There in the distance was a mirror-like lake,it's surface blemishless and silvery.And all around green fields interspersed with man's inventions: rail tracks,vehicles on roads;like a picturesque model of a toy town,complete with a tiny blue and silver train running on the tracks.

FATAL ATTRACTION: As we followed the course of a dried-up waterfall,I soon realized that I was getting quickly and consistently scratched up,there were thorny bushes everywhere,some with small-sized thorns,some with medium-sized thorns,and some with (to me) giant-sized thorns.Hyperbolaically speaking,I managed to prick myself with every one of those.If I tripped I invariably landed in a thorn bush.If I needed support I unwittingly held on to a thorn-covered branch.While still trekking I then proceededto remove tiny splinters from all over my arms.In short,I have a special magnetic property that attracts thorns.Lots of thorns.Perhaps I was a wild rose in my previous birth.

A WATERFALL AND 3 POOLS: We came across a waterfall rushing down an almost- vertical slope into a green pool formed by rocks with another pool below and another below that.The vertical rocky spaces between the pools acted as makeshift slides for all those who cared for a dip and I was one of them.What I'm trying to say is ,I had the time of my life!

FINAL DESTINATION: The final part of the climb involved a waterfall that was rather hard to traverse.With a bit of help we did eventually get to the Visapur fort ruins at the top.Some settled down for lunch while a few went ahead exploring.I could'nt stop myself looking about as much as I could the moment I got there.I can safely say I completely forgot about lunch until I saw people settling down to eat.There were a couple of little ponds,green-brown water bodies randomly distributed over the expanse.Away from everybody,a little in the interior where sound waves did'nt quite reach,I experienced an overwhelming silence.I stood for about 5 minutes all by myself in a little pond with my feet being lapped up against by cool water.A frog hopped in the moment I got there.On the edge of the hill ,at one corner,a saffron flag fluttered,with a rusting cannon by it's side.But what was truly amazing was what we could see.Miles and miles of vast expanse stretching down below,big things appearing as little ones,shades of green and brown merging in,with little pools of green and blue-grey dotting the landscape,and of course the roads and farmhouses and what appeared to be godowns next to cultivated paddy.

Those who stopped earlier for lunch unfortunately could not enjoy the view thanks to the thick,foggy mist that rolled in soon after,making it impossible to see beyond a couple of metres away.The air was bathed in a thick,dull grey.It was soon drizzling again and I kept wishing I had automatic wipers for my glasses.The air also got chillier and the scene seemed straight out of an adventure novel with people roaming around in circles hoping for the mist to lift.But we got through anyhow.

THE DESCENT:On the way down it was suggested we follow a different route.I personally found the descent through the difficult waterfall a lot more challenging than the ascent.There was a spot of confusion on the way down but we managed to find the desired trail leading into the village where our bus was stationed.

All in all a pretty good trek.

The End Of Innocence

2007-07-20T18:18:00.000+05:30

Travelling slowly, through time progressing
From what she had been, always digressing
Another day, another age
The end of innocence?

Looking back, at the time that had been
When she had questioned the stars, her curiosity keen
Not knowing, just wondering,
in all her innocence.

Through sorrows profound, letting flow the tears
Failing and worrying, fearing her fears
Confused and confusing
questioning her innocence.

Believing in one thing, living another
Grown up too fast, not wanting to bother
Shutting her inner thoughts
shielding her innocence?

Wanting to live again, wanting to believe
Waiting for someone, for her horrors to be relieved
Feeling lonely
reliving her innocence.

Pushed to the limits,dealing with hate
Not believing in, and yet bound by, the loyalties of faith
Beginning to cope
dealing with lost innocence.

Learning to live again, no more looking back
Leaving behind what's lost, feeling no lack
Thinking of the time no more
when she lost her innocence...

Poetry on my mind...

2007-07-10T18:02:00.000+05:30

At around midnight last night,when sleep depravation was beginning to have its effects on me,when my eyes began to burn and head began to ache,and when I got close to the verge of collapse,......I decided to write some poetry.But obviously,under the given circumstances,I wasn't expected to think of anything.It was then that someone suggested what I thought was the stupidest idea for the theme of a poem. Two minutes later I changed my mind.Thus came about the following spontaneous bit of poetry, if it can be called that.Here goes....

Roger Federer,king on grass,
was out for a game;
(he was known for his class).
Along came a Spaniard with long,dark hair,
not as good as Federer,but getting there.
They thought they'd play up,1 on 1;
Things started getting serious,
this wasn't just fun.
They matched stroke for stroke,
playing by the rules,
Nadal's spirit never broke,
though he was the younger muse.
And just when it was thought there would be no decision,
it came to an end,
a final shot played with precision.
Thus was decided,
Roger rules the roost;
But it must be noted-now Nadals got a real boost.

Nadals Got A New Fan!

2007-07-09T17:43:00.000+05:30

And its me! Watching yesterday's Wimbledon Final was an amazing experience.It isn't often that one gets to see two brilliant players competing with each other like their lives depended on it.I know Federer won and he's highly skilled and talented and that he just matched up to Bjorn Borg's record of 5 titles in a row.But then he is considered the 'king' on grass. So him winning was'nt really a surprise.What blew my socks off...ahem...what took my breath away,on the other hand,was the sheer effort and spirit of Rafael Nadal,as he set about proving that considering clay as his only domain would be a very narrow and prejudiced view.As the game proceeded, especially considering the 4th set,my faith in him continued to flutter.One sure-fire (is that supposed to have a hyphen?) advantage on Federer's side was his ability to play speedy,skilled aces,which Nadal dreadfully failed to match.But the Spaniard never lost his spunk.Even when he was going down (in the 3rd set),he came back with a bang,swollen knee and all,and took the 4th set.What Federer has by way of aces,Nadal has by way of very strong backhand shots and immense energy. I have a feeling that the best is very much yet to come from him,and that he will leave his mark in tennis, be it on clay or grass.

The House Beyond The Hill

2007-07-07T19:37:00.000+05:30

It stood in a long forgotten place ,
where small wind blew and most was still,
beyond it stood a grove of trees,
before it,a broken,craggy hill.

They came to the house beyond the hill,
thay had no choice but to dwell there,
they knew nothing of the place,
t'was for them a jewel,though cold and bare.

She treaded the floor with footsteps light,
they had not known that she lived there.
She had a lovely,radiant face,
she was nor young nor old,but a woman fair.

The storm would not but rant and rage,
they begged her to let them stay,
they knew not what they could do,
for food and place they were willing to pay.

She asked them not to worry themselves,
it would be her pleasure to have them there,
For she had not company oft;
to have any guests was indeed quite rare.

Thus it was that three days passed,
and at long last the storm did cease,
they took leave of dear old Julianne,
they could now be on their way with ease.

As they crossed the broken,craggy hill;
what should they find, but a village there!
It was a quiet and dainty place,
there were some people in the square.

They thought they'd stop there for a bit,
they found a merchant with antique wares,
He had a sword with gilded blade,
they had seen it before,was it one of a pair?

He asked them why they questioned him thus,
they could'nt have seen it anywhere but there,
"We were shown it by the woman beyond the hill",
All the poor man did was stand and stare.

"Julianne,who lives beyond the hill,
she gave us shelter and a bed",
"Julianne?, you must be wrong dear sirs",
"Julianne?, why, she's been long past dead!"

The Trial?

2007-06-22T18:47:00.002+05:30

The title of this post is a question in itself and whether it is appropriate or not is for you to decide.It refers to perhaps the most famous work of Franz Kafka, 'The Trial'. I looked forward to reading this book and I soon realised that reading it was a trial in itself. It absolutely failed to capture my imagination. I kept wondering what it was truly about,in fact I can say for myself that it was nothing but balderdash.Kafka had not meant for his works to be published.In his testament,he had enlisted his dear friend Max Brod to destroy all his unpublished manuscripts and to prevent further publication of those works that were already in circulation.Brod did not honour his friend's wish.In fact he went and did the exact opposite.I know I'm being rather harsh,and one book should'nt form the basis of my judgement,but I wish Mr.Brod had not rebelled against his better judgement. For The Trial is regarded as one of Kafka's best works,and therefore one definitely expects more.Well,the book lies half read on my book shelf.I am definitely not going to be in a hurry to finish reading it!

2007-06-22T18:47:00.001+05:30

'Tis a glorious sunset that I observe as I sit at my window this tranquil eve.The sky is bathed in a golden-yellow light with bursts of pink to add to the hues.The patch of sky above the hills is covered in a blanket of flaming orange.As the sun begins to set beyond the hills,the bright light begins to fade away.All that shall remain soon is still,clear darkness.The shadow begins to set in,sweeping this part of the world into the blackness that is night. And yet the night is not without beauty,it creeps in like black,soft velvet,bringing with it its own wondrous loveliness'.

2007-06-22T18:47:00.000+05:30

Thinking of art, I came across this quote by George Bernard Shaw that gives oppurtunity for introspection;
'A successful work of art is not one which resolves contradictions in a spurious harmony,but one which expresses the idea of harmony negatively by embodying the contradictions,pure and uncompromised,in its innermost structure.'

Making an IMPRESSION

2007-06-07T18:21:00.000+05:30

My current interest in art can be solely attributed to the Impressionists-a group of mostly plein-air painters that influenced a new movement in art.The Impressionists are so called all thanks to Claude Monet's painting; Impression:Sunrise,which caught the eye of critic Leroy.The critic played on the name of the work,while not-so-subtlely pulling it apart,and unwittingly gave the group of painters connected with Monet the name by which they would come to be known.

The Impressionistic painters were mainly Monet,Edouard Manet,Camille Pissarro,Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Edgar Degas,amongst many others.My personal favourite happens to be Renoir.I will soon tell you why.But before I digress,it is better if one understands how this movement came about.The classic,solid form is what prevailed earlier on,with artists referring to the classics for inspiration. Legends,history,myths are what continued to be the source of ideas for some brilliant works.Then came artistes like Francois Millet and Gustave Courbet who rejected these neo-classical and Romantic styles and instead developed Realism.Between 1830 and 1850,these painters,along with Rousseau,Daubigny and many more formed the Barbizon school of art by depicting scenes from in and around Barbizon,a village in the Fountainebleu Forest.Realism,with scenes based on the peasantry,and the Barbizon school, resulted in what one just might consider the source of the 'inevitable' movement that followed.The Impressionists had no desire to begin a movement.Their coming together was in fact a consequence of their rejection from the Salon,the exhibition which every artiste desired to showcase his works in.Their style was a shock for the people who solely looked upon the classic,Romantic style as true art.The Impressionists did not paint solid forms.Instead they used quick,thick brushstrokes for creating 'an impression' of what the observer was required to see. Several styles arose as deviations from Impressionism including Pointillism and Post-impressionism.Van Gogh,undeniably the most famous post-impressionist,and another of my personal favourites created the painting to the right; a vivid,vibrant representation of an unaffected bedroom.But that is to be discussed in another post.Aah! How much I do tend to deviate!

The Impressionists,it must be noted, were not always of the same mind.Pissarro and Degas,the seniors in the group,had certain different ideas than the younger Monet,Manet and Renoir.Degas in fact,did not agree much with the Impressionists' idea of painting in the open air.Even so,he was in his own way, and in his own style,quite supportive of the movement.I would have liked to pick each one and represent them in the way I have come to know them,but that could be quite tedious.I will therefore restrict myself.For now.That's all for this post.Cheerio!

There And Back Again...

2007-05-26T18:45:00.000+05:30

Welcome back!(That could be applicable to me).Alas!I have not quite succeeded at blogging regularly.In fact,by the appearances,one can't be blamed for assuming that yours truly had forgotten about her baby.I entirely deserve contempt from all quarters.But I now promise to be good,and to write about everything that I possibly can to make up for this huge sabbatical.Beginning now...

OF CABLE WOES AND FOOTBALL

2006-11-22T19:29:00.000+05:30

My parents cut off the cable at our place two years ago on account of the all-imposing State Board Examinations,and have'nt restored it since.This, because they believe that the idiot-box is,well,an idiot-box(sigh..).What I did not know at that time was how easy it would be for me to give up on it (really).But then again,I never was a TV addict.I most enjoyed watching crazy cult cartoons with my dear brother(that's something I enjoy even now!).But one thing I really miss is being unable to watch football(alas!).I got hooked on at the time of the 2002 World Cup and then there was no looking back..at least until the cable was cut off( football being the only reason I would want cable except,maybe,cult cartoons;)).Anyways,gettin back to the 'beautiful game',football has quite an interesting history.It can be roughly said to have it's origin 3000 years ago in China (no kidding!)in the form of a ball game.Many such variants were played all over,such as in Central America,Japan,and amongst the Greeks and Romans.Earlier the game was more or less flexible,with no definite rules and no referee to speak of.Hence the game tended to get increasingly violent and aggressive.When played between two villages,it almost always resulted in mass injuries and fatalities.In fact ,it came to be banned or outlawed by several monarchs and heads of state to prevent their soldiers gettin too involved in the brutal game.With the coming of the Enclosure Act of 1852 which reduced the land available for recreational activity and what with the Industrial Revolution kickin in (excuse my using the term),the game's growth was checked.Later,football acquired increasing popularity in the public schools of England,which saved the day for the game.The first rules came into the picture in 1848.The off-side rule as we know it today is much different from what it was then.It was introduced in 1866 according to which three players were reqired to be between the player and goal.That 11 players were to form a team was decided in 1870.And referees came in only in 1875.Oh,and in all this talk about cable and football:the first football game to be televised was an Arsenal practice match in 1937 at the Highbury ground.

OF DAY AND NIGHT

2006-10-23T15:30:00.000+05:30

Ahem!
Here's a feeble attempt on my part to write some poetry.The circumstance that led me to write the following poem was quite romantic really.There having been a burnout at the local electric sub-station,we were left without electricity for a good part of the evening and night.This on the day of the 'festival of lights'-DEEPAVALI.Sitting in my living room,with only the light from the numerous candles and oil lamps around to subdue the darkness,you can well imagine it a perfect setting for some heart-felt writing.
WELL!Before I lose courage,I might as well begin..

OF DAY AND NIGHT
Dusk has come,and the day in all its golden glory
must now make way for the darkness of night;
The night which is cold,ethereal
The night which creeps in,
silently,purposefully,
trying to hide the forget-me-not blue of the sky,
and the pink-goldenness of the setting sun;
Blanketting all brightness,
Leaving one-half of the world devoid of
all natural light;
The Night in all her glory,
encrusted with stars,
The Night with wisps of moonlight in her hair,
The Night,with many a dark secret in her fold.
And yet,it is not overepowering for long,
for,with the rising sun comes the break of day,
and everything in it;
The day,with the rays of the sun stretching outward,
trying to wipe out the blackness of night,
which must come once more to pass,
like everything...

TRUE GENIUS-ISAAC ASIMOV

2006-08-24T19:48:00.000+05:30

Now here is one man i would have given anything to meet.A true intellectual,with wit and charm to match,its a pity he lives no more.ISAAC ASIMOV was born in Russia,at the age of three he was brought to the United States by his parents.He grew up in Brooklyn and thanks to his remarkable memory and intellect was able to finish high school before he turned sixteen.He then went on to Colombia University and resolved to become a chemist.He ended up with a doctorate in chemistry. Asimov's true love was writing and this is what he spent the rest of his life doing.He has written over 500 books,the genres ranging from sci-fi,of which he was the true master,to mysteries, encyclopedias and novellas.From amongst his famous works are THE FOUNDATION SERIES, THE BLACK WIDOW CLUB MYSTERIES, THE NAKED SUN,CAVES OF STEEL,THE ROBOT SERIES(Ahem,at this rate I will feel it my moral duty to list every one of the 500 or so books, for undoubtedly each is better than the other).Asimov lovers will agree that even his autobiography is a fabulous read in itself. What is so unique about this man and why,may u ask,am I raving about him? Simply because I don't believe there's ever been anyone quite like him.Not only could he write on almost every genre known,he could write as if the art(of writing) was meant solely for him.And SCI-FI is never es clear and lucid as he made it out to be.His wit and sense of humour are again what make his works(and him) so endearing. Alas! That he were living,and writing everafter! (for that is something neither we,his fans nor he,himself ,would mind). THREE CHEERS (AND MANY MORE) FOR ASIMOV!

A GREAT BIG HELLO & A WARM WELCOME

2006-08-20T19:23:00.000+05:30

Hello and how do u do? Its a lovely day(and all's well with the world!). After several repeated(and failed) attempts I can finally say i have a blog of my own(which is quite an enthralling feeling,mind). Well, im not quite sure i can do justice to this blog thanks to my literary skills(or lack,thereof). But there are so many thoughts and ideas bursting in my head that i find it inevitable wanting to share them with everybody(and getting to know everyone elses opinions as well,which i find highly interesting). I do hope whoever's reading this will comment on whatever i write(bouqets and brickbats are equally welcome) for its so very sad to see the '0 comments' sign flashing on the screen.
Well i do hope u have a wonderful day and may tomorrow be even better!
Signing off for now..
P.S. U might be surprised at my recurring use of brackets. There's something very interesting about them, dont u think?