My Pug Marks

Like it is always It still is... Once upon a time There was a shark named Klein . Klein was cool And he was smart Everyone feared him They had to after all Coz he was a Shark! Klein was proud Immaculate fur texture Eyes filled with spite Teeth triangular clean sparkling white. Fishes ran amok Shops shuttered down When long horns blew Hide! Klein is in town! But things wouldn't remain Coz they are never the same That day changed Klein's life The day his eyes fell on his future wife! She waded through waters Around her a strange sound warp Until he observed the source She was playing a harp. His eyes met hers Her eyes met his This was love at first sight Not a month long fizz. They smiled at each other Donna was her name Little did he know She would be the reason For his claim to musical fame. Bemused, Klein was with the harp Donna was more than happy To please Klein's friends With a song party. He learnt the chords Spent days in attic To master the notes So they etch

'Life's a strange game.. another set of rulz changed...' A friend of mine, DJ, had this as her status message on gtalk quite sometime back. I thought it was pretty meaningful and asked her if I could write on this. She allowed. I was pretty happy and saved it in my draft messages, kind of those at which you would like coming to take a look time and again, then think - someday may be... and then forget after paying your homage. Draft messages in many gmail accounts become akin to prostitutes thus. Weird comparision, but yeah well. He he...Here I am writing on it. life's a strange game another set of rulz changed i liked to draw rulz changed course books remained d ones i saw i liked to play rulz changed away from court exams forced me to stay i liked to collect stamps rulz changed they lie dying in the cupboard at my home's ramp i liked fiction rulz changed life said it was fact and i offered no friction and they keep changing all those rulz more u apply more u r foo

We Indians love to celebrate. It gives us a reason to smile over our political, sexual, personal, professional and many other kinds of miseries of day to day life. Right from the time a kid comes into this world to the time he is dug back into the earth or burnt upon death; it is time for some kind of gathering/event/celebration. Our higher gastronomic quotient, an uncanny ability to pray to thousands of Gods and hold tonnes of people whom even our grand parents wouldn't remember of in awe provides even more opportunities. Celebrations, Fun, Food, Booze - almost become synonyms. It is God X's Birthday! Let us carry out a procession! Mr Y died on this very day ages back, let us declare it a holiday. Your aunt's second cousin's daughter's father-in-law passed away, how sad [all tears I am to the gross loss I have to bear...]. Let us go for condolences! To make it even more funny, Mr. Y's death in Maharashtra makes it an apt occasion for a chakka jaam and doesn

She just walked. Her eyes having a mystic look, as if in a state of bliss or pain - you never can decipher that. Her robes were flowing white carried by the breeze like the crest of waves carry the frothy white. It was so sublime, her presence, that it seemed that she was floating through the flying dead leaves - she being the vortex of brewing mayhem around. If you hear from her ears, you would hear nothing but the low din of sharp cries that would wrench any one's heart. So, amidst those sharp and low cries with a blissful look in her eyes, she floated through the dead leaves. The trees around, the sky above, the earth below were a spectrum of ash grey. She kept walking. Towards no where. The din of cries was giving way to loud bellows from far ahead. She did not know. It did not matter. Apart from the little twitch that her cheeks gave, she was calm and placid. Bellows approached closer and soon they had forms to them. Saffron bands, open mouths, blood shot eyes, swords and tri