Yeah, babay!

This is what happened last weekend.



(thanks to :..M..: for the pic. :-) )

Microtone kicked ass at Expressions, 2005, Nizam College, Hyd. If you weren't there, you missed it babay! But no matter, you will be given another chance.
Microtone will be at Nirvana 2005, MGIT, Hyd - an event which will happen in the second week of March. At last information, Pin Drop Violence (Winners of Great Indian Rock this year) and Zero (winners of the same competition last year) are going to headline the event.

It will be fun.

And innnnnto the weekend we goooooooo!

This one will be taken up largely by cricket practice, band practice, cricket match, band practice. Then I have to decide whether I want to go to Mumbai or Bangalore for the Mark Knopfler concert (5th n 7th March respectively). Mumbai looks better cos it's a Sat nite. However, small problem is that I hate that city. But still yet however I would get to meet some very interesting people, so...
Bangalore is on a Monday nite (-5 for that), but I like that city, I've got some friends there I want to spend some time with. Maybe I can meet some new friends I've made through the blogs...but this means I have to take leave. Wednesday of that week is a holiday, so I could take Mon, Tue off and make it a holiday type (yay). But also however, the Friday of the week is likely to be the Microtone performance, so I'll surely have to take that day off as well.
Which might make taking Thurs and Fri off a better idea. In which case, I can't take Monday off. In which case, I can't goto Bangalore. In which case, it means I'll have to goto Mumbai for the concert. But I hate that city.
FARK!

Damn, I need to make some time for myself.
Too much. Too much...

"Can I survive like this?", he thought; "Maybe things like loyalty and friendship, self-respect and moral courage are old-fashioned and outdated."

"Nobody values these anymore...", he thought, sadly.

Where do the children play?

Where Do The Children Play?

Well I think it's fine, building jumbo planes.
Or taking a ride on a cosmic train.
Switch on summer from a slot machine.
Get what you want to if you want, 'cause you can get anything.

I know we've come a long way,
We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?

Well you roll on roads over fresh green grass.
For your lorryloads pumping petrol gas.
And you make them long, and you make them tough.
But they just go on and on, and it seems you can't get off.

Oh, I know we've come a long way,
We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?

When you crack the sky, scrapers fill the air.
Will you keep on building higher
'til there's no more room up there?
Will you make us laugh, will you make us cry?
Will you tell us when to live, will you tell us when to die?

I know we've come a long way,
We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?

- Cat Stevens (now known as Yusuf Islam), from Footsteps in the Dark


I must have heard this album when I was 4 or 5 years old. Cat Stevens is a hugely underrated songwriter in the league of Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison, and the simple music is salve for the soul, though, regrettably, nowhere near as well known. Songs we sing happily today, like 'Father and Son' by Boyzone (ugh), or 'Wild World' by Mr. Big, were originally by this man. The song that captured my imagination then was the first track on the album called 'The Wind', and I absolutely love it even today. The song that I really understand today is this one above. These sounds remind me of days more carefree, of laughter, and lessons learnt on the playground.

I've lived in the same house all my life, and one of the biggest blessings we have is a playground. I felt an immense sadness about two weeks ago when I saw that the slides, monkey gyms (do kids today even know what those are?) and other play structures I grew up with have been removed. This, by a colony association filled with new people with children of an electronic generation, who are too busy with tuitions and cellphones to be bothered with a change like this.

Those play structures were the last standing visual representations of a community that grew up together; sentinels of simpler, happier times. Now the whole park had been laid with grass, with a track around it, and benches where elderly people who use them about twice a month can sit. Mounds have been introduced in the name of aesthetics, effectively removing chances of playing a decent game of cricket or football. An additional pang was brought on by the realisation that the secretary of the colony association now is my father.

I remember a time when I was 3 or 4, and we kids were playing at one end (the park is rectangular, about 60 metres X 20 metres). The bigger boys were playing football over the rest of the ground, and my father would stand between them and us. If the ball came anywhere near us, they got a tongue lashing. Those were also days when teenagers respected people older than them (I think this is one of the greater losses of our society today), so the boys would try their best to not kick the ball too hard if they were near us. We bachchaas learnt so much just sliding down the jaarabandas, and climbing on various old-fashioned solid cast iron structures.

Then, at about age 7 or 8, we would hang around the older boys, hoping to be asked to join them. Then we join their sports and are treated like the kids we are. Then as you score more goals and runs, fall down and pick yourself up again, you earn respect and the right to participate in team decisions. So many bonds built over cut lips, intense sporting rivalries, fights, and patch-ups. Then you become one of the 'older' boys and take on the responsibility of taking care of the young children playing on the slides and monkey bars.

The lessons learnt on a playfield are of incalculable value to a child, boy or girl. It saddens me deeply to see the children of today hooked to their computers, the internet, online gaming and their cellphones, at an age when they should be out there getting their knees scraped and their hands dirty. In building our concrete jungles, we have forgotten to leave space for green pastures where childhood lessons and memories can be planted and nurtured. Then, we go further and remove the very instruments of learning that we built social skills and broke teeth on.

Tell me, father, where do the children play now?

Bunny, Type A

...and today, I don't feel like a happy bunny.

Maybe a Slasher Bunny...
It's not like I'm angry. Very ennui.
It's like I'm standing on some sort of edge, and know I'm going to fall, this way or that - I just don't know what's on either side. They could be changing, too, for all I know. Like some surreal bridge. I have to fall, I know, but I don't know what I'll do after that. Maybe I'll float gently, maybe I'll surrender, or maybe I'll bare the fangs and claws and rip the air curtains to shreds, along with anyone who crosses me today.
Rather unpredictable.
Slasher Bunny.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

He woke up.

She'd told him once long ago that the best way to be woken up is by the gently rousing rays of the morning sun. He'd laughed then and thought she was such a romantic fool, and immediately got back to being lost in her eyes. He remembered how she used to keep talking, about this and that, and he was conscious of only registering about every third word or so. They had talked about how the bedroom would be - facing the east, so she could wake with the sun. They had laughed at the picture.

He lay in bed for a minute, smiling, as he realised he had, in fact, been woken by the first rays of the sun streaming in through the window. It's dirty, he thought, I should clean it sometime. Where does all my time disappear? I used to have enough and more time for everything. Nothing wrong with wanting to live a full life, he had explained to her; I want to be all I can. And I can be a lot of things...isn't that why you are with me? She laughed that sparkling laugh, shook her head resignedly, and lamented how she would never ever win an argument with him.

He sighed, and looked across at the clock on the wall. After about 30 seconds, it struck him that it wasn't working. He sighed again and made a mental note to get it fixed. He looked at his watch, and realised with exasperation that he'd forgotten whether it was running fast or slow. His life was an absolute, shameless mess, he decided. He could almost hear her saying it, teasing him playfully about his carelessness and forgetfulness. Once, she'd asked him if he'd bought milk for the cat, like she'd reminded him yesterday. Of course, he'd forgotten all about it and had started apologising, all the while racking his head for the memory. She'd been quite upset and had let him really have it. It took him 20 minutes to remember she wasn't at home yesterday, and that he'd just picked her up from the airport this morning. And another 20 minutes to realise they didn't have a cat. They had fallen laughing into each others' arms, and lay there till the morning.

He decided it was time to get up and make an appearance at the office. He sat at the edge of the bed, looked out of the window, and thought...

"How shall I feel today?"

He decided he would feel happy today.

All I Ask

To step through the ornate doors of your heart.
To wander through the hallowed halls inside
Close my eyes and feel the ridges
on the pillars
To put my cheek on the stone,
be thrilled to the bone
by the knowledge that this love thine
is now mine.

To put my ear to the ground
and listen to the irregular rhythm
of your trembling heart;
To lift my face to the skylight
and be blessed by the fingers of God
streaming through the glass stained
and admit
this nonchalance feigned.

To fall to my knees,
stretch my arms wide,
to scream with joy
and beam with pride,
To smile with gratitude
for you at my side,
To build this shrine
With these calloused hands mine.

The words, the beautiful words...where are they...??

We are masters of our words not said,
but slaves to those that are.

lol.

I don't remember the last time I took something off someone else's blog or webpage, but this sense of humour was too good to miss. I am copy-pasting instead of putting a link because I don't want to use up thier bandwidth every time my page is opened, I wouldn't want people on dialups reading this and growing old waiting for another link to open, but above all, because I'm just too darn lazy.

" Justice at last
Filed under: Bizarre News— Adam @ 10:32 pm

We all know weathermen are always getting the temperature wrong - but it turns out some of them are getting the age of consent vastly wrong as well.

South Florida TV meteorologist Bill Kamal was arrested Sunday in Fort Pierce as part of an investigation into sexual predators.

Authorities say Kamal set up a meeting for sex over the Internet with what he thought was a 14-year-old boy. The boy was actually an undercover federal agent, police say.

Investigators said that Kamal had arranged to meet the boy at a convenience store.

The St. Lucie County Sheriff’s Office said Kamal had two condoms when he was arrested as well as two toys, one of which was a water gun.

(the funny part - the forecast)
Thursday, Fine and with a moderate chance of getting busted by the feds for being a pervert. The long range forecast seems to indicate long spells of being treated like a bitch by a 400lb sex offender in the state prison. "

ROTFL.

I found another headline on a related news site:

"SLIDESHOW: Man Bruised After Being Hit With 80 Pellets"

Really? You think?
I'll bet people are queueing up to read that!
It'll be the hot topic of discussion too, by tomorrow.

A: D'ya hear about the guy who got shot with 80 pellets? He was bruised.
B: Really? Bruised? Oh my God! Is he alright??

Gawd. The stuff that passes for news tuh-day.