You got a lotta nerve
To say you are my friend
When I was down
You just stood there grinning
You got a lotta nerve
To say you got a helping hand to lend
You just want to be on
The side that's winning
You say I let you down
You know it's not like that
If you're so hurt
Why then don't you show it
You say you lost your faith
But that's not where it's at
You had no faith to lose
And you know it
I know the reason
That you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd
You're in with
Do you take me for such a fool
To think I'd make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What he don't know to begin with
You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, "How are you?" "Good luck"
But you don't mean it
When you know as well as me
You'd rather see me paralyzed
Why don't you just come out once
And scream it
No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I'd rob them
And now I know you're dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don't you understand
It's not my problem
I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is
To see you
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Where Have All The Flowers Gone?
Where indeed? I am stumped. Why is that cut rootless fir tree on my porch not drying? Not dying? The answer can be found in these, some of the most astounding and awe-inspiring pieces of verse ever written. Welcome to In Memoriam, Tennyson's magnum opus. A taost to the phoenix like vitality of life.
II.
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the under-lying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
The seasons bring the flower again,
And bring the firstling to the flock;
And in the dusk of thee, the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.
O not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom:
And gazing on thee, sullen tree,
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.
and also this
XI.
Calm is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
And only thro’ the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plain
That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:
Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:
Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest,
And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.
At the age of 22, Hallam, his dear friend and his sister's fiance died of brain haemorhage. Tennyson was shocked. And started writing In Memoriam. After 17 years of reflections, it was finally published. An ode to a long lost but long remembered mate. The intangible feeling of loss and longing, of a disturbed soul trying to come to terms with the cruel hand of fate. How much more can you ask of a Romantic?
II.
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the under-lying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
The seasons bring the flower again,
And bring the firstling to the flock;
And in the dusk of thee, the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.
O not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom:
And gazing on thee, sullen tree,
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.
and also this
XI.
Calm is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
And only thro’ the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plain
That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:
Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:
Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest,
And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.
At the age of 22, Hallam, his dear friend and his sister's fiance died of brain haemorhage. Tennyson was shocked. And started writing In Memoriam. After 17 years of reflections, it was finally published. An ode to a long lost but long remembered mate. The intangible feeling of loss and longing, of a disturbed soul trying to come to terms with the cruel hand of fate. How much more can you ask of a Romantic?
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Eliot to Frost - An American Journey
Where art thou. T.S.Eliot?
Why, when what I need is a Wasteland,
Why do you forsake me?
Do not take away this pessimism.
(It's all I have got ?)
Irradiant friendships of yore,
Those shiny happy people,
Nights spent at bull sessions,
Coffee, movies and dawn teas.
The harsh weather tempers the soul,
Till its sinews of steel stand out,
The promises of spring minister hope,
To a teeny rabbit in its hole.
A new awakening. A new dawn.
The oaks and maples will blossom.
The time soon comes for apple picking,
Listen to old man Frost.
Why, when what I need is a Wasteland,
Why do you forsake me?
Do not take away this pessimism.
(It's all I have got ?)
Irradiant friendships of yore,
Those shiny happy people,
Nights spent at bull sessions,
Coffee, movies and dawn teas.
The harsh weather tempers the soul,
Till its sinews of steel stand out,
The promises of spring minister hope,
To a teeny rabbit in its hole.
A new awakening. A new dawn.
The oaks and maples will blossom.
The time soon comes for apple picking,
Listen to old man Frost.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Tidings
Reach out and capture that elusive snowflake. Admire the beauty in its mesmeric fractal structure. Watch it melt away into nothingness in front of your eyes. Flick away those little crystals. Feel its almost feathery cottony touch on your insensate cheek. Think back to all those countless snowflakes fallen on unknown cheeks bringing with them transient tidings of joy. Who has sent them? Someone who loves you?
Photos courtesy SnowCrystals.com
A Day in the Life of Nikhil K
[Nothing is fiction, except the truth. All these events took place across the past week, though not sequentially nor on the same day . But hey, who ever said that the human mind works chronologically?]
Nikhil has a habit of sleeping at ridiculously late hours, which he is trying to break. So, after a mug of hot Nestle Cocoa, he has slept early. Little does he know that today is going to be a long exciting day and an equally long sleepless night. Poor Nikhil! The mug is a enameled one with a picture of a jolly family of snowmen drawn on it. Papa snowman, mama snowman and Little snowman grin furiously at the falling snowflakes. It looks as if they are grinning at Nikhil, giving him a Poltergeisty smile. A reminder that this is Minnesota and the temperature outside the window is 80F below that inside, the Weather.com taskbar confirms that it is indeed -28F with gusty winds of 20 mph. Goodmorning Nikhil! Wake up to another arctic day in Minneapolis.
Nikhil wakes up groggily. He is feeling cold. Maybe, he thinks, the heating system is acting cranky again.Or maybe, it is just that the mercury is off the scale and no heater in the world can cope with that. Maybe. No big deal, he makes a mental note to send a email to the landlord asking him to send a man over to check the heating system. Now to brighter things, he keeps two eggs to boil on the stove and dissapears into the restroom. The restroom window is jammed as usual, with thick icicles in the gap between it and the wire grill. Damn, someone has not replaced the roll of toiletpaper. And why on earth do Americans love their toilets without a single drainhole?
Now to brighter things. He nods his Dell Inspiron out of hibernation. Time for the daily news. The Star Tribune says today is the coldest morning of the year. Frost bite in ten minutes. Sports Illustrated has a excellent photo story on Indianapolis Colts and Peyton Manning storming the Superbowl. Nikhil thinks back to last night, when he had seen his first superbowl on TV, a quintessential American experience.It took place in balmy Miami. He ponders for a minute a whirlwind weekend trip to Miami, then laughs to himself and opens the Times of India website. Nothing important from India except that The Sakal reports that India has won this year's world cup held in Panvel. The Kho Kho world cup. Big surprise that one.
Time for class. Its 9 am. He has fried eggs for breakfast, packs his bag, and prepares a ham, salad and cheese sandwich with a liberal dollop of mayo and mustard and packs it in a ZipLock(TM) bag. Dress in layers, thats what everyone says.A T shirt, a sweat shirt and a down jacket stuffed with feathers. A thermal pant, and a pair of jeans, gloves, a skull cap. And snow shoes. Class begins. But, every desk has a desktop on it. So, most people are busy checking their morning mails. After class, he picks up a copy of the campus newspaper and the Onion and searches for a comfortable lounge chair in the Commons. The EE commons is a huge indoors area sprinkled with cozy seating. After some time, Nikhil dozes off. An hour later, he wakes up, yawning, he gets a coffee and sits down to look over the Computer Vision homework. Homework is the most irritating aspect of grad life. It is always there, he reflects, nagging you at the back of your mind. You submit one, and there is a fresh one waiting on the class website. No wonder this place is called school. But this one is really interesting, he sobers up fast. Hmm, reconstruct a 3D model of Einstein's face from shading patterns using MATLAB. Wow, that seems fun, he almost rubs his hands in anticipation of this one.
1 15 PM. Nikhil looks at his watch and panics. Piano class in 10 minutes. No time to catch the bus, he realizes and speed walks across the mile long bridge on the Mississippi. A bevy of punters are practising in the river, boat races take place in spring, but they have to keep their body in shape through the winter. But no time no stand and stare. Fergusson Hall and the School of Music. An hour of serene piano follows, guided by Ms Tatiana, a Ukranian emigre, who is also a PhD in Piano. After Piano, he weighs whether to stay in school and loiter or go back home and do the laundry. The laundry wins. Washing clothes here is just a matter of tossing the whole bunch into a machine, waiting for an hour, transferring the bundle to another machine, the drier and then hey presto, the clothes jump out all warm and almost ironed. Nikhil daydreams about describing this process in intricate detail to XYZ Bai back home in India. In the meantime, he tests the limits of the new Altec Lansing speaker system, putting it through a heavenly rendition of the Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. He looks outside the window, still cold but no fresh snow. He wishes there would be some, then at least he can go sledding on the Witches' Hat Tower hillock a few blocks away. He turns on the TV and catches a rerun of Seinfeld on FOX.
Its evening. 5 PM and sunset. He hasn't forgotten his homework. He cannot, it IS due tomorrow at 8 15 AM. But, Nikhil just doesn't feel like starting it right now and even though he knows that this procrastination is gonna come back to haunt him soon, he decides to do some timepass. Phone calls to a group of friends, free, after all they all have Cingular phones and intra network calls are free, he manages to convince three of them into a game of badminton. He packs his shorts and takes the bus to the Sports Complex. 4 indoors badminton courts, heated of course. After two hours, exhausted but freshly showered, Nikhil is ready for homework. He goes to the Walter Science library and starts off. An hour and a half later, he gets a phone call, “Come to Starbucks”, say a few friends just back from a Honeywell recruitment session. Seeing that the situation vis a vis Estimation and Detection is well in control, Nikhil whizzes off to Starbucks, no second invitation needed.
Caffe Mocha or Latte?
Size Tall or Grande?
No wait, Gimme the Coffee of the Day!
After an hour's bull session, its dinner time. Off to the Big Ten just across the street. After a tuna sub, a plate of Chicken wings and the Houston Rockets thrashing the Minnesota Timberwolves, it is time to go back home. Phone calls, instant messaging and gossiping with roomies. It is 11 PM. Now its celebration time. HW is a hard taskmaster. Four hours. Its done. Hurrah! Now Nikhil writes this recap of a day well spent. So thats the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average. And, everyine is blonde :)
Nikhil has a habit of sleeping at ridiculously late hours, which he is trying to break. So, after a mug of hot Nestle Cocoa, he has slept early. Little does he know that today is going to be a long exciting day and an equally long sleepless night. Poor Nikhil! The mug is a enameled one with a picture of a jolly family of snowmen drawn on it. Papa snowman, mama snowman and Little snowman grin furiously at the falling snowflakes. It looks as if they are grinning at Nikhil, giving him a Poltergeisty smile. A reminder that this is Minnesota and the temperature outside the window is 80F below that inside, the Weather.com taskbar confirms that it is indeed -28F with gusty winds of 20 mph. Goodmorning Nikhil! Wake up to another arctic day in Minneapolis.
Nikhil wakes up groggily. He is feeling cold. Maybe, he thinks, the heating system is acting cranky again.Or maybe, it is just that the mercury is off the scale and no heater in the world can cope with that. Maybe. No big deal, he makes a mental note to send a email to the landlord asking him to send a man over to check the heating system. Now to brighter things, he keeps two eggs to boil on the stove and dissapears into the restroom. The restroom window is jammed as usual, with thick icicles in the gap between it and the wire grill. Damn, someone has not replaced the roll of toiletpaper. And why on earth do Americans love their toilets without a single drainhole?
Now to brighter things. He nods his Dell Inspiron out of hibernation. Time for the daily news. The Star Tribune says today is the coldest morning of the year. Frost bite in ten minutes. Sports Illustrated has a excellent photo story on Indianapolis Colts and Peyton Manning storming the Superbowl. Nikhil thinks back to last night, when he had seen his first superbowl on TV, a quintessential American experience.It took place in balmy Miami. He ponders for a minute a whirlwind weekend trip to Miami, then laughs to himself and opens the Times of India website. Nothing important from India except that The Sakal reports that India has won this year's world cup held in Panvel. The Kho Kho world cup. Big surprise that one.
Time for class. Its 9 am. He has fried eggs for breakfast, packs his bag, and prepares a ham, salad and cheese sandwich with a liberal dollop of mayo and mustard and packs it in a ZipLock(TM) bag. Dress in layers, thats what everyone says.A T shirt, a sweat shirt and a down jacket stuffed with feathers. A thermal pant, and a pair of jeans, gloves, a skull cap. And snow shoes. Class begins. But, every desk has a desktop on it. So, most people are busy checking their morning mails. After class, he picks up a copy of the campus newspaper and the Onion and searches for a comfortable lounge chair in the Commons. The EE commons is a huge indoors area sprinkled with cozy seating. After some time, Nikhil dozes off. An hour later, he wakes up, yawning, he gets a coffee and sits down to look over the Computer Vision homework. Homework is the most irritating aspect of grad life. It is always there, he reflects, nagging you at the back of your mind. You submit one, and there is a fresh one waiting on the class website. No wonder this place is called school. But this one is really interesting, he sobers up fast. Hmm, reconstruct a 3D model of Einstein's face from shading patterns using MATLAB. Wow, that seems fun, he almost rubs his hands in anticipation of this one.
1 15 PM. Nikhil looks at his watch and panics. Piano class in 10 minutes. No time to catch the bus, he realizes and speed walks across the mile long bridge on the Mississippi. A bevy of punters are practising in the river, boat races take place in spring, but they have to keep their body in shape through the winter. But no time no stand and stare. Fergusson Hall and the School of Music. An hour of serene piano follows, guided by Ms Tatiana, a Ukranian emigre, who is also a PhD in Piano. After Piano, he weighs whether to stay in school and loiter or go back home and do the laundry. The laundry wins. Washing clothes here is just a matter of tossing the whole bunch into a machine, waiting for an hour, transferring the bundle to another machine, the drier and then hey presto, the clothes jump out all warm and almost ironed. Nikhil daydreams about describing this process in intricate detail to XYZ Bai back home in India. In the meantime, he tests the limits of the new Altec Lansing speaker system, putting it through a heavenly rendition of the Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. He looks outside the window, still cold but no fresh snow. He wishes there would be some, then at least he can go sledding on the Witches' Hat Tower hillock a few blocks away. He turns on the TV and catches a rerun of Seinfeld on FOX.
Its evening. 5 PM and sunset. He hasn't forgotten his homework. He cannot, it IS due tomorrow at 8 15 AM. But, Nikhil just doesn't feel like starting it right now and even though he knows that this procrastination is gonna come back to haunt him soon, he decides to do some timepass. Phone calls to a group of friends, free, after all they all have Cingular phones and intra network calls are free, he manages to convince three of them into a game of badminton. He packs his shorts and takes the bus to the Sports Complex. 4 indoors badminton courts, heated of course. After two hours, exhausted but freshly showered, Nikhil is ready for homework. He goes to the Walter Science library and starts off. An hour and a half later, he gets a phone call, “Come to Starbucks”, say a few friends just back from a Honeywell recruitment session. Seeing that the situation vis a vis Estimation and Detection is well in control, Nikhil whizzes off to Starbucks, no second invitation needed.
Caffe Mocha or Latte?
Size Tall or Grande?
No wait, Gimme the Coffee of the Day!
After an hour's bull session, its dinner time. Off to the Big Ten just across the street. After a tuna sub, a plate of Chicken wings and the Houston Rockets thrashing the Minnesota Timberwolves, it is time to go back home. Phone calls, instant messaging and gossiping with roomies. It is 11 PM. Now its celebration time. HW is a hard taskmaster. Four hours. Its done. Hurrah! Now Nikhil writes this recap of a day well spent. So thats the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average. And, everyine is blonde :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
