How romantic! :P

Which Major Romantic Poet Would You Be (if You Were a Major Romantic Poet)?

You are Samuel Taylor Coleridge! The infamous "archangel a little damaged!" You took drugs and talked for hours, it's true, but you also made a conscious choice to cultivate the image of the deranged poet in a frenzy of genius. You claimed you wrote "Kubla Khan" in an afternoon after a laudanum, when you pretty manifestly did no such thing. You and your flashing eyes and floating hair. And your brilliant scholarship and obvious genius.
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And so

Life moves on strangely. One year ago, you're sitting in the same place, doing the same things. Endless, meaningless activities. "Hi", "Goodbye", "Awesome", "I love you", "Dammit". Meaningless phrases that you use a million times.

Yet you're so different inside now. You aren't and can never be that person who sat there and said and did the same things as you do and say now. Every minute, this complex, confusing and evolving entity that is YOU keeps changing.

You look for stability. That's very important. As is being constant. And dependable. You try to keep your morals, your opinions, your life, on one track. What a ridiculous notion. Yesterday you thought that metal wasn't music, just noise. Yet today, you tap your foot to the rhythm, the music that your ears suddenly discover. Yesterday, the opposite sex was something mysterious and vaguely disgusting. Today, the opposite sex remains mysterious but disgusting? No.

Stability? Don't make me laugh.

No matter who you are inside: a liar, a philosopher, a woman, a leaf, a musician, a thief, a poet... No matter who you are, be faithful to those notions of dependability. Be constant. Make yourself what you were yesterday. And so, fool yourself. That's all right. As long as you don't change.

Lying to the only person you have always been with from birth is all right. Go ahead.

R.I.P.

It just struck me that it's been more than a year since I started blogging. This led me to wonder if I've wasted a lot of web space and my time on this blog. What have I gained?

When I started, there were very few people I knew who blogged and the comments were few. But I kept blogging simply for the enjoyment if it and also because it was good practice for writing. Sure, I got a comment now and then and definitely got some irritating spam. But later, I roped a couple of my friends into blogging and somehow just found other Indian bloggers... and there were many more comments. So much so, I once had more than 30 comments for a two-line entry!

Blogging then began to seem to have a real community for itself, one with it's own rules and etiquette: comment regularly, not just when you have a new entry up and so want to attract notice; be appreciative and put negative criticism nicely so as to not hurt fragile egos; if not, have the courage to say what you want without going anonymous--most bloggers detest anons!; or just don't comment at all!; and, above all, to remember that what goes around, comes around, especially in such a small community.

But somehow, after a year of spacefillers, thoughts, jokes, comments and template changing, I got bored with blogging and eventually stopped. I've made some friends through blogging so I guess that's one good thing. I don't really care if my words are going to be immortalised by this blog or something equally dramatic. The blog has served it's purpose.

And now I guess it has died a natural death at the ripe old age of one. I might revisit with a couple of "ghost" entries, but I pronounce this blog officially dead. The pawprints are left behind in the sands of time :)

Before I sign off, I'd like to say, thanks for reading, commenting, all the support and enthusiasm.

From comp crashes to crashes. Bytes to bytes.

Rest In Peace.

Star Gazing

There’s something indescribably wonderful about a clear night. Like tonight. There’s no moon and since it’s 12.30 in the night, all the intrusive, jarring shop lights are, bless the stars (excuse the pun!), switched off for the night. With only insubstantial, light, fluffy clouds scuttling across the sky, the sky is so open and the stars are bright.

It’s only too easy to let the imagination run wild and think of our ancient forefathers looking up at nearly the very same sky and, inspired by it, writing their mythology based on the wonders they saw there. The fancy almost instantaneously creates a picture of the dying Keats looking up at the sky, yearning with all his heart to be an immortal, steadfast star and penning with the blood of his soul, his last sonnet. The very sight of a dark, endless sky conjures pictures of philosophers, saints and heroes staring upwards into the vast unknown, yearning for home, knowlege, divinity, inspiration! Although I know that more than the iron bars of the window–and centuries of civilization that gave birth to the buildings around me–separate me from those ancient men and women, it only takes a little bit of imagination and a glance at the beautiful night sky to take me far into other realms.

The little pin points of the stars shine like diamonds and only deepen the mystery of it all. Science fights for its say: Yes, in these ‘enlightened’ times, we do know that stars are actually brilliant balls of gaseous substance burning an unaccountable number of light years away. The mind registers as the eye sees the stars that the light from the star is so ancient that one of those stars is probably long dead, yet the light shines on. (The mind begins to hum stuff like, Shine on you crazy diamond!) But science can never really take away the mystery, the romance of ‘the starlit dome’. In fact, sometimes it deepens it.

I never come away from a star gazing session without feeling deeply humbled. Is there any greater proof of the insignificance of man than the knowledge of how huge Space is and the sight of the night sky? A star twinkles suddenly, very fiercely, and all I can think is, imagine how bright, how huge, how mindbogglingly hot it must be for its light to reach across the long stretch of dark space to this little blue-green planet, and these even tinier, feeble human eyes!

Only a step away from these thoughts are the thoughts of… other eyes. Other kinds of senses than are known to man, registering the very same phenomena from other planets. Across the unbelievable “out there” that we call space, surely there must be other life forms–or something beyond human definitions of life forms. Surely they must be looking up at the sky too, perhaps close enough to register the sun’s light. Would they feel the same wonder, the same sense of smallness? Would they want to discover all the secrets of the universe? And would they, as I do, step back from a window to say, let the universe keep its secrets?

Sure knowledge would take away too much of the uncertainties that open up the skies, not only physically but also in my mind!

Why, oh why?

You're a Hyena!

You have quite a sense of humor, though many others find it derisive
rather than appealing. You are perceived as being a coward, but actually have moments
of great bravery and have even stood up to those much larger than yourself. You like
hanging out in groups and are always making a lot of noise. Disney thinks you are an
idiot.


Take the Animal Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Have you ever wondered...

Why rain makes the ground smell so good? Why you just have to continue talking to some people even at the wee hours of the morning with heavy eyelids and a parched throat? Why, at times, it's easier to just accept a lie rather than face the truth? Why toenails and hair keep growing and never give up, even though we cut them all our lives? About how you've waited for something all your life without even being aware of it--until it happens? Why the years go on and on no matter what happens? Why rules are so easy to break?

Ever wondered how fidelity could be possible? Why you can't just jump off a building and float gently to the ground? Why science often ruins the fun part of life? Why your left hand is longer than the right? Or vice versa? Why people keep insisting on believing in things without a shred of proof? At how faith works--or doesn't work--for you? Why your foot can't stop tapping to certain tunes? Why sometimes even the most earnest and passionate love leaves you unmoved and cold? Why grief fades in time though you think it never will? Why our deepest wishes are often the hardest to be realised? Why all of as are basically the same deep inside no matter which part of the world we're from?

Ever wondered why we wonder so much? Or why some of us have lost our sense of wonder?


Ever wondered why?

Why not?

Morality

Morality is the most unnatural of human inventions. It goes against the basic nature of man--the very instinct of survival and procreation! We think it's wrong to lie, murder and have indiscriminate sex because well... it's wrong. But isn't it a very basic instinct of survival--lying and murder to protect yourself and sex to procreate?

Now I'm not saying that I'm going to turn into a murderer or a liar or sleep with people whenever it takes my fancy. In fact, that's the point I'm trying to make. I cannot do all these things because today's society has deemed it immoral and even punishable because it harms the society.

So... it's survival in another level isn't it? Hmm. I seem to have argued myself into a box. Genius.

So much for the loooong post I envisioned. Ah, close this window and forget you ever read this! Unless you want to comment of course :D

The Joys of Depression

I firmly believe in the goodness of depression. I don't mean the long-term, suicidal depression that psychiatrists warn us about, which would perhaps also turn into other exotic mental illness, but the short term fits of 'down'ness that most of us go through. Yes, I believe, through eighteen-and-half long years of experience, in the cathartic effect of a good, old-fashioned, garden-variety pity party.

I truly think that everybody should experience the wonders of wallowing in self-pity at least once in their life time. I'm sure most people would know what I'm talking about: Those times when you think that the whole world is out to get you (when not even a quarter of the human population, [never mind other species] is aware of your existence) and that everybody hates you, nobody loves you, and let's go dig the garden for worms to eat. Somehow there's nothing as satisfying as that feeling! Now I'm not saying it's the same for everyone. I'm sure there are lots of variations in theme such as the I'm-too-fat tirade, or the I'm-too-skinny variation or the I'm-really-a-worthless-person thingummy, or the… well, you get the drift.

The best setting for these moments, I find, would be a dark room or an empty terrace or even a bathroom. As I said, there are variations. You can also get down in the dumps at the top of the Empire State Building (or the LIC building, a lil closer to home). Even trains maybe conducive to the gloomy atmosphere. Oh, and rainy days must be the best times for depression (unless you're an impossible optimist, or a Chennai-ite!). I mean, picture this...

Scene: Indoors.
A window. A windows seat on which sits a young/old man/woman. It is raining outside and said young/old man/woman has his/her face close to the window. In the background is heard weeping violins/wailing sax or simply a depressing song such as 'Why Does It Always Rain On Me'. A (theatrical) teardrop falls down the smooth/wrinkled cheek.

Y/O M/W: Sigh. Woe is me. Oh gloom. Sniff.

Well, I do hope that illustrated my point--the perfection that is rain when it comes to feeling lonely and abandoned.

I, for one, am a master of these mope-fests. I revel in them. I enjoy them. I am completed by them. I make it a point to feel martyred or victimized at least once a month. I mean, one has to keep up standards, after all. And it's awesome, let me tell you! So much so that when you start getting into a better mood, it's with great reluctance that you let go of the feeling.

However, while in these moods, you realize your great capability for feeling down--over nothing! So, the rest of the time, it's quite easy to be bouncy and cheerful because, well... You know you have those special moments waiting for you at the end of the road, where you can feel all persecuted, etc.

Blah.

Your face
A reflection
On the mirror of memories
Splashed with time's waters
Blurred, distant, fading.
The drops remain
Drying slowly
And then they are gone too.

Signs that you are addicted to blogging, have way too much time in your hands and seriously need to get a life.

You check your blog at least once a day, if not once every hour, for comments even though you will be alerted about any new ones by email.

You have multiple blogs even though you have no idea why.

You have blogrolled at least 5 other people and check their blogs out regularly.

You are constantly on the look-out for things to add to your blog to make it more "interesting."

You go through the day thinking at least once, "Hey, I could write a blog post about this!"

You actually recognise people better through their display names than their real ones.

You have learned the basics of HTML just to edit your blog template.

You are scandalised by anyone who doesn't particularly like blogging.

You have edited "comments", "links" and "archives" to suit the 'mood' of your blog.

You find that this post is not really funny but is eeriely similar to your life.

THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
-------------------------------------

BLOGOMANIA IS CURABLE IF DETECTED EARLY. IF YOU RECOGNISE ANY OF THE ABOVE SIGNS IN YOURSELF, PLEASE TAKE IMMEDIATE PRECAUTIONARY STEPS. YOU HAVE SEVERAL OPTIONS. THEY ARE (ARRANGED BY ORDER OF DESPERATION, MOVING FROM LEAST URGENT TO MOST):

Get some self control.

Get busy.

Get a life.

Delete your blogger account.

Unplug your internet connection.

Download a virus, crash your computer.

Throw away your computer.

UNFORTUNATELY, IF YOU HAVE THE LAST SYMPTOM (not finding the post funny, but similar to your life, etc.) IT'S TOO LATE. HAPPY BLOGGING!