I used to sketch

                             
                        Moment of truth. I am father to two blogs, actually a bad father- the worst there ever could be for all the partiality to this one. I nourished and pampered this blog very much and almost forgot the other one, this whole time. And worst of all, I am killing it now. So here you have all the stuff I had in there. [Parental discretion is advised for the last drawing.]

The dog you see on the left- bagged me the first prize in the pencil drawing competition during Reverberance 2009, IIT Patna. In just three hours, it was impossible to finish that drawing. If you find something weird with its nose, then that's probably because of this aforementioned time constraint- or may be I just didn't know how to draw it.

The Hypocrisy That We Call Status Update

                                                I am a narcissist. I represent the major part of the middle class Indian folk, in whose demeanor you might not find a single tinge of anything unique that could tell them different from any other person of the kind. You might walk a hundred miles in my shoes and still be confused whose identity you have- mine or yours, or that how similar you are to me. We all by far think alike, live alike, and are like-minded in our attitude towards the class of people who we are not in love with- simply, the others. It is by virtue of this uncanny similarity in ideology, that I know you better and vice-versa. When I put a status update in any of the so called online friendship community sites, I know what strikes whom and how well it does.

“12 likes in less than a minute. I am on fire!” I exclaimed.
 “Joji, check out my status update, if you’re online.” I shouted to my roommate without looking up from the laptop.
“I saw. I was the first one to like it. Nice one, by the way.”
“Thanks buddy.”
I spent few more minutes scrolling the page up and down, making weird exclamatory remarks on every extra like the status update bagged.
“Wanna get something to eat? I am starving.” Said a restless Joji, with pleading eyes. His shirtless figure reminded me of the Kwashiorkor kid from seventh grade biology text.
“Yeah, let me get my wallet. Usual place?”
“Yep.”

If there is one reason why I hated Sundays, it’s the crowd. I wasn’t that hungry anyway, but I had to stand through the engulfing crowd to get anything to eat now. We paused for a long breath before the suicidal plunge into the rush. We both swam through the multitude being elbowed and mutilated. We reciprocated our fair share. Twenty seven disgusting minutes later, we both emerged from the restaurant, and he looked happier with the burger up his mouth. I had mine too, but wasn’t so hungry, or happy for that matter.

We had ten minutes of walk ahead of us to our hostel and yeah, to my status update. I so badly wanted to check the number of likes and comments on it.
“Wonder how many more likes it has got by now!”
“What?”
“My status update.”
“Don’t worry. People fall for stuff like that all the time, especially chicks. You throw in a pinch of sympathy, a smidgeon of your helplessness on the topic and bam! 100 likes.” I looked at him. The burger seemed to have bestowed him with a know-it-all air.
“Yeah, I know.”

My first wall painting...!

The girl with the cello

The Child is the Father of the Man

                                          

                                                            The Portuguese lighthouse at the far end of the fort Cochin beach was the most visited tourist area during Shrinivasan’s father’s time. The number of people who visited that lighthouse dwindled down through the years. Yet, the menial job of being its self-appointed security guard paid him just enough to feed a family of three and to provide his son an English medium school education. For a man of medium build he did a good deal of maintenance work in and around the lighthouse. It made him proud to gather that the tallest structure in the whole of his village is under his vigil. The few tourists who came to climb up the lighthouse paid him and he made a good tourist guide too, at times, especially when it came to the history of the lighthouse. Shrinivasan had a small room for an office, but he chose to sit outside at the entrance, with his radio and the day’s newspaper. There was always wind from the south and ample sunlight, both of which he loved. He hated anything that meddled with the lighthouse visitors – and that was the reason why he hated stray dogs in the lighthouse field. There were too many of them. Sometimes people chose not to enter the lighthouse premises for this reason. That made him mad. Every day when he came from lunch, he picked up sizeable stones and pelted at them on every chance.

                                             It was a sunny afternoon of one such offseason. He was reading some literature section of the newspaper. Below a title “The Child Is The Father Of The Man" it was written- In his famous ode to nature, William Wordsworth says that the child in every person teaches him to appreciate nature beginning with the simple beauty of rainbows, compassion towards all creatures and by implication, he meant that the Child is born knowing everything and it is through experiencing life that we lose that knowledge!

“What a load of crap!” He soliloquized.
He looked up from the paper and saw his son hopping towards him with his school bag on, happy about something.

“Daddy daddy, can I go up please? I won’t stand on the railings, I promise. Please please.”
“No. How many times do I have to tell you the lighthouse is not your playground?  After school, go straight home to your mom. Not to your dad’s workplace okay? Lighthouses aren’t meant for kids like you.”
“But you never take me up.”
He glared at the kid. “Go home before I beat you. Run.”

The versatile blogger award...!

I  have been away for quite a while now, but when I got back I had two awards waiting for me. Thanks for all the love and support, guys. This post is to extend my gratefulness to D. Nambiar for choosing my blog for this honour. And dear readers, do not forget to visit hers at Odds and Ends, you wouldn't regret. Choosing who to pass this award to, isn't an easy task, but now that I am in Indiblogger, I have ACCESS.

My suggestions for the Versatile blogger award are (they are random ordered, or I would like to believe so.)...

1.  cRAZY tHOUGHTS oF aNU
2.  Senseless Sense Or Sensible Nonsense.
3.  One Day At A Time.
4.  Ente Novukal.
5.  Blank Verses and Invisible Lines
6.  Regular Doses
7.  P.Subbu's Mind-crap.
8.  Rhythmica.
9.  Love Needs Work.
10.Solitude Sublime.
11. A Traveller's Soul.
12. Weirder Than Me.

Not that there aren't anymore versatile writers but, I will acknowledge them in time, I guess. (Nobody in the trail before me thought that 15 is a huge number ?) By the way, few of the above might already have received the Versatile blogger award, but that doesn't make them any less versatile now, does it?

Apparently, the rules for acceptance of the award are:

1.Paste this award on your blog.

2. Thank the person who gave you this award.

3. Pass this award to 15 fellow bloggers. 

4. Share 7 random facts about yourself.

Seven Random Facts about me are...

1. I can go on without sleeping for days together, but wake me up from a sleep, I might kill you.

2. I am a hard-core fan of F.R.I.E.N.D.S

3. I am very radical and critical when it comes to reviewing novels, blogs or movies. If I like them, I might never forget them.

4. I love rain, a clear night sky and twilight.

5. The previous fact might mislead you. I hate Twilight series.

6. I can't stand grammar mistakes.

7. I have reason to believe that the best bloggers are the ones who write quality stuff at their natural pace. Not the ones who blog for writing's sake.

Congratulations guys, and thank you D. Nambiar. It means a lot!

Happy blogging...

Liebster blog award...!

It is really great to be receiving blogging awards, especially when you don’t understand the meaning of the name of the award. I am really grateful to Divya for this recognition. She is busy straightening her entwined thoughts and believe me, she is exceptionally good at that! Thanks for this award, and more than that, thanks to having met you in here.

Rules for accepting the Liebster Blog award:

• Link back to the person who gave you the award.
• Pick 5 people deserving of the award and notify them on their blogs.
• Post the award on your blog and spread the love.

Liebster in German means 'Beloved', this award is about spreading love. It's the month of February and isn't it an ideal time to express your unconditional love & support to bloggers? Oh yes! (stole from Divya’s)

      My nominations for this wonderful award are, 

                                                                            LuciferHouse Inc. (for the depth and style) 

                                                                            Verses From My Heart (for the beautiful verses from her heart) 

                                                                            Conundrums of Life (for the touch of realism) 

                                                                            The Thought Pad (indeed it is one!)   

                                                                            Engram’s Random Rambling (for the mature thoughts)

Congratulations guys. Hope you all will like it...

The sense of closure...!

This post is written by me as an entry towards the Tell a tale contest by divya

                                           

“Coffeeee!! Teaa!!”

“Coffeeee!! Teaa!!”

The vendor called out as he passed the coupe.
“Thuddd!”

The baby fell on its knee trying to walk across to his mother.

The mother ran to pick up the child and is busy placating him.

Ravishing young lady sat across him checking her flock of hair in the mirror of her mini clutch bag.

The chatter from the group of young boys engrossed in a card game relayed from above.

The train had halted at Varnasi for 15 mins. He hadn’t moved or uttered a word from the time he got on.

The newspaper covered Sanjay’s face; his eyes peered through his bi-focal spectacles and his hair rested neatly combed sideways.

A pencil in his hand was losing his grip.