Story #1:
(excuse d present tense)
A girl falls in love with plant. One day she is shocked to see the plant being attacked by its other lover the goat. The girl goes mad with grief- partly because the goat ate d plant (as in boo hoo) - n partly because the goat ate the plant ( green eyed monster). Then comes our hero the mali = gardener . He plants many trees(plants?) and hence sows many such ' seeds of love '. N hence they live happily ever after etc.
Story #2 :
Once an ant fell in love wid n elephant. When d lord of d jungle twitted her abt it, she maintained they were just good friends. One day a huntress came 2 d jungle to hunt for ants. She hunted using a 325# sieve. The ant didn't know this sieve size of course but she did know dat she cudnt handle dat sieve sizes ( although she didn't know which sieve size it was). She implored d elephant to help her out( here ant = female , eleph-ant = male) but the elephant was in luv wid d huntress so of course he kept looking at her n ignored d ant.
a ant got angry . so she prayed to d devas.
d devas decided 2 help her help herself. n suddenly d ant noticed dat d huntress was wearing a vnit badge. she brightened up visibly ! she had heard dat once in a practical class- a guy had used a rough brush on the sieve n in doing so had torn it in one place. she crawled under the sieve to locate the rent n lo behold! it existed.
So she crawled out. After she did that, it was aurat ka badlaa part 2. she crawled up d elephants hide - right into his right ear n bit him n he died (but ironically - in d huntress' arms). den both huntress n ant cried. den huntress went home to first husband (polyandry) n ant committed suicide out of guilt.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Edit..
That's wot people interested in mag.com last year had to do with the passage given below. The language is not crisp. It's full of grammatical errors etc. I hope this uncorrected passage makes for interesting reading
It’s a wonder how some people don’t seem to never want to read. Or write, for that matter.
As far as I am concerned, reading’s like this periodic bouts of hedonistic recidivism- give me a good book and and in less time than it takes to dog-ear someone else’s book, I am neck-deep in the plot and totally, absolutely, completely lost to the world. There’s a book to suit every taste, every situation, every need, every emotion, every fixation! One needs to know only where to look. People who are weary of books or simply ignorant or indifferent of them, miss out on so much!
Writing! I’ve seen my sister fill up diaries and diaries of god knows what! And then there’s people who’ve been known to baulk at the very thought of putting pen to paper! Give them a simple letter to write or a notice to put up and they are confounded! What is the point of spending long years at school, if even these routine necessities continue to baffle us out of our wits and that too at our parent’s expense? Imagine how unthinkable writing for pleasure would be to them .And, for that matter, as a medium of self-expression, not necessarily translating into ‘Dear Diary’ entries.
It’s a wonder how some people don’t seem to never want to read. Or write, for that matter.
As far as I am concerned, reading’s like this periodic bouts of hedonistic recidivism- give me a good book and and in less time than it takes to dog-ear someone else’s book, I am neck-deep in the plot and totally, absolutely, completely lost to the world. There’s a book to suit every taste, every situation, every need, every emotion, every fixation! One needs to know only where to look. People who are weary of books or simply ignorant or indifferent of them, miss out on so much!
Writing! I’ve seen my sister fill up diaries and diaries of god knows what! And then there’s people who’ve been known to baulk at the very thought of putting pen to paper! Give them a simple letter to write or a notice to put up and they are confounded! What is the point of spending long years at school, if even these routine necessities continue to baffle us out of our wits and that too at our parent’s expense? Imagine how unthinkable writing for pleasure would be to them .And, for that matter, as a medium of self-expression, not necessarily translating into ‘Dear Diary’ entries.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
borrowed wisdom
The price of success is hard work, dedication to the job at hand, and the determination that whether we win or lose, we have applied the best of ourselves to the task at hand.
Hard work certainly goes a long way. These days a lot of people work hard, so you have to make sure you work even harder and really dedicate yourself to what you are doing and setting out to achieve
Hard work certainly goes a long way. These days a lot of people work hard, so you have to make sure you work even harder and really dedicate yourself to what you are doing and setting out to achieve
this was my article for the magazine last yr.
oh ya, feel free to inform us about ur ideas for ( not opinions of ) the colg. magazine.
this was wot i doodled last time round. didnt put my name to it then. hope to make amends now.
A Room Without A View
There is a point of view
From where
My hobby horse looks up to some good.
Because there
Is a horse who wears blinkers
And when he takes them off, it’s just to show his face
Walks slowly and to win no race
And he looks up to no good.
My college means so much to me that even little things bother and hurt and rankle and I hope the concern is not mistaken for nitpicking viciousness.
Slow poison
Endless queues for registration - semester after semester - each new semester feels like a fresh year and yet this queue is so slow. Seems a pointless exercise to trek to the bank and to the photocopier to photocopy the fourth copy of the document, four copies of which are reputed to be required and three are provided.
How to pull a fast one
You desperately want to issue a book (the pursuit of which is expected to trigger much unhealthy competition) because your batchmates saw where you intended to hide it. Forgot to mention - it’s the beginning of the semester. That means your old ‘card’ won’t do and will have to be renewed. That means seeking the stamp of authority - rather the signatures of two authorities – after, of course, entrusting the temporary safety of the book to a trusted friend. In case the first authority is absent or very busy, the second authority won’t sign. Or will demand proof that you have actually registered for the semester – the student’s copy of your challan – whichever part of the universe it might presently be reposing in. Calls for an audibly sentimental attempt to garner sympathy votes from softer quarters. Mission Accomplished. Where’s the irony?
No Man’s Land
No Man’s Land indeed for family and friends of inmates of this place, if not female. Not so if not so - all you have to do (if not female) to (be able to) visit this sanctum is not be a family member or friend of any of the usual residents. You could be a gardener, the van-driver of the baker who gives us our daily ( okay, thrice a week) bread, the newspaper boy, the milkman, the guy who comes to switch on the motor at 6 every morning, a worker, a mason, an electrician, the computer - wale bhaiyya and either walk right in or at least explore the grounds. Or you could be any of the several teen-aged mess workers (who ogle openly –oh, blame it on the girls). At times, there seems to be not a single waking hour in this place when the population is one hundred percent female.
The ratio seems to skew a little more during exams! Sample this…
Scene: Aforementioned No Man’s Land
Time: (My) Second Semester Exams
Story: Enter a host of ungentlemanly characters to put up a Public Address system in the hostel. That those speakers never spoke thence is another story. But while the work was in progress, the workers weren’t too far behind – indeed thought nothing of peeping through our doors and we got a variety of renditions Bheege Honth Tere ( Vocal and Whistle Versions), right in the corridors.
Of course, festivals and important occasions happen to relax things a bit but only for a few students and dignitaries – never for family members – and anyway, that’s only the exception to the rule.
If there are to be rules, they should be logical and for everybody.
A. Student
Everysem
VNIT
this was wot i doodled last time round. didnt put my name to it then. hope to make amends now.
A Room Without A View
There is a point of view
From where
My hobby horse looks up to some good.
Because there
Is a horse who wears blinkers
And when he takes them off, it’s just to show his face
Walks slowly and to win no race
And he looks up to no good.
My college means so much to me that even little things bother and hurt and rankle and I hope the concern is not mistaken for nitpicking viciousness.
Slow poison
Endless queues for registration - semester after semester - each new semester feels like a fresh year and yet this queue is so slow. Seems a pointless exercise to trek to the bank and to the photocopier to photocopy the fourth copy of the document, four copies of which are reputed to be required and three are provided.
How to pull a fast one
You desperately want to issue a book (the pursuit of which is expected to trigger much unhealthy competition) because your batchmates saw where you intended to hide it. Forgot to mention - it’s the beginning of the semester. That means your old ‘card’ won’t do and will have to be renewed. That means seeking the stamp of authority - rather the signatures of two authorities – after, of course, entrusting the temporary safety of the book to a trusted friend. In case the first authority is absent or very busy, the second authority won’t sign. Or will demand proof that you have actually registered for the semester – the student’s copy of your challan – whichever part of the universe it might presently be reposing in. Calls for an audibly sentimental attempt to garner sympathy votes from softer quarters. Mission Accomplished. Where’s the irony?
No Man’s Land
No Man’s Land indeed for family and friends of inmates of this place, if not female. Not so if not so - all you have to do (if not female) to (be able to) visit this sanctum is not be a family member or friend of any of the usual residents. You could be a gardener, the van-driver of the baker who gives us our daily ( okay, thrice a week) bread, the newspaper boy, the milkman, the guy who comes to switch on the motor at 6 every morning, a worker, a mason, an electrician, the computer - wale bhaiyya and either walk right in or at least explore the grounds. Or you could be any of the several teen-aged mess workers (who ogle openly –oh, blame it on the girls). At times, there seems to be not a single waking hour in this place when the population is one hundred percent female.
The ratio seems to skew a little more during exams! Sample this…
Scene: Aforementioned No Man’s Land
Time: (My) Second Semester Exams
Story: Enter a host of ungentlemanly characters to put up a Public Address system in the hostel. That those speakers never spoke thence is another story. But while the work was in progress, the workers weren’t too far behind – indeed thought nothing of peeping through our doors and we got a variety of renditions Bheege Honth Tere ( Vocal and Whistle Versions), right in the corridors.
Of course, festivals and important occasions happen to relax things a bit but only for a few students and dignitaries – never for family members – and anyway, that’s only the exception to the rule.
If there are to be rules, they should be logical and for everybody.
A. Student
Everysem
VNIT
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