Bandwidth

There's dark around and it makes no sound.
It lies motionless, as dead as a stone,
In deep trenches of agony, it mourns alone.
Its deadthly cold, yet it shows no shivers,
Untouched by winds, moonlight, or rivers.
there's no glow within, as it, lifeless, sleeps,
a thick shell on the out but inside it weeps.
A thousand bugles and horns bellow all day,
But it only answers to your gentle "hey"
At the sound of your voice, it springs alive
It dances the tango, two step, salsa and jive.
A bright red glow, that spreads all around,
In its fit of happiness, it even lifts off the ground.
But the crazy haired genius was was never more right,
In this bandwidth of life, time speeds its flight.
So long as you're there, it lives all it could,
The moment you cut off, it decays like wood.
As minutes fly by, the glow too fades,
Its life seeps through the cracks as death evades
Then back in to the darkness, it lies still,
Bounded by death, till something strikes your will.
Worked up by these cycles of life and death
the day's not too far it will run out of breath.
then silent forever, it wont answer no call
there's no more life, no bandwith at all.

The door

He looked without blinking at the locked door. It was a heavy metallic door made of steel plates which he imagined would weigh over a hundred tonnes. It was unlikely that anyone could ever break into it. There was no visible lock on the door and neither did it have any handles. It didnt seem like a designer's work for there were no decorations on the door. The creator of the door had not even bothered to give it some color, and it stood there pale and cold. There was a clock next to the door which was supposed to show the time it would open, but the display wasnt functioning. It seemed a neglected sight. Nevertheless, the door served its purpose of guarding the passage. It was widely believed that the passage led to a beautiful place with green meadows, warm sunlight, a light blue sky and purple, snow-capped mountains. The people on the other side were heard of as being a merry and friendly folk. There was a time when it would open, but he did not know when. There was no time mentioned anywhere, nor did he know the person who opened it. With his heart racing, he waited for it to open.

The world around him seemed to be falling apart. The earth under his feet had begun to crack. There was a huge storm coming towards him, and he did not know where to run. His heartbeat had quicked to such an extent that he feared thathis heart would burst. Getting through the door seemed to be his only option. He tried all tricks he knew to open it, but none seemed to work. Everyone he spoke to, told him that the door would not open. He did know a few who had managed to get through it, but he had been out of touch with them for a long time. There was smoke all around and he was finding it hard to breathe. The night had become chilly and he was scared. He thought that he heard sounds of wild animals out on the hunt. He prayed for the door to open and allow him to escape.

Somewhere he had heard that the door would open to those brave at heart, but he could not gather enough courage. His senses were numbed, and his memory had faded.

His clothes were old and in tatters, and his hair disheveled. His pockets were torn, and whatever he had in them was no more with him. All he carried was a piece of mirror in his left hand which had cut him severely. He could not remember his name or where he came from. All he remembered was a wise old bearded man with silver hair who he used to have conversations with. He did not remember the wise man ever mentioning to him about this place or the door. He tried to recollect how he happened to come about this place, but in vain. He only had a vague memory of asking directions on the way to a feminine form. He wasnt sure now whether she was some witch sent by the devil, or he had understood incorrectly.

He did not feel bad about it though, since he had lost his ability of feeling any emotion. All that he felt was fear, as a result of which, the door would not open. He was aware of the coming storm and the smoke was smothering him. He wished that the door would open and allow him through to the other side. But it was not to be so. With longing in his eyes, he looked without blinking at the locked door.

Interpreting dreams

a step down, a step back
clean the shades, empty the sack
trash the trunk, clear the slate
black was the past, the future is great.

shift the thoughts, change the words
worship the studs, respect the nerds
work the day, slog the night
shut the mouth, listen it right

say you're dumb, and let them laugh
or speak wisdom, and take the staff
praise the jack, shun the glam
maintain low, but dont give a damn

get the guns, build the strength
run the distance, cover the length
remember the scars, there's lot to avenge
forget it  not, take revenge.

you

the deepest emotions are never spoken
the toughest things are most easily broken.

its easier to answer the call of mortal duty
than survive the waves of your immortal beauty.

its easier to imagine death by chance
than suffer the burn from your unknowing glance.

i wish i could forget and get on my way
your memories are embossed forever to stay.

your talk is sweet, but i know its fake
de rigeur for you, but my life's at stake.

you play it like a game, to amuse yourself
i've seen it before, i've burnt myself.

and yet again i find myself consoling my mind
pushing myself through the same old grind.

speed

As the warmth steadily grows
in the frozen body
And the blood slowly starts to flow.

As the first muscle twitches
regaining consciousness
And the eyes slowly open.

As i escape death, the Killer
while she was high
And the life slowly returns.

As i keep aside my Guitar
with her broken strings
And her sad tune slowly gives way.

As the heart beat quickens
the legs run faster
And strong wind lashes across the face.

As the blood gushes through the veins
accelerating with time
And the thoughts run faster still...

Velocity. the heartbeat.

Transient

Its been a long time since I wrote anything in prose (well, most of the recent posts were attempts at poetry), so here are a few lines of my thoughts.

What prompted me to write this was a nonfunctional shower, which either burned me or froze me, and I would wait endlessly for water of some comfortable temperature.

Looking slightly deeper, I realized that often in life, we wait for things to settle down before we begin serious work. After moving to a new place, we often hear people asking us if we have settled down, and whether routine has been set. Thinking about it, I often see myself giving excuses in the first month after a significant change "I am still settling down, getting used to things".

We are really uncomfortable with transients, not only in heat transfer equations (for which we generally use steady state approximations) but also in real life: physical and mental. Jet lag would be another example (slightly inevitable though) of a transient.

Applying the heat transfer analogy (HT happens to be my favourite subjects at present), if the time frame under consideration is smaller than the characteristic time scale, the steady state approximation holds. So similarly in life, we must build speed. Both of thought and action.

I would attribute success to mastering the art of surviving in transients. Not waiting for things to settle down. As the speed of change has gone up in the recent years, waiting for things to "settle down" looks like a folly. We ought to find some quasi-steady state in between transients. (If that line makes sense).

So I'm presently looking at the best ways of building speed of thoughts in life.

Pastmaster

As the sun climbs down
beyond the quiet town
and a mild breeze
whispers with ease
and as the night grows older
the wind blows colder
and a dark gloom prevails
as the mind derails,
And time moves faster
hailing the pastmaster
while thoughts stay still,
motionless till
melancholy grows
and a figurine shows
a hazy form
with the same old charm,
dissolves in the air;
And with despair
as you stare into space
the heart picks pace
and silence surrounds
as death does rounds;
And sands still steady
the body is ready
to flow with the waves
as the mind still craves
for a moment more;
they wash ashore.

Panic grips the heart,

Mind is full of fear,

The writing's on the wall that the end is near,

The writing's on the wall that the end is near.

More limericks

There was a miser from indore,

Who cribbed that his life was bore;

He lived in with his cooks,

And swore by his books,

And reminisced his glorious days of yore.

From hyderabad a dude was he,

As American an Indian could be;

He hated dal-rice,

And ate burger with fries,

And hopped off to San Fran with glee.

There was a fine lady from Mang,

Who nodded her head as she sang,

She ate pizza with cheese,

And shopped with great ease,

And hung out with her cousins in Bang.

From Kalyan a mallu was he,

As pervert as pervert could be;

He boozed with his folks,

And cracked gay jokes,

And never went home before three.

verbs in the first person singular

(composed a few weeks ago)

i write, I read . . .

i sing, I listen . . .

i dance, I watch . . .

i joke, I laugh . . .

i cook, I eat . . .

i earn, I spend . . .

i achieve, I praise . . .

i cry, I console . . .

i die, I condole.

where are "you"?

Broken strings

As i silently cry
till my eyes go dry,

As i feel my energy drain
and my heart fill with pain,

As i count a million sheep
and yet not fall asleep,

As my veins bleed
and final lines i read,

And as my end nears
Your laughter deafens my ears.

yet untread

you have your path, n i have mine . . .

the time now comes, to draw the line . . .

we'll part our ways, n we'll both be fine . . .

and when our paths cross next, we'll meet n dine . . .

the Killer and the Guitarist

She stabbed my heart cold,

She robbed me of my breath,

but my Killer's so beautiful...

i died a painless death.

She strummed the strings of my heart,

and hummed the song of love,

and as to Her tunes i swayed...

realization dawned... i was dead.

...

Slow Poison

The senses are numbed

The feeling isnt good,

No thirst for water,

And no hunger for food.

Sight loses color,

Nothing's music to the ears,

There's no reason to live,

And I am counting my years.

A Story

"Monsieur Jacques...umm...Sargon Corporation?"
"Ya, that's the one"
" Sorry to keep you waiting Monsieur Jacques...you may go to studio 5. Over there."
"thank you"

He started walking in the direction she had pointed. It was a large hall with make shift partitions that were being used as photography studios. In each of them, there were various backdrops, large lights, reflecting screens and cameras. The photographers, young men and women in their twenties, were busy taking their shots and shouting out instructions to the models. Other assistants were running around carrying papers to and from the studios. IN the far corner was a cabin with wooden paneling and tinted glass. It looked quite different from the surrounding. On the door was engraved a name: Nikolas Johann. It sounded surprisingly familiar. He was sure that he had heard the name somewhere.

He looked up: Studio no. 5. There. He entered inside. The photographer in this studio was a young lady, slim, fair, with long flowing jet-black hair, beautiful eyes, and a smile that could hypnotize anyone who looked at it. She appeared to be in her early twenties, about the same age as his. She was casually dressed, with light beige cotton trousers and a knee length maroon top. It was not designer wear, but it looked great on her. He was stunned and stood there motionless looking at her. His thoughts raced faster than time. Was this the girl he had been waiting for all his life?

She seemed to be saying something to him but he could hear nothing. He felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Monsieur Jacques...are you ok?" She was carrying a notepad in her hand.
"Oh...oh yes..I....I was just lost in my thoughts"
"You seem to be anxious. Dont worry. You look new to this place...."

There was a magic in her voice. It had the air of friendliness that was rare to be found these days. And she was speaking with a stranger with such ease as if they had known each other for years. She pointed to the desk in front of the camera. He went and sat down. She handed him a mirror. He did not take it and instead looked up and asked her.

"Do I look ok Miss...."
"Ms. Jacqueline...and you look good..except for a missing smile."

He was dying to hear her voice. He repeated her lines in his mind and made an effort to smile.

-Click-

The photo was taken. And in a moment he would be out of that place. But he did not want to go. He only a wanted a few more minutes to talk to her.

"Excuse me, are you one of the partners who own the studio?" There was a look of surprise on her face. And a mild laughter. It looked even more beautiful.

"No....what makes you think so?"
"Errrr...nothing"
"I have just joined here. This place has a lot of traffic and gives good experience. I hope to start my own studio some day. By the way, Director Johann has asked you to meet him in his room, the one in the corner. Good day, Monsieur Jacques"

Those few moments seemed like eternity. He continued to look at her. Then with a smile, he turned and walked away.

She had taken his photo on a film. But her picture had been etched in his memory for ever.

-----

Adapted from "Peoples and Characters" - a collection of true stories by Vladimir "Ally" Kavolski.

Two stories

Stories about the truth of life. Thanks a lot to Prof. Dan for sharing these with us.

This is a story similar to the one that we have often read (atleast in India) in the kids story books.

Two friends had gone wandering in the forest. Suddenly they heard sounds of a bear approaching. It was clear that their lives were in danger. Now they knew from old wisdom that bears do not attack dead people, so they decided to lie silently on the ground.

As the bear approached nearer, one of the friends got up and was ready to run. The second friend asked him what made him change his decision. He replied, "I just realized that to save my life, I do not need to outrun the bear, I just need to outrun you." And he ran.

This is competition. And life.

There is another story told to us by elders (or we read it in children's books).

There was a king who had lost a battle and had fled to a cave in the nearby mountains. There he saw a spider who was trying to build a web on the wall of the cave. The spider tried a hundred times to climb up, but failed. Yet, he did not give up. Finally, he succeeded.

We are often told this story to try and try and try and not give up. This is not quite the right thing to do in life. Its utter bullshit. If you are doing something that you couldnt succeed at after a few attempts, dont do it. There are definitely people who have managed to do that thing right in the first attempt, and they will be better at it than you. Always. It is highly unlikely that you will ever be the numero uno in that. And if you are not the best, dont be there. Try doing something else that you are better suited for.

(** words between the lines for i-bank analysts: Not everyone is meant to be a banker. If you dont get good ratings as analysts, you are not meant to be a bankers. Dont stay in the job trying for years and years. Quit.)

In the age of competition, you have to be the best. Being better isnt enough.

Some Limericking

After a really long time, I tried to do something creative to put up on my blog.... and being the last few days with junta here, I obviously wrote about them :)

% comments are welcome

There was an enthusuast from Vapi,
Who firmly believed that CS was crappy.
He gave up in life without fear,
And said "Pack pepsi, drink beer",
The give-up young man from Vapi.


There was an elec geek from trichy,
Who proclaimed that hot water made him itchy,
He said his body was hot,
And felt funny after smoking pot,
The crazy elec geek from trichy.


There was a hairy youth from hyd,
Who spoke more truth than he lied,
He ate very less,
But in Andhra mess,
And took all his creditors for a ride.


There was a fair guy from Timbuktoo,
Who googled to add two and two,
He cashed at UniLever,
Drank scotch by the river,
And smoked everyday in the loo.


There was a hulk in mech,
Who turned everything into wreck,
He broke the furniture,
And fought with his teacher,
And forced all his bros to a trek.

From Rohtak there was a fair dude,
Who sometimes was really rude,
He beat loud his drums,
And drank with his chums,
But with a girl did he put some pseud.

From Jaipur a casanova was he,
A true consultant as one could be,
He ran for co-cas,
And really kicked ass,
But ended up writing GMAT and Gre.


There was a lazy boy of boobneswar,
Who lay on the couch and cried "Sir,
Prithee wipe my face,
And tie my shoe lace",
The lazy old boy of boobneswar.

A line in the morning

Yesterday, I fell asleep while the song "give me some sunshine" was playing on my comp. I dunno from where, but the first line that came to me in the morning was:

"Give me another life, and I'll love you once again"

And i have been singing it all day long.
I dont remember my dream :(

Chaos Theory

Totally random phrases. Do not try to make any sense out of it.

A decade maybe. Happenings. It will not move. It is sharp. It will keep you awake. US and UK in world war 2. Not fully conscious. Male bonding gone too far. Not destructible. Beyond inverse tangent. The science and art of. The year of the infant is over. Ganguli retired. At the very centre. Taking things too far, or maybe not.

Multilingual oil driller. Not quite swedish. A single horned mammal, or double?. His namesake was slapped. Cane, or Kane? Special. Pseud Distros. Krishna and the second big letter. A great pair. America's military headquarters. Hanging from an exterior point.

Children hit fruits. Warriors hit buildings. He explains. I can. :D for perverts. Just like relativity was explained. Sea function. Not sure if in or out. Wierd documents. Xerox machines are now outdated forms of copying. No offence meant. Apologies if offended.

Two institutions. Set theory. Total scrap. Numbered accounts, not quite. The great escape. Only one beginning. Too many spices, apparently. Numbers and algorithms. Spanners and simulations. A non living dead body. Female poultry. Male politics. More bar. It inspired a good looking bone. Narcotics in sport. Not the mint with the hole. Three beginnings altogether. Incorect gramer.

Two long strings. Some fight. Some net. Hate of kings and presidents. Belief and not so smooth consensus. Need not complete it. Not many lit-soc notices. Anagram and in feb-march. All's well that begins and ends. Not the same? Anyways, I couldnt care lesser any more.

Curiosity killed the cat. Or it spoiled a quiz.

Currently on my mind

1. Philosophy of scoring systems in competitions
2. MATLAB code to solve an equation
3. Wiki page on OCD
4. Who should stand for secretary
5. I need to put a treat, but is it worth spending the cash?
6. Pending reimbursements and a large bundle of cash in my bag
7. Having a bath with hot water.
8. Scoring full marks in Quiz 1.
9. Confronting my BTP professor.
10. Why was my hand at rummy so bad today?
11. Stomach ache (thats not on my mind..i am experiencing it right now)
12. Why cant I die in some bomb blast
13. Do I have the guts to commit suicide? Is it the most logical thing to do?
14. Will going to Tirupathi improve life for me?
15. I should ditch my job and apply for PhD at IISc.
16. Why the hell am I doing all this on Valentine's day instead of going out for a good dinner?
17. Who the hell will I go out with? will i, ever?