All the poetry I've read written by classmates over the past few days has made me reach 2 conclusions. 1. Not all classroom poets have their topics of pathetic verses limited to body parts of their girlfriends. 2. I am not a poet.
Yes, indeed, I did try my hand at those bally things, but all I ended up with was something Cacofonix would have gladly made a rock ballad out of and would have hung from the nearest tree in the process...again!
Asking me to write poetry is akin to asking the bones of Lady Di to rise up and do the tango. Would you ask the bones of Lady Di to rise up and do the tango? No, of course not. It's just too cruel(the bones would of course very much like to prance about in the said comical fashion, but they cannot). That, and the fact that if somebody catches you talking to bones, you might be sent over to the wrong side of the walls of 'Wycombe Mental Asylum' and be marked a bone-whisperer the rest of your life.
The March Hare had asked Alice to have some wine when there wasn't any. That was cruell! Asking me to be a practitioner of iambic tetrameter is an act no less criminal!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Crash! Boom! and other such sounds
Okay...let's begin by saying that I am in the horridest mood. A mood so positively stinking of horridness that any God-fearing individual will be able to smell it from a mile. I drove my father's brand new car into another car today, thus creating dents in 2 cars and 1 ego. Events that followed the 'Ayrton Senna' moment are best skipped over. It sufficeth to say that these are moments splitting at the seams with gory details.
Memories of my first trysts with friends' motorbikes come to mind. That first day when I had zoomed through the whole of Barrackpore without knowing where the brakes were. Finally, had come to a stop, the stop being accompanied by a very angry sound being produced by the irked engine. Asked a rickshaw-wallah how to 'turn the bloody thing off'. That other sunny afternoon when I had forgotten the gear thing and turned the headlights on instead of 'giving' 2nd gear.
Now let me tell you I rode a bike from Chennai to Pondicherry not even a month ago. And I didn't hit a thing...nor did I turn the headlights on. So there!
Wonder when I'll get a chance to snitch that car key again.
Memories of my first trysts with friends' motorbikes come to mind. That first day when I had zoomed through the whole of Barrackpore without knowing where the brakes were. Finally, had come to a stop, the stop being accompanied by a very angry sound being produced by the irked engine. Asked a rickshaw-wallah how to 'turn the bloody thing off'. That other sunny afternoon when I had forgotten the gear thing and turned the headlights on instead of 'giving' 2nd gear.
Now let me tell you I rode a bike from Chennai to Pondicherry not even a month ago. And I didn't hit a thing...nor did I turn the headlights on. So there!
Wonder when I'll get a chance to snitch that car key again.
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