At the officeroom...

The office was such a lame place. I neared its entrance. There was the receptionist, barely visible, flanked by schools of ever-patient students, each clinching a paper that smelt of kerosene. I recognized the aroma of man’s most useful aromatic hydrocarbon.
I couldn’t help noticing large banners that announced of the top ranks someone had achieved, of hard work and sheer dedication in mugging up a couple of mercilessly un-rememberable formulae ,sitting round the clock in a prison. I pitied them. Then I pitied myself. However, there was no time for such trivial things as pity. I moved on. I held on to the aluminium lining that adorned the place. I waited.

Amidst the chaos, I stood. I stood like an innocent Jew in one of Hitler’s concentration camps. I waited for the poisonous gases to be released. Alas! My college couldn’t afford any poisonous gas. I realized that it could afford someone else. I was sent into another aluminium enclosure. I saw two grim looking specimens sitting like a simulacrum of a guard who guarded the Buckingham palace. Not an ounce of happiness was to be seen in their faces. Each of them minded their own business, lost in their own solitary work.

They were moving about the place on the cushioned blue chairs, never caring to look at what the other was doing. One of them was scrutinizing a large sheet of paper with such an enthusiasm, that it looked like he was sure of snatching the Nobel Prize for it. I peeped in. There were a couple of people, waiting for their trial. I went inside. He broke his penance. He looked up. He strangely enquired as to why we were there (I didn’t know why I was there) .And some people answered. That was the last thing I cared to listen.
Then began a series of seemingly perpetual lectures, pity, there wasn’t a scribe to jot ’em down, he could live in as much comfort as an oil-rich Arab for a forty days. He was philosophizing us; I looked at how beautiful the office was.

A series of popular cell-phone ring tones added to the melancholy strain, a mélange of them, cacophonically ringing until their owners caressed it with utmost precision. Then they spoke. They spoke on till the other person could afford, It was ridiculous and I changed the sight.
My class –in-charge was summoned. He shot a meek look at some person there and obeyed him like a four and a half year old child. I looked on. He was ordered to call up our homes and reveal our marks (I don’t what marks, they happened to be) , and advice our parents to shout at us when we had reached home.
I stood there like a silly goose…and thus, composed this freaking embellishment for my blog. So, the next time you are summoned up to meet some workless person, try not listening to them…ha!

THE SCARY DREAM

I take a local train daily,
To and fro, I go, reading Arthur Hailey.
However, my journey’s seldom good,
I keep dreaming things I never should.

Whenever I near that station,
I get nervous, A cry of accusation
I feel I’m entering a desert,
A lifeless place, I assert.
A black curtain draws itself in
Before me, my heart stops within.

The woman mumbles about the next station,
I wake up at this occasion.
The curtain melts, revealing an omen:
I watch, as tens of Burkha-clad women
Enter the dilapidated compartment.
I visualize Satan signing the parchment.

The train still waits; the place is so green,
With the moon and stars around, yet is ne’er clean.
The cry of the chicken haunts me all night,
Till dusk I think about it, until I get a fright,
I rise, I brush my teeth and I go to sleep again,
The same dream haunts me, till I go insane!!!

Insects

I gave my cerebral cogs and wheels,
A break to see how it feels
like , to kill a mosquito , (so stupid).
But , there was a transformation so rapid.
I trapped it , I plucked its wings,
Never bothering about the bad luck it brings.
The mosquito twitched,
And I switched
Back the mosquito its meals.

Then came along , a Bee, with a mere
Wish to get into my right ear
My earlobe shook with fury ,
as the Bee buzzed with glory.
It’s Panache gave me an explanation
That the fly in possession ,
would attract it’s whole band .
And thus , I moved my hand .
And the fly sank back in fear.

A long , green dragonfly,
then came passing by..
Although I’d no intension to disturb it ,
On my square chest , it did hit.
It didn’t bother me much :
There was no pain as such.
I was busy doing math ,
The fly was least inviting my wrath .
What’s e + i ? pi ?

Then came an ant , all alone ,
As if I’d smeared myself with pheromone.
It bit my finger and continued it’s journey ,
I didn’t feel anything : ain’t this irony ?
Alas! My reaction time was doubled
And anger , through me bubbled.
It had gone under my pant,
when I pressed the poor ant .
It died , and I continued relishing my Ice-cream cone.

Treble-Trouble

I was surfing through the television one day, attempting to listen to some good, enlivening music, the presence of which eases the hecticity in my fierce schedule. I was continually rummaging the remote control, toggling the channel button to and fro. It seemed to be gossip, food and fashion everywhere. Suddenly, I stumbled upon a treasure. One channel was magnanimously streaming really good songs.

It was just the last fifty minutes of the song I heard to. I was engrossed in it. It seemed as though I had just detangled myself from Einstein’s space-time. I listened and listened and listened. The song was a brilliant brew of carefully selected notes, blending to form marijuana for my brain. I hummed the song whole day, all night. It looked as though I was married to the last fifty minutes of the song. I kept humming the song, soon playing it on my guitar. The visceral tonic seemed to keep things, temporarily out of my head; the seraphic tones of the song, clashing with my brain like a pick and a fret. I waited.
I badly needed to listen to the whole song, but I seemed to have lost the song’s name.
I used my jigsaw skills to figure out a part of the song’s name and soon built it. I soon reconstructed the full title, from the very less resources I had.

My exams were approaching: it was my board exams. I seemed to take the thing very lightly, casually humming the song, while studying, even while eating!
I got up on the day of my math exam, four at dawn, quickly rushing to the computer, hoping to download the song. My hormones rushed up as I plugged in the internet connection. Then, everything was spic.
I googled the term Treble+ramaganana=download.I searched desperately for a result.
I looked in vain any concerning results to appear. My eyes glowed with sheer turpitude, as some descent results began to appear. Looked onto the screen, ready to feast upon a mammoth prey, I had predated.

There it was, before my ears, the dream song I’d waited to listen to. The intricate samba beats coupled with feminine ferocity; the freaking dialect invented by the juvenile triarchy. I listened to the band of Netherlanders rock to the core. I listened to my heart’s fill, reluctant to miss even a nanosecond of the song. Finally, it was time to put the cigar back in its case.
The exam? Yes, I’d never ruined any exam like I’d ruined that one!

MUSIK AND PHYSICS

I eat music, I drink music. In short, I live music .I listen to some lively music while studying. However, as my chemistry teacher says, Life’s not that easy. I have a musically trained ear, which is vulnerable to the minutest change in frequency.
My study place is evidently equipped with more techy junk than books .One among them, is a table fan, a 100 watt one. Its rotation produces a buzz, quite pleasant to hear. But, there’s a fix. The motion is confined to a certain pitch, somewhere between C# and D.
Because of my cursed ear, it is difficult for me to analyze the right frequency of the song-
There are a number of technicalities. The Music, in fact, sounds more of a cacophony. This Hotchpotch of atonal sounds makes me breathe fire out of my ears (the earwax melts, giving out an odd concoction of burnt hair and a chocolate-like liquid).

Accidents do happen: Eventually, I discovered one song- ‘Let it out’ (by Hoobastank), whose pitch matches that of the table fan. However, on scrutiny, I soon discovered that the pitches differed by a seemingly differential amount. In fact, the two sound waves, superposed each other, forming beats, a phenomenon that occurs when there are two sound waves of slightly different frequencies.This increased the song’s bass, increasing its sound significantly.
This may be one reason that prevents me from hearing the mosquitone perfectly, of course, I can hear the normal and the super mosquitone, but I get a nauseatic sensation, when I listen to it. My math lecturer, a highly techy individual , claims that his dog runs to this ‘laboratory’ , when he puts on the mosquitone ,to check if he can hear it ...of course , that is another face of the coin .

However, this was good only until the power supply was good enough. When there was a low voltage, the fan’s pitch decreased. According to ohm’s law, potential difference across a circuit is proportional to the current flowing through it, and correspondingly, by Fleming and Faraday’s theories, the fan’s angular velocity and hence, its pitch, decreased.
My joy seemed to be short lived, but I’m still looking for an efficacious cure for this pitch trouble. I can’t use a sound forge or a wave lab to set things right: I may well be an amateur musician, but when pitch comes to play, the ball is far from my court.
At one point of time, I thought listening to music was infectious to my studies.
So , I gave up thinking!!!

Trintro

Hi! I'm Harsha ,
A neophyte at this strange site ,with my idiosyncratic blogs..
I dunno why : everything I write seems humourous......it's too ridikulus!!well , try reading the following entry.......