The Happy Wanderer

Tart is the bubble that encloses a heart, One that when busted will surely smart, It's been made this way to stay this way, "Stubbornness is a shroud to good sport." When it gives, you will find,  You will have striven so hard, With your goal in mind, But with a zeal in your heart, Compelled to believe in yourself, For fear of losing sight of the finish, So willingly, that your faith, In yourself, will be rid of any mar.  Good things come to those who wait, Good things come to those who try, To those who try, good things always come, If anything were as easy as ABC, Well, you could as well have been a 'Know-It-All'! Push the obstinacy that holds you back, Push your barriers to a favorable track, Check yourself when you give in, Don't be afraid of a bubble that believes in "Stubbornness is a shroud to good sport."

"To be, or not to be..." "That is the main question..." Doing a wrong for popularity, Is that now the most popular suggestion? Six mighty men, musing over their weapons, Chose, with a lofty arrogance, the scathing word, "Oh," said the first, "It will only need slight polish, And a most seamless throw- with an impact lourd. " And", continued the second, "It is most benign, It will pierce, but with not a drop of blood, How sly and pompous, how clever, How mightier is the pen than the sword!" "So", smiled the third, "Its cast-iron case, Will camouflage its lethal powers, And then , when preparation and opportunity meet, It will make the bravest, cower. And the other three, well, opted for the old 'All for one, one for all' policy.  With blind faith in their partners' design, They knew not to what they had just resigned.  The next task for this team, was choosing a victim, Somebody ...

'Landoff' is a peculiar name- a most clever oxymoron. Instead of deriving from Latin or Old English, the 21st century's ventures are now in technical directions. There has been a major shift across centuries, which, ironically, condescends to a serene regularity millennium by millennium.  The 11th century 'patrolled' awareness, especially in Rome and Greece- classifying mythology and astrology as rigmarole as fare as the Senate was concerned.  Here in the 21st  century, Google might stress on your reading an autobiography when you wanted to buy a Shakespeare on Amazon (Shakespeare, according to internet polls, is not obsolete, but quite the opposite!) - the way we're advancing, magic and fiction, pitifully, might be warped in their purple majesty by a machine that can think on its own.  No more beating about the bush for us. Scientists are driving their conjectures into the modern world, by giving them dynamic names. The 'quaint and "quippy...

"Can you whistle, my dear?" "Of course. " "Would you like to perform with us?" "Sure." "Ah." (thin smile)" We need a whistler." (masked content) "I'm sorry. I'm going to South America. " "Ah." "And I don't indulge in illegal activities anyway, so it might be out of the question." "You agreed before, didn't you? I'm quite surprised." (in an expectant tone) "That is you being polite, isn't it. Well, you have got your facts right.  When a man has a job, he can't afford to lose it." "This is temporary. No worries." (smiling, trifle impatiently) "Oh, you're in the game, it seems. " "Nowhere close. I'm a simple man." "I see. I'm sorry, new as I am, my watch is not favoring me today. Good day." "That's disappointing. The corporate sector disheartens folk like me. The traditions are ...

It's wonderful to like something eccentric, It isn't eccentric to like something 'wonderful', So the norm among us is to choose the absurd, And the exception now is what once was the norm, So I'd like to put forth my view, I don't like cherries in apple sauce, As much as I like caramel popcorn, I like the good more than the bad, I like animals more than villains (in books), I love being proper (not as prim, because I am messy) I like fun, not sauce, I like simplicity, not cunning, nor lavishness, And I'm the one who's weird now, So, luckily for me, I'm proud of being different.    Unlike what was the case decades ago, And history tells me , that recurrence is a common phenomenon, So if you find yourself like me, remember, You will make history, By kindling a new trend, Once Upon A Time, the strange, gave rise to an era of 'strangers', Who have conquered the world now, So you will, too. Because of your uniqueness. Bad ...

There's a nightingale singing her flat baritone, Pirouetting, then, with her voice, to a shrill, quick-paced tune, Perched on an oak, the nightingale supervises The acorns' ripening, quite solemnly- as solemn as the oak. The harps from the abode of the Bard 'crease-fold-open'', Everything around the 'twittering' nightingale, Fades away , then blooms, ablaze, In tandem with the nightingale As she 'orchestrates', 'Castafiorates' and lowers her chords. The leopard's spots are the chapeau to his smooth and silky camouflages, They so beguilingly make him a common, formidable beast, Where the lion appears straightforward, he is pretty much that, While the leopard's spots are show and red-herring. The timeless tales of the vertebrate-bear, Can never out-do our auditory zeal, We listen to folklore, ode, and songs, and medleys, Rested under the fluttery shade of a banyan tree,. The eaves are green, but we shouldn't mi...

Last year, on the day of Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump's Presidential elections, our class was quite frantic. Most of my classmates either have a U.S. citizenship or plans to go abroad to the U.S. to study, at post-grad, graduation, or under-grad level , itself! So it made perfect sense that Trump's victory concerned them.  Maybe we  want to go abroad to pursue our dreams, and it's all fine if we're set upon Oxford, or fashion designing in Paris, or Sports Management in a laid-back, rugged place like Australia, or business in Canada, or research in, say, Antarctica(!), etc. However, if we Indians are looking at the overseas for its glamour-adding quotient, we might be mistaken. Life abroad may be harder than we believe it is.  Here let me stress that there is no reason for us to be ashamed of being Indian. There are reasons, however, for us to assuage any patriotic-sensation. 1. There are over a 1000 languages that we can learn without feeling that they don't...

a. A story that starts saying, 'I traveled back to Dickens's time, and guess what..' b. 'When I met Noddy and he said he had read about me.' Try expressing your thoughts and framing a story around this line. c. 'Let me introduce myself. I work in a publishing house. ' Continue from this line, on life in a publishing -house. Try including a curious experience that working here has familiarized you with!  (Ideas: when a popular author is about to publish the sequel in her bestselling series and you find a major flaw in it; When a story reached you with half of the script misplaced/not sent/lost- and you found it made a perfect story without a huge chunk of it. You hurriedly published this. Consequences??) d. A poem on 'My summer home' e. The funniest character I have met in a storybook, and how I would react if I were to meet him /her/it in real life.  f. A movie I watched that I thought had another side to it, a side t...

The film 'Inside Out' is indeed fascinating. While turning it over in my head, I just realized the significance of a detail that had never stood out  much, but a significant one, nevertheless.  Joy, Sadness, Disgust, Fear, Anger are distinct 'personalities' in a child's mind- throwing their weight about, strutting their authority, and well, almost always disagreeable. Frisky and frolicking Joy and moaning and gloomy Sadness, do not share a single trait, except that both care for the well-being of the girl they belong to. The less dominant figures- Anger, Fear and Disgust- are willing to comply with Joy's policies, but at the cost of a simmering helplessness that they cannot contain! And so, it becomes a Jekyll and Hyde situation.    However, when we are given the opportunity to peep into Mother and Father, even though it might be for a few split seconds, we meet a team that's settled on a couple of things. Life may not prove to be exciting, but it sure i...

A for Apple. B for Ball. C for Crater. D for Din. E for Egg. F for Food. G for Goose. H for Heat I for Icing ....(etc) This was a menu presented to a customer.  He was asked to choose the letters that corresponded to his meal. He said, "Hi. Go. Food. Need. Eat." Choose the best option from the choices given in the limited list above and tell us which letter could sum up his meal.  Also tell us what your personal preference would be.

"I'm glad that the British came." spoke a voice on the phone. "Aren't you glad they left, too?" I asked. "They came from Baghdad. " he sighed.

We've grown up this way And that Learning and unlearning And winding and unnwinding We've found our ways through every path That buckled and cobbled, Because even when we are babies, We know exactly what we want. Whether we want to cry Or we want to laugh. Of course there is more thought than science In this world. It's beautiful how we shape up More than our anatomy, the fact that we've picked up So much Is elegant. Have you realized The difference between an item on your bucket list And the same item on your 'Been there, done that.' It's called the magnificent slope Of learning That has instilled in you So many virtues, so much more awareness, A newer perspective, A fuel for your imagination And that is what is taking you forward Each day. You never realize it, but your mind It's a magical thing! It's ingenious. So know that And believe it And believe that when you want to give up That's your thoughts taking th...

Ginger tea It is good for health. If you are adding lemon also It is gooder. Add cinammon Which neighbourhood Mamis Like But personally I don't recommend. Add sugar And your Mister Will start suffering From diabetes. And don't have for lunch. Have for breakfast. It calms your mind and body When the mad people next door Are driving you crazy By making better tea.

"A hundred miles, a hundred miles, you can hear the whistle blow..." Who knows what lies awaiting a hundred miles away? It's hard to judge, even in spite of having  a map to tell you what, geographically, you can expect to see there. That's because facts are born liars. In a small town near Chennai, there lived a young boy. The town was at a proximity of less than a hundred miles to the city. The boy called himself Maitranna. He was the newspaper boy of his own town. He cycled to a half-day government school, quite far away, and adventuring further away from home, he would inspect peripheral Chennai. He would usually shy away from city-folk there, but he was always tempted to read the city newspapers at the newspaper-shop.   Days passed. Maitranna was running through the daily regime of a conversation with Jayant, the 'man at the counter', at the newspaper shop, on a sultry morning. They seemed to have struck a pleasant rapport with each other. It was p...

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Catering Services for Senior-Citizens and as Aid to Caregivers Our grandmas and grandpas are growing old. As time is withering away, so is their health. However, they say that the life of a human being is symmetrical.  It starts with baby steps of discoveries, and it ends with a different share of discoveries. In their late sixties, seventies and eighties, senior-citizens are busy reliving life and rediscovering lost passions. It's as beautiful an age as childhood. But is it as seamless as childhood?   Of course, it isn't. Senior-citizens have to overcome a lot of health issues such as diabeties or cholestrol and may find it difficult to hear and see with age. They may need hearing-aids, teeth-implants and other such commodities. The new generation brings trends that are difficult for them to buy and they struggle to keep up with the times.     But will the times struggle to keep up with them? Certainly not. With the 'QuickBite' Catering Service for Senior ...

Great. Wow. Great. The machine had collapsed. Of course, if Nimni really wanted to exhaust it so, that is  how it would respond. Ah. Five years of effort. Aditya had worked endlessly for results. "Gautam, get us the toothpicks for the Harmonizer", Adi sighed. "See how pretty Landoff looks when we're done with her? You couldn't have anything more go haywire. Not that you would want it to but.." Adi could not speak further, he had run out of words. "It wasn't a pleasant ending, at any rate," he concluded after a few moments, casting an exhausted glare at  Nimni. "Hah, that's you signing off, at any rate, isn't it?" Nimni gnarled. "That's probably the end. We won't have another A.I. for ..how long? From my side it's ten years." Aditya responded. "Well, she wasn't remarkable", said Indira matter-of-factly. "We worked on her Natural Language Processing for months, and well, sh...

One interesting question that propped up in my mind when I was studying Chemistry was the reason why we exchange valencies (and remove the negative/positive symbols) when we are asked to write the formula of a radical or compound. The book told me that the numbers in the final compound (eg. 2 in CaCl2 or Calcium Chloride)  stand for the number of atoms of that element. So, CaCl2 has 1 atom of Ca and 2 atoms of Cl. What has the number of atoms in the compound got to do with the valency of the other  element? Well, if you are a chemistry student (in middle school) that has a simple answer. Valency is defined as the number of electrons that can be donated or accepted by an atom to attain the stable electronic configuration of the nearest noble gas. In other words, valency is the number of electrons  that an element is willing to take or has the space to take.  When you have a valency of 1, and the other atom in the compound, needs 2 electrons, how do you gi...

Book Title: The Village By the Sea Author: Anita Desai Length: 260 pages Genre: Children's Fiction    Scoop in a Nutshell A village by the sea. What does that remind you of? Hawkers? Flea markets? Fishing? Bring in all of that and more. Into the vibrant village of Thul, nestling by the Arabian Sea. Breathing color and life and fish, Thul is a fishing-hub, complete with its share of routine bustle, markets, fresh palms, and the nautical breeze.   And life goes on. But does it, really? When an industrial building is thrust into such a pristine frame, can life ever seem the same? The answer, of course, is no, but unlike what you might have believed, it is the people- the villagers-that seem outlandish, and not the factory. City-folk have always had the knack of marking their territory, and so, as the old breathe the smoke of a transformed native land, and the young grapple between dreams of recruitment in the factory, and reality, life goes on. ...

Most of the stories that we read are centered around fictional  characters. But what kind?  Of course, there are our Toyland friends, there is Fatty and his crew, there is the Wimpy Kid, there are fairies and pixies, and there is every other character that would love to squeeze into  this space, but ha, if only it hadn't been a figment of  fiction!      It might be hard to step back and wonder for a bit: who are we missing out on? It so happens that a piece of the jigsaw that may not fit one way does jig in another way, so try thinking, 'Who is my favourite character in such-and-such book? What do I associate immediately with him or her?' Has it struck you now?   Fiction is just like real life-  it sports animal-love!  Every book has a pet! Sometimes the authors leave the pets with the villains to moderate their 'villainish' hues.  But do we love the animals from books as much as the characters love...

When challenges wear their prettiest cloak, And mind you, it is no joke, We must clamber them up, and stay put, There's nothing to the fire without the smoke. And challenges will soon wave goodbye, They'll be happy to see the door, Such tough contention to once have met, Is enough for them to cower. So fight your battles when they're mightiest, Because that's a test of your prowess. For challenges come, and they like to be met, Before they say goodbye.

There stands the little girl, Who wears a pretty frock, And watches the dolphins dance, Looks right over the docks. She loves the deep blue sky, And does not wonder that it is blue. Rather, she wonders that it isn't green!  There stands the little girl, Who dreams of castles, That she might build, Someday to come. The castle might be pink, Or blue, or brown, for all you know, But what does it matter, Even if it were sand or snow? There stands the little girl, Who watches carriages port The portly queens and kings around, And wonders, oh, what sport! For the carriage to undertake carriage Of such 'privileged luggage'  , How would it be rationing this bargain out?:)   There stands the little girl, And spies the barnyard, She watches the horse neigh And the pigs bathe, And well, she wonders, Do they know the should's and shouldn'ts? Aren't they better off for that? There stands the little girl, And tries to do the math, But t...

"Giddy up, Bournfield. Atta, boy! Giddy up!" Where barns are swiveling golden manes, And silver crests, and cantering ponies, Where life is in the meadow, The meadow in the midst of life, The radiant silver of Little Spikes, A brighter hue of familiar 'bites'. A stable is a quaint old tale, All wood and splinters, All dusty and dingy , All traits adding to its grandeur, Including the fine young mare that rests inside. Je me suis trompé, Who RESTS inside. For she breathes the 'dinge', And grunts the dust, The splinters chisel her tail. And feeds on carrots come morn, A dull-grey dressing per pail. I sometimes wonder, The dreams that would fill, Her heart through day and night. Whether in sleep,fleet or flight, A creamy still of the wintry till... The humble lady, from dream to dream, As these grow louder, and the fields hazier, Grapples with her giving limbs, With unfamiliar faces, every fifth week, With a routine that tries h...

Cobbled streets. Cement roads. Cross-bridges. Junctions. Signals. Breezes. Open spaces. Dreams. Thoughts. They're just words. But, Ah... If it were not for stories.. Have you ever thought, Of a lane? Of a way? That you've caught a glimpse of somewhere. Oh, not the same somewhere. Somewhere else. Where roses were pink. Think For a while. Think. Why do you positively 'know' that place? Why? After all, There was Just a barren dustrack. And its twin. Empty spaces. Think. Dig hard. And you might find That you saw A Santro Pass. In both Poona And say, Hyderabad? Think again. Maybe Since we are all human And there is more Alike one of us In another Than there is In anything else, Maybe More than one someone, Wished to ward off evil, By means of the 'traditional remedy'? Perhaps you saw a brother and his other, At two ends of the world? Or you might have seen A protruding rock Or a stray? Or a child Speak to h...

Poets Aren't Geniuses. No, my friend. No, pal. They aren't geniuses, my dear. Nowhere near. Who is a poet? Is he is a parson. Or a person? Is he a bard, With a beard? Is he a mouse, With words As his house? Is a Stratford Upon Devon-er, Is a Shakespeare, Someone who thinks Till he can Barely Hear himself Out? Is he the God, Without A Truce? Is he an Overwhelm Hemmed With Creative Juice? Is he a catacomb, Who Can't Locate his comb? Is he Number 4, Or Number 6, Or Number 7? Or, Is He simply a miracle With a tryst with Heaven? Is he A scholar Who Gets things right? Can He be A playwright? Or, Just think awhile, Can he be An Ordinary Someone, Who finds, That he can't write, At a certain point? O Poet. You are tougher than suet, But you have thoughts That Just Can't Do It. You Are Normal. You are Normal. You are Normal. You are a Poet.

I have a bias. Strong. It won’t hurt no one. You’d agree with me, If you were particularly fond, Not of strawberry or raspberry or blueberry pie, Nor of being earnest to the word as pi, Rather, Of an entity whose self-esteem, Has been suppressed to the extent That steam, Fountains out of its very cap. And it adds up to a lot more than That. Well, Let’s give the suspense a couple of seconds more, It won’t hurt, really No. Well, well, The celebrity is... Well, Number Four. The anti-climax, Is impossible to bear. Truth being, Four, Is lucky to me. Yes. But it adds up to a lot more than that. I know that everyone has a lucky number. But how am I to impress on you, That I have a certain association With Number 4, And how much it is to say, That said? Well, to cut a long story short, You’ve heard of partners. You have. Don’t lie. Stout partners, bearded, Lank ones with moustaches, Short and plump on...

Our tete-a-tetes with shades  of people never cease. Everyday, there is a new encounter, a new person, and...  a new character. Yes. All three. What gives a book the zest it needs to come alive? Not a distant spice, nor a metaphoric flavour.  Rather, something so concrete as to wish those remote pages to a place as dear and near our hearts as a toy that a certain William of an Enid Blyton adores, or a gritty young girl who wants to change the world...  A book unravels people. It paints a person out of a character. Yes. You cannot love a book for a character. That would be far too bland. You love it from a knowledge, from a feeling, from an experience or many. And that's what makes the book special- that's what makes the book yours.  Seeing that no reader can fathom reading blankly about mere characters, you can very well imagine the plight of woebegone writer!  Ahhh... (Puff)(Pant) It's harder than it appears!  Because...

Little pretzels siding sizzling toast, A pot of mustard at their melting core! Aromas and twinges foaming, frothing, But, my pocket's missing a farthing ! It's a splendid tea and a flamboyant dine, But is it worthwhile risking a dime ? Encore, Encore, Madame Castafiore, But the clock is ticking as I take in more!

My experiences in Grade 6... The school swarmed with bustle as thousands of fish dived into its waters. We were first grunting and purring, then we quietened down as tiny boats approached us, driven by competent fishermen with dexterous hands that picked us up and threatened us to put an end to the hullaballoo.   There were thirty seven of us- all in one boat. With Swaroop Ma’am as our head fisherman, an opportunity to know each other better and to become a part of each others’ lives presented itself to us. As we glided through the waters, an array of fishermen stepped on board, one at each port. They had different skills, different experiences and a horde of things to impart with us and preach to us about.  We learnt how to count the worms we caught, add them up, compare our finds; we explored what exactly was in the worms we devoured (x% carbohydrates, y% proteins and so on and so forth!!) , we were told of the different species of ourselves we would find aroun...

I woke up in a dark and dingy place It seemed to me like hell seems to you And because of immaturely developed senses Staying in was all I could do. It was a long journey from that day To the day that I started falling in love with that place I gobbled all that came my way Up to the time I saw your face. I didn’t want to leave, oh no! So I cried out loud when I was out And in this unwelcome place that I had entered I was pestered to hear people shout. Then I entered your arms, oh dear! And it was like a dream come true From the moment I had been inside your womb I had longed to see the person it belonged to. You have been with me all the way long Nine months before my birth You wiped my tears whenever I cried alone And laughed with me when I burst into mirth. You have made sure that you water me Till all my petals flourish You have made sure that you guide me So...