{November 21, 2009}   My Days of Daze.

Here lies the carcass of my life picked clean by the vultures of experience.

Days of Trepidation.

Following my advent in this new kingdom I call home ithink that ilife has too much of i-nformation in it. So iday began with i feeling very [censored] off. (Too much of the iAge). Something did not seem right. Sometimes in life you get this sour taste in your mouth when you wake up..and you can almost feel the bitterness of the day’s medicines branding the mucous membranes of your delicate existence. That was how I felt on this particular day. Its one of those days when all you want to do is stay in bed and let the world Chaos around you. But there were lectures to attend and duties were calling very loudly and the service providers for Life very conveniently forgot to add answering machines for such situations.

Therefore I dragged myself out of bed and pulling my bedroom door open careened into the adjoining bathroom glad to have beaten my roomie to it. I shall tell you about my roomie very soon. For the time let it suffice to say that there was no, nay, negative love lost between us. So I go into the bathroom and realise its that Monday. The deeply darkly blue one. The one where the procrastinating weekend before you did not clean it out. Hence hurried cleaning episode of the bathroom ensued. Except the new bowl cleaner would not work. The darn thing was stuck. Bless its heart. It was again orchestrating the sweet symphony that was to sing my ballad of destruction. I showered quickly or planned to shower quickly. Like in a jiffy. except my definition of jiffy stretched a little-like by about an hour.

I came out of the shower 15 minutes late already and frantically looked around for my brush and my clothes. Again I had lazed around all weekend wallowing in self pity hence no laundry-no clean clothes. Have you ever worn stale clothes over freshly bathed and scented body? Its an experience to soothe the nerves and calm the mind. (if you haven’t got the sarcasm yet you’re zoned out or just simply do not have brains. Please desist from reading further .)

So I realised that today’s lecture was by this really old gentleman,on the merits of energy production in our bodies,mitochondria to be exact. Since most of the energy producing machines in my body seemed to be defective I had a personal grudge against this lecture. Also the fact that the professor tended to trail off,trip over wires every two minutes, fell over edges of the stage twice and turned off the projector by hitting the wrong button; probably had a lot to do with my apparent dislike. (By the bye he trailed off whenever I started writing a sentence…it was like a brownian ratchet voiceover.)

Therefore I decided to further my cause in this country by legalising my presence. In plain english I was going to get a number issued by the mighty horses of this kingdom. So I made my way to the international student’s office.

Mishap one: I left my apartment and halfway down realised I had forgotten to bring the garbage out. My apartment was going to stink to the skies when I got back. I walked out through the double doors straight into a sleet of icy needles of rain. No umbrella and all documents in non-waterproof bag. I was halfway to exercising my lachrymal glands rigorously.

Mishap two: Upon reaching the office drenched and feeling like my cats when they are forced to have a bath, I discover that I am one hour early. Spend the rest two hours listening to other similarly depressed and godforsaken graduates trying to figure out horse language.

Then I was called. The advisor gave me the letter I needed and then told me to lie low for awhile. I was already late in applying for this number that was going to save ma life,in fact it was going to be my life. Then she advised me not to go alone to the social blah blah office. It was far she said and lots of hispanics on the way. Don’t go alone, she admonished. I nodded gratefully and hoping my day had changed for the better left to go back to my lab.

Mishap three: Do not know what possessed me then. But my spirit guide must have felt disappointed. the day was not being malicious enough. Therefore it imbued me with a sense of wrong confidence. I decided to go to the social blah blah office by myself. Ha! I’m a big girl were my brave thoughts. So I set out to take a bus from the train station. I reached there,it was still raining. I waited for the bus. It took forever. I waited, and waited and waited and…….

I debated taking a taxi, thought about the zillions of terrible consequences all of which ended in me being dead, and rejected it.

Finally the bus arrived. I got on Smartly and asked the driver the fare. He was gracious and told me pertly. Next I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where or how to pay the fare. It was ifare again. The electronic ghosts just do not stop haunting me. The imachine was ready to take the ifare. Only i couldn’t count out the necessary ichange. So embarassed the driver helped i out. Red in the face from iexertion i sat down. The fear and trepidation in my heart as I traversed those lonely miles,alone in a strange kingdom filled with sea monsters and bogeymen , I cannot bring myself to write. It fairly caused my breakfast to regurgitate. Thank god I hadn’t had any.

Mishap four: I reached fine. Got the next letter from those horses fine too. I exited the horse stable and headed to the bus stop. I sat there alone for around ten minutes. Strange people walked in and out of those streets all staring at me as if I were an alien metamorphosed into human shape. I started to hyperventilate. I picked out a helpful looking homo sapien and asked him about the whereabouts of the next spaceship..err…bus. He looked at me funny and said in 45 minutes. Apparently I’d missed the previous one by seconds. I could almost hear the elements singing the same ballad of destruction in glee. I started walking down that deserted road. I hoped I would not meet anyone. I pulled my hood down and broke all records of walkathlons. I was close to running. Then I saw a lady with a black hat and a dog on a leash. The dog looked mean and ready to lick bones clean. I crossed the road surreptitiously to avoid her and ran into a street game of basketball being played by six feet tall giants. Mumbling my apologies I fled shaking and miserable. Desperate to get home. Unfortunately for my custom made song I made it back to the college bus stop unharmed. Tired and panting but whole. I thanked my stars and made my way to the bus I saw standing there…. Only for it to leave the instant I started towards it. I made no attempt at catching it. The Gods had conspired. Their Will be done. Thoroughly defeated by Fate, Weather, Horses and Public transport I slumped on a tree stump and waited for the next bus. And no I did not have a crow ablate on me.

I came home to contemplate a sorry Day and to Rage against the elements. I also lay down to give my aching legs a rest from the 45 minute near race with fear that I had indulged in. It seemed pointless now. Strange how in the brightness of your familiar room the fear seemes to fade. But I knew it was real. I knew it was lurking around waiting to leap onto my shoulder and grasp hold of my life again. I turned off my faculties and mindlessly tuned in to the iWorld. My iSalvation.

Days of Scrambling:

So ever tried scrambling eggs with egg beaters? Ok that is like the dumbest of awesomely dumb questions. 99.99% of the world has been there and done that vewwy successfully. The other 0.01% includes people like me who worship the Goddess of Legendary Messes. We fail at scrambling eggs. The secret of my success at this failure is simple. Follow the following:

Take eggbeaters and haul the yellow goo into a bowl. Lift your right arm over your left shoulder and pat your back to congratulate yourself on having completed  major step without mishap (too early but you don’t know that yet..its called sweet Oblivion). Next push your rear end to the microwave(yes you have to walk that far you lazy lump of flesh!) . Fine now put in the bowl and make sure that the spoon is not still in there.Fix the timer on the microwave and forget to press the start button. This is a crucial step to frustration. A prerequisite for this brand of epic mishaps is also having stuffed hip hop nigga blasting music headphones in your abused auditory canal. So you can’t hear the fact that the microwave is not on. Wander aimlessly for two minutes. Get ready for scrambled eggs!! Hmmm yumm…..

Screeech to a halt.

Microwave sitting idle. Red alert. Hit yourself thrice. (if it doesn’t work stand in front of a mirror and play tail the being the donkey) Switch on the heater. Sigh with relief….again too soon!!! Dance to the music nodding your head systematically and uselessly. Go back for scrambled eggs.

Open the door. Eggs are literally pouring over the edges of the too small bowl some cooked,some half  cooked. Run to get dirty towel. agonise over the exact number of contaminating bacteria in that towel. Take out the bowl. Drain out excess uncooked smelly yolk. Screw your nose at uneggy smell emanating from scrambled non entity.

Next take a knife. Since you forgot to line the bowl with cooking spray get ready for major egg scraping session. Pour the mutilated remains of the scrambled eggs onto your plate. Take one mouthful. Spit it out. Gag several times. Run to the bathroom.

Dump eggs down the garbage.

Attempt to clean the bowl with the stubborn eggbeater clinging to it like a parasite.

Give up. Throw bowl.

Announce failure #(lost count).

Days Of Yeti-the abominable snowman!

So you have to be a freaking idiot to want to go out in a blizzard. The esteemed author of this post is the epitome of that specie. In New jersey 2009-2010 winter was deemed to be one of the worst. As luck would have it I obviously chose this year to make my first wobbly steps into America. The previous evening the news channel warned everyone of the coming blizzard/life threatening situation/stay-at-home-and-sleep conditions for the next day. I clapped my hands in glee and scoffed at the idea of being warm when I could play in snow!

Now some people like me have never seen snow in their lives. Snow AKA frozen pieces of fluffy water with cutesy designs in them, are fascinating for little people like me. So I visualised myself, spreading out my hands and upturning my face to the sky as the soft flakes touch my skin. Total drama and soap opera style! So I bundled myself and went out in the snow to meet a friend in the chem labs.

My friend is just as cracked as I am. She left her house at 9 to get a parking space on a blizzard day. But wth I got there fine, after slipping and stumbling and crawling through snow. Felt pretty exhilarated. Wheeee!!! Woohooo! White christmas and all that jazz ya know!  We decided to go and eat at student dining hall..again quite an adventure. My friend was considerably amused by my obvious childish pleasure at muddy slush of frozen water called snow.

While going to the hall I noticed my friend laughing her *** off at a “snow sculpture’ some n’er-do-well undergrad had built with a lot of TLC. I admired it and my friend laughed harder. Somewhat confused at her amusement we went in to eat. I was still looking at the extraordinary piece of..err…ahem..wait..does it? Really? They did that? !!!!!!


So built in snow in all its glory was an essential part of the male anatomy adorned with meticulous detail. And I had thought it was modern art. LOL! I literally stumbled over myself to tell my friend this amazing revelation. Surprise! She’d already figured it out and couldn’t for the life of her understand how I could be so innnocent!

Sigh! I wanted a picture with it but by the time we got over eating pastries and fries it melted sort of and keeled over. 😦 Kind of symbolic to feminism eh? Ohkay!

Back in lab we decided to build a snowman. Yay! We had a lotta fun rolling around snowballs and building our own snowman! It was then that a tree fell over with a resounding crash. We were sooo thrilled! Tree falling eh? Thrilling? No? Correct. We figured that out later when we saw the news and realised people get killed that way…ahem.

Then the snowstorm got worse. Having never been in one I was enjoying myself..till I figured that the road in front of me was not there and that strangely everything looked white. Its called a whiteout idiot! No visibility. So I decided to follow the only two other idiots out on the roads. The wind speeds were far higher than my frail body could handle. I trudged along my body bent over double cursing myself vehemently. I should never have come out. A bare 10 minute walk turned into a fight against..err..whiteness? Moving,menacing,engulfing white! I finally reached home shivering,covered in snow and soaked through. Never again. I’m such an idiot.


Chocolate. Chocolat. Cikolata. Schokolade. ช็อคโกแลต.(this is Thai). These Words when pronounced in any language and any accent produce the same expression of bemused Ecstasy of a person in the Agonies of Chocolate Slavery. I am a confessed Slave to the dark Aphrodisiac. My gastronomic lover and Ninth Muse, she resides in a special corner of my heart, ready to overwhelm my senses and befu-de-duddle my Brain. The thick,slurpy, depths of  pure molten schokolade was first used in a frothy restorative beverage by the Aztecs. Now you know the secret behind the power of that clan. Cacao bean derived Devilish Delight which the Egyptians called Tchocoatl.

Chocolat is a powerful yet benevolent master. It enchains one in its sweet taste while exuding an odor, which intoxicates like the strange scent of a woman yearning for her lover. It has ingredients that bewitch a cynical mind,buffer a lugubrious heart and excite the blood running through one’s veins. It is a patron to the soulless,a companion to the lonely,an addiction to the deprived. It is my master and my mistress,it is the Kane to my Abel, the apple to my Eve.

Coming down from the clouds and mystic haze created by the sweet high which comes from overdosing on cacao bean derivatives,let us foray for an instant into the origins of this wondrous elixir. it is made from the beans of a plant called Theobroma cacao. The beans are extracted, fermented and dried for about a week. Then its off to Willy Wonka’s factory!! So here are the technical details of Charlie’s visit to that factory which Dahl kind of glossed over. These bean shells are then separated from their insides called the ‘nibs’. This is the part that is used to actually make the thick chocolate liquor. These are then ground in a process called milling. (Sigh I am slowly getting bored…need more theobromin highs..) Then finally chocolate is made by adding milk sugar mix,cocoa butter(slurrrp) to the chocolate liquor. Voila! C’est magnifique!  Chocolat est pret!

Drifting into the dubious domains of purple haze now…ahem..we shall try to dissect the shroud of mystery behind the curious hold that chocolate has over its Senate. Chocolate mainly has the following-

Theobromin- A caffeine like molecule which stimulates the central nervous system and has diuretic and cardiotonic effects. In plain english that means good for the brain and the heart.

Anandamide- “Ananda” means happy literally in Hindi. This particular drug does just that. Makes you delirious. Its a sister to tetrahydrocannabinol, a chemical we better know as marijuana. This does not have the seductive personality traits of its sister though and is not addictive..(though many chocaholics would disagree) essentially it has the same effect. Delirium.

PEA- The “Love Drug”. Wish I could bottle this stuff and market it. Basically phenylethylamine has the same effects as a tall,dark,handsome guy would have on the pulse rate and heart rate of the afflicted individual. Accelerate it manifold. Hence called mild love drug..AAAnd presenting the Do-It-Yourself Inducible lovekit. I like to call it the Opium den of chocolate.

Serotonins-  The dark silken surface of these bars hold another spike for your anatomical cocktail. These are chemicals which reduce depression. Clinically tested and proven. Lo and behold! Euphoria!

So all you worshippers in the Temple Of Chocolate, this is one addiction that will probably brighten your day,enliven your spirits,convince you you’re the next Jimi Hendrix and leave you praying for more. But this is one addiction you’ll never have to go to rehab for. So celebrate the enslavement of your palate and surrender the mesolimbic pleasure centers of your brain to the sweet ministrations of this dark and mysterious geisha! Go out and spread the word in the Republic of Chocolate!!

N.B. Currently this chocaholic is on a double high. Caffeine high-check. Chocolate sweet high-check. So I sincerely apologize for the mindless piece of pure and unadulterated crap that I have churned out in the grips of my purple haze.







{November 14, 2009}   The Persistence of Memory.

Tribute to Salvador Felipe  Jacinto Dali I Domenech.

This maestro of the brush and charcoal was born on the 11th of May,1904,Figueres,Spain. He was the son of a well-off notary and was educated in the San Fernando Academy of Fine Arts. he gave his first one man show in 1925 in Barcelona. Dali met Gala Eluard early in his life and married her later. She became his principal muse and source of inspiration.

Dali’s paintings were mostly surrealistic. His work the Persistence of Memory with the melting watches is one of the greatest works in surreal art. But in the 1940’s his style shifted to the scientific and the religious. In his classic period after the WWII Dali drew 19 canvases on religion and his thoughts of science. He evolved constantly as a painter,artist and as a human; giving expression to his opinions through his art. Here are a few of his works.

The Persistence of memory.

persistence of memeory

The Geopoliticus child


The three sphinxes of bikini



The temptation of St anthonyDali_Temptation_of_St_Anthony

The ship



sleepDali mused on Freudian concepts and also experimented with the edges of reality pulling it to see how far it would go. In persistence of memory he is actually thought to allude to Einstein’s theory of relativity. apparently the inspiration for that came from looking at runny cheese. he was said to sit for days on end gazing into nothingness till the sound of a clanging spoon would stir him and he’d draw the first thing that came to his mind. His eccentricity and inner arrogance also spills over in his works. He was also given to frequently assigning animals to human emotions and everyday phenomena.

Here are a few more works done in even more surreal tones.

The necrophiliac spring flowering from a piano with a tail.

necrophiliac spring flowering from a piano with a tailThe hallucinagenic toreader


And this is my personal favorite. Seldom does an artist come around full circle to paint or even contemplate painting the disintegration of his own art. Dali tread that untrodden path back to one of his paintings. He painted the Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory. For an artist that is bold and risky, for the second painting may well destroy the novelty and beauty of the first one, and invites more critique as now art lovers have a yardstick for comparing the imaginative clockwork of the same mind.

But then Dali says “Those who do not want to  imitate anything, produce nothing.”



Full circle of dreams

Here’s to the dreamy success of this surreal painter who lived half his life in our real world and half in the other dimension which most of us strive to enter and almost none of us ever understand. This is a tribute more to the definite and finite paradigm Dali created of measuring and defining surrealism rather than an appreciation of his skills with the brush (which were outstanding). This is a tribute to a man who walked unafraid in the midst of his bizarre dreams, and came back unscathed into a world where such images had no place. He took our mundane existences and turned them into celebrations of the abstract that is hidden in every one of them. He was a man who dared, who challenged. He was an artist who thumbed the dregs of Sanity and forayed into the frayed edges of the Insane and the Obtuse.


{November 14, 2009}   My customised shortcut to hell.

So here are the many ways I can get to Hell within a three hour period.

I would be dead if I drunk-

1. 12 glasses of rose wine.

2.12 glasses of red wine.

3.12 bottles of Budweiser budvar budvar.

4. 12 shots of scotch. (12 is clearly getting to be the mode!!)

5.12 shots of Gin. (whatcha tellya?)

6. 10 shots of Vodka. (probably decease faster but…hmm…maybe not..)

7. 10 shots of tequila. (O_o…..)

8. 10 shots of rum. (Now you’re talking…Happy rumming to Hell and back!!)

9.8  Bloody Marys. (Nah..dont want a messy trip…)

10. 12 Daiquiris..(aaand we’re back!)

11. 11 Margaritas..(I swear I didn’t do the number alliteration on purpose!)

12. 12 Kamikazes (yay…)

So people clearly 12 is my lucky number to hell….just wondering whether I can use combinations of these

Disclaimer: This is to calculate death propensity on the basis of weight and gender and a three hour drinking period ONLY if you’re planning on going to Hell afterwards,NOT Heaven. Those trips are not supported by this shortcut.

Terms and conditions apply.


{November 14, 2009}   LOL

<a href=”; style=”display: block; height: 108px; width: 254px; padding-left: 90px; padding-top: 100px; padding-right: 15px; color: #000; text-decoration: none; background: url( no-repeat 0 0; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold”>It would take 11 Mai Thais to kill me</a><p>Created by <a href=””>Bar Stools</a></p>

{November 8, 2009}   hourglass running…

Often in life we take people around us to be like images frozen in a frame. We think that those images will live on forever. That life will remain rosy and the sun will always shine. That there will always be a tomorrow to appreciate the beauty of that picture. Or even better to appreciate and be grateful to the artist behind the image. So often we just keep our valedictories for another day. Often we just don’t think that such images need nurturing,that they might need restoration.

But one day all of a sudden,out of the blue, you realise that too many such chances have been passed up;too many images have faded;too many restorations abandoned.

So I will get to my point never know where life will take tends to have a mind of its own..but before you completely get lost in the jungle of your problems maybe all of us need to touch up the colors on those pictures. We all think that those who matter in our lives know it and that we don’t need to tell them or show them whenever we can. But the truth is that everyone is insecure and at the same instant that you’re thinking whether the person in front wants to be with you or wants to talk to you-99 chances outta 100 they’re thinkin’ the same thing. Everyone is insecure. Everyone needs to be reminded they’re needed and are wanted and are loved.

So it takes only a few moments of your otherwise busy lives to drop a line for these people, to paint a new picture with them. But often we’re too busy for it. So go out there and spread the colors of caring. If you care then show it and do it soon. Also do it without expectation. Do not want to get frames back because often you won’t. Often people will not reciprocate but those who do will make your efforts worthwhile. So stop being selfish and open your arms to the world. Let them in and let your colors out. Paint the world in your faith.

Do it soon…the hourglass just turned.

Good hunting and God Bless.

{November 8, 2009}   I wish I were…

The following are a few things that I have wanted to be in life and just being who I am got in the way of these shelved ambitions. I guess this is the only place that these will ever see light..even though it be of a slightly electrical nature..

1.I wish I were an artist, a painter…well that’s what I used to wish for with all my heart when I was young. To be able to paint so well and with such passion that Van Gogh would blush in shame. I wished to have my own exhibition with my paintings appreciated and hung out for posterity. So I painted and I reflected and time passed and the colors faded,the brushes grew bristle,the world grew older,reality intruded and the unpainted paintings wept in solitude.

2.I wish I were a music director…that’s my next passion. Music. It’s my salvation, my stick when I’m limping,my faithful dog when I’m blind,my tissue when I cry,my friend when I’m down,my expression when I’m dumb. So I wanted to devote my paltry life to its amelioration. I resolved to compose music that would add to the rich alcoves where fellow wanderers drifted in search of peace. But yet again being born where I was music was not an best it could be a companion not an ambition. So my unwritten songs joined the paintings in haunting the recesses of my fallow mind.

3. I wish I were a writer….She writes in beauty,she writes in fame,she writes in fantasy and distressed dames, she writes in love,she writes in faith. Her ramblings fill the sparkling skies,her words spill from pouring eyes, her wings spread wide-she stands poised to fly. Unfortunately I suffered a serious case of verigo and jetlag and decided to stay on terrafirma. Hence the secret words wait in silence to be imprisoned in ink and published in papyrus.

4. I wish I were a dancer…The girl goes dancing there
On the leaf-sown, new-mown, smooth
Grass plot of the garden;
Escaped from bitter youth,
Escaped out of her crowd,
Or out of her black cloud.
Ah, dancer, ah, sweet dancer!

Her toes have stopped twirling,

Her shoes are torn and frayed,

Her body has stopped feeling-

the happy rhythms of  songs played.

So I’m really tired and really bogged down with like loads of stuff to I mean…thats the “loads” I’m talking about here and I have to hear lectures about brand names of labs!!! Thought I’d outgrown those when I was wearing cheap hogmarket stuff and the rest of the world was wearing Lee or Pepe..those were the painful days…so I hate brand names..NOT sour grapes I promise..this is totally neutral hating..(check out the use of oxymoron..nice hmm?)

But looks like high tech science labs can come up equipped with brand names too.!!!!  Yippeee!! YAYEEE!!!! Life is made!!! OOOhhhh!!!…okk you get the general picture of how a grad student is supposed to react to the aforesaid labeled lab. Think of how a slumdog-pauperionnaire would react to a Gucci dress…

So I got this Holier-than-thou lecture on how I should be kissing their holy rear ends because they had accepted me into their hallowed be thy Holy Holy Moley Ignatius lab..the brand name I was told would make my life. Look good on my CV. Get me into an even more highly hallowed holier-than-them lab!!!! So I was told to brush my teeth and stock up on mouthwash ’cause I was gonna hav’ to start a lot of kissing soon!!

So then the guy went on to say that it was a rich lab and how I should be grateful pathetically that it was rich and I needn’t place any limits on my thinking because hey they weren’t slumdogs..

If I was a rich girl (na, na….)
See, I’d have all the money in the world, if I was a wealthy girl
No man could test me, impress me, my cash flow would never ever end
Cause I’d have all the money in the world, if I was a wealthy girl…naaaanaanaaa

Nice song..liked the pirates of caribbean feel…haha..

So notice how the central theme of what scientists are supposed to do and be is kind of forgotten legend. I mean ohh yeah we’re working for “humanity” and “cures” and “we care so we do”  and a lot of other stuff that has come down to getting brand named labs and hotshot publications…

So what if the rest of the world is waiting for a cure..they don’t understand what we do anyway..just tell them its complicated and more time consuming..and build your own career..Get that Gucci label on your CV. Oh and for this you need to work haaarddd…..

The trick to sounding harsh and intimidating while talking mildly is all in the intonation. All you have to do is get the right Evil Dead expression and the correct zombie voice form Thriller…put ’em together and wham!!…you’ve got scary “wo-o-o-rk H-aa-aa-aard!!!” repeat the words a few times and you’ve got The Haunting sequel right inside lab. Add the spice of a pin drop silent atmosphere,automatons moving around, a wicked witch of the West supervising you and you’ll be set for Blairwitch project II. In technicolor!!! The only saving grace is the advisor himself who is sort of a shy sweetheart who actually seems harrowed at so many vultures picking at HIS award. Sigh…so no go..I tried..and failed…I’m not hard asssed or sacrificial enough to want to waste 5 precious years in a morgue..0oops..lab..this sad…so I’m going back to my previous hippie beer toting advisor..yayy!!

Dust to dust ,ashes to ashes..

{October 30, 2009}   Wierd advisors

So I went to visit my potential next rotation professor and he’s like this really big shot. Great publications and a fellow for a reputed institution and all that. So I trotted along to his office with like stars in my eyes and dreaming of papers in Nature. I enter and he’s sitting at a desk with like a sort of a form in front of me. He examines me like I’m a fly on a fruit..(did I forget to mention it was a drosophila/fruitfly lab..) and motions me to a seat. I sat down without moving my bag or my jacket and hold on to my seminar paper for dear life. Which he misinterprets as being my CV. He then embarks on the Roman inquisition(more like Gestapo). He asks in a sonorous voice..”Do you have any questions for me before I ask you several of mine?” Eyebrows dance,fingers steeple and his eyes narrow on the insignificant fly quailing before him. The fly(oops thats me..) flutters around and tries to conjure an impressive CV only to have that balloon severely punctured by his overbearing attitude. Its like Hitler. Hypnotise the victims..brainwash…”I am doing you a favor by taking you on….” drone drone drone……

I mean do these professors actually forget their first days in lab…Thankless job it is..

If  grad student you become,regret you shall. May the force be with you.

{October 29, 2009}   While my guitar gently weeps…





My legacy


Woke up this morning, from the wrong side of the bed,

The usual fresh morning looked so surreal instead.

Rushing out now it’s a new day at school-Planning ways to break yet another rule.

I’ll never let my teachers shake my sway-

I’ll never let my dreams slip and slide away.


So would you believe that I’m growing up now?

Would you believe that I manage somehow?


Looking back now we’ve made lots of green,

Though we never got to be the real dancing queen-

Scared I’ve got my hands in too many pies,

Hoping to just let sleeping dogs lie

I’ll never let the winters cave me in-I’ll never let life get under my skin.


So would you believe that my dreams have changed?

Would you believe that my heart’s in flames?


So fate looks on with eyes of pity.

As I still drain the last dregs of sanity,

So you may leave me, but I’ll still go on,

Singing myself a sad old song;

I’ll never give the devil my soul for free

I’ll never let the sun go down on me.


So would you believe that my life is tough?

Would you believe that I’ve finally grown up?

igethigh psych2




My ode


Hello Mr Moon,

The day is nigh,

The night is old,

Your story is told-Now rest you feet awhile.


Hello my friend-

The world is yet to end.

For long years now-

You must go around,

In you light the weary shall mend.


Hail thee, so bright so cold,

Your light does freeze my very soul,

Your halo burns any icy flame

Adorns the sky, so proud, so vain-

As slowly your many faces wane.


Hail thee, my hope, my prayer,

Who with the stars, the skies doth share

Who races with the fading dusk,

Basking in the little child’s trust-Given up to your tender care.


Hail thee, so white, so alone,

A reigning queen carved in stone.

Your starry kingdom bows to you as you travel all night through

Watching, waiting in silent repose.



My raga


When the leaves play gently on the harp of the wind;

When the rain sounds gaily on the chords within,

When the woodpecker beats a steady drum roll,

When the wind whistles on pipes-notes-untold-

Merging and blending a melody unfolds.


When the brooks gurgle through many a chord

When the fish chime in of their own accord

When the bird sing out a merry soprano,

When the snow falls in matching allegro-The symphony plays, filled with pathos-

Hark! The clouds thunder in mighty applause.

purple haze







My illusion


Sleep on sweet child-Lest they steal your sunshine;

Lest your cradle slips and falls

Lest the heathen world doth call-Forth fears that do not subside.


Dream on sweet child-For the colours within are safe and sound

For the colours without would only get you down

For the spring inside shall last through winters outside-

And preserve the little smile so proud.

final fant3

Sleep on sweet child-

The havens are lost and gone

The silver spoon doth shine no more,

The baffled seas hath no shore-

The fantasies have all come undone.

Dream on sweet child-

Lest they squeeze tears from your eyes

Lest they throw your faith to the winds

Lest the world to you does sing-

And wakes you from the tender sleep so kind.


My stolen


Time goes by without a sound,

Days of watching the sun go down

Crying into the empty nights profound-

Come morning wearily moving ahead.

Swearing to finally forgive and forget.

Dreaming all night of those promises so true-

Every dream still reminds me of you.


Life goes by, no shape no form,                                                          final fant2

Gazing at the perfect sky so toen

Nursing hearts so sick and lovelorn.

Treaidng the same old paths so tried

Searching for your flickering light.

Humming every day those songs so new-

Every song still reminds me of you.


Age goes by, and I’m still here,

Playing hide and seek with the grim reaper

Alone in a crowd, infirm yet proud,

Waiting for life to come undone

The hero inside as yet unsung.

Thinking of those golden moments so few-

Every moment still reminds me of you.

final fant4




et cetera