From Boardwalk to Besant Nagar

I'd always wondered what my college life would be like. What would I be doing? What would happen that would supposedly make it the 'best days of my life'? It took me about five months, but I finally found it last night.

Just as I bought Boardwalk.

Five friends and I sat on the floor, with a Monopoly board in the middle. For the uninitiated....check Wikipedia.

"No Pets, No Blacks....No Beards"

When I began blogging in 2008, never did I ever imagine my posts would graduate from poems and short stories - and the occasional attempts at sounding funny - and become, what you'd call....'politically sensitive'.

Therefore, though I do feel a tinge of anxiousness about the post I'm writing, it's inspired from a few incidents that occured in the past few months.

The Dog In Room No. 5

It began just after the evening prayer. Returning from the mosque within the hostel, I saw a group of men standing near on of the stairs, talking animatedly.

What's the matter, my cousin asked.

There was a dog. In Room No.5.

Letter From The Solitary Reaper

If you've read 'The Solitary Reaper' by William Wordsworth, you might understand this...
 
Dear Mr. Wordsworth,

Never in my eight years as  reaper have I been so utterly humiliated and embarresed! I have quite a mouthful to tell you, sir, and I'm afraid it shant be poetic!

The Last Caller

“And with that, we come to our last caller for the night,” said Tony. Adjusting his headset, he added, “Thank God.”

It had been a horrible show. None of the callers had been remotely interesting, and Tony would’ve been worried about the ratings, if he didn’t have more pressing matters on his mind.

Colourless Snow

He stood still for a moment, silently surveying the vast expanse of snow all around. The dazzling whiteness seemed to calm him; slowly he walked down the rocky terrain, his army boots trudging through the thick layer of snow.

Lieutenant Aditya Mehra had spent the past six years trudging through the snowy hill top, following the same routine almost religiously. Posted as a Border Patrol officer, he was in charge of manning the Indian Check post that lay 400 metres in front of him. The rickety wooden construction had been his only shelter during the harsh snow storms that drowned the surroundings almost every day. He held a special attachment towards it.

A La Masia For Us?

Chennai at 6 in the morning during mid August, is beautiful. The air is crisp, you feel a gentle breeze pass you by, and something about the atmosphere makes you look up at the sky and smile in content.

I was standing on the terrace of my hostel in Egmore, holding a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula, when it began drizzling slightly. Adjacent to the hostel is a hockey stadium, and from where I was standing, I could view the entire field.

About twenty children were training in the center of the field, running between cones, skillfully using their hockey sticks to control the ball. As I watched them for the next few minutes, I thought about La Masia.

Sleeping To Death

June 2010


Looking around the room, I nodded my head and placed my suitcase next to the bed. “I like it, I’ll move in next Monday.”

My new roommate Jonathan nodded his head and smiled. He was a simple fellow; never asked too many questions. He didn’t know why someone with such a good job would want a cramped room to stay in. He didn’t know who my previous roommate had been. And thankfully, he never asked me...

The Chetpet Story

A rush of wind. Bustling crowd. Screeching rails.

That's all I remember of the first time I used the Suburban train in Chennai.

Over the next few weeks, my white-knuckled grip on the overhead railing loosened; my posture slackened; I finally took my eyes off the entrance of the compartment.

I looked around, and noticed The Chetpet Story for the first time...

Six Years And Five Takes

It was horribly depressing.

Remember the time in school when you watched your classmates get all the attention from the teacher, while you languished in the back benches? Remember the jealousy and envy you felt?

I looked back at the web page on my mobile browser. I read those words again.

Azhan Ahsan, 21 years old, is one of the youngest authors around...

21st Century Wordsworths

Recently, my English Professor at college held a lively discussion that focused on the theme, ‘The World Outside’. He began by asking us the simple question: When you think of a poet, what comes to your mind?
A smart classmate responded, describing an image of someone sitting under a tree, drawing inspiration from the world around him.

I wanted to raise my hand and say: “Eminem, anyone?”

'Tamil Mattum Pesungu'

 The following is merely my personal observation, and not in any way intended as a slight against any particular group or community.

While glancing through an edition of The Hindu on a sweltering Sunday afternoon, I happened to read a small article. Nothing much, just about how the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, M. Karunanidhi had instructed all the Civil Service officers in the State to prepare documents in Tamil.

Two thoughts crossed my mind.

Is This Seat Taken?

 I got my first culture shock within three weeks of reaching Chennai. I know, it was pretty exciting. My cousin and I decided to have dinner, one Sunday, from National Durbar, a restaurant opposite the Chennai Central Railway station.

It’s a good restaurant, populated by middle class people, and normally extra busy on weekends. As a result, we arrived and saw that all the tables were occupied. I sighed, and decided to hang around for a little while longer. You know, just in case anyone suddenly swallowed whatever he was eating, and decided to make way for me.

The New Way To Hangout

This is part of a new phase in Laptop Diary, since for the next three years I'll be in Chennai. Hoping to revive the blog with stories of my college life. Let me know what you think....

There is a good chain of juice shops in Chennai, called ‘Fruit Shop’. Trust me, the juices are better than what the generic name suggests. It’s a great place to hang out, or just grab a drink to go.

One evening, a few friends and I decided to gather there. Guys dropped by in twos or threes, and soon, about ten of us were sitting around the small shop, ordering our usual drinks. Once that was done, we began talking among ourselves about nothing in particular. It took me about ten minutes, but I finally realised that something was odd.

Introducing 'Enjoy The Popcorn'

Ever had an apple-falling-on-your-head moment?

I had one. I happened a few days ago when I was watching a movie. I had been racking my brains thinking of a topic to write on here, and just when I finished the movie, I began telling myself everything that I hated about it. I dont do that all the time, by the time. Well, not generally.

Meet Mr. David Foster

Dear Mr. DeVille,

This letter may perhaps come as a surprise to you. After all, as a Lawyer, I doubt you’d have come across as odd a request as my own. However, your excellent reputation assures me that you’ll handle my troubles quite efficiently.

My troubles, if such is the word to describe them, relates to the life of the esteemed writer, Mr. David Foster. You may have perhaps heard of him. This problem though, is delicate in nature, and requires your complete compliance...

Blood And Butter

"Well, Jack, looks like the village of Lavenham will be witnessing its harshest blizzard ever, if the weather forecasts are anything to go by," said the television weatherman.

"Oh dear," Grandma Wilmer said softly, as she walked past the living room, and into the kitchen. She placed a kettle on the stove, and took out a large metal tray from the cupboard. Grandma Wilmer was well past the age of 60, with wrinkled skin and a frail body. Yet she had surprisingly agile hands, perhaps the result of 40 years of devoted service to her late husband.

Though it was still snowing heavily outside her cottage, Grandma Wilmer decided to bake her usual batch of Sunday butter cookies. Pity no one else would taste them...

Four Wars...And Counting

 Recently, my brother - in - law and I were having a casual chat about everything under the sun, when he said: Canada and U.S have the longest undefended border in the world.

That, along with facts like you cannot lick your own elbow (Seriously, you cannot,) were tucked away in the Trivia section of my brain, until he said something else as well. "Look at us, fighting between the border of India and Pakistan."

Naturally, I replied the same way any Indian or Pakistani is expected to reply. "But its different in our case," I said, hesitantly.

"Threshold? What Threshold?"

Odds are you've been in this situation yourself. A friend, colleague or relative is crying about something horrible that happened to him. And into this scenario walks in another fellow, delivering the cliched yet necessary line that goes something like this. "What're you crying about? This is nothing. There are so many worse things that could happen to you..."

Like most of you reading this, I've heard this myself. I've been told so by my parents, friends and teachers. In fact, you might have even read posts of mine declaring that the pain we suffer is little compared to that of people all around us.

Yet, recently, I had....you could say, an epiphany, though it wasnt all that dramatic. More like an apple-falling-on-the-head moment. And that's how I got this post.

(Re-re)Introducing The Kidnappers Private Limited

Two years ago, during the Summer of 2008, I decided to write a serialised story called The Kidnappers Private Limited. My only intention was to write something that would serve as a 'filler' for my blog, so that I wouldnt end up losing my readers.

To make a long story short, I stopped after writing about four chapters. Then, an year later, I restarted the entire story from a different angle, this time writing about two chapters before stopping again.

Which brings me to my third and hopefully final try. This time, I intend to complete the entire story, all 15 - 20 chapters of it.

I've made a separate blog for The Kidnappers Private Limited. If your interested in the story, I hope you'll subscribe or follow (which makes it easier to catch up with the latest chapters). Also, I am looking for a critical analysis of the story. One day, I hope to turn this into a novel. For that, feedback will be crucial.

And finally, Laptop Diary is back again, this time hopefully for good!

If you're a new comer to Laptop Diary, please read the Introduction... 

If you are a new reader to this blog, check the Top Rated Posts, as well as the Best Posts of 2008.

To receive the Latest Posts in your Inbox, Enter your email address below:

 

If you haven't visited here for quite some time, take a look at the latest posts...

Death of A Blog

If you're a new comer to Laptop Diary, please read the Introduction...

Blogging is a simple enough process, you could say. An aspiring writer types out whatever he or she wishes to share, creates a Blogger/Wordpress Account, and then simply hits the Publish button. After that, people read the blog through the Internet.

If only it were that easy. There are two kinds of people who blog. The ones who care, and the ones who dont.

I salute the ones who dont give a damn. Because sometimes, I wish I could be more like them.