Author: Miminality

50

Miminality4 Comments

This is the fiftieth post. As usual, one has nothing to say. We could do with a break. We could do with our lives not being packed to plans till about three months later. (The older we grow the harder it becomes to “get away from it all.”) We don’t feel like buying train tickets although coming to think of it, the trip will possibly be fun. The only desire is to melt away into nothingness.

This persistent case of dissatisfaction may (possibly) be traced back to the problematic way we define the mundane. This is mundane, the endless rat-race with its minuscule victories and gratifications, this is the trap. CV-fattening is the trap. Success is the trap, it puts you on a wall of fame and lovingly cements you in till you cannot move an eyeball in an untoward direction. The transcendental is out there and it’s blurring out a little, going slowly slowly slowly out of reach with every day you wake up and take a coffee shot and go to college and write another bloody test.

It all boils down to the bloody test. That is the problem. This fatal shortsightedness.

Resolution

Miminality

In blog and email shall we trust and renounce everything else. (We shall also occasionally read up other people’s posts on Twitter and Buzz but doubtful if we’ll use the services ourselves.)

We shall wait and watch how long this resolution lasts.

47

Miminality

The blog is a treacherous space. No one reads it on a regular basis, so your immediate insidious bid for compliment/comfort/just-the-thing-you-want-to-hear-at-the-moment will nearly always go unheeded. But then one day some unknown entity will turn up without your knowledge and read your blog from beginning to end and learn more about you than you ever intended them to know.

And if you try to balance these two possibilities inside your head you (like me) will never be able to write another post at all.

Rhyminal Crimes

Miminality16 Comments

I
There is one Deboleena
Who grows with each day meaner;
She harks ’em eels,
Turns them to meals
And hopes no one has seen her.

II
There is a girl called Shreya
Of whom the folks that pray are
Damn afraid;
Not one man said
Exactly what fears they are.

III
If you think it’s easy to throw muck
At the quite unassuming Somak,
He’ll beat you to pulp,
Swallow you in a gulp
And you’ll end up in his angry stomach.

IV
One day the imp called Arnab
Transformed into a doorknob,
And all day long
Was wrung and wrung
And left a very sore knob.

V
That cheeky chap called Atin
Would often go out floatin’
Outside his head,
Before him spread
The notebook that he wrote in.

VI
The world perished while Sayan
Looked for a couch to lie on
And watch the show;
But did he know
Which channel to rely on?

VII
The evil spirit known as Rhea
Inhabits the blighted area
‘Twixt langue and paroles
Scarring ignorant souls,
And believes it is quite a career.

VIII
They say that the Lady Pramita
Would like you at once to go meet her
At one of her towers
Where saw-toothed flowers
On sunlit turrets gently wither.

IX
A bamboozled alien called Lav
Broke in through high heavens above,
Riding his space rickshaw
Like pieces of jigsaw
Sprayed out through the holes in a glove.

X
In time the vile Anonymous
Will sleep uneasy and dream us
Turn into mess
His fortresses
With lousy festoons and streamers.

—

If there need be a disclaimer (as we are sure there is), this is all part of D’s evil masterplan of world dominion. We are merely her indiscriminate WMD. No, don’t believe her claims of innocence.