Headphones from Bang and Olufsen

I hear the song thru its whispers

-Rasping metallic undertone

Inflicting some electric fatigue

As though I am on my telephone

This is no sonic pleasure..

It stems from pissing away hard-earned cash

On the promise of a famous brand

They said i’d never get entangled in its gossamer knots

Post extraction from said confined spots

Its expensive rubber-they said

The kind that doesnt bend much and straightens - but not without being asked..

the curse of bang and olufsen..

Headphones that flatter to deceive

They promised a warm low-end

and a fabled front row seat

To hear Agnetha up close with Anni-Frid

But they go silent more often than not

With a wriggle of the little apple connector 

It doesn’t like the lightning slot...

This is no sonic pleasure

It stems from pissing away hard earned cash

On the promise of a famous brand

The curse of Bang and olufsen..

Headphones with signals not received

Once a new set died on me completely while on air

Which prompted me to get a phillips pair

They sounded flat but re-assuring

Lasting longer than my branded gear 

 

The curse of Bang and olufsen

Headphones that flatter to deceive

The curse of Bang and olufsen

Headphones with signals not received

The curse of the silent bong bluster

That sprouts and swells from living in the past..

The curse of the silent bong bluster

Don’t you know good things never last

Helplessly Hoping ( adaptation credit to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young)

Helplessly hoping

This virus will bid us goodbye

And sheathing its sword..

Granting reprieve to
A human race brought to its knees

Wishing it could bite

With a vaccine thats pie in the sky ai ai ai

[Verse 2]

Endlessly enclosed 
We wait by the window
And wonder

At the empty road outside

Handphone arrested and netflix infused

We’re split asunder

Should we still reach for the sky? Or even a bit below...

[Chorus]

We are one person
We are two on loan..
We are three on facetime
We long for each other...

A swing on the fairway

With a lockdown announcement that’s blinkered

The ball could well be lost

As migrants get moving

There’s no transport and its a stinker

All limits have been crossed

No fighting a dual blow 

We are one person
We are two on loan..
We are three on facetime
We long for each other...

Sushant Singh Rajput

As an introvert, I can especially relate to what probably might have gone on in Sushant’s mind.  Typically introverts tend to be sensitive to others and to themselves. An unkind word can hit hard , let alone some sort of micro-inequity that is all bit rife in our everyday lives.  In light of this, clearly a systematic snub of one’s abilities  can unhinge such a person. Especially when you realize that he has chosen this field over many others where he had an equal or better chance at success. But this craft made him feel “excited “ and “in the moment”-to quote one of his interviews.  Remember this is a sensitive guy so his words “ excited”and “in the moment” are anything but platitudes that are often blurted out by the typical extroverts because they feel they have to say something merely to fill up space.  The sensation felt by a sensitive person is orders of magnitude more visceral. To do something to derail this thrill is not to be regarded lightly. It can cause a tsunami of rage- and the flow of this rage is more or less governed by laws of fluid mechanics (Navier -Stokes equation) .  The outburst is needed in public, but here the introvert almost always puts on the ultimate game face.  ( could be construed to be a lack of courage but I rather think it is the ability to quickly rationalise based on the multifarious lines of consequences that would inevitably ensue- and to desist prudently as a result.) Basically a shut-off valve in public redirects the flow of rage inwards through the piping system and builds pressure in the pipe. Eventually it will burst /explode at the weakest link.  And in this case, make no mistake, the weakest link was him. It is really no use blaming karan johar. The environment is always impossible to control. As in the person and as in the piping system, there has to be an internal failsafe. Be a stronger person- use a thicker pipe. 

I am as saddened as anyone of this pointless affair, and so wish it could have been averted. But aversion by changing the atmospherics rather than improving the design seems to me to be not very sensible.

(Temporary Backup) Early days in the Department

We did not know it then, but were handed a lemon by the Institute’s committee that dealt with hostel allocations. 2 of our 4 years were spent at the Dhanrajgiri Hostel, which , quite in contrast to the baroque sounding name it bore,  was actually a vermin infested 200 roomer that had the record of the poorest hygiene amongst all such enclaves. Poets at the institute have long waxed eloquent about the particularly singular features of its toilets subjecting  them to a host of opprobious adjectives and not an insufficient amount of verbal and tonal aggression. And deservedly so. With the fall term kicking off, we had had to suddenly deal with the Metallurgical Engineering department. Second year was here and that meant all courses were at the department and related to the discipline.  It was no cakewalk making the second year adjustment.  The third semester was like a bad omen unfolding before our very eyes- the relative outright dismissal of academic rigour of year 1 was replaced summarily by a palette of fears surrounding any form of misdemeanor within the metallurgical engineering department. Simple and cliched activities like “giving proxies” that were pervasive for our class in the first and second semesters were suddenly out of bounds in semester 3. If you were caught , the vindictive lecturer would pour forth his wrath and, generally speaking, not the best things would happen to you subsequently. The incidence of a “mass class bunk” , wherein the entire class as a veritable cartel decides not attend a class, was never common even in year 1. But from year two onwards it was regarded as if we had collectively committed a violent sex crime against the lecturer’s fair offspring. We had our very first lesson in understanding the tradeoffs between the individual and collective, when working out a mass bunk. While most of the class was favorable, it was extremely rare that all were favorable. The odd chap always held seditious views around this and for a variety of reasons. He wanted to ensure full attendance and thus increase his chances of a good grade- and it would particularly help if he showed up by himself while the others didnt- it made for differentiation in the eyes of the teacher- and in a noticeably positive way. The guys who ended up either not agreeing to the pact or surreptitiously breaching the pact were the guys that were destined to go far- as again, we did not know this then.

Only a few months ago, at the beginning of the second semester, our class had orchestrated rather succesfully its first and what would be the last Mass Bunk. It was difficult to find alignment across 31 students on a good enough reason to do this. And this is where it had all come apart until then. “It is raining heavily”or “the lecture is one which does not add any value anyway”, or “lets all go off to sarnath for a picnic instead”- these just did not hold water for all- always only some or sometimes most but never all. Until we read in the morning papers one day that Divya Bharti, that buxom bollywood doll-face, had  jumped off her balcony and taken her life. Whatever one might say about the misfortune of having no girls in your class- one had to admit that it was easier to align empathetically around events like above in an all- boy class. No matter who you were, you were sad when you heard this. Very sad indeed. And no further coaxing was needed by anyone to ensure no one attended any afternoon class that day. It was the least that could be done to pay our last respects.

We were in the department now- all of this had to stop. And we found this out rather the hard way. You see, there was an implicit 10 minute rule for a no-show in class by the lecturer before we would call the class off and walk away from the lecture theatre to the nearest tea and samosa shack. GMK Sarma was the man scheduled to take us through the Iron - Carbon phase diagram one morning but was absent for around 10 minutes. Some of us insisted that this was enough to start walking away and we had begun to do so. However, as you can imagine, it was not a discrete process but a continuous one- with the nonchalants leading the exit and the grade- conscious good little boys making up the incredibly sluggish vanguard. So much so that when GMK Sarma did eventually show up to teach he spotted one of the studious boys still standing outside the classroom unable to make up his mind-  which had been vacillating to The Kinks hit “ should I stay or should I go” . The rest was history. Sarma called everyone back with some vociferousness. Everyone. The chaps still outside the theatre. The chaps walking towards the tea shop as well as the precious few who had already started munching on their illicit samosas. Once everyone was in, Sarma began a tirade the likes of which we had not seen before. It went something like this- “ who has seen me coming towards the class and still decided to go away?”, he bellowed. Silence. He looks at each of the front benchers one by one in the eye. “ did you see me?”, he asks Rama. No sir. “Did you see me?” , he asks Badri. No sir. “Did you see me?”  He asks annamalai. No sir. And on and on and on for 10 others. Then drawing back says “sooooooo.....(long rage-ridden sigh)” , “ No one (shaking his head sideways here) has seen me ( nodding his head repeatedly here ..even after completing his sentence). Then casting his gaze towards the back bench and resting it specifically on shetty and menon-“ I know there are some goondas in this class” ( pause and turning back to the front benchers and breaking into a sly smile) “ Academically, I will see that they do not go beyond this semester”. ( long pause and silence). “ We are not here to only teach you Metallurgy but also decent behaviour”. Pause. “  Now then, Annamalai, what is the Solidus temperature of a plain carbon steel with 1.6 percent Carbon?”...and luckily for all of us, Annamalai god bless his clever soul had the right answer and off we rolled into the lecture. However, we were all left a bit shaken by the episode and it became clear that nothing remotely close was going to happen again. And that is when I realised that everyone in our class was essentially a decent, grade and reputation fearing mortal fighting their own specific battle.  And it is for this reason that our class is still very close after all these years.

While Sarma was a crabby 51 year old in general, he did teach well. I recall remaining fairly attentive in all his classes which is more than can be said for most of the other Professors. Sarma was only a Reader and not a full professor- which was attributed to the fact that had no doctorate degree. Rumour had it that he had been caught cheating at the Max Planck Institute in Germany and they had thrown him out of the graduate program- no doubt an aspersion cast and then solidified by some student of yesteryear that had been a repeated object of his tyranny. 

Apart from Professor tyranny there was also course tyranny to grapple with.  An innocuous sounding three credit course that had been thrust upon us in the third semester was “Elements of Materials Science”. This was partly Crystallography  and partly Quantum Physics but wholly imcomprehensible. We were lectured in each part by two remarkably intelligent and halo-endowed professors one young and one senior.  And yet I can speak for the entire class when I say that aside of Annamalai, no one understood a thing. So all that was left to do is to memorise  material and put it out on the exam answer sheet. Except good professors set exams with a sense of pride- and the questions on these exams were not of the ilk where you could mentally paste some dense text.  In retrospect, it was also the first time I realised that the fault lay not in our stars but in the poor quality of teaching. And that being a good professor and a good teacher were altogether mutually exclusive- because, clearly we could have been accused of many things but could not be accused of being imbeciles. Or could we?

Back at Dhanrajgiri there was an outbreak of Jaundice initially and subsequently Chicken Pox. One by one several boys got taken ill. The ones with Chicken Pox had to be evacuated as a quarantine was simply not possible. They we t off home fot a week or so right in the middle of the semester. In some ways this was a welcome break from the travails of the department anyway. The mess service had a special cuisine for the inflicted. They would prepare a light soup of rice and lentils and serve some bouled vegetables on the side. There was no fat used. Many after having recovered from jaundice looked really slim and shiny. One in particular,  chose to be put on the sick meal routine permanently. Not only did you taste the vegetables from the fertile gangetic plains around the city, but you also warded off stale spices and questionable hydrogenated vegetable oils used for cooking in bulk. 

The only dish that I didnt decry

Was chawal anda makhan fry

No potato mash not lentil pool

That emanated from his school

Could make even the starving drool

If I were you..

Sometimes when you look around, you find that there is nothing
that appeals in any way to your senses
You pick up a book or watch TV, grab a snack and brew some tea
but always stay within your fences
When you lay it out before your eyes, you suddenly realize
there’s just not that much left to accomplish
Since there really is no goal, you’re confused about your role
And you create one just for laughs and kicks,
with no commitment,
or conviction,
it’s just madness..

CH:
If I were you, I’d take a walk down memory lane and see if I could remember all the games I played as a kid
If I were you, I’d wait and watch and have the whole world fly by me with its grim expectations carefully hid
If I were you, I’d care less about the outside and dig deeper into the eternal hole that rests within our souls, oh ..but I already did!!

Sometimes when the day is long, you try to sing your favorite songs
Much awaited leisure bells are ringing
Somehow the notes sound flatter now, all they do is kick up a row
Now that there’s some time for singing
And when you’re bored beyond belief, you heave a sigh of relief
As you cast a glance at your bank balances
Some money can surely set you free, change your life by your decree
but you’re unprepared to take your chances
it’s more inviting
to be waiting
for things to happen

Patience is a shortish word for incantations never heard
by those that truly deserve to hear them
Composure is what you care to share, when you fear your soul to bare
Hidden vices cramp your freedom
When you feel yourself walk those thin lines, where thought and action intertwine
A dull response to doubt doesn’t end it
The hesitation breeds regret, your mind prepares to miss targets
that past performance shows you should well hit.
It’s unnerving
to not be serving
your own causes….

The Minstrel in the Calorie

The minstrel in the calorie

Sings of sugar-laced traces

Of chocolate candied turgid faces

Free of guilt and full of graces

While the mirror reveals the grey offenders

Sudden niggles that your frame now renders

You've root canalled your lower molar

And they find you increasingly bi polar

Wishful thinking mile-high roller

And a self-doubt infused Irregular 

At the bar of hope- you ask the servers

For a pint of meaning, a glass of purpose

Nursing your drink till its time for slumber

And waking up to another number

More cloggy holes than skilful plumbers

And a dream in June of some crisp November

The minstrel in the calorie

Looks around and notes the obsession

But its late for fame based on your figure

Which wont much affect your grave-digger

So You might refresh your nutritional milieu

And be charmed -knowing it may not kill you!

With passing days, the shine within you

Needs a buff thats atmospheric

To clear the brain of oxides ferric

Just fill it up with the esoteric

Then shall emerge from the alphanumeric

A Special character- meteoric!

The minstrel in the calorie

Sings of living in the present

Inebriated by the fleeting linger

Of all your senses where you point a finger

You will find that your memory's ringer

Can switch off - oh what a humdinger!

Happiness so Threadbare

Happiness is so threadbare

In 2017

When conversation disappears

 Like handsets that were cordless

Happiness is so threadbare

In 2017

When all youve got,  whether real or not

Must be instagrammed  regardless

So many old friends and relatives once

Revolved within our space

Theyd make it clear, they were near and dear

And we'd approbate their mission

We couldnt stand their meddling but now that they are gone

We're bored to death, and out of breath

Pursuing some vague possession

Cigarettes and fizzy drinks, a dawdle and some sport

A silverscreen, a magazine and loads of idle chatter

Guarded views about the world, and cautious with our hopes

Kept it straight, left the rest to fate and started getting fatter

Happiness , so threadbare,

In 2017

Is a weekend binge, where fluids impinge

On a sympathetic bladder

For Happiness , so threadbare,

In 2017

We’re over exposed, and juxtaposed

On an asymptotic ladder..

Participate in marathons, make forays to a gym

How glad you feel, as you watch your meals

Trim excess mass off mirrors

Look sharper for the camera, as you fish for self-esteem

A compliment from a facebook friend

Makes a stranger that much dearer

You get an education, for whatever it is worth

Get into groove and your career moves like thixotropic jelly

Stumble through the work years, careening back and forth

From notional highs to humble pies and a dose of machiavelli

May happiness be less threadbare 

In 2018

Where every day, come what may, is a day worthy of living

May happiness be less threadbare

In 2018

When the relevance of what you have depends on what you’re giving

All aboard this juggernaut, no going back when you are in

No Frequent flights  nor sleepness nights

Hair prematurely greying

Living is no afterthought, dont jettison each whim

(And be so) moribund over college funds, that you simply keep on saving...