Whatever!

On I walked, past many a river, valley and hill..

Villages, woods, farms and a mill

On I trudged, through roads I knew not..

towards the misty mountain I sought

Sometimes I could see it clear,

as it stood resplendently white

and at times only a murky mire..

but on I went on the relentless ride..

There were the black riders

who made a shiver run down my spine,

and the village folks

who tempted me with food and wine

But unyielding I was to this bargain,

for As it blushed a fiery red

I wanted to see the misty mountain, 

 when the lord kissed its snowy bed

It glistened like a bejeweled bride

refulgent in warmth so soothing,

As the mother’s lap to a  child,                                          

the beloved’s letter , to the warrior fighting

So on I went, my legs weary,

to behold that sight, dearest of all,

on horse, on caravan, foot and a  ferry

to feel that feeling, most blissful of all..

Finally I reached the zenith,

as the lord ascended the cerulean throne,

and felt my heart brimming with blithe,

radiant in the crimson my soul shone.

But as I breathed, aware of every breath,

a shroud of fog it seemed engulfed

the madly thumping heart beneath

as slowly into navy the azure turned,

And I realized this quest was but a moment in eternity,

And there are more to come in this vagabond’s journey

Behind the dark brown veil..

As someone helped him into the train, the first glimpse of him, I caught..

With filth his faithful friend, to a corner he crawled,

An emaciated body, deformed legs, unkempt hair and dark sagging skin..

A battered bag and secluded solitude were he all he owned.

On the nondescript puckered face below the layer of grey,

Intriguing me the most, in the deep sockets, a pair of dark brown eyes lay..

As secret glimpses of him I stole, wondering what his story was,  

Hasty glances of pity and revulsion others cast.

May be with a family to feed, he was once a healthy man..

Or was born a beggar with the privileges exclusive to that clan.

How I wish I could see through that dark brown veil!

Was it profound sadness for having been deserted..

Or palpable excitement about where he was headed?

Was it inconsolable sorrow for having none to love..

Or sublime satisfaction that comes only when there is nothing to lose?

Was it utter despair or a glimmer of hope?

Wish I could fathom the mystery behind that dark brown veil..

Of the beggar on the train I caught glimpses of…!!!

My first critique

I recently read a blog and was so appalled by it that I simply had to write a critique!! So here it goes..

The art of knowing/ mastering something and using it only when required, demands a degree of self restraint which is seen in a matured artist, which was totally lacking in this blogger.

There were lines like “ a gentle zephyr laden with the fragrance of jasmine” or “ mellifluous sound like that of a brook in the lonely moors” what was she trying? Compete with Tennyson?. Looks like the writer only just learnt these words from Norman Lewis’s ‘Word power made easy’ and was anxious to use them before she forgot them (It was a she yes!). “a gentle breeze laden with…” is just as good as zephyr!! Ostentatious and unnecessarily flashy!!

Also she seemed to love food and colours too much.. There was this so- called poem that she had written, which did not have the most important feature of a poem (rhyme and rhythm), where a whole stanza had nothing but colours..no thanks, we learnt about basic colours in our first grade!!

Our Ms. Mother Teresa seemed to love giving advice for free.. I would recommend her to start a general counseling portal. That would anyday run better than this.


To top it all, the poor thing had added herself as a follower of her own blog!! The levels blogging has come down to!

After having read this if you still think you can endure it, please click on the link below http://www.supriyamadhavan.blogspot.com

good bye sastra!!

A couple of days from now, I will pack my bags, and bid good bye to the hostel..This post is intended as it is very difficult to guess, about my days in college, not that I will never study after this. But well, life in an engineering college is just one of its kind.


I profess I am the emotional kind you see in bollywood movies, ( for the ones who know me, duh!!), so I felt there had to be a write up at least, plus am done with my project report and exams for now and hence jobless. So here it goes.


I never knew there would ever come a day when I would say, gosh! I am going to miss this. But well, I am! The first year was a hazy blur. I whined, was a show off and did nothing. Came the second year, I had new friends. Except for bunking classes and coffee and samosas I did nothing much. Then came third year. I moved into the hostel, and still did nothing. And now the final year, I am about to leave and suddenly i realise, I loved it all! Till almost a semester from now, I would have gladly taken the degree had they given it to me anytime. But at the very fag end of these amazing four years, I only yearn for all that magic to come back!!


The hostel, the mess food however bad it has been, the gym that I always wanted to go but never went to, the Sunday magazines, watching movies back to back, samosas at eleven ten break, endless cups of coffee, making maggi, sniggering between lectures, mocking professors, bunking the first hour to get some extra sleep, finishing a novel in a day, the afternoon naps that never were naps (they would eventually last for atleast two hours), chatting with friends well into the night, studying for mid semesters, eating during classes, sleeping during lectures, blankly staring at the board, reading the newspaper from under the benches, texting, the slang I picked up (gaandu, gethu, appatakkar, machi)….
Never again will I be so jobless, get away with being rude, go with barely twenty paise balance in the mobile or borrow six rupees for a coffee or samosa. I have had coffee when labs got boring and I didn’t get the output, when I was hungry, when I was happy, when I was sad, when I was simply bored, when I was excited, whenever I got nervous, well you get the idea!


Here is an interesting observation by a parent who once visited the hostel. Any time in the day, except between 3 am and 6 am, there will be at least one person talking over the phone, sleeping, watching a movie, eating, washing clothes or bathing. That sums up life in hostel.


I literally got away with everything in college, special thanks to my department, I took everything for granted. The marks, the subjects, the classes, the labs and the grades!


With all the fun that I had, I also learnt some hard lessons that I shall always remember. I am much better off than what I was initially and I owe all of that change to this place. It taught me to be tolerant to differences. Everyone need not like what you like. And just because they don’t, doesn’t mean they are dunces and you are better. I have met such amazing people, prodigiously talented and yet perfectly down to earth. The amount of talent that pools up especially during the technical and cultural festivals is mind blowing. If you are the jack of few trades, there are people who are masters in more than one. College humbled me. It taught me to see beyond just marks and prizes, that there are qualities much more priced than all the talent that is there. I do not know how much of the instrumentation I learnt in these years I will remember, but these are some things I learnt and will never forget.


So, thanks to all people who have tolerated me, known me and the ones I have seen but not known  in these four years!! Good bye!!

a poem ...

this is the first time i considered writing it.. (well, if you can call it a poem!!) so here it is..

A mad rush, is the world beneath,
and she is almost a non-entity..
ah! all that is a hazy blur,
for, she is everything, vast and unbounded,
stretching on up to the horizon and beyond…

At one instant mild ochre, golden yellow the next,
and then a fiery orange, only to turn deep red,
a sudden smile, a merry laugh, a flash of anger, a dash of sobriety,
a psychedelic of colours…

What has passed, she remembers not,
what is to come, she knows not,
only a dream, a desire, that she yearns for,
a peaceful world, full of blithe and joy…

Black, grey, azure and yellow,
this changing of shades, alone is constant,
so is your life, uncertain,
but not to be feared, she tells me

Spread your wings, soar high in the liberated sky
fulfill your dreams, satiate your desires
and then come back to me,
I shall be right here, she tells me..

about cartoons and crying....

I still love coloured balloons, feel jealous when my mother pets my brother too much or makes pickles exclusively for my cousins, cry at the drop of a hat, petulantly argue with anyone who calls me a kid, love watching make way for noddy and Oswald, lick the last wisp of maggi off my plate and the sugar in the bottom of my coffee cup . I am scared of ghosts, snigger in the middle of a serious lecture and get pleased if someone gives dairy milk or just appreciates me or my work (which includes this blog too :)). So, does all of this amount to being kiddish .. yes. Is it wrong to be one when you are supposed to have grown up.. is the bone of contention.
I recently observed a cute thing. I made masala dosa one day at home and thought of giving my thatha some. My patti being very orthodox does not have anything made anywhere but in her kitchen. So she peered into it and intently watched thatha as he had it. He later said that he liked it, especially as the dosas were crispy.. my patti seeing he had liked it, started off about how easy it is to make it and explained the recipe the way she imagined it to be.. she declared that it was not a big deal on the whole and that if it had not been for her austerities she would always make it at home… what I found to be cute in this exchange was, she seemed to be slightly jealous that thatha liked something made by someone other than her.. She is 80 plus.. I did not get nettled, instead found it really cute!!
Just because one grows up need not mean that he or she should suddenly turn matured and never act stupidly. We all do funny things like a kid, so why is watching cartoons and crying for a melodramatic movie kiddish?? (so what if it is kiddish). Cartoons are the easiest way to get into a world where everything is a lot simpler. Toy land has a major problem if it is going to rain or a puppy goes missing. Noddy goes around searching for the pup or brings clouds in his helicopter. I feel like a kid when I watch and laugh for these little things. And why is crying a sign of weakness associated with children.. why can it not be just venting ones feelings.. btw, I recently found out that in shakespeare’s period it was a fashion for men to cry. And what is wrong with licking sugar off the cup (strictly at home) or being scared of spooky stuff.. well, if people can be scared of cockroaches why not something you have not seen at all..
No one can never really become fully matured.. it’s nice to have a childish demeanor,probably makes people young at heart like my mother (I loved it when she excitedly typed a smiley for the first time and clapped when she saw it animated on the screen) . It feels nice to just relapse into a world, where losing a pen or not getting to have cotton candy is the biggest problem.. cartoons and crying do not necessarily get rid of the existing tensions and worries.. but definitely help us face them with a lighter heart. So my conclusion, it is okay to be a kid (at times) :)

one of my favourite poems :)

Upon Westminster bridge- William wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!