Look to the right, Greenery!

Packed and prime on nature trawl
Eighteen were they in numbers all.
Beat the frantic daily scene,
Blithe they whisked to wander green.

Lifted by the spirits of Glen
Exalted life, they merry men.
Salt-n-sour to forget it all,
Arose to dance till curtain call.

Pebbles and Beans, Sakleshpur

Nil were calls and no mails sent
Dangling cheers of five percent.
Bouncing ball of laughter flew
Enjoyed they, a game in blue.

A rainy day and altogether
Night was calm, praise the weather.
Serene meadows and lots to text,
A trip well fared! Where are they next?

03.07.2016
Sakleshpur

Said they, he failed

Up and down the streets out there,

My wonder would be hot affair.

"No man behoved brute so tight.

Curse worse less, a beastly bite."

Said they, he failed.

Pray trust me for what I say,

Down there does the treasure lay.

"Everything's clear, black and white

Hail thy lord, who gave us light."

Said they, he failed.

Uff! I wander wrestle rue,

That I am wrong, could be true.

"Fool is he who works all night,

Folly fizz to prove his might".

Said they, he failed.

Seldom need me courier then,

Sing a song of merry when.

Cease not, shall I, ebb inspite,

Until I get the tower right.

Said he, they failed.

Ramkumar aka Freak aka Circuit Mandaiya, Barnabas Gavin Cangan (this name was designed for only for one person who is designed to design) and Sridhar had hours and hours of discussion about some war which happened somewhere in the middle of the tenth standard history book I hoped. Well, I tried hard to either contribute something (which never happened) or desperately change the topic (which they never allowed to happen). Finally one fine day I was handed over a sheet of paper on which Ram had written something with his beautiful handwriting: p . That is the lone inspiration for this post and yes, the conversations are not boring anymore. The link below would let you have a taste of it. And yes, you would like to give the poem another read after that.

IT'S OK Mr. EDISON,YOU LOSE

Across the hallowed hallways

2 August 2010

Today I had decided to be my very best. Have you ever noticed green clouds in the sky, I mean clouds green with envy? I did. It had drizzled the very first day in the year and gave a chocolate coating to my new green Bata pair. 1c was unusually crowded today. Gosh! The entire population of the world was packed in that small a place and everyone seemed busy unearthing a real big treasure right in the middle of this rickety bus. Just a small blow into the fragile framed conductor’s whistle, and I would have been launched into a positive parabolic trajectory of a projectile shot at an angle of forty five degrees to the normal and the flight would have been recorded the most unimaginable embarrassment. Thanks to my three sixty degree elbow that I somehow strained to manage at least half the portion of the pink 2” x 1” piece of paper dear enough to be the passport of bus travellers in the town. I must produce it to the grey beard, which would otherwise invite an unremitting pour of not-so-beautiful words the vernacular contained.

Seventeen rotations of the minute hand and the umpteen numbers of curses my bag would bear, it was Lawley Road, which I presumed to be a highly modernised version of pronouncing the word ‘lovely’- soon to discover it was the highest priority event of the day. A hasty stride on the narrow pathway five inches below the tar, and a four minute choke of breath by the awful stench that would churn the internal juices. Phew! The Golden Jubilee gate of 1995 – better life than all the elixir in the universe could offer.

I was almost there, just a few steps away. The wet breeze from the agri fields on my left had come to the rescue of my ruffled hair to set every strand of my mine to a smart partitioned concave across my forehead. At the countdown of the coconut trees that welcome every soul on the yellow carpet of flowers, I was nearing that important encounter of my life.

My mind would not ask – take the right and keep moving - an open space, a phantom deep. Forty more careful steps and there she was… A spotless face that would take eons to describe half the features on it, a sharp smile up the cheeks outlining the slender nose and a set of ten of the world’s most precious pearls on auction. Her mysterious eyes that hide under the thick clean-curved brows carried all the charm of the range of Alps. The yellow earring that twirled down her lobe, she sported a very interesting design that no common man could cogitate.

I heard people speak of her good-looks and charms and that the long queues of thousands awaiting her smile back were all rejected at once. Her father who is a professor in the college is a very strict man who has could not even tolerate a single crack on the wall that could cause his daughter the slightest visual discomfort. He is a bigwig in town, a genius, a perfectionist and a sensitive father. Goodness! I shall be one lucky in a million to have spotted her right in the morning. And she glared the million-dollar smile at me. Lost in the dreams I could faintly trace the trinkets of her dupatta rush in a sequence into the dark corridor where she sped. Thus began the routine of the thousand butterflies all talking off my stomach at the same time. She would everyday wait for me behind the intricately embossed pillar near the picturesque post office. Bliss! Just one sharp smile and she would dash into the long corridors of the ultra-gargantuan louring haunting enigmatic construction.

Life had taken one big turn. Changes embraced me and everything of mine. The tiring walk down Lawley road was now scaled effortlessly in no time and it was very important to be before the stroke of nine else I put a hundred muscles of her face to frown. The journey of the sun was magical…

It has been exactly three years and seven flips of the calendar pages. There hasn’t been a single day we never met. Sundays? Yes, the only day when her dad would not be around and she would gracefully walk down the path of golden hue from the hostels road and run towards this young chap holding a bouquet at full bloom. I would catch the same rickety bus just to join the only other soul apart from the driver and race the scorching rays of the sun else I disappoint her. From there we would walk briskly across the empty corridors and count every step of twenty eight that would take us to the first floor. And amazingly this magic number applied true to all the staircases, four in the corners and the one in the main entrance. Late in the evening we would stroll down the boulevard of brown leaves with the sun closing his eyes after a wearing day at the backdrop of a peacock that dances passionately on the Manchester made machine lying lifelessly in its late sixties. She had become an inseparable part of my life, She – my GCT.

Two more months and we will have to move on in life. The thought of separation sends a cold prick down my spine. Yet unable to accept the separation I am bound in hopes, tied in memories and the time we spent together will linger in my hearts for eternity. A degree is just two letters they say, but the lessons learnt are numerous to lay down.

Love of a GCTian

Gowtham

Smiles, Tricks and Shines

Hark now here, the year that was…

Smiles, tricks and shines.

Joy knew no bounds, a family esteem,

A comrade sent from the heaven above.

Blush-n-flush days to live, Happiness redeem.

Emerged the excitement, the trance unseen,

Sun and moon, pledged for a rumpus stun.

Ruffled the secrets of the Janus jilt,

Caesar had fallen, thus the legend spun.

Strange is the play of three sisters of fate.

Strived hard to sail the ship… Ahoy, Ashore!

Across a Bounty Bridge, his worth unearthed,

The sailor stood tall, stronger than before.

With hopes, with dreams, Up the memory lane,

He arises, towards the goals and lines,

To explore the terrains that wait for him.

Hark now here, the year that was…

Smiles, tricks and shines.

Serendipity

The petrichor through the window sends a pricking message of Déjà vu down my spine...  Monsoon is set and its freshness, all over again. Last monsoon… Gosh… and I forgot to wish my blog on its first birthday… (A sheepish grin but) sorry my dear blog… belated wishes.

 Three years… Yes… Six semesters is a long littoral long walk down life one would say. But it is just like three lights back, a puerile boy stepped into the main gate of GCT with a bag filled with hopes, dreams, anticipation, warmth and aspirations to do something out of the ordinary.

From an enthusiastic fickle fresher, who would love to explore places, pages and people, to a sloshy showy sophomore, always comparing the beautiful past to a famed future. And then opening up a new leaf as a junior with lot more responsibilities, rapports and repose, life has taken a giant-giant leap.

An hour of cheer with the wonderful people around, sometimes standing alone in the bus stand cursing the goddess of solitude, at times blushing when the special “She” smiles and remorse when the dears and nears forget him on the long drive. Sad… Being someone’s pet, and at the same time at other’s logger heads… Yes he’s learnt the sine wave of life. The transformation of the slap to a pat, the permutation of a scowl to a smile, the stint has been a turbulent hill ride.

Left at his own will to make a choice and handle the dalliance with his yepsen small, he is a Bayard to walk past fire, and at other instances gullible; finally landing up in his closet for a fard to hide those trickling down pearls of emotions. A Gobemouche, he is, to what others say and maintains an absolute obmutescence at the wrong times that makes him brood in pain.

Today he is grown big, a man strong enough to break the scrouging problems, to conflate a gambol with controlled hubris and to find the solutions which he failed in the incipient stages. Happy-go-lucky and tension free, there is always space for improvement, summed to his glee. Degree is just two letters, he says, but the lessons time taught him are numerous to lay.

I think everyone would have guessed by now – the person in the text – he is me.

Well, I must agree to another fact today, ‘A lot can happen over a coffee’ (Courtesy: CCD), it definitely got two people closer… very closer – the puerile boy who stood near the gate three years back and the one writing this piece of nonsense right now. But still the weather here has lent it some sense to take you down the memory lane. Hope it did…

Preparing my brewed resume

Gowtham

Those 3 Hours!!!

Hi folks!
This post is an inspiration from The troll page of our college.
It is so funny to believe that I am online during Exams. Still thought of updating before you readers uproar :p

So here it goes... Three hours of the examination....

A team, A goal, A poem

Unsung, were the suns so far,
Neither numbers, notions nor.
Cryptic cull of nature’s cuff,

Harp on hopes, the roads are rough.

Albatross, it never shall come,

Reason rare, run up the rum.

Together we can! Cheer Ahoy!
En-gi-neer a light of joy.


Distinguish, we ought to split,
Wipe out wane and warrant wit.
And that is how heroes are made,
Tactful, thoughtful and crusade.


Eureka! There, we are so close,
Race ahead, before blue rose.
Success, seldom spite you wished,
Terra firma, you hath vanquished.

- TEDxGCT

Sometimes I think...

Length, Mass and Time

Three years hence and one to go,

Cracked my brains to fun and fear.

Turned all stones to dredge up first

What made me an En-gi-neer?

Pepsin-Pencil –Penny-Perk,

Something sooner seldom dear.

Twenty four to sit and count

“Time” made me an En-gi-neer.

Scoff n scout and scorch n scotch

Bangalored or places near.

Polam rright! I’ve miles to go.

“Length” made me an En-gi-neer.

Logic –Lobby-Lolly-Loon,

Life has turned a greasy gear.

Volumes big and Down-to-Earth

“Mass” made me an Engineer.

 Gowtham
Soon to B.E

O brother! Tell me why…

O brother! Why do we fight?

Under the vast welkin blue.

O brother! Why do we part?

The warmth within, Our igloo.

O brother! Why do we cry?

O’er her scales up-and-down.

O brother! Why do we smile?

The common man, a cheated clown!

O brother! Why do we slay?

Half a note has got no worth.

O brother! Why do we shy?

X or Y – is all one birth.

O brother! Why do you mute?

It’s flout fact that all bleed red.

O brother! Why do you numb?

Mom sent me to share this bread.

Gowtham

Indian

Fine it’s 9.10. I’ll have to leave. Bye.

Oh my goodness. Coimbatore’s decibel levels are soaring high. The vehicles. The machines. The people. Gosh! My ears are bleeding.

Kabhi kabhi Aditi Zindagi… And my music express yelling!

God! If not pin-drop silence at least ton-drop silence???

A swift race with the sun on Thadagam road to enter Lawley road gate was hell today and my acoustic system needed some soothing, desperately. Down the gallery was Pudhu Vellai mazhai from Roja and “Play”. The cool breeze from the agri fields carried me floating and the impromptu of birds accompanied me to the post office in seconds past the new building that reflected my changed mood in its blue and green glass panes.

In around next 10 quick steps was standing a sturdy-stout and bulky frame with his black sling bag on his ever horizontal shoulders that hinged two arms which waved all 10 tuning fingers to resonate a frequency and paint the corridor air with the rhythm of engineering. That’s enough for you to guess he’s from Civil.

Hai Jeevan! ( That’s his name!)

Hey Dude! This is my most faaavourite song.

Indeed, your elation!

So you have lab today?

Friday – Instrumentation Lab – a noisy experiment today. Phew!

Noise? When you can enjoy ARR, you must (enjoy) that too… for you are an Engiii.

Still…

Thus began our colloquy for the day.

“I’m more interested in Sounds than music”

Sound in the sense? Even the ****ing honking outside?

Yes. Every single vibration in nature has music in it. Be it a piano, I want to bring out the WOW sound out. In the early 90’s it was all hardware and orchestra but now it is Sound Engineers and Programming. There are very few composers and a huge lot of Sound Programmers as such.

Glad to meet you Mr. Civil cum Sound Engineer.

Yes, Astound studio- my dream is now a reality gift from dad. The only fact which he enquired me was not the budget but the balance – Balance between Academics and Passion. I gave him an equation and he gave me my treasured possession. Mom is very supportive on her part and my first music is all ready for release in a few days (Woo!). And I’m stupidly Little-bit-too excited. *laughs* But I don’t want to make music a business, a money minded sale. My Passion is way far off from Profession. Both should never intersect me at the crossroads. One second… ( his phone)

Hello Daddy. Nenu college ochi cherasnanu . Bojnaniku intiku vasthanu… Bye.

Dad actually could not afford a quality-or-class instrument then. So I managed with a basic model. But dad was struggling to fulfil the ‘otherwise-no’ yes which he had promised to this adamant son of his. The best he could do was to put me into a class which offered training in the basis and the prompt pick-up-and-drop which he never forgets even today when my vehicle rests in the shed. The classes were so very jam-packed with schooling that I could make it to only a twenty classes, as far as my memory is good enough.

So that means the Mozart of R.S.Puram was in making…

Yea. My first touch was C major scale, a thumb on the C key, as simple as that. Then as classes could not be regular, rather I could not be regular; I solely believed in and repeated cassettes. My music collection today is in boastful GB’s. Eleventh and Twelfth I was put in a hostel. I headed the music troupe and I still remember the day when I just read out a poem written by my friend and it got programmed into a song in my lips and stored in my brain. I had my first composition then and there and MINE for once and for all.

So finally a musician was baked with the cake!!!

Not that easy Gowtham. The same person who could not satisfy my music appetite then, Saved for me – every single drop, to get me my workplace a proud Roland Juno Di. As I didin’t have much of training , it was actually Google-guru who helped me learn the ragas. And a rare Santoor player from Coimbatore. (I) Don’t remember his name exactly but inspired me with that instrument. On the Playback side it is Hariharan and Vijay Prakash, Of course.

Any kind of favourite list in your player?

Vennira iravugal from Paesu. Not many know this, but it is one in my top list. Speaking about songs it is a different mood for each day. Sad – Standing in motion (by) Yaani or excited PoC tune. Different moods all over. ARR, my God yes but his are still behind Hans Zimmer’s evergreens. Relaxation – I must say, is what I seek in music.

So does that include your special dedication for someone very special?

Music and Love are two palms. And you know what is clap- again a sound. My twelfth standard monsoon days in Pondicherry constantly rewind whenever I get to listen Vaaranam Aayiram rom-tunes. Yes, songs are now in the process of getting special for someone. *blush*

You told her? You confessed?

Yes. And you?

Double No :( Not sure of a return yes.*

(*Refers to two different girls. Our birthdays coincide, definitely not our choices.)

Well getting back, So do you relate colour to music?

Yes. Music also is about believing in what many refuse to be believing in. So it is a yes.

Highly impossible. I’m sincere to myself. And I never record my songs it’s all in my memory. So there is no chance of the P word.

Oh nice. Do you believe in ghosts?

Fine. Now imagine a case of Plagiarism filed on your tune…

I haven’t put in much of research into it. Again colours are moods, mood is music. Nice question by the way.

Hey P.C. assignment mudichitiya? How many pages? ( To one of his class mates)

Coming back to GCT from early morning dream, I realized I had a watch to look at…

Fine it’s 9.10. I’ll have to leave. Bye.

Bye Dude.

Wonderful personality. Proud I am his friend. I said to myself.

The next eight hours were for my ears. I enjoyed the sound of the broom, the tap of my shoe, the drag of corridor, the flipping of pages, the howl of the wind, the rhythm of the flush, the filling of my bottle, the payal of my hunt, and finally the music of the Blower in the lab which was otherwise-noise but today- music.

Amma intlo unnara? Nenu oka singerni kalsesi 6 o’clock intiki vasthanu.

This voice? I turned back. There he was ready to start on his bike.

Hey Jeevan. Home?

Yes. Coming?

Lawley Road please.

And for his ever fast ride down a kilometre stretch (which had my cap’s last flight few months back) he questioned me at the bus stop…

Do you think I’m unique?

In the sense?

You now know something about me at this time when I’m a bit preoccupied to tell about me.

You’ll have your answer not from me… 1c.Bye.

He had the answer for both HE and ME in the sling bag whish he wore. It read Success.

My Success that Persona post 2 is ready.

And his Success??? Left to you to judge.

Happy Friendship Day.

Friend for-long

Gowtham 

THE HEART THAT BLED OIL

July 2012

GCT workshops

Now having decided to sacrifice rest my life into the churning clock (again gears in there), I failed to accept that there is beauty in the junk that stands still. One fine day waiting for my bonafide to be signed I heard someone speak in the workshop. But it was not any man who spoke it was a kind of vibration which attracted me magnetically to stick my pinna to the heart that bled oil…

I stood on the silver sands,

Will the water paw my feet?

It must not – said a voice in me.

You are made of sickly sheet!

I walked on the good-will green,

Will butterflies kiss my hand?

They might not – said that voice in me.

Will they? In your lumber land.

I ran to the withered woods,

Will my hair waltz with the breeze?

It better not – said the voice in me.

Your life stands at final freeze.

I impugned back to that voice,

Have I been of so no use?

Not your guilt – said the voice in me.

Man is fickle, Changes profuse.

I had discovered the beautiful land of machines. It’s right that mechies say, MACHINES have hearts.

Mechanically touched

Gowtham

SIR

Hello people:) Back after a long sabbatical... now this post is reblogged from nervesandwires as we had to update that blog and I thought Being Me could keep the post alive till I exhaust my pulse or my blog gets hacked and subsequently deleted by someone:)

2 July 2012

Science Block, GCT

Almost a year having hurried in this corridor with the ‘fresher’ tag .The stairs that bore my thumps all day long now play the music for my entry into the new academic year. Every brick of it welcoming you with an oxymoron of old-freshness and I rudder a sharp right to the Language Lab…  

“May I come in Sir?”

“Come in Gowtham.”

A smiling face rose behind the monitor top, a personality that every fresher is mistaken for a student in the college, but he is our own  personification of a ‘friend-and-guide’ tag A.V. Sir.

“Sir I need you to spare some time for us.”

“Sure Gowtham” ( Playing with his fingers on the Qwerty)

“Sir, I want to shoot a Proust Questionnaire on you Sir.”

“Me?”

“Yes Sir! Please…”

“Well, Let’s Get started then.”

…. And thus started our first post for PERSONA  that you are eager to read on!!!

Mr.J.Anbazhagan Vijay

Asst. Professor of English and Student’s Club Co-ordinator

1. What is your idea of happiness?

Lonliness. It makes me pensive. To have an introspective journey free from anxiety and pressure of all time. I think happiness cannot be expressed when it is obvious to be expressed.

2.What is your greatest fear?

A wild imagination of what if my mom goes away once for all from the earthly life.oooooooz…

3.Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Napolean for his conviction, Bharathi and Kannadasn for their spontaneous poetic overflow and the list goes on.

4.Which living figure do you most admire?

Kiran Bedi, K.J.Jesudos, Ilayaraja, my teachers like Prof.Benet, and obviously my mom.

5.What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Travelling in a comfort zone always. I never try to experiment anything I’m not comfortable with.

6.What is the trait you deplore in others?

Whenever I find a duality in a person which affects the trust I have on him/her.

7.What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

When professional ethics conflict with the profession or professionals. A good example is that a doctor failing to save the life of his patient on the basis of money. (Sir) No! It happens.

8.On what occasion do you lie?

Many. When Naragasuran is on the stage, I have to eulogise him.

9.What do you dislike most about your appearance?

I haven’t ever thought of it.

10.Which living person do you most despise?

No. Not personally. But people after proclaiming that they have attained celibacy, still enjoying the most luxurious life in the disguise of religion, MUST BE sentenced to death.

11.Which words or phrase do you most overuse?

Men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

12.What is your greatest regret?

Lavishness.

13.What or who is your greatest love of your life?

Eating – hot home made variety rice with tomato rasam and a vegetable poriyal . And Sowmiha, my younger daughter surprisingly my new world.

14. When and where were you the happiest?

When I took to teaching. It is a different world altogether – being with the children of varied interests, attitude. It is my LIFE.

15.What is your present state of mind?

Happy – Busy, as I am always.

16.What is your favourite motto?

Life is to be lived.

17. What is your greatest extravagance?

Spending on wardrobe and food (with family).

18.What is your favourite journey?

Any journey which takes me to the hills (any).

19.Who is your favourite painter?

Ravi Varman, Hussain. All  time favourites.

20.How would you like to die?

Oh! Awful… No idea. But I wish no one should bemoan about my death.

“Thank you so much Sir.”

“Will that help in your blog?”

“Sir ! (Bows)”

Twenty minutes uninterrupted except for the two pleasing tones of his mobile, it was an experience of having known more about a person to whom everybody connects so easily. Was it the stream of words carried by emotions or the spark in his spectacled eye? That made me sit mesmerized throughout the conversation.