Tuesday, November 30, 2004

This & That

Cofusion still looms large.

Exams are around the corner.

Need to intern somewhere in the break that follows the exams.

Wondering where to go to.

Wondering whom to contact.

Bumped into PV, a senior at school.

She's into Media Studies as well.

And is interning at The Times of India.

An excerpt:

PV: Love the job at Times

PV: Reporting is cool

PV: You are treated like a queen when you say "Times"

Me: oh... ok

Me: another good reason to stay away from Times

PV: ??

Me: Err... ok... never mind!

Sunday, November 28, 2004

My Yahoo Avtaar

Reality shall impose no constraints on his being. He is blissfully unaware of his standing. He continues to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doing the wrong thing, of course.

His sense of reality is badly distorted. The look on the face smacks of absolute insincerity and complacency.

But the truth shall dawn on him. And he will be left cold from the inside. And he will wonder why.

I give to you...


My Yahoo Avtaar!

A piece of art, innit? ;-)

*ducks the rotten tomatoes and eggs*

November 16 marked the birth of this blog. Heypee Budday, dear Neurotica. It's been one interesting journey. Here's to several more years of togetherness in the Blogosphere. And here's to all the people I met on this trip!

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Aren't You An Artist?

This poem was written by a classmate who likes to call himself, 'The Subverter'. It kinda grew on me. I decided to share it with you. I am still in awe of it. I think it is a beautiful poem.

Aren't You An Artist?

'You are an artist', they declare.

And you are offended at once,

And also amused,

And the thin line between them remains fractured.

You are an artist because your body

Is not worth making love to,

Your soul is, absurdly.

Because what you call profundity

Is absurdity for others.

Because your ideas are inverted,

Not likely to be taken seriously.

You are an artist because you stink heavy

Of intimidating ideas.

Because the contours of your art

Is the outskirt of rotten radicalism.

You are an artist because you have learned

To wallow in the luxury of your failure.

Because you leap out of the common norms

And create your own confusion

And reside proudly in that.

You qualify as an artist when your beloved,

Your ideas, everything you loved and held,

Betray at the critical point of your life,

Leaving you laughing at your own fate.

So is being an artist an achievement,

Or an entrapment?

Monday, November 15, 2004

Sunday, November 07, 2004

Coz I'm leaving on a slow train... and other such thoughts! :D


I'm coming home now

It's been so long now

Gonna get there somehow

Praying you'll be there!

Eewww! Boyzone! Eeeww!

It's been a while. And I am going home now.

It's time to meet with long lost friends. It's time to not worry about schedules and deadlines for a change.

It's time to throw some caution to the wind.

It's time to celebrate.
I'm going home!


Home Sweet Home

To All Those Who Dropped By At Neurotica...

Dark Realms of The Blogosphere

To those lovely people who have stumbled on to this blog while searching through the dark realms of blogsphere... thanks for leaving behind all the lovely messages.

I am gonna try and reply to all of those. Of late, I had been hard pressed for time and been devoid of blogging inspiration.

But thanks a heap for coming. It's nice to hear from you.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

Look Ma! I'm in the papers!

It was just one of those days when you could swear you can choke someone to death and claim to have enjoyed doing that. For us folks from the Department of English Journalism, it was a day we had awaited with extreme interest. A journo is no good if he doesn't write for a paper. Which is why we have our lab journals as a part of our course.

My group of ten, named 'The IIMC Times', rather unimaginatively, I must add, were all pumped up for the day. There were deadlines to be respected, reports to be edited, and newsprints to be taken out.

Thus started our stressful day over endless cups of coffee and cigarettes. (I must add that I settled for Coffee). I was the only one on my team who could design. "Technosexual", like someone put it. And it ain't easy working when an angry mob of 9 breathes down your neck, making suggestions and critically analysing every aspect of journal. The journal, that is a key to getting good placements in the months to come.

Every point met with a counterpoint. It wasn't exactly bliss. Layout design is thankless labour, any designer would agree. As the deadline drew closer, tempers rose and fists clenched. I wanted to rip the remaining hair of someone's bald head off. I do believe that the feeling was mutual. This is when a non-smoker really feels the need to fag. Coffee is so 9th grade.

Meanwhile, The Herald, The Exress and The Mail, all beat the deadlines and were out with their copies. We were the last to submit. But one look at all those journals made me believe that haste had made waste. The Times was late. But damn... it looked so much better!

This is what it looks like. I was suitably impressed. And nobody in the team had any problems with it. However, the prints were delayed. Which was kinda heartbreaking, considering we all wanted to get the feel of our journals in our hands, before we left for our respective hometowns. It wasn't to be. Our college, at the end of the day, is a sarkari office run by the Ministry of I&B.

And then rang those words of a senior, whom I met in July: "The Director here is an SOB!!!"

Now I see why.