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Just Shoot Me

Bala, 28, Gordon Gekko in the making, pseudo-intellectual, cynic, bibliophile, obsessive compulsive ranter...

The sun The sun

December 21, 2007

posted by Bala, 6:51 PM | link | 0 comments |

maduraiyil oru flu kalam

December 18, 2007

With such wet weather, only beings that are happy are the viri (and the doctors). All sorts of fevers are going around here and i believe i have come down with some thing. (can't be sure. it comes and goes). Hopefully it is a mundane local bug and not one of the exotic meningitis/encephalitis family that is doing the rounds in Madurai.

Have discovered a couple of good authors - Naomi Novik and John Scalzi. Novik is a fantasy writer and scalzi is a science fiction writer. Check them out if you read science fiction/fantasy


posted by Bala, 6:22 PM | link | 0 comments |

A Tale of two men

December 15, 2007

Mr X hanged Mr Y on Oct 16 1799. Both men were roughly of the same age then, they had nothing in common and had never met before. In a sense, they were excellent specimens of the worlds they represented. Mr X went on to find success after success in his career and eventually became the governor of penang, Malaysia. He died of cholera in 1819 and was quietly forgotten. But memories of Mr Y lingered on as a minor folklore with a monument of stones rising at the place of his hanging. 160 years after he was hanged, Mr. Y became the subject of a film in 1959 and became a sensation. Now he is a legend and a symbol and nearly all Tamil children grow up hearing his story. Mr. X rots in a little known grave in George town, Penang.

Moral of the story
: You are a nobody unless you are on TV

PS : Oh, for those who are wondering - Mr X is John Bannerman and Mr Y is Kattabomman


posted by Bala, 1:35 PM | link | 2 comments |

What are they teaching the kids these days

December 09, 2007

The teenager in the family is appearing for her 10th standard exams and asked me to summarize the poems in her english text book. And what poems they have in the text book!. 10 years ago,all we had was some lame stuff from Toru Dutt, Tagore and Emerson. The current matriculation syllabus for 10th standard has some amazing poems. How the teachers go about teaching such heavy stuff heaven knows. I have given the one liked most below:

The Stone

"And will you cut a stone for him,
To set above his head?
And will you cut a stone for him
A stone for him?" she said.

Three days before, a splintered rock
Had struck her lover dead -
Had struck him in the quarry dead,
Where, careless of the warning call,
He loitered, while the shot was fired -
A lively stripling, brave and tall,
And sure of all his heart desired
A flash, a shock,
A rumbling fall ...
And, broken 'neath the broken rock,
A lifeless heap, with face of clay;
And still as any stone he lay,
With eyes that saw the end of all.

I went to break the news to her;
And I could hear my own heart beat
With dread of what my lips might say.
But some poor fool had sped before;
And flinging wide her father's door,
Had blurted out the news to her,
Had struck her lover dead for her,
Had struck the girl's heart dead in her,
Had struck life, lifeless, at a word,
And dropped it at her feet:
Then hurried on his witless way,
Scarce knowing she had heard.

And when I came, she stood, alone
A woman, turned to stone:
And, though no word at all she said,
I knew that all was known.

Because her heart was dead,
She did not sigh nor moan,
His mother wept:
She could not weep.
Her lover slept:
She could not sleep.
Three days, three nights,
She did not stir:
Three days, three nights,
Were one to her,
Who never closed her eyes
From sunset to sunrise,
From dawn to evenfall:
Her tearless, staring eyes,
That seeing naught, saw all.

The fourth night when I came from work,
I found her at my door.
And will you cut a stone for him?
She said and spoke no more:
But followed me, as I went in,
And sank upon a chair;
And fixed her gray eyes on my face,
With still, unseeing stare.
And, as she waited patiently,
I could not bear to feel
Those still, gray eyes that followed me,
Those eyes that plucked the heart from me,
Those eyes that sucked the breath from me
And curdled the warm blood in me,
Those eyes that cut me to the bone,
And pierced my marrow like cold steel.

And so I rose, and sought a stone;
And cut it, smooth and square:
And, as I worked, she sat and watched,
Beside me, in her chair.
Night after night, by candlelight,
I cut her lover's name:
Night after night, so still and white,
And like a ghost she came;
And sat beside me in her chair;
And watched with eyes aflame.

She eyed each stroke;
And hardly stirred:
She never spoke
A single word: And not a sound or murmur broke The quiet, save the mallet-stroke. With still eyes ever on my hands, With eyes that seemed to burn my hands, My wincing, overwearied hands, She watched, with bloodless lips apart, And silent, indrawn breath: And every stroke my chisel cut, Death cut still deeper in her heart:
The two of us were chiseling,
Together, I and death.
And when at length the job was done,
And I had laid the mallet by,
As if, at last, her peace were won,
She breathed his name; and, with a sigh,
Passed slowly through the open door: And never crossed my threshold more.

Next night I labored late, alone, To cut her name upon the stone.


posted by Bala, 9:15 PM | link | 0 comments |

we hatesss examsssss...

December 02, 2007

we hates exams.. and we has one on friday..we hasss to mug up 300 pages of NSDL bye laws for it..we hatesss the world


posted by Bala, 11:11 AM | link | 0 comments |