The Missing Girl ...

From our first few steps to our last few steps,
we fall, many a times,
Through our lives, we have our great falls,
big wounds and small scrapes.

As a child, every wound was welcomed with a wail.
A few hours of pain and agony, but not much of a travail.
The pain would soon wane,
and the healing would be set in train.
But once the physical pain diminished,
the wound was little cause of anguish...
Greater curiosities would hold the attention of that fickle mind.
As the wound healed and the scab was formed,
it sometimes became an inquiry of the innocent kind,
picking, peeling and prodding, as if there was gold to be mined.
Within days, a new skin would shield us again,
as an invisible testament to the wound, that once was a bane.
Every injury was thus just a tiny distress,
as a price for some great adventurous success.

But things change, as we age.
We fall time and again,
but it is no longer the body in pain.
It is the ego which is bruised.
It is the soul which bleeds and it is the heart which cries.
We no longer bawl our way to recovery,
but we let our wounds fester with those unshed tears as if in a morbid brewery.
Even as we heal, our scabs are no longer a source of curiosity,
They leave us seething in agony, breeding a sense of animosity.
The pain is no longer physical as it nestles in our heart,
like a dart waiting to rip us apart.
Scabrous memories that haunt us all along,
serving as a constant reminder of all that went wrong.
Years go by before we heal,
leaving behind a scar so real.
A scar that toughens our insides,
a little like the outsides.
But then instead of being scarred like a warrior and a victor,
we run hither and thither in search of a secure shelter.

With the years and the scars,
I forget the child I started off as.
She was certainly not the cynic I sometimes am.
Neither the coward I sometimes become.
She was certainly not daunted by challenges like I am today,
I think I've lost her somewhere along the way.
Somewhere along the way, with every hurt and every bruise,
my heart has lost a few sinews.
Somewhere along the way, I am a new person,
completely unlike the little child who was undaunted by reason.
Somewhere along the way, I've held onto the railing,
than just flailing my arms to try sailing.
Somewhere along the way, the fear of falling,
has won over my heart's calling.
Somewhere along the way, caution has crept into my soul,
unlike the fearless spirit that once made me whole.

I wish I can find that childhood zing,
to jump out on a prayer and half a wing.
The strength that made me walk the first time
and the strength that made me graduate from mime.
I wish I can find that little girl,
who lived her life enjoying the everyday swirl.

The ocean beckons...

If there is one place that I'd I always want to visit, I think it is the ocean. There is something about the ocean that meets my every need, that answers my every call....

When I seek calm, she gives me a shoulder to lean on, like the friend who is always there by my side...
When I seek company, she laps at my feet with a warm embrace, like the love that senses my deepest fears...
When I seek words, I find them in her conversations with the wind, like the many people that pass me by...
When I seek strength, i find it in her battle with the coast, like I find from my family of love...
When I seek love, I watch the sun melt into her, like the child into a mother's embrace...
When I seek companionship, I find it in her camaraderie with the skies, each reflecting on the other...

When I am happy, she dances to the flutter of my heart, like the friend who will always be happy no matter what...
When I am gray she rushes to meet me, like a mother to the lost child...
When I am lost, she anchors me to the vastness of the universe, like the faith that I hold onto...
When I am anxious, she lightens my worries, like those who protect me...
When battling loneliness, I find solitude in her gentle soothing words, like that from an elder ...
When tears flood my eyes, she makes them her own, like the father who tries to protect from all the pain in the world...

She voices my anger in the roar of her waves,
She dances with her waves to the tune of my heart,
she rises to the tide of my soul,
and she moves to the rhythm of my mind...
She is my wellspring of hope and comfort...

Like the many relationships that form the fabric of my life, the ocean transforms to meet my every need.

The relationships that form the tapestry of our life are different from each other by virtue of what we seek from them. We carefully wade into some with scrunched-up toes, while we surf on some. We splash in some while we dive into some. Some drown us and we drown in some... I guess, the ocean brings them all together for me...

Phobias of a bibliophile... and getting over them !!

I love books. Not just for the stories in them but also for them as physical entities. I love the cover pages, the blurbs, the musty yellow sheets or the crisp white pages, the smell of ink and the texture of a hard cover.

This love of mine for books as things also makes me a little finicky about their condition. I hate it when people keep books dusty and torn; when the bind is coming apart and when the dust jacket is torn. I hate it when people mark text in books or dog-ear them (My mind is usually crying out aloud "Why don't you use a bookmark for heaven's sake or Just remember the page number !!!"). Even writing notes in books which were bought as gifts for friends and family were not my most favorite occupation. Other than the fact that one needs to be creative, honest and funny all at the same time, it also meant that those oven-fresh books were a tad bit disfigured by my hand writing. However, as a prime example of double standards, when someone gifted me a book, I would want them to leave me a note (even a sticker once... ;)) as my return ticket to that moment. And then every time I would open the book or read the note, I would be transported to the feeling that lingered with me upon reading the note and seeing the book (and I would have this smile plastered over my face :)). And so with this justification, I would allow myself to disfigure some of the books but only on the first few pages.

Now, I know this obsession of mine with books is crazy because books, like people, are valuable for what is in them and not for how they look, but this is just an idiosyncrasy (yes, yet Another !!!) of mine. Now I do hope you don't judge me based on this because this fetish of mine somehow extends only to books and not to people.

Now, coming back to the story on hand, with my concerns for the appearance of a book, I've never really liked the idea of second-hand books. It somehow meant that what i had in hand and what I loved was someone's possession. I could never feel that the book was truly mine... But then when I was forced to leave most of my books behind during my recent move, I had to cut some corners from my lofty desires and i did resort to buying second hand books. And in the past three odd months, I have invested in a lot of books. Some of them despite being "used" were in a great condition and I had no reason to complain.

But then.... some books were distinctly used. They carried notes, messages, scribbles.

Notes and messages which held tiny stories in them. Stories of people who had lived and loved. These were books that were given out of love and appreciation. And somehow these scribbles did not give me the goosebumps. They told me of a life that once lived. They told me of people who once lived, of their loved ones and of their lives. These books made me feel like a kinship with something bigger than me as an individual. These books made me feel like I was guarding something important, a piece of history - something bigger than me. Something that could one day be a part of history.

I know it sounds too self important but when i see a book with someone's love/concern written all over it, it makes me feel that someday, someone will be happy they found it. And till that time I get to be the one to protect this piece of history and legacy... It's a self-indulgent and overtly romantic thought but hey, I am what i am - a foolhardy romantic who just tries to be practical.... :)

And I guess the finicky bibliophile is growing up now... :)

My first few steps....

A dream to start with.
A year of savings and a new camera.
Many a trips and many a clicks.
Some words of advice and some words of appreciation.
A small suggestion and a big opportunity.
A couple of days spent rummaging through old pictures.
An entry list of sorts. A night of editing and uploading.
A long wait and a wonderful surprise.

I happened to send in some of my photographs for the EMBO cover page contest at the advice of a friend. And, since it was on a short notice, it was a hurried effort with no great anticipation but then to my surprise, some of my shots were actually retained in the final few. They are definitely not among the best but I am glad they made it through to the top 100 from among the more than 3000 entries received by the journal.

It is a new beginning now. From those first circumspect steps to the more confident steps of today. I know I am walking in the right direction and I am happy for the people in my life. I am grateful for the words of encouragement, those facebook "likes" and those critical comments. Those walks down the unfamiliar paths as I stared into my camera and my friends tolerated my obsession with ample sarcasm... ;) I am grateful for those happy moments that gave me something to capture; And for those moments of melancholy that drove me to my camera.


Here is a link with some of the original entries:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1838658534308.107884.1475855713&l=57fcc2e3a5

And here is a link of the final selection of pictures at the EMBO journal site:
http://covercontest.embo.org
And this is where my single survivor shot comes in...
http://covercontest.embo.org/Gallery_2011.html#65

I am glad to have made it so far but as Frost said it so eloquently "there are miles to go before I sleep"... :)

Fishisms and Fishy witticisms...

Some statements are just witty.

Not what is right but not always wrong either. Not what you would say. Not honest or sensitive or politically correct. Sometimes, they are repulsive, sometimes hilarious but for the most part just witty.

Here is a catalog of some that I came across through one of my many explorations into American soap operas. This time it was the very popular Ally Mc Beal. And the quotes coming through the character of Richard Fish are called as Fishisms.


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"Make enough money and everything else will follow"

"It's not about winning, it's about winning ugly that matters"

"Problem is just a bleak word for challenge"

"Parenting is nothing if not selfless"

"Reunions are meant to allow the more successful graduates to inform the less successful that is what they are, less than. You and I are more than. Especially me. I've got my own firm. I could possibly be the most."

"One of the keys to life is the fast forward. Every movie has its lousy parts. The trick is to fast forward through. As time passes, you look back and say 'oh that little adultery thing, oh that.' Fast Forward to then, right now, and you are over it."

"The reason John and I started this firm was because we wanted to go to work everyday where it was fun: make money, throw office parties, a fun place to work. I realize employees will always gripe. Part of an employee is to not like people staring at pretty girls, and not to like tactics to win cases. It is the nature of the employee to complain. There is always some place better. This lawsuit carries the gripe too far. It saps the fun out of it for me. And since fun was the point, anybody who isn't happy, leave. And if ya'll go, we will just have to start another firm. There is always another one."

"On sex and sexual harassment, women don't see straight. Women as a rule hate other pretty women. Women as a rule also sympathize with other women victims because they are women. Women want other women to be destroyed, but as women they don't want to be the destroyer themselves."

"Everyone is alone. It's just easier to take in a relationship."

"If you don't kiss a girl on the first date, you are a gentlemen. If you don't kiss her by the second, you are gay."

"Personally, I hate sexual harassment laws. The original force behind them were disgruntled lesbians who felt they were not given the same opportunities. Along with ugly women, who ere jealous of pretty women who got all the breaks in the work force. My cause to action is simple, women are victims. They need special help. Look, at the evolution of these sexual harassment laws. What we are really saying is women really should qualify under the Federal Disablity Act. They are less able. They cannot cope with romance in the office. They cannot contend with having to do a job and have a man smile at them. It is too much. Look where we use to be, first quid pro quo, then hostile environment, and now Seinfeld episodes. Women can't take it they bruise too easily. The laws are here to protect the weak and most vulnerable in society. She is woman, protect her!"

"We just love to live in a politically correct world, that is so involved. Where did we pass a law against common sense? This is a french bistro. When people go there, they go not just to eat but to dine. The ambiance of culture they want to feel elite and sophisticated. A good gay waiter can do that. They have that snobbish little entitlement thing going. People like that." Judge: " Gays are elitist snobs?" Richard: "The waiter kind are. First they are smarter. They grow up reading more books, probably trying to figure out the answer as to why they are homosexual.Plus, they are terrible at sports which gives them more time to study. They are smart, they want to work in the arts. They end up as waiters, way over qualified, bitter, snobby. People have com e to expect this when ordering a fruity wine."

"Lend me your shoe Georgia. If I wanted to sell this, better to have you model this or me? Everything is about presentation, same for restaurants as for shoes. What's inside doesn't count, its how they look. Fishism."

John: "Are we a joke to the outside world?" Richard: "The outside world just doesn't get the joke. Fishism."

"The difference between men and women is friction. Friction, friction, friction, orgasm!"

"Men love any woman they sleep with, it is the ticket to admission. Fishism."

"Sex for me, when it is right it is right. When it is wrong, it is still right. Fishism."

"True love means short refractory time. Fishism."

"After women marry and have kids, they don't want any part of a man's penis. The bigger it is, the more of him she doesn't want."

"Helping people is never more rewarding than when it's in your own self-interest."
"I didn't become a lawyer because I like the law. The law sucks. It's boring. But it can also be used as a weapon. You want to bankrupt somebody, cost him everything he's worked for, make his wife leave him, even cause his kids to cry? We can do that."

"Georgia, give me your shoe. Why would a grown person wear these? They are hugely uncomfortable, make it easier to fall, cause back problems, but, hey -- call it fashion. What kind of person would spend an equivalent of two years painting her face and plucking out her eyebrows, and putting silicone or saline in her chest? There is a name for this kind of person, 'woman'. Why? Because, we 'men' like it. Don't talk to me about equality. Don't tell me you aren't disabled."

"Unisex studies show it helps men and women employees breed familiarity, so long as they don't come in to just breed."

"Having a child is a selfish thing. Couples don't walk around wanting to give life. They say, we want a child. We want, we want. It is a selfish thing, a good selfish. Selfish."

"Love is an equation, a me and a you derives a we."

"Never trust a second thought. Where there is two there is three. You will end up thinking forever."

"Personal questions don't bother me. I just lie."

"How do these things just spew out of your head like this? Couldn't you at least use your brain as a filter?"
"That remark would hurt if I had feelings."

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Note to myself...

Some days are like that. They hit you like that bus around the corner, which you didn't see.... hard and completely unexpected. They leave you winded as you try and make sense of this new world around where everything which seemed eternal and strong one moment ago, seems weak and transient in another. Your world view is left crumbling even as you are left making sense of it all.

Imagine being told on the day after your birthday that your mom was suffering from Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and that she has only a year to live. Imagine that you've had troubles right through your growing up years and that in a week of receiving this horrendous news, you have the finals of a Law School semester. Imagine you as a young, confused adult, trying to make up his mind about the love of his life. Now, imagine what you would do if all this came upon you in one day along with more practical problems like loans, jobs, salaries, treatment costs, home bills etc etc.

Today was one such day, not for me really, but for someone i barely know. The story left me empathizing with someone I have never met or spoken to. Someone who is the friend of a new acquaintance of mine but then when I heard the whole story, i couldn't just carry on with my saturday, as if everything were normal.

It is when things like this jump out at you, that you are made to sit down and evaluate - your life and that of your loved ones. Someone else's misfortune makes you count your blessings.

I know, that as I listened patiently, I said the right things to someone who was troubled for a friend. I know that if I were to talking to the person who had just been trampled by the bus, I would still be saying the honest truth in the right way. But I wonder what I would be doing, if i had been the victim of destiny's road rage...

Will I still be able to retain my mind and my sanity. Will I be able to empathize with the pain of others even as i cope with mine ? Will I be able to compartmentalize and do what needs to be done ? Will I be able to listen to advice and take the call for myself and for the ones I care ?

The truth is I don't know but i do hope so.

I also believe that we all have the ability to take charge and do what needs to be done. Its a certain resilience that mankind has evolved with but we need to dig deep down to tap into this reservoir of strength. One needs to know and understand this one basic truth that No one but us, can solve our problems. Problems don't get solved by staying quiet and shutting down. Problems also don't get solved by talking about them. Problem get solved by accepting them and doing something about them. Problems get solved by letting destiny do its part while you do your own. Problems get solved by thinking about them, by listening to all options and by executing the right one.

So while I don't know what I will be doing when life decides to roll the dice for me, I do hope that I come back and read this note on the day when i really need someone to tell me this.

I also hope i read the song below and glean those nuggets of truth just so I can get through life.


"The Sunscreen song...


Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering
experience…I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not
understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you
imagine. Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm
on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing everyday that scares you Sing Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours. Floss Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes
you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with
yourself. Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you
succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your
life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year
olds I know still don’t. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone. Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe
you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky
chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people
think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever
own.. Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for
good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you
knew when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live
in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will
philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize
that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were
noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders. Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one
might run out. Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will
look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth. But trust me on the sunscreen… "


I hope I remember....

Decoding the phrase code...

When I came to America many things were obviously different. Coffee. Food. Clothes. Accent. Culture. Music etc etc. But language was not one of them. I had studied english as a first language and over the years, english had become my language of thought and internal monologues. Sad as it is, It was true that I couldn't think without interruption in even my mother tongue.

But then a few days back I became aware of a big gulf in communication even when using that common language.

I guess, somethings just become so much a part of your life that you can't imagine anyone else living without it. Phrases, as I realized recently, fall into this category.

Every group of people seems to have its own phrases, proverbs, anecdotes and metaphors - such that even though the language used is the same, its understanding can be vastly different. I had never really dissected these variations in phrases and the usage of language till someone pointed out to me the existence of these typical Indian phrases which are alien to most other people.

To my mind they were phrases that almost all Indians use without a thought or bias and expect every one to understand but apparently people here don't quite have them in their life / vocabulary...

"Pre-pone"
"Eve-Teasing"
"Adam-teasing" may be a younger phrase but is just as unknown
"do the needful"
"Out of station"
"wheatish complexion"
"doing it kindly" (I don't use this phrase but I am told many indians do...)

But strange it is to see that so much of your communication, even in the same language, can drastically vary depending on who you are talking to.

And there are many "american phrases" which I wouldn't understand if not for the many hours spent watching "F.R.I.E.N.D.S" and other such tele-serials.

Are you aware of more such phrases - typically Indian or typically American ??
I am always in need of some more enlightenment so go ahead and list them down...

Writing - the self and the non-self behind it...

Someone I know was once preparing a write-up for applying to a training program. I had been through the rigor and remembered it to be a rather laborious process. Not because writing is difficult but because writing your thoughts and ideas in a way that others can appreciate their value is rather challenging (and word limits are another impediment I find rather hard to negotiate !!). But then here was this person who had sent off the application within hours of receiving it. Honestly, I felt like some nincompoop who was struggling (for a couple of days at least) for a task which someone else wrapped up (very confidently at that) in a few hours. Since this was an acquaintance, I asked, fishing for the secret of course, and I was told with great candour..."I just write what they want to read".

I don't know what kind of emotions this brings in your mind, but to me, it was a mix of shock, anger, disgust and repugnance. In my mind, there was a monologue in progress that was ranting, huffing and puffing - "You write what they want to read ???? Where is your sense of self, you sycophant ? Maybe you should stop sucking-up to people and their egos and really think about what you want to do and say !!!" and the tirade went on in my head.... !!! (Thankfully, because I am really not looking to add embarrassing moments to my list of "why doesn't the earth crack up and take me in?" moments.)

As is the norm, with most of our chemical-driven, emotional surges, this rant too petered down with time and I went along with my life as it was.

But then one fine day, I happened to encounter a lady who was trying to impart some skill on writing. And there I was listening to her with all earnestness, when she said this one statement which brought back a whole flood of memories and the same chemical surge. She said, when writing... "you have think of what the audience wants to read. That is the secret to success." To re-phrase with my understanding, when writing, one must write - not the truth, not one's opinion, not what is right and not what one knows.... BUT, one must write what the reader wants to read !!!

I don't know if you can imagine the maelstrom which raged in my head as I sat through for the rest of the talk... but do try and picture it (because I felt like Tom being thrashed under a huge anvil by the antics of little Jerry). But this emotional surge also left a strong memory trace behind... something which made me question the foundations of my thinking !

I have always believed that one should write what is compelling... to you or to itself. Somethings just need to be told because of their magnitude and their impact. Some other things need to be told because "you" think they are worthy of being told. You, then write and find the words that best describe your thought and its relevance in a way that you think best conveys your situation and then wait for it to find its readers. Of course, I do not mean that you write in an incomprehensible and ambiguous manner where the actual thought is buried deep, cloaked in words and unable to reach out to the reader... but I certainly am not able to appreciate the idea of writing for the reader.

To me, writing is a reflection of the writer. It holds great meaning because it is a window into someone's mind. It needs to be honest and purposeful so that I as a reader, can sense the conviction that made it all happen. I read so that the writing can open doors and windows where walls existed before. I read to learn and I read to unlearn. I read for facts and I read for possible opinions, that i may have ignored. I read to change my world view... I don't read to have someone pander to my opinions and conform to my thoughts. For that I might just as well listen to myself.

How then do I explain this seemingly-pervasive contrary philosophy which has invaded my world.. ? Do all writers write for an audience ? Isn't there "a story that needs to be told" which lays the foundation of every piece of writing? How is our world being engulfed by this approval-seeking urge such that even our most creative and noble pursuits are dictated by the "others" and not by our self... ?

I wonder If I am the only fool who is holding onto these utopian perspectives while the rest of the world is watching a different movie altogether....

British Humor ... part II

Antidote for melancholy...

The following are excerpts from PG Wodehouse's writings.

Never has it happened that I have read his books and not laughed and felt better... so here is a post that is intended to serve as a bookmark for me.

"A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour."

"At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.''

"He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more."

"I'm not absolutely certain of the facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare who says that it's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping."

"Everything in life that’s any fun, as somebody wisely observed, is either immoral, illegal or fattening."

''I always advise people never to give advice."

"A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of someone who had searched for the leak in life's gas pipe with a lighted candle."

"You would not enjoy Nietzsche, sir. He is fundamentally unsound."

"Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty."

"If he had a mind, there was something on it."

"It was one of those parties where you cough twice before you speak and then decide not to say it after all."

"He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom."

"A certain critic -- for such men, I regret to say, do exist -- made the nasty remark about my last novel that it contained 'all the old Wodehouse characters under different names.' He has probably by now been eaten by bears, like the children who made mock of the prophet Elisha: but if he still survives he will not be able to make a similar charge against Summer Lightning. With my superior intelligence, I have out-generalled the man this time by putting in all the old Wodehouse characters under the same names. Pretty silly it will make him feel, I rather fancy."

"There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine."

"...it has been well said that it is precisely these moments when we are feeling that ours is the world and everything that's in it that Fate selects for sneaking up on us with the rock in the stocking."

"Chumps always make the best husbands. When you marry, Sally, grab a chump. Tap his head first, and if it rings solid, don't hesitate. All the unhappy marriages come from husbands having brains. What good are brains to a man? They only unsettle him."

"Oh, Jeeves,' I said; 'about that check suit.'

Yes, sir?'

Is it really a frost?'

A trifle too bizarre, sir, in my opinion.'

But lots of fellows have asked me who my tailor is.'

Doubtless in order to avoid him, sir.'

He's supposed to be one of the best men in London.'

I am saying nothing against his moral character, sir."

"If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine. "

"Marriage isn't a process of prolonging the life of love, but of mummifying the corpse."

"She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up."

"It is true of course, that I have a will of iron, but it can be switched off if the circumstances seem to demand it.''

"I am Psmith," said the old Etonian reverently. "There is a preliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like the tomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis.''

''I mean to say, I know perfectly well that I've got, roughly speaking, half the amount of brain a normal bloke ought to possess. And when a girl comes along who has about twice the regular allowance, she too often makes a bee line for me with the love light in her eyes. I don't know how to account for it, but it is so.

'It may be Nature's provision for maintaining the balance of the species, sir.'.........."

"Great pals we've always been. In fact there was a time when I had an idea I was in love with Cynthia. However, it blew over. A dashed pretty and lively and attractive girl, mind you, but full of ideals and all that. I may be wronging her, but I have an idea that she's the sort of girl who would want a fellow to carve out a career and what not. I know I've heard her speak favourably of Napoleon. So what with one thing and another the jolly old frenzy sort of petered out, and now we're just pals. I think she's a topper, and she thinks me next door to a looney, so everything's nice and matey.

"Cheer up, Crips, and keep smiling. That’s the thing to do. If you go through life with a smile on your face, you’ll be amazed how many people will come up to you and say ‘What the hell are you grinning about? What’s so funny?’ Make you a lot of new friends.''

British humor Part I

There is something about British humor that absolutely cracks me up... Be it PG Wodehouse or be it the witticisms of "Yes Prime minister"... ;)

Here are some of the hilarious one liners from BBC's "Yes Prime minister" series...

"The Official Secrets Act is not to protect secrets, it is to protect officials."

"The perfect representative on a government committee is a disabled black Welsh woman trades unionist."

"Conjurors offer the audience any card in the pack and always get them to take the one they want. This is the way we in the Civil Service get Ministers to take decisions."

"It is my job to protect the Prime Minister from the great tide of irrelevant information that beats against the walls of 10 Downing Street every day."

"A good political speech is not one in which you can prove that the man is telling the truth; it is one where no one else can prove he is lying."

"Politicians speeches are not written for the audience to which they are delivered. Delivering the speech is merely the formality that has to be gone through in order to get the press release into the newspapers."

"Ministers do not believe they exist unless they are reading about themselves in the newspapers."

"It is our job to tell Select Committees the truth and nothing but the truth. But it would be profoundly inappropriate and grossly irresponsible to tell them the whole truth."

"Ministers must never go anywhere without their briefs, in case they get caught with their trousers down."

"Two kinds of government chair correspond with the two kinds of minister: one sort folds up instantly and the other sort goes round and round in circles."

"If people don't know what you're doing, they don't know what you're doing wrong."

"It is sometimes difficult to explain to Ministers that open government can sometimes mean informing their Cabinet colleagues as well as their friends in Fleet Street."

"Minister's language: 'We have decided to be more flexible in our application of this principle' means 'We are dropping this policy but we don't want to admit it publicly'. "

I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Passing Time by Maya Angelou

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
sure beginning.

Beautiful prose....

The spring has been around for a while now but it became real to me when i read this passage from "Theatre of Fish:Travels through Newfoundland and Labrabor" by John Gimlette.

I loved his description of spring and below is an excerpt from his book talking about spring....

"By July, St. John’s was bursting out of its summer.

I’d arrived at a moment of transformation, the point at which Nature, sensing the first strong rays of sun, is thrown into panic at the prospect of winter only three months ahead. This left barely enough time for the cycles of life, and so the revolutions came faster and bigger and ever more florid. There were sycamores exploding all over the city, and suckers, clingers, thorns, and purples billowing out of the rocks. Great floods of greenery were rising out of yards and parks, huge gassy clumps of ash and willow pouring up the hills and frothing into the gullies. Cow vetch was rampant and coltsfoot on the move. There were reports of unruly slender willow, and of innocent gardens smothering in pearly everlasting. The city – so often overwhelmed by its actors – was now being choked by the set.

Such fecundity had not gone unnoticed by the city caterpillars, who hung in the maples like grapes. When every leaf had been stripped down to the purely diagrammatic, they allowed their fat, sappy bodies to plop onto the streets. Every night the Johnsmen had to pad home through this slick of grubs and half-digested pulp, but they didn’t mind. Like the trees themselves, they were in a state of summer euphoria; more Guinness, out all night, and enough fiddle music to make your ears sing."