Sunday, 29 July 2012

Cordelia Won't Come

Good King Lear, what is it that you fear?
Is it your kingdom or your soul that you hold most dear?
Look upon the battlefield, at the blood and the glare
At the demons and the beasts that tear asunder your lair —


Old King Lear, what is it that you fear?
There is no sorrow greater than the lost value of a tear
Your body lies frail, your muscles as weak as your mind 
As you’ve driven away all those who have tried to be kind.


Dull King Lear, what it is that you fear?
Your body’s battle is lost — as for the war, do hear!
The firmament bids you welcome to adorn it as a star
For you’re due any moment to give in to Death’s compelling power.


Craven King Lear, what is it that you fear?
Do you hope for redemption as your end draws near?
There is no forgiveness or hope awaiting you round the bend
No Cordelia around this time to nurse and mend —


You thought her mad, of course, when she spoke sour truths?
You knew her wicked, of course, when she warned you ’gainst those brutes
“No sweetness in such a wretched ungrateful child!”
No sweetness in the shroud you sewed for yourself all your life!
Well, tonight as you lie: your final night
There will be no one to watch and mourn your pitiful fight
For dearest, sweet, kind Cordelia is gone
And as much as you pray, Cordelia won’t come.

Monday, 2 July 2012

Checkmate

Half a year has whittled by
With tears left running until they're dry,
Strewn chess pieces led astray
Fallen knights among them kneel to pray
To embittered gods of chess
Who care naught but to scorn and suppress;
Fighting folly play by play
An ill-fated race for those that stay,
Before the last piece descends
Down that dark road where no more amends
Can halt the flowing of years
Into the dark abyss of my fears.

The king of Will has been slain
His subjects slaughtered across the plain,
His queen forced upon by Fate
Her Will silenced without much debate
For her cries could not have saved
A doomed kingdom from the path Fate paved.

Night has crept in silently
Encircling my heart most violently,
No more tears remain to fall
As despair is let loose from its stall
With half a year more to see
The empty chessboard that's haunting me.

Saturday, 21 April 2012

Boo

I really dislike it when people leave their incomplete stories hanging. Then again, who am I to talk? I do the same. :P

There's so much that keeps happening. Not that I am complaining really. "No effort is wasted" is something that I swear by. Still, it is nice when you get time to breathe once in a while.

I've decided that I shall be scatty today. That is, during my breaks from the work that I must get on with if I wish to get a degree and move forward with my life. So I'll be pottering around all day (hopefully) and also indulging in a bit of excitement-induced-chicken-dancing now and then.

See? I'm already scatty and I haven't even gotten started! :D In the light of all that has happened, I am hopeful that the day will be good.

Oh and I started following Nathan Fillion on Twitter! I can't believe that I waited so long! I mean, Castle! And Mal! The guy is actually hilarious. And he even likes Game of Thrones! *shakes head and mutters something about a general pact with self about not following celebrities* Ah well.

So that's it for now. Perhaps there will be some raita that I can rummage from the refrigerator, bwhahahaha! Live long and prosper!

Ciao.

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

Hushing Hues

Take away these purple shades
When all I feel is blue
Drink all you want to ruddy health
But let me shed this hue

I haven't the craft I once possessed
Nor the cheerful sunny crest
Instead I'm plumed in the darkest gloom
Embedded deep within my breast

Won't you kiss me once, O Sunshine dear?
Won't you bless with your caress?
Or will these storms possess my sighs
As I await your sweet address?

Do spare a thought for a tortured soul
For most wretched is She
Who is bound by stories she must weave
To abide by surrounding glee

'Tis nearing cold, as I am told
And this Winter won't recede
If it's sweetness of Spring's song you crave
There is no tasting this mead

So merry on, and carry on
But shear these colours from me
Wrench them from my sorry skin
Release me to be free!

I shan't keep you long from revelry
Just enough to form the spell
And cast it over my battered self
To ensheathe me with your shell

Glancing at your mirror now
I glide gracefully to you
Your eyes meet mine, our gazes meld,
Your reflection finally true.

Monday, 6 February 2012

Wounds of Winter

There is a reason people hide their pain. A reason why it is tucked away inside the very depths of the mind, lying almost forgotten. Because when pain surfaces and you live through it, every one of your senses burns with an unquenchable fire – a fire that ruins a part of you, a part which can never then be recovered.

And that explains why there is very little empathy all around. If you feel another's pain just as strongly as you would your own, there is nothing that can stop the numbness which creeps in after a while. This cold dread that weighs heavily upon your thoughts does nothing but paralyze your hopes and dreams. So why get caught up in a web of bleak blackness that is meant for another? Then again, if you're unfortunate enough to have empathy as a part of your nature, fighting against it will only get you so far.

Ignorance is indeed bliss, therefore, seeing how burying the hurt lets you somehow live out your daily lives. You smile in a friendly way, talk, laugh and for a moment, all is forgotten... until those tenacious torturous tendrils of torment make their presence felt and trigger a whole new wave of uncontrollable, inconsolable hysteria.

When that happens, all you can do is laugh as you shake uncontrollably, laugh as you cry out, laugh as rivers of pain flow out of you, laugh as the deathly cold enshrouds you most invitingly and laugh as you secretly revel in your own destruction.

Sunday, 5 February 2012

The Athiest


“Well it looks like you’re surprised, young man…”

“You tell me. Should I not be?”

“I suppose an ‘I should have believed my mother’ is of the order.”

“Not really. She never told me about anything of this sort.”

“Oh? That’s strange! I thought all mothers did. At least that’s what they’re supposed to do. Let me check my files…”

“Files? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Oh it’s nothing to get astounded about. Where do you think your lot got the idea from?”

“And you alliterate as well. What a surprise!”

“Tsk. Tsk. Ah yes, there they are! Why, you’re right! She never did, God bless her, if I may say so myself! She was quite the liberal, that one… My, my —”

“I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t see how my mother and my being here are related.”

“But my dear boy, they are! And even if I do take your poor instruction in these matters into account, the fact remains that you stayed a sceptic.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! Don’t I have a right to believe and disbelieve what I want?”

“And look where that got you. Frankly, my boy, you are, as the younger lot downstairs say, quite screwed.”

“And you’re supposedly just and fair.”

“To those who believe, my child.”

“Well that’s quite convenient, isn’t it? If you ask me, it’s just some sort of a mechanism to lionize yourself. It’s only the sycophants and yes-men that appeal to your taste.”

“Hmm. I’d never thought of it that way… perhaps I should start punishing you now.”

“Oh please! Now I see why the world runs the same way. If you’re the architect, it couldn’t have been otherwise, could it?”

“How outrageous! You should be grateful that I haven’t already packed you off to my dear friend Luci! He has a special fondness for roasting fresh meat.”

“ Threats. So utterly predictable! Tell me one thing, then… if you’ve created everything, and there’s a reason behind everything being the way it is, then why would you need to punish disbelievers? You obviously made them that way — every piece of art of yours is purportedly perfect.”

“That’s enough out of you, Mister! Believe you me — you will be punished for your insolence.”

“Of course. Even though my being the way I am is your doing in the first place.”

“Hey Pete! Go fetch me the meta data on this loser here! I can’t believe I even let him into the system!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Ah, you boss around your lackeys too… That’s interesting. Know what? This place of yours is no different from where I came from.”

“Hurry Pete!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“It’s an interesting concept actually. You’ve modelled your creations based on your own self and inadvertently incorporated all your own flaws into them. However, to still keep the upper hand, you pretend that there is such a thing as free will and get pleasure out of persecuting those who represent your own so-called shortcomings, and blatantly favour those who agree to whatever you say. Blimey, it’s good business all around!”

“Silence! Oh, right here, Pete, yes. Be off now! Right then, let me see —”

“It does make me wonder though... You are insecure, aren’t you? Was it a traumatic childhood experience? Or wait! Did you even have a childhood, or did you simply burst into being?”

“I knew that a day would come when I’d regret making Freud and his ilk.”

“But seriously, why do you constantly need praise and adoration? Is it to fulfil some deep-seated emotional need? Are you a virgin? But then again, you can’t be!”

“Aren’t you missing something here, lad? I exist. You were wrong. Period.”

“That reminds me! Why did you make women get —”

“I’m going to stop you right there, son. I see that you were a lawyer down below. Damn it, I hate lawyers!”

“You swore! That’s actually cool. But won’t the Devil get you now?”

“Who? Luci? He and I are friends, more than friends, actually. We like giving each other space.”

“Wow! Now that was something I’d never have expected.”

“Honestly, son, you really think you humans came up with everything?  What blasphemy! Besides, it’s not even like we have fixed forms... pronouns don’t apply to us, you see. So it’s all cool.”

“Ugh. Wren and Martin’s –”

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just remembered something.”

“Now really! Do you think they call me omniscient for nothing? Don’t lie to me, son, you’ve dug quite a grave for yourself already... Oh dear me! Dug a grave! I do crack myself up, ha ha!”

“So this is why bad puns are so popular...”

“Hey! I heard that! Tsk, tsk. Such insolence! But no matter, I’m the one scanning your file at the moment – I’d watch my mouth if I were you. My my! I believe (oh dear me, I made a funny! Ehehehe!) your manner of transition was one of the funniest I have ever executed! Oh look, another one! I am on a roll tonight, ha ha ha!”

“Er, is there even night here? Seriously, you are very strange. Could you just hurry up and decide on what is to become of me?”

“Keep that up and I’m going to tie you up and spank you. I get bored so often here – the kinky stuff cheers me up!”

“Heavens!”

“Excellent! Now we’re on the same page! Since you have indeed acknowledged me (finally!) I feel that I could be a tad bit generous with you. After all, you did slip on a banana, fall flat on your cute little bottom and have a stray hammer fall five storeys upon your skull.”

“Ah. That’s certainly very kind of you.”

“Was that sarcasm, you saucy solicitor? I feel as though I may change my mind... Oi, Pete! Come here!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“What should I do with this doddering disbelieving dodo?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Oh never mind, I forgot I was as asking a Yes-Man. No matter. Hmm, your file is rather interesting. I had almost forgotten all about you, otherwise I’m sure I’d have sent you more ‘friendly’ reminders of my existence. Still, oh dear! You’re actually a decent person, and a lawyer too, how ghastly! It is sure to egg on the other atheists, oh my! Hmm – no, I’m not liking this one bit...”

“Okay! What terrible things did I do?”

“Well, it’s more like the terrible things that you did not do, in spite of being an awfully arrogant atheist! You work for the UN too, damnations! Seems like I don’t really have cause to punish you – apart from the crime of being a disbeliever, of course. But then, sadly, it says here that in the latest Divine Conference I ruled in favour of not harassing such people should they redeem themselves otherwise. Now what would make me do such a thing? Ah! That was the day the absinthe – oh, never mind!”

“Okay! So, er, what is the prognosis?”

“Hmm, as much as it pains me to say this, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know!?”

“I don’t! There’s never been a precedent for your case. The system I designed cannot deal with such an anomaly.”

“Anomaly!”

“Of course, I could always send you back with a splitting headache or disfigured for life... Now that would be fun! And it would also give me, er, I mean, you, more chances to make mistakes. Oh yes! That’s absolutely juicy!”

“What!”

“Yes, yes, I’ll just get Pete to do the paperwork. Here – you need to bleed a drop in this space.”

“No way am I going to go back disfigured! You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can. You do realise who you’re talking to, right? I’ll just get Pete to forge, I mean, clone a copy in your stead.”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough! You’re such a dogmatic autocratic despotic –”

“I’m bored of you already. Off you go then! Bye bye”

“—overbearing –”

“See you in a few decades!”

FIN

PS: Not meant to be taken seriously, with all due respect to Mr. Kapil Sibal and his ilk.

Friday, 22 April 2011

Fait accompli - Part I

My hands were shaking again... I had to find a place to sit. The searing pain in my chest shot well beyond my ribs and blinded me to everything else.

‘It’s happening again,’ I thought, as I stumbled chaotically and collapsed into my seat. The one-foot long journey had seemed like miles. As I lay in a dead faint my cell-phone began to vibrate. Schen was calling.

‘I can’t talk to him like this!’ I panicked as the phone kept on shuffling closer and closer to the edge of my table. Finally, after the world stopped spinning, all was still.

I felt too weak to move but there was work to be done and I couldn’t have anyone finding out about the attack, especially Schen. I turned softly and looked around the room and through the tinted glass that separated me from the rest of them.

‘Good, no one was around.’

Very gingerly, I tried moving my feet. When I saw that I could move them, I carefully hoisted myself up, using the table as a support.

‘So far, so good!’

It took tremendous willpower to keep myself up, but I didn’t have a choice. If the others found out what had happened just now, I’d certainly be packed off home. Probably forever.

‘No, I have to finish this.’

It seemed like hours, but I managed to go back to the shelf I’d been examining, get all the documents I needed and resume work.


The rest of the evening passed rather tamely. I took a cab home, not wanting to risk driving. Thankfully, it was Schen’s evening with the car. I was back just in time to shower, warm dinner and take a short nap to recuperate before he returned. By then, at least I was looking less like a corpse.

“Hey! How was your day?” I asked Schen, greeting him with a warm smile as his tired face managed to muster one upon seeing me.

“Oh, you know. It’s been a hard couple of weeks. But it’ll pass,” he answered, kissing me.

“Well, I’m sure dinner will take your mind off it for a while!” I replied as I took his hand and led him to the dining table.

“It’s your favourite,” I smiled as I handed him a plateful of pasta soaked in creamy cheese.

‘It’s a good thing he’s so tired, otherwise he’d ask about the call,’ I thought.

“So how come you didn’t answer my call earlier?” he asked in between mouthfuls.

“Oh. Oh! You’d called? Sorry, I got so caught up with work that I forgot all about my phone!” I recovered quickly.

He shook his head, tapped my nose with his finger and smiled.

“You’ll never change.”

‘Phew,’ thought I, ‘At least he didn’t ask further.’

“I’d called to ask if you wanted to go out for drinks later tonight. You know, Zeo and Ren are in town! It’s been ages...”

“Yes, yes it has! Oh, I wish I’d seen your call! How’re their kids doing? What did you tell them?”

“Calm down, calm down!” he laughed, “I hadn’t made any plans with them. I heard they were in town and wanted to talk it over with you first.”

“Ah,” I said sheepishly, “I should really stop getting worked up so easily.”

“Yes you should! It’s bad for your heart. By the way, have you, uh, has it –?”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question and I felt absolutely wretched as I said, “Oh no! It’s been peachy! I haven’t felt better in months!”

He gave me a curious look but then didn’t pursue the matter further.


Later that night as Schen was fast asleep, I kept going over what had happened. It was the second time in two months and I knew that it couldn’t be ignored any further.

‘But what am I to do? When it's only a matter of time...’

We were still so young! It pained me terribly to think of what he’d go through if I –

‘No! I can’t think that way’ I scolded myself.

But that didn’t stop the tears from slipping silently through the eyelids determined to keep them reigned in.

~ * ~

So, what say? Should I continue with this? Lemme know!

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Why I am a Vegetarian...

An ordinary day on the streets
Went by as an ordinary day would
It began with a morning sun
And closed with evening, as it should,
The cars honked without humour
At the stubborn red light,
Their headlights flashing so furiously
You wouldn't know it was night!

And while the traffic-man napped
As the commuters flocked in,
I waited patiently by the signal
And witnessed a cardinal sin...
The broiler by the road
Had intentions rather foul
Of re-enacting the Revolution
With some unsuspecting fowl!

These feathered 'aristocrats'
Caged and bound by their feet
Struggled fruitlessly against the Fates
That would have them served as Sunday meat,
Meanwhile, the butcher's guillotine
Gleamed with giddy guileless glee
Awaiting one head after another
Of chickens too frightened to flee.

It was a most unceremonious end
To a quiet clucking life,
As their heads plopped into a bucket
With every slice of the knife!
An adrenaline-induced squawk
With panicked flapping of wings,
Being what was last heard or seen of them
As they wrapped up their innings.

But the most disturbing of all
Was what possessed them in death,
Their beheaded bodies twitching terribly
While I watched with bated breath,
As they were skinned with skill
To reveal the viscera and flesh,
Without the slightest of chances
Of starting over afresh...

Although my stomach rebelled strongly,
Flipping and turning in protest,
My eyes remained fixed
To this hypnotic blood-fest...
It was quite the relief, thus
When the signal changed,
And I drove past this carnage
To adopt a diet less deranged!

Friday, 11 February 2011

Stray Strokes and Clicks

A very close friend of mine recently made me play what is called "The Cube Game". I had to imagine a desert, a cube, flowers and a storm, all within a setting related to me (I think :P). Apparently there's some kind of a psychological interpretation involved regarding how I imagine these things. What I saw seemed like a good idea for a sketch. This is what I came up with:


Cubed

I do plan on colouring it, but it's taking a painstaking amount of time on Photoshop and I lack patience so I posted the ink version anyway. :P (I have a scanner now, yay!)

Oh and this beautiful creature (and it's appretite) won me a prize at a college event today:


A Trophic Encounter

I seem to always be winning things in college thanks to insects. :P

Anyhow, I feel like being useful. So hopefully, there will be more artistic endeavours in the near future!

Sunday, 30 January 2011

Fading Dust

Winter is already receding. The morning greets us flirtatiously with just a hint of a chill. Yet, as the day unravels, the sun roasts us in sweat. There is a particular charm held by winter mornings... when you awaken with utmost reluctance, preferring a warm blanket to anything outside of it, when the water and hygienic habits wake you up even if your alarm clock doesn't, when you feel the season with all of your senses and let it sweep you away!

But alas! The last couple of days have given me reason enough to believe that I am bidding farewell to another winter. It's another year that has gone by — many leaves have fallen to Time and many more are awaiting entrapment.

And so the world completes another cycle, just as it always does. And just as always, people seldom change. Their bare essence remains unmarred although their countenance shows the signs and scars of experience. It makes me wonder, sometimes, if the trouble of feeling time flow through the body is even worth it. But then I remember moments when I was oblivious to Time, instances when Time was my slave instead of the other way around and feel inspired to breathe again! ‘Inspiration’ — what a curious word indeed!

Traversing life is more like a drive through the mountains. There are bends, rocky paths, sharp turns, and always, danger of the steepest descent. The view, however, cinches the deal, both at the top and more importantly, on the way...

Wednesday, 26 January 2011

Memory

And with this rhyme will I but chime
A sweeter memory…
Of painted hills and bright green tills
And sun-struck ivory,
And with this word I do put forth
The pleasures of my sight
’Cross curving courses carved in crumbs
Of ancient earthy might;

And with each drop on every stop
My ink recounts for me,
The clouds that danced, the winds that pranced
On hilltops, proud and free…
And with each treetop crowned in rust
My girlish spirit rose
Past precious peaks perched cheek-by-jowl
Nestled in calm repose;

And as I drove along this grove
The mountains called to me —
A call so wild, my inner child
Burst forth with willing glee!
And with this rush, my soul did gush
And giggle furtively,
Choosing childish charms over chains
Imposed most drearily.

Tuesday, 25 January 2011

In My Sleep...

As I tried, as I tried, in my sleep
As I cried
I blew a whispered withered word
Into the air, for it to glide
And I sighed, as I died, in my dreams
As I cried
Breathing troubled winter winds
Into my lungs, for them to chide
As they gushed, and they rushed, into my body
And I hushed
Them into silence, for they would
Awaken skin already flushed
And I bled, as I fled, in my sleep
Draped with dread
Along the path traced out by moonlight
That only forest dwellers tread
And I flew, as I blew out my candle
And withdrew
Into shadows shunned by starlight
Burned by a bitter baleful brew
And I sighed, as I died, in my dreams
As I cried
While my soul grazed past all sorrow
And was freed from need at last!

Tuesday, 30 November 2010

On Silence Within Silence

These days I often find my words stopping... They stop before I start to speak, they stop before I start to write and they stop before I start to feel. I'd always let myself feel through words. I'd admire the beauty of scarlet sunsets or the charm of nebulous notes through words. I'd think them in my mind and feel them in my heart. And yet, these days I feel bits of myself slipping away with no words to describe this silent despair, this dreary desolate death.

I don't have the urge to write on most days. It's funny because there used to be days when I'd be driven to live out each day just so that I could let the words flow freely. Life has not been particularly sad, it's been quite good, I daresay, in a few areas... Still, it's as though I'm no longer possessed by the spirit which drove me. I do what I have to do everyday, but "my soul slides away".

I suppose it is a kind of numbness: one that I've allowed to become a habit through sheer force of routine. I know I should stop myself before it gets out of hand. But where is the inspiration when my eyes have been deadened to the sights of life?

Caught in the same pattern repeating year after year, I'm struck by how much I've let myself be bound... Me, a free spirit who'd rather die than live with clipped wings! Spring moves much slower through my footsteps and it seems that Winter has set in. Again, that's funny, for I'd always loved Winter and the cold that it brings.

Monday, 18 October 2010

On Pippi Longstocking and Other Things

Although I am fairly certain that there are others who do the same thing, I've been told that I can get quite obsessive when reading a book. The thing is, I've always preferred reading an entire book at a stretch. Whether it is a fledgling in terms of pages or a massive tome of over a thousand scrolls, I am happiest when I can read uninterrupted, without pausing for life and its requirements.

And that is precisely what I was doing last night. I'd been a little late in catching on to the Millenium bandwagon, but Stieg Larsson's posthumously published trilogy gripped me as much as it has many others. Last night, I managed to steal away the last book from my mother (who wanted to read it before I did. As if!) and had already finished about fifty-odd pages before she noticed what I'd done. Thus, the book lay in my possession for the rest of the night... And I had to make the most of it if I did not want my mother to steal it back during a weak moment of rest!

It was quite a remarkable amalgamation of stimuli! Here I was, sitting by a window late at night, running through the events of the story as they unfolded. And beyond the translucent glass was a performance like no other! Being Navami night, the para puja had to be resplendently raucous. With a few singers, a hired band and a tiny makeshift stage, the people of my locality could find no reason for anything less than "aatmosht aynjoymaint". There was this Lady in a Green Dress (if it could be called a dress in the first place) who had a decent voice. Sadly, it would not have made any difference if she had only trilled to the tune of the song without trying to enunciate the lyrics. There was also a gentleman who sounded like a foghorn and another lady (who I did not care to peep at from the balcony) who had a very healthy pair of lungs. Both of them spent the greater part of the night enthusiastically egging on the crowd with emphatic cries. Not surprisingly, the crowd got egged, repeated chants of "Yeeyh! Yeeeh! Byaaaapoook! Yeeeeeehhhh!" bearing testimony to the fact!

Now I usually find no trouble in noticing these quaint details and carrying on with my work at the same time. So it was quite an enriching experience indeed to follow the trail of a constitutional conspiracy and, at the same time, mull over the anthropological aspect of boisterous behaviour late at night. It was extremely enlightening... Lisbeth Pippi Longstocking Salander as well as wannabe Himesh Reshammiyas both gave me much to think about! (In the latter case it was a case of philosophical resignation... there are people in the world who should not be allowed to open their mouths but no law of Nature can stop them from doing so).

Finally, it was in the wee hours of dawn, (I suppose 6 a.m. does count as early dawn to me) that I turned the last pages of The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest. Thankfully, nine hours of sitting in fairly the same place hadn't been all that uncomfortable and I was able to hobble over to my room and take my lenses off without collapsing into a heap. Following this, I promptly made my bed and slept till twelve noon.

Tonight does not seem to show signs of being any different. It's quite amusing to see how a night-time train journey has happened to give me the symptoms of jet lag. The trip to the hills, however, was well worth it! But that,  again, is another story...

Saturday, 2 October 2010

Order, Structure and OCD

The last week in college has been absolutely arduous! All those of us in the Design team of the Department Magazine would agree that we never noticed when Monday turned into a Friday, as we were all attuned to the many whims and tantrums of Corel Draw. There were a few "inexplicable, incorrigible and illogical" circumstances... Owing to these, we had to complete the page settings for over 70 pages of the inaugural issue within four days so that all that the printer would have to do is press "Print". 

Nevertheless, it was quite an adventure! All those late nights and attending classes the morning after, yawning through the lectures, the phone-calls exchanged every few minutes to be told the latest "bad news", squeezing work into the meagre lunch hours and rare off-periods, and for me, working all night and stopping only when my alarm rang the next morning to go and brush, to make the rescheduled deadline... they're experiences that I am not likely to forget! I'm also fairly certain that my friends won't forget how the sleep-deprived me started humming the Godfather theme really loudly while plodding through the last-minute proofreading, or how I suddenly started laughing hysterically and wouldn't stop, or how they actually had to drag me away from the laptop and restrain me so that I'd rest for a little while.

Funnily enough, I found it all quite fulfilling. I mean, I know that I get obsessive compulsive about margins and measurements and the alignment of borders, yet, it felt good to know that I had had a hand in creating something that represents our years in the department. And it also felt great that when all of us were put to test, we succeeded. Now the rest is up to the printer and whatever power makes the world tick. We've done our job, in spite of it being impossible!

Right now, it is time to catch up on some lost sleep and stop dreaming of being choked by pages of the magazine. And perhaps, to recall ridiculously hilarious auto-rides through the narrowest of lanes, where we narrowly missing having blobs of meat flung at us!