Quick Tales - the Results

Here they are!

Congratulations to all the winners! And a good job, organisers.

A cheer for the time taken to comment on almost every story and pointing out where each one worked (or as the case might be, bombed).

And now that I know I use more type-styling than type (which is a shocking achievement in itself), I'm gonna be the next one vying! :D

The Scores.

Quick Tales - the ShortList

* tone of surprise, eyebrows raised *

Why! Hello Blog!

* /tone of surprise, eyebrows raised *

That's more than two months out of the offing.

And this is a blog-saving post. :|

Well, the saying goes,

The prospect of unpaid publicity arouses even the laziest.

Or maybe, I coined it right now. Never mind.

One of my major motivations (probably the only one) to take part in QUiCK TALES, a Flash Fiction writing contest jointly organised by Caferati and LiveJournal, was, the beginning of my engineering mid-semester exams coincided with the fateful last date of the contest; and I just had to do anything, anything other than studies :|

Theme: Journal (in any which way that you can interpret it)

Word limit: Not more than 500 words. 

Mine motive was pure time-pass, but I learnt a few days ago, to shock, and speechlessness, that both the entries that I had submitted somehow found their way into the final 100 shortlisted ones! And one of the prizes, The People's Choice Prize depends on junta ka vote; bole toh, you people need to go and read those stories and rate them on a scale of 1 to 10, and they'll calculate an average score on Doomsday.

The poll is open only to LJ members, so you need to register on LiveJournal to rate. Sign up over here, it's just a 30 seconds ka jhamela, and you can forget all about the account after you've rated the stories 

Here go mine, to hum and blackcurrant rum (:D)

#683 and #738

Just go and read the stuff!

Feedback would be greatly appreciated. (Mail, blog, or journal :D)

Don't worry! You won't be inflicted with more than 5 minutes of my writing. The word limit left no chance for the scrollbar!

And of course, goes without ado, the rest of the shortlisted stories.

Poll closes in a few weeks!

• Mood: Shock, wearing off 

To know or not to know

He who knows and knows that he knows, is a wise man- seek him.

He who knows and knows not he knows, is asleep- wake him.

He who knows not and knows he knows not, he is a child- teach him.

He who knows not and knows not he knows not- SHUN HIM.

* no need to explicitly mention that he's a fool [all related expletives], a featherbrained nincompoop [supplementary expletives], and he can commit suicide by belly flopping into the river Mula (or for that matter, any water body; Mula gets special mention because the part of Mula behind our college is just more potent as regards inviting death by multiple causes, like drowning, clawed frog injuries, automatic choking, hyacinth-strangling, etc. in order of increasing probability) *

Alright. I know I just can't resist putting random crap completely irrelevant to the point of my post. But most of the times, it's because many essentially-related-to-the-post arguments crop up in my mind just when I'm actually writing. And then it feels unfair to be writing without expounding them; it feels incomplete. So I just have to include them, you understand. No wonder I always end up with unimaginably huge posts almost every time. But atleast, not this time. No.

So, the lines above are part of a Chinese/Arabian proverb. [Multiple sources – multiple answers] Chuck the origin. Just concentrate on line 1. There are times when try as you might, you just don’t find the right words to express yourself, but you are rock-convinced that you’re correct. It feels like the peak of inexpressibility. And then, when you get the words finally, it’s a crash of delight! That was exactly what I experienced when I chanced upon this line. “He who knows and knows that he knows”. Cognizance. Awareness. Of your own capabilities. To be immensely aware of your intelligence. To be knowing that you’re capable of so very much, vis-a-vis the rest of the world around you! It feels wonderful! Heady sometimes. [I know; as I have felt those pleasurable shivers coursing through me so often :) ]

But, very subtle lines separate being aware, being outspoken, being outspoken at the right times, and being explosive. Modesty is a quality; but be too reticent, and you’ll lose a chance one too many. Be audacious enough to gather a fish-market and pounce upon any and every topic to parade your “awareness”, that’s what is colloquially termed “Attitude”. I’d like to term it, more behaviourally- Pining to be the centre of attention. It’s something on the lines of over-estimating yourself; sort of contradictory ain’t it? You get carried away by your own idea of your abilities (people actually start convincing themselves that things they’re unable to do are not worth doing! :| ) and start thinking you are incomparable. In short, you get a superiority complex. The ploy might hold temporarily, but in the end, you’ll be up for the grabs.

Being aware, and being coolly confident about it is what it’s all about. "You know that you know" should make you more humble than proud. That's real 'knowing'! Everyone has their limits. [They must. Imagine, you’re the top in everything in the world! Scary! What would you do now for the rest of your life? Sit and eat peanuts? I’d actually consider suicide :| ] And you must be aware of them too; so that you can better yourself. You have to accept and respect better talent when you meet it. Never under-estimate anyone, and never over-estimate yourself. Make sure that you do fly sky-high, but with a fully functional parachute.

In short (that is, my idea of short :) ), definitely know that you know, but also know what you don’t know; and know precisely how much you know, and let the others know that ‘know’ing in a slightly demure manner. You might be bursting to brag, but that’ll seem more like forcing others to know that you know, which defeats the purpose after all.

More practically, it might just, just, seem like a variant of case 4, whereby people might just follow the advice the mysterious Chinese/Arabians gave.

SHUN YOU.

Memories

Did I ever tell you?

My balcony and bedroom windows are magical. They serve as timeless time machines. Whenever I look through them (which is quite a lot always, considering that I’m inevitably jobless for 364 days of the non-leap year and oh no! the 365th day is not my birthday! It’s just a random day on which I feel like working :) ), I don’t see the beautiful lotus-encased temple that peaks right up to it. I don’t see the unique mischiefs the brilliant boys come up with in the garden. Sad, in a sense. It would’ve reminded me of my younger days; those chaos-triggering, window-smashing football and dodge-ball sessions, spectacle-splintering appa rappi with a tennis ball, those bashes, climbing trees, stealing tamarind, playing cards all night long....and I used to be the Queen of Challenge!( For those of you who're unaware (sod you!), it's a card game where people play their cards wrong-side up with a declaration and you can challenge their cards' worth upon your discretion. And the guy who loses all his cards first wins! ) I could stack six cards beneath my topmost one and pass it off as ONE card! And I would do it again and again and again! And no one's got wind of it till now. :D *sigh* I don’t see corduroys, I’m hard put noticing Mercs [yes, the ones which have Benz for a last name] making inexplicable appearances in our humble society; in fact, I once shooed a rare cormorant off our sill, mistaking it to be a common sparrow, and I still had the blessed notion till my bro next-room came bawling his head off that he was just trying to keep the creature still enough to take a pic, when yours truly, in all kindness, frightened it out of its feathers. So much for his bird dropping. Errr, watching. ;)

What I notice, instead, are only memories. An avalanche of them. Each one leads to another, and I have absolutely no idea as to where I might’ve landed within the next 15 minutes! I might be in my fifth grade, whispering frantically into tanny’s ears in english class, for all I know. :D

Fascinating how a window for looking out into the world inevitably turned into a window for looking inside myself. Countless are the times I recollect standing there, contemplating on lost times, on future prospects, on pre-examination blues, on impending assignments and intricate (the-ones-i-know-are-materialisable-only-in-the-wildest-of-my-dreams sort of) plans on how to deal with them; on friends, and friendship, and the rough crew that it tows on deck! With amazing delicacy. Those grills know the clutch of my nails when I'm angry; the continuous string of punches and my own inevitable retaliatory 'ow's when I'm vehement; the washing silence of solemnity when I'm trying to indulge in crude astronomy; the warmth of my tears when I'm totally down; the caress, the tenderness of a kiss when I'm oh-so-happy; the tragedy of supporting my weight when I'm exultant and completely over-excited and out of control. So much so, that I just can't help smiling fondly at the window when I pass by it. It feels more than a framework of metal. More..alive.

Countless are the conversations I’ve had with God, with nothing in between him and myself but the iron bars of my window. Pouring my heart out to that paramount helper and sympathizer, raving and raging, whining, apologizing, promising, wishing earnestly, asking for just-one-more-time opportunities, but ultimately, being immensely grateful that I am NOT an atheist. That I have such a being (whether or not for real, doesn’t matter) with whom I can behave any damn which way I want. It's not as much the existence, as the belief, and the faith, that fuels things.

And rain assists going down memory lane. Gives it concomitance. There’s no smell so sweet and rejuvenating as the one that rises from wet, raw mud! The essence of life when the soft pitter-patter of water soaks the parched earth. The mien of water gradually seeping through the loam, as it drinks it up thirstily, as the dried-up cracks fill up and coalesce; as the plants, fresh and green from the first rains, sway jubilantly, rebelliously. As the earth celebrates. As life begets life.

For some reason, or for no reason at all, it talks of freedom, and happiness, of a sudden spurt of unexpectant generosity; of contentment, emanating within and without, and a thrill of joy, of a whole new reason to live! And most inviting of all, memories. Just like soulful music. If your eyes and ears lead you down memory lane, your smell and touch lead you down more so, but with the realization, the cognizance, that you are fortunate enough to be passing through your memories, to be reliving them, not once, not twice, but as many times as you wish to!

Isn’t the ability God-given?!!

My mum begs to differ. She says that wallowing in the past isn’t worth it. Ruffling up old memories, spending hours of precious time ruminating on them, bursting your head open upon how life would’ve been if I’d done a particular thing in a particular different way, and stuff is goose-stuff. Only losers do it. Those who can’t, and don’t know how to move on, those who are miserably stuck in the quagmire of their past and do not wish to rise out of it. And naturally, she’s always on a lookout to tell me off whenever she catches me anywhere within a metre of the window, with a glazed look in my eyes and an out-of-the-context expression on my face. :l

Actually, I’ve sincerely tried putting myself in two minds about the point in question, in an attempt to do full justice to my mum’s point of view, but I’ve never quite even sustained the argument, let alone overcome my own self! I mean, however demoralizing they might be, what would a human be without his memories?? Every person has moments in life that he cherishes. Moments so purifyingly delightful and fulfilling that he just wants them be. Forever. No one has had sadness and failure at every point of life. Sure, NO ONE. Even the saddest, most depressed person in the world, (if you are close enough, and if you appear interested enough,) would tell you the most lovely moments of his life. Probably with that long-lost, hungry look in his eyes.

And that’s what makes memories worth it.

Wallowing in self-pity and losing confidence due to old remembrances doesn’t do. Deriving courage from them, from the very fact that you are strong enough to pass through the leanest phases of your life unscathed, and moving on, does. After all, memories are, inadvertently, a mark of your existence. Evidence of your very being. Your life. Your history.

They are cunningly double-edged though. Make sure that, if, ever, they blow you off your feet, into the past, it is only and only for strengthening your foothold in the present!

As for me, I still keep on discovering newer faces to reflection! [bad pun, I know!] And if anyone has any qualms, to them: Cogito ergo sum! :P

Oh, and actually, I just cannot keep from grinning broadly (whooping, to be more precise :D ) now that dad’s scrapped his grand plans of amplifying the drawing room by bringing down the wall separating it from the balcony, and full credits go to some fictitious (purely rumour-spread) blessed leakages that it might invoke in the plumbing!

I still have my window, all to myself !!! :) :) :)

P.S.: Forgive me, mum.

Life

Beautifully wrapped up in the one line:

Men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever.

That’s your life for you. My life for me.

Because I am my life. And my life is me.

Errrrrr. That sounds quite lame, and weird, and a desperate attempt at poetry. But I just discovered the quaint analogy the line [from “The Brook” by Alfred Lord Tennyson] has with life and I’m reeling from the idea itself. And I turn extremely philosophical at such times. And at most of such times, I’m in no mood to elaborate. I expect my thoughts to jump out and plant themselves in others’ minds by telepathy. And at such times, if they don’t, then it’s incorrigibly irritating and I’m rock-convinced it’s just their unbelievable lack of insight and my inexpressible gain of logic. Those are the few times when I pity them. And glorify myself. And this is just such a time.

Another lame attempt, to my second year of whatever-I-came-to-do-and-whatever-I-am-doing :

Cheers to my first year,

Gone by in a pee,

Lows and lows (not highs and lows),

Bringing near-death to ME*.

Cheers to my second year

Come forth in glee,

I hope to god it’s lows and lows

But lows that get high on me**.

Here,

*ME = my academic life

**me=myself

Cheers

* SighGone *

I should've looked around; rather, messed and pottered and monkeyed around with a fine-toothed comb before I talked below.

Now, I'm speechless. :|

ZERO-Equivalent

* Sigh *

Today's Headline:

IITs lower cut-offs to fill seats

Second Round of Admissions For The First Time In History Of IITs

Some bits of accidental revelation:

"quotas cannot be filled because there aren't enough suitable candidates..."

'Nearly 50% of reserved seats lying vacant' *432 to be precise*

'..criminal waste of infrastructure'

"...ministry is not interested in de-reserving vacant seats..."

"...ministry wants the premiere engineering schools to dilute merit.... "

"...further bring down cutoffs to admit reserved category students..."

'HRD orders faculty quota with "immediate effect" in IITs'

And before you check the idea out, a point in concern:

The present IIT cut-off is around 180 for a general category student and 104 for a reserved category one. Which gets lowered to its 55% for the preparatory course i.e. to 57. Which'll get further lowered to dispel the empty-seat syndrome.

What's the bet the final cut-off [if it is, indeed, intended to cut off] won't come down to a zero equivalent?

Oh and by the bye, as like everywhere, why not reserve plush velvet-swathed seats for these people in heaven too?