Due to a good helping of fried fish...

The South Park test..

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Sun, 20 May 2012 10:48:00 +0000

It was a dull and dreary morning, the clouds obscuring the sun in all their darkness. There wasn't the slightest trace of pure sunshine anywhere. Whatever light there was, was impure - contaminated by the dark clouds. The only thing missing was rain - to make that November-end morning an epitome of sorrow, depression and hopelessness.

In house W-10, Scrotie McBoogerballs sat by a window, identifying with the weather outside. For him, life was equally sad, dreary and hopeless - if not more. "Good bye", that is all it said - careless and unpunctuated; the capitalization, a courtesy of the T9. His world was turned upside down. He was hurt by the neglect, and also by the sudden ignorance of his existence. He yearned for yesterday, when things were alright, but he wasn't smart enough to build a time-machine. He realised that he needed a distraction, to take his mind off the whole. He started by trying to suck his manly appendage, but owning to the lack of sizability and of a flexible body, he failed. He was sad again.

He needed something else to distract him. I'll watch T.V, he decided.

So he went to lie on the couch, and simply mechanically switched from one channel to another. In nothing did he find interest.

He tuned-in to VH1. It was time for South Park.

Maybe, just maybe, that will do it - given that its so freaking awesome, he thought. Maybe there will be something ridiculously funny to make you laugh your gut out. Yes, laughter - the best medicine, isn't it? Or is that Viagra? Dunno, something. But maybe it will help. Maybe some celebrity will be heavily picked upon today, and there might be yet another innovation in the ways to kill Kenny. Let's watch.

But the half-hour passed, and it had not helped. He hadn't managed to laugh - or even grin, for that matter - at any of the punches. HE HAD NOT FOUND SOUTH PARK FUNNY!!

It was then, that it really dawned on to him how deep he had fallen into the pit of depression and hopeless. He abhored his existence. He had lost all will, he had lost all desire..

Two hours later, policemen crowded the neighbourhood. In W-10, they found Scrotie McBoogerballs shot in the head, and hanging by his scrotum. The gun lay on the floor in all the blood underneath.

Suicide, they decided. So, they searched the house for a suicide note - because that is what all the morons do, write moronic notes and kill themselves.

After a fruitless but arduous search, when one of the officers went to get some chilled water, the note was finally found in the refrigerator under a soup bowl. It went like this:

"I do not wish not live anymore. I have spoiled everything. I do not think repentance will be of any significance. There is no way for me to get out of this - unless, of course, I kill.. Yeah, that will do it! I should kill myself! That is exactly what I will do, but getting back again.. My life is a lost cause now. I have chicken-arms, a bullet-head and I can't suck my own cock! And, if that wasn't enough, now even South Park doesn't make me laugh. And that just does it!

So if anybody ever finds this, I just have one message to pass on to the world:

Boys and Girls, don't ever let yourself become so helpless that you don't find South Park funny. Remember, No matter what the sorrow, so long as find it funny, your life is freaking awesome! So, if you're ever depressed, take the South Park test - watch an episode - and if you are not amused by it, GO KILL YOURSELF ASSHOLE!

Its all over. I can't take this anymore. It just hurts too much.

Good bye"

And so, after an unpunctuated farewell, Scrotie McBoogerballs hung himself by his scrotum.

Unfit To Feel..

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 20:53:00 +0000

I tried to love I could not be,

One to give and care, unselfishly,

So I tried some hate, but couldn't bear,

To, by rage and anger, be so impaired.

Hence, I gave it up, for now I

Know I'm not fit for emotion,
Neutrality, impartiality, and aye,

Indifference, is my position.

Purism and the Public III

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 11:19:00 +0000

The Resurrection of a Purist..

"He was trying to inspire me to react."
"Incite, you mean?", said I, exasperated at such abuse of the language.
"Thank you. As ever, the leader of the Puritan clan."
The smug expression on his face when said that made my head go steaming like a rice-cooker about to blow up any instant.
"For god's sake, I'm a purist, not a puritan, and most definitely NOT their leader!", I bellowed.
"Hey, you were the one who insisted on being called a puritan", he responded with his hands up in the air, as though at gun point.
I sighed. I had insisted on being called that. Something I'm going to regret for the rest of my life.

"You could call me a purist", I used to say," but I prefer puritan. The word has a nice tinge to it, if you know what I mean."
It is exactly this love for the tinges that makes me what I am today - a colossal ass. Still, maybe I might have managed to slip out of all the mess had I shown a little tact. But when one goes around bursting with arrogance and confidence about everything one says, there isn't really any room to doubt one's own choice of words, let alone for tact to rectify an error. And, thus, I went around bursting with arrogance and confidence, claiming that I'm a, well what is said before. You feel rather superior and pompous at such times, particularly when people display a lack of comprehension at your remarks.
So, if ever by sheer bad luck - assuming that the arrogance and confidence is justified, in that you really has some knowledge about the language - your choice of words is found to be lacking the usual spark, it is, almost everytime, the end of a career in Insultation, Mockery & Sarcasm . Of course, in defence you would like to say that you were not in the best of shapes on that particular occasion - probably a bad cold or something - but the world is full of unforgiving hard-boiled eggs who will pounce on you at the slightest provocation, and thence onward vigorously undergo the routine of pouncing on you every time you cross them on the street. Rising back to the old form from this lowly point of disrepute, is a herculean task. However if you show discretion and exercise complete care and caution in your method, all may not be lost. Hope might still exist. you need to become the master of your fate and the captain of your soul and steer your ship out of that restless storm of disrepute and disdain.
An attribute that you shall need to possess if you are to achieve this, is absolute shamelessness coupled with strong disregard for everybody around. Because I tell you, the stigma is never washed away. No, it lurks on and it captures the minds of all those hard-boiled eggs who have ever faced the razor of your criticism. So every now and then one these hard-boiled eggs will pounce on you, menace in his eyes, malice on his mind. If on such an occasion you do not have the necessary credentials on your C.V you are bound to falter. You will be left wounded and hurt and slip back into that storm again. But if on the other hand, all is well, and you are, in fact, shameless and arrogant you shall be able to look a hard-boiled egg of any description - large and extra large are the usual sorts - in the eye and make him wilt like an aspen leaf. Thus, if you carry out this practice day-in and day-out, you are bound to go from height to height everyday and overcome all those any scyllas and charybdises that try to get in your way and dock your ship into the Ports of Glory eventually. And thus, you shall be back into the business of Insultation, Mockery & Sarcasm in mid-summer form.

Purism and the Public II

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 10:47:00 +0000

The Rise of The Puritan clan
and the Fall of a Purist..

"You, too, don’t know what a puritan is?", I asked a friend as I saw her blank expression.
"A puritan is a-", Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S started.
"- Here, let's just google it.", I cut him off, as I pressed "Enter", to google for it, irritated by the lack of common knowledge among the people around me. The page was taking time to load.
"You can say a puritan is another word for a purist. I'm a purist, strictly. But I like the word puritan. There's a tinge to it, if you know what I mean", I used to tell them and I was tried of having to tell everybody this same thing again and again. Manas Samant, then Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S and now this girl. How many more ignorant people would I have to encounter before somebody showed a trace of perception.
The results page appeared, finally. I clicked the link for one of the results, and waited impatiently, full of unswerving confidence. The page opened and my jaw dropped as I read what it said:

Pu·ri·tan (pyr-tn)
n.
1. A member of a group of English Protestants who in the 16th and 17th centuries advocated strict religious discipline along with simplification of the ceremonies and creeds of the Church of England.
2. puritan One who lives in accordance with Protestant precepts, especially one who regards pleasure or luxury as sinful.
adj.
1. Of or relating to the Puritans or Puritanism.
2. puritan Characteristic of a puritan; puritanical.

I have never in my life felt so stark naked, despite being so densely clothed.
"Wait till Manas hears it", said Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S, overjoyed that I'd made an ass out of myself. He hurried out of the Computing facility in search of Manas.
I, meanwhile, was still gaping like a goldfish to do anything. Sensing him dash out, I hurried after him, still feeling naked. I somehow managed to mentally clothe myself on the way, and caught up with him. We both scrambled our way into the hostel mess, and surveyed it carefully. No sign of him there. Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S went outside the hostel to continue his search.
I have no idea what got over me, nor any about what I was going to say if I found him first. All I knew was that I had to get to him before Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S.
It was on. Both desperate to get to him: one to share delight, the other to prevent its illicit trade. It was like a quest for the Holy Grail. Only this time it would have been silly to argue that the Grail was a cup.
I came out of the mess and waited there deep in thought. I wondered, where the Grail could possibly be. And then, I had a stroke of genius: I called the Grail from my cell phone.
"Hello", came the voice from the other side.
"Where are you?", this was no time to niceties.
"In my room", said he.
"Aha! no wonder we couldn't find you in the mess! I wish you wouldn't potter off to your room like that. Sit in the mess. It's a good place. Comfortable chairs. What?"
I was starting to enjoy the conservation and it would have go on breezily like this, only I saw Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S turning round the corner at that moment. He must have sensed that I was talking to the Grail - I haven't a clue how he did but he did - because he ran in my direction.
"Hullo, Manas", I started talking hurriedly, "listen. Remember I told you that I'm a puritan. Well, I'm not. I mean I can't be -", I extended my arm to keep Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S at bay just as he approached, and continued,"- I mean to say, a Puritan is a..", I told him the definition and added, "So my usage of the word was, in fact, wrong. Now here is Arul, he wants to say something to you."
Looking visibly triumphant, I thust the cell phone in Mr. Arul Ganesh S.S's hand, "Ha! You said you'd find him and tell him, so that you could make me look like a giant troll. Well, guess what? You can't. and you want to know why? Because I told him first!"
There was absolute dumbfoundedness in his expression - obviously, his plan had failed - as I turned away and went some distance. Not being familiar with my cell phone, he accidentally switched on the loud speaker and I heard some noise, almost as though a hyena were on the other side. It was the sound of an amused Manas Samant laughing like one.

To Chester (who forgot himself) and Me (who wanted to)

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 14:24:00 +0000

and also to P.G. Wodehouse..

I smoke in chains, to make my head go a-spin,
I quench my thirst on a tonic and gin.
Yet I don’t get numb; no spell to break the curse
So I sit at my table and write some free verse.

Alas hades, even that won't cheer my broken-heart blues.
However do I get rid of this jinx?
Thus I grab my clubs, and put on my plus-fours
And trod off for a game on the links.

I hold the wood, my "ee on the ba'"
And "drive 'em straight", not short nor far;
Missing the bunker and over the lake,
A perfect swing, that's hard to make.

The brassie-shot, I "dinna press",
Right on the green, so far.
I take my putter; hole out in two,
Doing it all one under par!

Oh the joy, in this noblest game!
Puts all wounds and sorrows to shame.
So, I tee the ball and take an aim,
Keep my "heid still"; do it all again.

*****

I beat the pro. with a sixty-five,
In amazement he says, "Gosh!"
A woman, you know, is only a woman,
But a hefty drive is a slosh.

------------

Most quotes and ideas are creditable to Wodehouse.

Purism and the Public..

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 19:50:00 +0000

A primary attribute that one must possess if one desires to be good company at the chat window online, is the ability to type like a complete retard. Of course, the choice of the word might be make some sensitive soul gasp and the people for human rights might even scorn at it, declaring it as a public outrage, but I think they are only too eager to draw conclusions and categorize everything. Sometimes one should just analyze things from the outside, and take them for their face value.
Just analyze the word in question for a moment, it goes "reee-taahhrrrdd", the sound has a funny tinge to it, if you know what I mean. To be more visual on that point, think of a person with a long face, wide open eyes, and a gaping mouth who talks very slowly as though to savor every word that escapes his mouth. Or if you haven't been able understand this, just think of Goofy and save me the trouble of making one more feeble attempt at a nonsensical description. Now with this in mind take a look at the following conversation:
"Hiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!"
"Heyyyyyyyy, how r u???????"
"i m guddddd!!!!!! u????????"
"i m gr8888888!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Notice how each statement is prolonged, how each word is expressed slowly and steadily as though in an attempt to savour it.
A single question mark indicates that the statement is interrogative; two-three of those means that the person is really curious; but filling up line after line with "?" simply indicates that intervention from the asylum is of the essence.

Such chats, however, appear to be the norm online these days. And thus no matter how hard one tries, one is always faced with the rather tricky question of whether or not to be retarded; follow the norm and be normal. Although most of the public does not face much difficulty in making a choice, those that are most severely affected by this dichotomy are the purists - whether to write such language and use such syntax to seek acceptance of the public, seek normalcy, or not?
It was a similar sort of question about whether to or not to die that often lead Hamlet to his famous soliloquys - and a reservation in the looney bin owing to those. For although by one mere glance at the question, a by-stander would comment, “What-ho! It’s simple”, and go on to wonder what a mutt-head that Hamlet - or whoever that was – might have been, because he couldn’t make an obvious choice. But if that accomplished by-stander puts even a single of his grey cells to work on the point, his answer would seemingly encompass both the options, with no favourability for either one of them, and the gravity of Hamlet’s dilemma would dawn on to him.
A similar status prevails of the purist: the choice between sanity and sanatorium (of the mental kind) is not an easy one for him, and following a similar procedure on the lines outlined above even the dumbest by-stander would see the gravity of his dilemma, too.

On being really shameless..

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 12:32:00 +0000

The Mohali test started on the 1st of October. So we decided to go and see it live - most of my friends being the typical "True Indians", the kind that wouldn't miss such an opportunity for pool of the hottest girls in town (incase you are clueless about what i'm referring to, convince yourself that this write-up is not meant for you). It often strikes the people here as absurd - and a sign of unsound mental health - that despite being from Mumbai, I have NEVER seen a movie star - let alone watching the idols in action of this sacred religion of India. But that's how it is, i have never been to Wankhede or Brabourne, and i've never been purturbed by it.

We rose early after a late night on the 2nd, and reached the stadium at 7.30 in the morning, since we were going to buy the tickets at the stadium. What we discovered there was that though the day opens at 9.30, the ticket window doesn't open until 11.30. And nobody there actually knew where the tickets are sold out of the 14-odd gates. After roaming around for sometime trying to find out how to get in, we discovered that getting out was easy - run into the stadium security. We were literally pushed out of the stadium vicinity. The stadium security personnel behave with a grandeur that only befits kings - amused i checked their name tags, discovered that they were all Singhs! (there was one guy who was a Kumar, but there wasn't anything grand about him, really). With great effort we managed to get the tickets. Finally we got to watch the match!

There was pure cricket going on on the field, bowling, batting, fielding. But what really stole the show was the sense of humor of the stadium officials. The people of the stadium appear to derive considerable pleasure from locking away the gents' lavatory in the chair block of the stadium. But they are not unmindful of the fact that "nature calls to everyone". So they advise all men faced with the call to rest assured and freely use the Ladies' room, which is all really applaudable about them.

But all in all, the stadium is actually great: if you are a player (if you're not, rather stay at home and have a gin and tonic - a glass of barley water incase you are a teetotaler).

N.B. You would also find the stadium great if you were really shameless, as in the kind that would use the Ladies' room..

Interpreting A Wordswoth Poem...

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 09:57:00 +0000

I Travelled Among Unknown Men

I TRAVELLED among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea;

Nor, England! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,

The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

William Wordsworth

Much is said and debated with regards to the Lucy poems. Whether she was a real person; whether she was combination of many personalities that Wordsworth knew; or just a fictitious character he used as a literary device.

Personally, I'd rather not get into this debate, I prefer to consider her as a simple English girl whose is very much real.

This is one of my favourite poems. The imagery and picturesque descriptions are just too good. And the rhyme and the jingle only add an icing to it.

The poem quite effectively portrays Wordsworth's abilities. It shows that he was an efficient swindler and a marvellous cheater and that he could make a mickey of anybody.

How so? Allow me to elaborate.

The first half of the sonnet talks about his love for his motherland. And when he says,

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

We feel the spirit of pure patriotism in it. The love he bears for his country and his promise to never leave its shores ever again. However, we are only being led astray for he suddenly springs it upon us that:

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

We thus come to realise that the love for his motherland is not as pure as he makes us believe in the first two stanzas. Rather, it is driven by other motives: The simple English girl who is the object of his affection. It was here in England that he felt joy and happiness in his desire for his beloved and it was here in England where She lived and turned her wheel, he says. His patriotism is, thus, infiltrated by his worldly desires, something that true patriot shall never approve of.

The last part is almost like an "I-made-a-mickey-of-you" thing.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,

The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

Here he makes it absolutely clear that it not England after all that matters, but Lucy. It's been about her all the time. England, he says, I love you because you keep alive in me the memories of my Lucy and it is for the sake of this memory that I shall never leave you. Being here I can visit and witness all the place which she would visit, and feel her in the wind.

P.S. In this manner one easily sees the fraudulence of Wordsworth.

Concerning animals and allegories - II

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 07:18:00 +0000

The state assembly elections are approching, and every party has a promise to make, every statesman (ahh, what am i saying! politician is more precise) has a speech to deliver; criticism to make - to criticise the government about the lack of development (like development is a two-day ride), & other parties for making exaggerating promises - & also, to deliver a few promises himself!
Anyway, the hyprocrisy of such 'statemen' is not my topic of discussion today (though i think now that i might like to criticise every one of them, elaborately - maybe later perhaps). What i want to talk about is the more intense and all-pervading battle between the ways of governance..

It was a usual weekday night: the usual cresent moon in sky, the ususal food on the dinner table, and the usual people eating it - me & my parents. The voting for the general election had taken place earlier that day. so i asked dad whether he had voted.
"No, didn't get the time.. was too busy at work", dad replied.
I looked at mum who, too, was busy - with her food though, & said playfully,"no sense in asking her, it wud be a stupid question with a stupider answer."
And with that she got into the argumentative mode & started talking about the useless of voting, that no matter whoever you elect it's still going to be a corrupt bastard (she didn't exactly use the last word, i'm just conveying the gist), that it would have been better with monarchy, and that 'is desh ks kuch nahi ho sakta..', and she went on and on with it...
Then after the storm had subsided, i getting into my philosophical mode, and almost like socrates - after his wife had poured a bucket full of water onto him - said, "No sytem is perfect; it's all about using the flaws to our own conveniences", and smoked from an imginary pipe.

On why I'm not a Greek god...

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 10:14:00 +0000

It’s Global Warming. Now, I won’t go into what Global warming is all about, because I think Education has already grilled – and, thus, ruined - the intelligent-born Man with its intricate details. So, preferring to have my head propped on my neck, I’ll skip exploring that thread of ideas. But yet, the fact stands, and stands tall, that the Climate is changing; there are hardly any noticeable showers – this much to the dismay of Delirious who keep shouting at the heavens at the top of their voices to Rain Down!; and, especially this summer, as the days pass by, its getting hotter and hotter in geometric proportions. It is as though the Sun is being cold and stern towards an erring son, who even after constant reproval keeps erring in the same smooth fashion, unabashedly. Now, most of us will be judgmental about such child rearing practice, stating that the Sun, in being cold and stern - even towards such an unheeding son - has gone a bit too far this time. This would, however, be a view over-flowing with prejudice: for even the earth, or more specifically we, are not so clean in this matter as one would expect to be. We are responsible for this increasing heat – using all those equipments emitting Greenhouse gases to name but one fault. So, when the poet said that ‘summer joys are spoilt by use’, he sure knew what he was talking about.

These days, in order to compete with the heat and the humidity that accompanies it only to make matters worse, I spend most of my time locating electric fans and sitting right below them. And when I get tired of searching fans and sitting below them, I take a nap.

Taking a nap, especially in the afternoon, presents itself with an excellent opportunity to refresh your memories about the yonder days when you were a child of the tender young age of two, since the heat makes you perspire so, that you make wet anything that comes in contact with you – mainly, your bed sheets. Keeping yourself cool has, thus, become more of a quest for survival.

When Wodehouse tried to seek solace in the Solitary Triumph of men over women in the field of notorious businesses, they forgot to slip it to him that surviving in extreme heat was another sphere where men have an edge over the fairer sex. When he was trying earnestly to gain proficiency at solace-seeking, clinging on to his glass of port for support and encouragement, he could see no success. Had someone, at this juncture, treading softly, appeared by his side, and, observing the dull despair that spread over his features, whispered into his ears this most credible success of men, he would have leaped into the air with excitement, fully restored to his former self again. However, it was not to be, and we can only muse in dismay at what might have been.

Just to make all handicaps clear, men have an edge in this matter as a direct outcome of the Dawn of Civilisation. The Homo habilis would have contested with complete fairness in this showdown of the sexes, but the same cannot be asserted about Homo sapiens. Unlike women, men can run about the place, shunning any garment that may pose a threat of covering their bare bodies, with few going to the extent of stopping in front of the mirror from time-to-time to observe their features, looking like some Greek god who had forgotten to take his pants off. For the ancient Greeks, when they bare it, like to bare it all. My Mum often raises this point in the height of the summer months, and deems men as being lucky as they can bare it, if need arises, while women have to bear the heat without choice. But hey, blame Civilisation for that!

When we wrote the final exams in our college this year, it was an unwritten maxim obeyed by all that it is a sin leading eternal torment to forget your handkerchief at home. So, out of the fear of Damnation - and also the act of having to squeeze your answer sheet dry, the scrupulous student always had one on his person. Also, if you, by any chance, carried a water-bottle extracted straight from the Frigidaire, after an hour or so, you were almost certain to find it warm enough to go along with honey (if you were careful enough to carry some) as a treatment for your throat infection (if you were lucky enough to contract one).

*****

Life, these days, is really becoming miserable, what with hot air blowing straight in your face and the humidity to give it company. These two assure that you, dripping in sweat all the time, give the impression of having just emerged after tripping over a slippery surface into the water pond. Well, to avoid such fate, you may suggest installing an air conditioner and basking in the cool environment of that isolated room, but that will only add to the outer unbearable heat, taking it a step further in the measure of unbearableness – as even a dim-wit grilled well by our Education system could figure out by himself.

Actually speaking, Life will become more like hell as the years go by. The two aforementioned phenomena will give you the sensation of squatting on burning, red hot coals, as you crave for a drink from trained-hands. Gunga Din, where are you?
(As it is, it’s getting hotter every summer and I don’t doubt that there will come a day one summer, when the whole world with all its populace will get baked into biscuits!)

Concerning Animals and Allegories...

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 21:08:00 +0000

THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3. No animal shall wear clothes.
4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5. No animal shall drink alcohol.
6. No animal shall kill any other animal.
7. All animals are equal.

These are the Seven Commandments of Animal Farm; the laws that govern its functioning. It is a farm entirely controlled and looked after by the animals themselves in absence of ‘Human Tyranny’. The animals work in the fields all day long, working for themselves, taking pleasures in their toil and its yield and no one to rule over them. Sounds like a utopia, eh? It is how it all began, but that was the highest point of its utopia…

Animal Farm is a book by George Orwell, which tells the story of this ‘Animal Paradise’.
The idea of a farm For-and-By the animals is conceived by Old Major, a pig and the wisest animal on the farm. After his death, the animals, filled with revolutionary sentiments, rebel against the human controlling the, then, Manor Farm and secure their motive, of liberty and happiness. Manor Farm becomes Animal Farm. The pigs, being the most intelligent animals in the place, learn to read and write, and educate the other animals – though except for the dogs and the donkeys, no one else goes beyond learning the alphabet. Their sole objective is to achieve prosperity, enjoying this newly-found independence.

This, however, is just the beginning. Ideologically, Animal Farm’s development may be represented as being a place where ‘All animals are equal’ to a place where ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others’. From its liberal and humble beginnings, Animal Farm turns into a total dystopia, full of scared, mentally tortured and manipulated animals, with the pigs slowly and gradually assuming absolute control over the place. What is initiated to curb tyranny becomes tyrannical itself. However, while all this gamboling between slavery and liberty goes on, the development and progress of the Farm is never compromised with. ‘FOUR LEGS GOOD, TWO LEGS BAD', a chant that summed up the values that were the supposed to be the foundation of the Farm, gets modified into ‘FOUR LEGS GOOD, TWO LEGS BETTER'…..

*****

Animal Farm is not just another work of fiction. It is, in its essence, an allegory full of satirical intent, with its primary target being Joseph Stalin, under whose leadership Communist Russia gained much of its prosperity (They have a law in France that you can’t name a pig as Napoleon. I suspect, it is because of this book).

The whole account is presented in an unbiased fashion. Orwell never firmly states anywhere in the whole of the book that the pigs are cruel; or that the animals are leading miserable lives of slaves under a tyrannical and manipulative leader. Instead he leaves it to the readers, inducing them to think and to decide what’s really going on around the place.

On the whole, I think Animal Farm is really about political ideas – their efficacy and inefficiency. I feel it allegorizes the fact that no political idea can be defect-free, no matter how irresistible or irreproachable it may seem in the beginning. Nothing’s perfect, as it is.

P.S: Oh, and the communists hate the book!

On the grave problem of Hospitalization...

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 12:36:00 +0000

I have a friend – not that its news or something, but had to start somewhere. So, yeah….. I have a friend…. – you know this makes me feel as though I were giving Martin Luther King’s ‘I have a dream’ speech:
‘I have a friend who will one day rise up and live out the true meaning of his creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal”
I have a friend who will one day live in a nation where he will not be judged by the colour of his skin but the content of his character.
I have a friend today!’ *chuckles*

Hmm… getting back once again, I have a friend and he incidentally has fallen in love – with his mobile!! No news in this either, just another teenage phenomenon. Still, he loves playing with the cell phone – he may even be cuddling and kissing it right now for all you know, but I don’t have any concrete proof for this hypothesis – and has a habit of sending out sms’s all the time: I get up in the morning to see a msg flashing on my mobile, eat and see it flashing, drink while it still flashes and sleep only to wake up some moments later to discover that it never gets tired of its routine flashing. And what’s more to it is that the sms’s always make me laugh – not because there’s anything funny in them, but because the grammar is simply preposterous! And, Boy, do I die laughing: it nearly kills me every time!!

Now, have I ever thought of telling him about it? Never! Being influence by purism does tend to make you like a sort of propriety while using English, but still, propriety doesn’t matter as long as you can convey your meaning, because that is what language is for: syntax and grammar only help to express yourself – certain experiences have taught me this.

It may, thus, imply that one is free to express oneself, however he or she chooses, but this does not leave out the scope for social blunders while you are at it. *smiles in an Oldest Member-esque fashion (for information of non-Wodehouse fans, this means:‘Beware! He has just remembered a story!!’)* And this just reminds me of a particular incident that very much amused me:

It was one of those beautiful days when all of Nature is involved in a pleasant conspiracy ‘to load and bless’: when the weather is fine, the skies untainted by spots of clouds and the sun in his best mood: moodily settling himself in the skies and radiating his bright sunshine upon the college campus. But, alas! There was no corresponding sunshine in the heart of the Principal who, though cosily seated in his chair, did not appear so by the troubled countenance which he bore. The college was to have a workshop in the coming days and – as is customary of colleges – certain guests were invited. The management of the gathering was so much bothering him that to any passer-by he would have seemed a man intimidated by some strong bully about to turn up to wreck his internal organs with his own bare hands.

It was at this juncture, when it appeared that the thought of bullies was taking too great a toll off his mind, that there was a knock on the door. Coming out of his reverie, the Principal replied to the knock, “Enter!”

And in came two people who looked very much unlike some strong bullies, but rather gave the impression that they were the college staff – and just so they were; they were in-charges of arranging the workshop.

The Principal seemed relieved after seeing them, as though help had just come to Rohan when they fought a losing battle against Sauron.

The Principal re-adjusted himself to his best professional style and asked his compatriots to settle themselves – now was the time for some serious discussion. Over the next half-hour, all the issues on the arrangement-of-the-program-front were resolved and all that remained was the question of accommodating the guests – naturally as the workshop was a multi-day affair the guests had to be accommodated somewhere!!

It was after sometime that the Man-in-the-white-shirt came up with an idea he thought was brilliant: he explained it to the Principal. His colleague was rather pleased with his plan, but the Man in the Chair seemed fairly revolted by his ideas. He even went so far as to point out that the guest were visiting the college for the first time and would be quite displeased with such hospitality.

This disconcerted the man a bit – for he couldn’t perceive what his Boss was babbling, and accounted this to the Old man’s generally eccentric and potty nature – but he was Man of vigour, determination and adamancy, who didn’t easily back down. So, he put through his proposal once again with the same exuberance and sense of pride as before, “I know sir. And that is just why we must hospitalize the guests”

P.S: When my father told me about this incident, I just couldn’t stop laughing and pitying the man for his lack of knowledge. Incase you didn’t find anything funny in it, I’m sorry but I can’t help that. Maybe you could stick around and wait for some post that does seem funny to your enfeebled sense of humour.

In which a case is fully discussed....

noreply@blogger.com (Neeraj) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 04:35:00 +0000

Hullo hullo-ullo-ullo Hullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo!!!
Greeting, Everyone!!
I’m the new boy on the block – or blog is it…………………*is a trifle disconcerted by his lack of knowledge*……….... Anyway from now on I shall be running this place posting my thoughts and views about ‘what goes on’. So if you ever drop by again and find some new post, do take time to comment on it – even if all you can conjure up is “mphm….”
But first…………… allow me to introduce myself. Now, I wouldn’t bother to tell you my name ‘coz that you have obviously read – and, if you haven’t, you’re an ignorant old fool, I’m sorry to say. So…… yeah, I’m a boy in his teens who shares all those stupid and dumb interests of just another hundred thousand teenagers around the globe (that explains quite a lot about me, doesn’t it?); likes trying new thing; just LOVES reading; likes hanging out with friend and playing the jester of the court (void of a king, that is); is very smart – a very clichéd word of praise that, though I’d rather not believe it; and is, arguably, the most impertinent old blister you’ve ever come across – even this many tell me and some *think of those some, in particular* too often, though I’d prefer to call it bluntness, really (with just a tinge of sarcasm). But then to look at it from another point of view: (oh, how I love quoting!!) “The great secret, Eliza,” says Prof. Henry Higgins, “is not having bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you were in heaven, where there are no third class carriages, and one soul is as good as another. The question is not whether I treat you rudely, but whether you ever heard me treat anyone else better” that’s what I think of it: better be bluntly rude than a hypocrite and wear rotten masks all the time.
Hmm…. I think I have said enough about myself to last you an eternity.
Now, secondly, a word on my blog’s name: I don’t know for how long I’d let it remain that – I’m pretty capricious, you know – but as long as it is around, I think it best to have cleared the mist around it. You see, the first thing that comes in the mind of a genuine Wodehouse fan on reading the words ‘fried fish’ is Jeeves, the elegant, intelligent and efficient gentleman’s gentleman, ever-willing to let his grey cell be of service to his employer who strives hard day-in and day-out to make a colossal ass of himself in all sorts of unimaginable mis-adventures; and even Jeeves can’t do without a sumptuous helping of fish to keep himself mentally fit for all that hectic brain work. So, if you are not a Wodehouse fan, now you know ‘what’s in the name’………
Just another passing word before I take leave: I am fully aware that I’m not a very good with my pen, even then if you think what I write is complete crap and the only place for it is the bin than the blog, all I can tell you is: HIT THE ROAD!!!
Tra-la!
Au revoir!!