A Ballad celebrating the supreme conquests of a long lost Hero

*Transalated from the original Cormenplink by Psychoclozenge Minion IV

It happened then in Twilligrath,

That old and  ancient land,

That habitat of Bizoriths,

Those quantities of Sand...

That Abner Havoc Gilliborg,

The son of Krillitoo,

Whose blatant promiscuity,

Yielded a child or two;

Set off among the Keeglepronx,

To seek his unknown dad,

The scringle-braindest verture,

Our friend had ever had!

He took with him his frigglegree,

To keep him warm a'nights,

And on his back a Zorangi,

With feeble-fronded tights.

The nights were long, the days were hot,

But Abner saw his goal,

The finding of the Kigilfee,

Who'd fathered him, alone.

So Abner marched on through the zloo,

The flonk he minded not,

His Vicaree and Tulipoo,

They saved him from Bizorts.

The frayed and tattered Callumpig,

A likeness of his dad,

The only thing old Krillitoo,

Of worth had everhad,

He carried it with careful pride,

He guarded it with zeal,

But when he'd marched for four whole days,

He sold it for a meal.

For Abner Havoc Gilliborg,

The son of Krillitoo,

Was not the spritest brightest lad,

To ever conk a zloo.

He slipped, he slonked, he prillitrogged,

And zloshed his way up Xare,

And when he reached the very top,

Looked down and without care,

He zwiggled, zwogged, he fertilogged,

And when he was all done,

He scratched his head and wondered why,

He'd come far in the sun!

He sbeegletrogged back down great Xare,

He hellaphinged his mind,

The more he squogged, the less he brogged,

The dorgle squorncloffs' hind!

The Schiggleflinx, they found him there,

And knew him by his size,

As the only child great Gloober had,

By Krillitoo the wise!

In great deep joy, they bore him home,

To their uncharted lands,

For years they'd sought great Gloober's kin,

True heir of the Sands!

And thus was Abner Gilliborg,

Forerunner of the Clugs,

The King of Larn and Southerlands,

Supremest wump of mugs!

Sechornflix wild and briggled kwild,

The Dow of sluggy lumps,

Crowned king of all Zangilliborg,

The diggle flug of grumps.

And thus was wise old Krillitoo,

Divested of a son,

The sight and gilliflight, of whom,

Caused goose pimples to run.

So Krillitoo went on her way,

To have more scringent sons,

Her daughters Snorl and Billigoo,

They too had ample fun.

And mothers up and down the land,

They sang this song of yore,

To sons of no great mental frand,

And daughters who did whore.

So Frizzlewig and Gorgle off,

For you too may be blessed,

As Abner Havoc Gilliborg,

Or Krillitoo Kargessed!

And you, my faithful Gormenplink,

Who waded through this rot,

Have now lost all ability,

To speak without a blot.

Your mind now swirls with Zargenfloss,

It bursts with wild Slagoo,

It oozes kormenflazert's scrog,

So best of luck to you!!

My entry for creative writing in Saarang. I completely enjoyed writing it, as you can see. I guess it comes under Nonsense Verse.

A Bit of Fry and Laurie

I was going through some familiar Rowan Atkinson videos (Not the nine o'clock news) on Youtube with my parents, when we stumbled on more British Comedy. A Show called 'A bit of Fry and Laurie' by Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie.
We fell over ourselves laughing!
Try watching this!

Christmas and giving

Christmas is on its way and life is pretty exciting. Christmas parties and Carol services left right and centre… College is winding up for the holidays… clothes need to be packed, last minute notes copied… life is busy, peppered with crisises in people’s love lives, which no one but I can be told about. All in all, life’s not boring… except in class. But that just counts for five hours a day… which is where I probably get most sleep anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

In the midst of all this, the other day, a classmate of mine comes up to me and confesses that she is my ‘Chrisma’ (‘Chrisma-Chrischild’, alternatively called ‘Secret Santa’ is a game we play in class and in the Hall. It involves drawing lots, so that everyone in class draws the name of a classmate. The person whose name you have picked is your ‘Chrischild’ and you, as her ‘Chrisma’ can send her anonymous letters and order her to do strange things, until the day of the Christmas party, when you must compensate by giving her a gift. Your ‘Chrisma’, naturally treats you the same way.). She (my ‘Chrisma’, that is) confessed that she had no idea what to get for me and asked me to come to a bookshop with her and pick a book I’d like, as her gift for me. I thought it terribly sweet of her, protested politely that she needn’t do this, and then happily picked out ‘The Grass Crown’ by Colleen McCullough. After this, I went to the bank with her. It was a five ruppee ride by share auto, and we finished the work she had there, and returned in another share auto.

On our way back, in the auto, we were sitting next to an old lady. She was old and bent and had wild white hair, in a frail wispy cloud around her head. She was very dark skinned, which contrasted sharply with her hair. She was thin and wrinkled and wore a gaudy saree with no blouse and her lips were parched and flecked with globs of thick saliva. The skin around her eyes was wrinkled and tired. She carried a tattered plastic basket, I think it was yellow, stuffed with her few belongings. She spoke to us, in a distracted faraway tone, saying she was going to Thanjavur to visit her son who was very sick. She had no money, but the auto driver had promised to take her there. This, I thought was very nice of the man… particularly coming from an auto driver. After all, auto drivers are not exactly the most pleasant species in Chennai! (ah, supercilious twit! In case you’re wondering, I was talking about myself.) Predictably enough, the auto (I forgot to mention that it was a blue auto. Blue autos are strange, in my opinion.) broke down. The auto driver kindly flagged another auto down for us and we piled in.

I wondered what the old woman would do… would this auto driver also take her, free of charge? I decided to pay for her.

I asked my friend how one could get to Thanjavur. She said bus was probably the safest bet. It would cost around two hundred rupees. I thought about it and took out two hundred rupees from my wallet. My grandparents had given me two hundred rupees for my birthday. I thought this would be a good way to use it. I held it in my hand, ready to give it to her when we got down.

We got off at college. The auto driver looked expectantly at the old lady.

She told him magnanimously to keep going. When he asked till where he was to keep going, she replied, till Thanjavur. He grinned sarcastically and asked whether she was going to Thanjavur in the auto. She nodded. He laughed and drove off with her, in the direction of the bus stop. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t expect her to pay… but I don’t know whether the bus authorities would take the same view of things and give her free rides. I hope she gets to Thanjavur. I hope her son recovers.

Why didn’t I give her the money?

I didn’t know how to. I wondered what my friend would think. I wondered whether anyone would steal the money from her.

I thought too much.

And I didn’t know how to give.

 

I don’t know how to give.

Swimming pools and silence

The lights were dim, and the water was cold as it lapped against my skin. I shivered as I looked around me. The water in the pool was reasonably clean, but I could not see the sparkling bright blue of the tiles, in the dim evening light. Only four tube-lights were working in the entire building. Though that was enough to see by, it only highlighted the loneliness of the pool. I lay back slowly on the surface of the water, kicking gently to keep afloat. The water covered my ears. I was enveloped in a world of silence, and softly muffled water-noises. The asbestos roof over the pool looked comfortingly familiar… and from this position, that was all I could see.
The world of sound flashed back into existence for a second, with a soft ‘pop’ in my right ear, as I turned over in the water and began to swim in earnest. Backstroke was good to relax with, but to get anywhere, I needed to use breast-stroke. Not that the other strokes were not as efficient… I was just better at breast-stroke. And almost instinctively, I started with the ‘frog-kick’ as soon as I was in the water.
The chlorinated water stung my eyes, so I stood up quickly in the chest-deep water, and waded to the edge of the pool, where my bag was lying. I dug my goggles out and donned them. Then I surveyed the blue-tinged world around. I’d picked blue goggles because black hadn’t been available.
Shadows are often used as devices in scary books and movies… but here, the shadows were comforting. They told you where the bench stood, or the curtain flapped… but the corners. Ah, the corners. They were dark. And you could see nothing in them. It was as though they’d sucked all the surrounding light into themselves. Vortices. Abysses. I shivered at the thought. Then I forced myself to stare into the offending corners. This was an old trick of mine. Dating back to when I was five and scared of the dark. I would deliberately go to the toilet at night without the light on. And every time my fears overtook me, I’d stand still and look around in the dark surrounding me forcing myself not to move until the fear passed. While I was frozen thus, I would ask myself what I could possibly be scared of. What could be hiding in the dark. And as I answered myself (monsters, werewolves, tyrannosaurus rex…) I would laugh at each fear convincing myself that it was impossible. I would not move until my heart rate had slowed to normal. When the fears rushed back a few shaky steps later, I would repeat the process. I soon began to love the dark, and feel pride in my ability to navigate the familiar territory of my house with ease, even in the darkest hour of the night. Of course, I sometimes stubbed my toe… but considering the speed I moved at, it might have happened even in broad daylight!
Anyway, I tried the same trick this time. Staring into the dark corner and willing it to bring forth the monsters of my imagination. A few images leapt to mind, but it took no effort for me to laugh them away. The scary exorcism movies I’d seen had failed to inspire fear in me for the simple reason that the demons were too unreal. I felt them to be obviously fake. The demons my imagination produced suffered the same fate. Werewolves too, came to my mind with glowing red eyes. I dismissed these as well, as cheap special effects. Vampires, ghosts and ghouls faced the same preemptory dismissal. Giant anacondas, tigers, sharks… all unrealistic. All irrational. But for some strange reason the uneasiness mounted. If the darkness would yield these monsters of my imagination, I would not fear them, for I knew them to be fake, but it was the fact that nothing emerged that made the corners seem oppressive and brooding. Something waiting. Something watching me. Tearing my eyes away from the corners, I dismissed the feeling as paranoia.
Then… I proceeded to turn around very slowly, for I suddenly realized that there could be anything behind me. If I had encountered a huge slavering werewolf, with glowing red eyes in mid dive, it’s jaws about to close over my head, it would not have spooked me as much as the calm stretch of clear water that greeted my eyes. Nothing. I was alone. In the blue-tinged swimming pool shed.
I shook my head, adjusted my goggles and sank underwater. Once again, all sound shut off. Automatically, I began performing the breast-stroke. For a few seconds I swam mechanically, as my body got used to the cold water. Then, I saw the water world. For the first time I appreciated why ‘JAWS’ had been such a success. I had never seen the movie myself, but from my present underwater perspective, I could see why this world could so easily inspire fear. It was all to do with lighting. Till today, I’d been swimming in the morning, when the lighting is bright and cheerful. The evening light was dim and not all the tube-lights worked. I could not see from one end of the swimming pool to the other. My vision gently tapered off into a dark liquid fog in the distance. Of course, as I swam, the fog retreated, but if an enormous Great White had emerged from the darkness, I would not have been at all surprised. I realized then as I swam, that it is not the monster which scares us. The monster we can handle. The unknown is what is terrifying. If a Great White, had burst out, mouth open to devour me, I would have been slightly relieved. This constant loneliness, was getting to me. I’m fine with loneliness, but this feeling that something was going to jump at me was too much. If I’d known what the something was, I wouldn’t have minded. A shark, I could have handled. Even a tyrannosaurus rex… but the unknown. The unknown was….. scary. Not that I had any defence against any of my monsters. But I didn’t fear any of them. What I would fear, if one of them came upon me, was death. Not the monster itself, but the fate I knew nothing of… for who knows the true nature of death? And if not death, I would fear, not the pain and the hurt of the mutilation so much, as how I would handle it. If I knew how to handle it, I would not fear… but the unknown… ah, the unknown.
Anyway, the water-world I encountered, leant itself to the appearance of a shark, or a sea monster, or a murderer who could make murder look like a drowning. And there were no dark corners ahead… just a dark horizon! Looking up, through the water was spooky too. A layer above you. And the blue tiles that floored the pool were constantly dappled with filtered light coming in from the surface. The perfect setting for an X-files murder!
When I emerged from the pool, and went to shower, the dark recesses of the line of changing rooms mocked me. If a skeleton, dripping blood and gore had popped out and tried to rape me (hmmm… with what? It’s a skeleton, right? Anyway…), I would have been less scared than I was as I struggled to pull on my clothes in the stillness. When I turned off the lights to leave the pool, I forced myself to stare at the water in the dark for a few seconds. Nothing I could imagine scared me. The fact none of the monsters I visualized materialized… that was what scared me!
I suppose, the only people who wouldn’t be afraid would be those who really believe in their theory of the afterlife… or those who see the unknown as an adventure. Everyone else is basically afraid of the unknown. That, I suppose, is why most of us fear death.

Awe

When we left the swimming pool, the light outside was dim, and a strong wind started up. I have lived in Calcutta seven years now… and this is my eighth summer here. Never until today did I encounter winds this strong in Kolkata. At one point I felt it might actually blow me away! As I walked on, the wind got stronger, blowing sharp shards of dust against us. It hurt, against the bare skin of my shoulders. We took shelter in the watchman’s room. The wind coming in through the tiny slivers of windows were enough to hurt us!
As the taxi drove us home, we saw huge branches that had fallen off in the wind. Debris littered the roads. The rain pelted down, and the wind rose again. And for a moment, I felt reverent. Here were forces far more powerful than I. I could never hope to fully understand them. These forces were too delicately balanced by so many factors, that I could never truly comprehend them. I could never hope to control such a force. Even if I could do things to upset the balance… to unleash the wrath of the earth, I could never hope to control it. I felt humbled. Stronger forces exist. Whether these forces have consciousness or a benign conscience, I don't know... Such forces exist. Perhaps that’s God!

Sloppy sleep

I love sleeping. Languishing in bed... yawning... dreaming... Ahhh! Heaven.
I should have been born a cat. And a house cat at that. Cats sleep with such grace and luxury, I envy them. And not the slightest hint of guilt at their aristocratic lifestyle. Lucky bums. Oh, to be a cat. That is the life. Sleep, glorious sleep.... what decadence! What an elegant stride... what a magnificent form... and the sheer opulence of the way they stretch. Ah, I wish I were a cat.

Hmmm.... anyway, the point I was trying (before my slight diversion) to make is this- I'm not getting enough of it! Today, I was up from eight, because I was cuddling with my mum. Of course she let me laze till nine, but once I was up, she let the bombshell drop. I have to be up at seven from tomorrow! When I protested, she told me to go to sleep earlier. It's not nice, she said, for us to be sprawled in bed when the lady comes in to mop the floor and wash clothes. She's right, I know, but I so badly want sleep that I argued and argued. Go to sleep earlier, was her solution. I get her point. I myself, don't think seven is early in the morning. Six is a normal hour to wake up... five can be considered early. Of late, though, since I've been in college, I've been going to sleep around two in the morning on a regular basis... and I cannot sleep in the afternoon. No matter what I do, I cannot- unless I'm utterly exhausted. So, she's right. I have to sleep earlier. I whined. That's not fair! I can't keep in touch with anyone if I go to bed so early!

But in the end, I must admit she's right. I need to sleep earlier and wake up earlier. Have the whole day ahead of me. Sigh. I just wish everyone else would do the same!! I hate missing out on stuff! But it cannot be helped...

The Fiddler and more.......

It’s past midnight. Everyone in my house is asleep….. except me. We’re all tired. We came back after watching my school’s production of ‘Fiddler on the Roof’. I’d already seen the dress rehearsal with Ari and Confucious, so the effect it had on me was not as stunning as it might have been… but, oh! Today’s was brilliant. The bits that had been lacking in chemistry were perfect today.
No doubt, Mr. El Kay would have found fault with it… but hey, it’s children from Class X playing roles like that of a Jewish father of five daughters! Earlier when my mum said they were difficult roles for children to identify with, I felt she was overdoing it. They were just characters! I could understand them. Why wouldn’t they be able to?
But today, I sat next to a certain Ms. Jain. My insane friend. Hmmm… yes, I see how normal children would find it hard to identify with such roles. They were tough. But how brilliantly done. My heartfelt congratulations to the director, Katie. Wow. It was spectacular. Also to the entire cast and crew. Congratulations!!!
The singing was also fabulous. My sister was in the choir... It was beautiful. Several of the solos were fabulous..... in general, it was so well done! WOW!
But the story leaves me with an ache. I feel melancholy. I understand Tevye. (spoiler warning from here on!!!) When I watched the movie when I was younger, I felt he was the villain of the piece, throwing his own daughter out like that! And that too after accepting the first two. How irrational! I see it differently, now. I see a man struggling to cope with changes. Blows that come too fast for him to recover from. Changes he can barely process. As far as he can, he allows and gives his blessing… but there comes a point beyond which he cannot bend. If he bends any further, he will break. At that point he has to close his eyes to the daughter he loves and look to his own survival. He cannot allow things to go that far. Poor Tevye.
Of course my sympathies are still strongly with Chava. Poor child. All she wants is for her and her husband to be accepted by her father. Is that too much to ask? But Tevye can only bend so far. And in the end, he does acknowledge her… however indirectly, there is hope.
For me, the story ends there. Their (the Jews) being evicted is not integral to my view of the story. It is a story of a father and his daughters. And people who are suffering. My dad dislikes this story. He feels too much has been made of the suffering of the Jews. I agree… but this story is not about ‘Jews’. It is about people. And change. And oppression (though I don’t see that as one of the main points.).
Anyway, I personally see Hodel’s match, Perchik as the more dangerous one. He is a radical. An activist… and Hodel leaves home alone for Siberia, where he is imprisoned. Far away from home… as she leaves, she promises her father that she will be wed under a canopy. This match seems to me more difficult to stomach than Chava and Fyedka, the the Russian…. But well, I am not Tevye. Poor man.
Perhaps it is because I forsee myself in Chava’s situation… (Too much melodrama? What to do? I’m feeling that way right now!) I know, there’s nothing I could do to make my parents disown me… (hmm… maybe there is, but let’s not go there… The point is, whoever I chose to marry, they’re not going to be so difficult about it!)… but it must be so difficult for them. I feel bad. But what can I do? Religion does not matter to me. Whoever I marry (or don’t marry!) I cannot guarantee that he (or she!!!) is going to be Christian. Sigh. Poor things.

And then, I feel bad. So much is happening all over the world, that I don't know about. So many people being exploited, blah blah blah.............. I should be doing something. Something useful. My career choice does not ensure that… but, I know I cannot be rich. I’m sure of it. I can’t handle it. I would feel too guilty. And as I'm never going to be rich thanks to my choice of career, I cannot marry a rich man. I just cannot handle it. If I were caught up in my own survival struggle, I wouldn’t feel so bad about ignoring other people...... if I had money to spare, though, I’d die of guilt. Yes, I’m strange. But that’s me. Another thing is, I want to adopt. Yes, everyone knows that… but not many people know I want to adopt a kid with AIDS. Handle it? I don’t know if I can. But I will. I've never told anyone about this until recently... But a kid with AIDS... hmmm, that requires me to be rich! To be able to afford treatment... but...
It’s all so messy. Sigh.

I want to go to sleep all cuddled up with someone.

But it's too hot, and my sister is sprawled on one side of the bed.

Good night, world. At least I’ll dream about it.