Sad Pome

Lost in the turnip-red depths of despair
I am depressed, like a wet cat on a stair
as lonesome as a single spot on a chair
as sad as that bald patch in your hair.

I have no time to think, only to cry
If only I could fly away like a horsefly
I would flutter and butter like a pretty butterfly
But all the time, I would still be crying inside.

You will never know, you won't understand
Maybe if you were here, we could just hold hands
But since you're too busy, I'll keep sinking in the sand
Of my only home, the land of the damned.

Lyaadhkhor

While I was busy slacking off.

Classes happened. Some of them were even interesting.

Theatre, debate, quiz society members worked at their respective crafts. People made music, created wall art, constructed beautiful things out of paper, buttons, colours and glue, even went out on rallies, cleaned up the Maidan, then the JU Arts Department parking lot. They were productive, because they care. They care about life, about participating, about promoting culture, being part of something greater than just chilling, just reading and writing sporadically, just being a lazy-ass in general. I'm ok at academics, I do a theatre club once a week, I turn up for other people's cultural events. And yeah, I wrote a book at some point. So fucking what? I've been done for ages, that's an insult of an excuse right now.

Because that's what JU does to you. If you want to, it can be the most instructive, interesting, the most fun place you've ever been. And if you want to end up being a fucked-up loser with no interest in anything till the next fix of whatever does it for you comes along, well, JU will hand it to you on a silver plate with salad on the side. That's the dangerous part - if you mess up, it's because of free will, man.

But it's all cool, man. It's been a while since you last smoked/drank/fell in love/snorted whatever. That's why you're talking shit, that's why you've lost your nerve. Wait it out. You'll be oblivious in a while.

A Serious Pome (to the Joo Dogs)

Down the smelly corridors of endless time
run the pattering sounds of your nonchalant paws
lazing in the winter sun, you cock a wise eye at us,
and you yawn slightly; we are beneath your notice.
you will only rouse yourself to action
when the tough young thugs from the engineering end of campus
trot over to challenge your territory - then you become a fearsome warlord.
A change from your ridiculously adorable alter-ego,
the one with the lolling tongue and the silly puppy eyes.
Your earnest snifflings around my ankles, the putrid smell of your garbage breath
do nothing to make me love you less.
True, I do not cuddle you, but only because I am lazy;
when you were a pup, I fed you everyday, and I tickled your back with great energy,
but like all children, you became a sullen half-adult who sulks in a corner.
You idiotic bundle of mangy fur, you don't realize that I saw you when you fit in my hand;
and when you strut around campus with bravado, I am not impressed.
Whimper lovably all you like, not a single crumb more,
you can have half this biscuit, however, I didn't really want it.
Don't follow me into class, you canine retard,
you can't hide under damp umbrellas during a lecture, you're bound to start sneezing.
Wait outside, I'll be out in an hour,
and maybe after that, we can sit on the stairs and listen to Elvis for a while.


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milieu

milieu, indian ocean, some russian-origin joy. delicious bangla food, much laughter, fireworks and music under a crescent moon, iced tea and chocolate dessert, naked sex :). thank you, presidency.

3D Dreams

The Technicolour dreams of the average Judean feature

Smoky ledges

Charcoal skull-heads on white walls that look like the dead faces of people you know

Old coffee cups

The smell of second-hand books

Trees till the end of nowhere

Laying on your back in the grass looking up at the blurry sky with a symphony in your ears

Extensions of thought. Would you like Byron if he hadn't been a libertine?

Clowns in the middle of nowhere. They giggle softly.

The sounds of a train passing down the line a few hundred metres away. Laughter when it's gone.

A dog's brown eyes, soft nuzzles on your knees. You want to take it home

Hollow corridors, empty of people except for one sad-eared boy reading the notice board. The sound of water falling in the parking lot below

The stairs around the back of a vacuum. There go your friends. They wave and stop.

Smiles through a sunny curtain of cobwebs. A cat curls around your ankle, yearning to be scratched on the back.

Once upon a time, there used to be lovers on that rusted bridge over shallow green waters. The old man at the gate remembers chasing them away.

The library in the summertime. Reading in coolness.

Minds you found and liked. Oh the merry randomness.

Eccentric oblong of affection. Yet we are loyal.

The fluttering of new, crisp pages. Skim, don't read.

Sudden lust. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. In the end, nothing gained. Nothing lost.

Sometimes it's worth it, she wrote. Other times, just let it go.

Happiness. The End.


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The Joo

Good morning sunshine! I mean you, dear reader. Regardless of the time and place at which you see this, I insist on bringing you the image of a bright, sunny, scorching, sultry morning, offset by the glorious splendours of the JU campus. Oh the jheelpar. Oh worldview. Oh green zone. Oh the birds. Oh the guitars. Oh the sunlight glinting off the bald spots on everyone's favorite librarian's head.

I've become one of the Bad Ones, I'm sorry (and secretly extremely pleased) to say. I no longer study. My competitive zest has disappeared, gone without a trace into the musty storage room at the back of my conscience, along with the low-cal diet reminders and the plot-ideas that have been festering beside my heart for half a decade now. And who cares, as long as there's chocolate? There's always music and half-gone smoke and a little bit on the side, in between long walks and longer talks. And all of you who know what the deal is will get this. Charmed oblong, they call it. Probably because of the odd angles and the awkward corners. Lucky us.

Coded gibberish, you will be thinking. And in nine and a half cases out of ten, you'd be right. I do speak coded gibberish. I live coded gibberish. One might even go so far as to say that I AM, in fact, coded gibberish. And what of it? For once I'm making sense to myself. Is it my fault that my sense is nonsense? And even if it is, who dares to question the irrationality of someone who's clearly unhinged quite a bit already?

I'm mad, I tell you. Bonkers, nutty, oddball-ish, crazy, deranged and loony. I always have been, of course, but for the first time I feel really at home somewhere, and that'd be at the Joo. I love all you animals who make the going-back-everyday worth it. And I cannot believe my luck, come to think of it. Lamp-posts stay lit and upright for me.


<3

Does this make me look fat?

What is the coolest thing you could wear to your departmental freshers' welcome at JUDE? Vote in the comments section please, for the wacky outfit of your choice.


1. In keeping with the icky-pink tradition.



Perhaps the general fluffiness is a bit much?

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2. Green and chipper, then.




But enough with the animal motif. How about...........


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3. This guy?



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as opposed to this



which I, personally, cannot pull off.

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4. Tradition demands that I go looking like this. And my friends say they are willing to risk being seen like this, too.

.

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Um. No, bleh. But perhaps this?




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I just asked Ma. She agrees that it's hard to sustain poses like this over long periods of time. However, if I want to frizz my hair and wear a strappy blouse she will be supportive as long as nothing falls apart. Which it inevitably will, so screw that.

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5. As an afterthought, how about this?





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It's happy, and freaky, and wacky, and silly, and more favorite words. But does it make me look fat, though, because the pink gorilla was rather slimming.


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Vote please, for

a. The Fluffy Pink Gorilla
b. The Happy Frog
c. The Coolest Action-Figure Costume Ever
d. That Stupid Drape Thing
e. Clownface.

Vote fast, though. I'm depending on you to decide what will ultimately blow socks off.