Drink Wisely

Hey, This is a Public Interest Ad that I designed

Jee Sarkar

You are never too far,
From people who love to be addressed as
Jee Sarkar.
Friendship with them would land you in trouble,
Enmity would destroy you to rubble
When they’re in a soup,
They want you to help them,
When you have a problem,
Your plea they condemn.
Of guns, roses and poses,
They are really fond,
Whatever they dislike,
They dispose it in a pond.
They know everyone and who’s who
To people who matter most, they try and woo
When your time ends,
They throw you down the drain
With blood dripping down your face,
Akin to drops of rain
With the breath that you bate
For justice, you wait…

End of the Innings

It was his first match on this ground,
He was excited to see the green round.
He walked towards the wicket,
Yes, his life was just like Cricket.
He looked like he was
Raring to go,
He wanted to defeat the foe.

Then he faced his first ball ever,
It went for a six,
The fielders were all in a fix.
Still, he wanted more,
So the next one was a four,
He then took a single,
Letting the others to mingle,
The next over, the first ball,
He smashed it across the wall.
Six, four and one,
He was nearing his ton,
But, when he was in his 90s
The match was won.
Then came the presentation
Where he was the man of the match,
That’s where in his story,
Lies the catch.

The next match when he went on the pitch,
Life this time was surely a bitch,
The first ball tore his bat,
The willow was cracked,
The next ball hit his pad,
He was not out and the fielders were sad,
The third ball however was an inswinger,
He was bowled, the umpire raised his finger.

Then came the long walk back,
His innings had ended,
Looking at this performance,
The selectors were offended.
He, who could be on the throne,
Couldn’t be more ruthlessly thrown,
That’s when in the evening,
God came to tell him,
Son, it’s the start of your inning.

a series of smart ads

That according to me is called WIT...hope u like it...

Burnt Kids

This ain`t no London Fire,
This ain`t no public ire,
Still there’s something queer about it,
Something unclear about it,
On the days when it was hot,
Even the days it snowed,
I saw burnt kids on the road.
What burnt them was the age old fuel,
A drive towards knowledge accrual
A bunch of papers, touched with ink,
A saturated mind, filled to the brink
When Armageddon starts creeping,
Everyone stops sleeping,
I saw them cry,
I saw them die,
I saw darkness under their eye.
They were fed to sharks,
An ugly bunch, also called Marks.
Some burnt in ACs,
Some burnt in Fans,
Some in the noise of Clinging Pans
It’s not their class that burns them,
It’s not their money,
That is the biggest irony.
They are slaughtered,
Just like lambs,
This, my friend, is
The Appetite of Exams
That eats all kids and parents alike,
Still their taste, it doesn’t like.
The teachers still go on a strike,
The fees, always on a hike.
Children who are short and tall,
Doesn’t matter if you rise or fall,
Cos, all in all you’re just
Another Item in the Mall

Gobbledygook

While I write this, I can feel the mad rush within me to relive those great days in this place I call “home”. Well, it’s the obvious feeling that you get after spending 72% of your life with this institute. The funny part however is that when I look back at what I enjoyed the most in school was at “nonsense”. The term “nonsense” out here would refer to incidents that had no distant relation with sanity. A laugh riot which followed after every such incident would be bought under control by a curfew laid by the teachers, who themselves, I guess, enjoyed every bit of the incident. Thus, it gives reason enough for this weird title which also means – Nonsense.

To start of with, the ingredients that formed the perfect recipe for Gobbledygook would be a funny character, which I’m sure every class even today has it. Then it would be an occasion of serial bomb-blasts, which are, a teacher (a must have in class), an irate class and the unforgettable remarks in the calendar. When a teaspoon of each is added to a boring lecture, and garnished with smart comments by both the teacher and the students, I guarantee the best dish ever which can be enjoyed with generous dollops of laughter.

One such incident still preserved well in my brains (if at all I have any), would be, what I refer to as the “Slap-Stick Incident”. A classic case where my Std 9th class teacher, Mrs. Neelam Sharma, a caring, sweet and a patient lady, among my favorites in school, was as angry as a cut snake, and me being the prime accused. I still remember her charging towards me like an angry elephant and was determined to slap as hard as Tendulkar would to a poor ball. The cream of the joke was, I was determined not to get slapped, and the class was watching who wins. The result anyways was both of us won because she fulfilled her goal and I fulfilled mine. The moment her palm neared my cheek, I squatted down and the funny character like mentioned above tasted with his cheek. The expression on his face would give Mona Lisa a run for her money. Imagine being slapped for no reason, slapped hard. The look on his face was surprised, hurt, angry and comic at the same time. The funny person was this mate called Rohit Gupta who had the capability to make a scorned woman laugh her ribs off. After he was slapped, being stick-thin, he took a flight after the impact and landed a few feet away. The whole class surely enjoyed this moment to the fullest and our roaring laughter echoed in the whole floor. The follow up was, all of us being asked to stand on our benches, even a few taller ones because of whom, the fans were switched off. To add insult to the injury all of us were given remarks in our calendars that read “was distracting the class”. Now if you scratch your head deep down, you’ll realize, the gobbledygook here was, that if everyone was distracting everyone…….hahaha.

To sum it up (I’m sure you desperately want me to) I’d quote Horace “Mingle a little folly with your wisdom; a little nonsense now and then is pleasant.” These are the days when we have Right to Nonsense as our fundamental right. Thus, enjoy this to the fullest.

A Knight’s Mare

Elegant, curvy and graceful
Her gallop was rhythmic
Color, she borrowed from clouds,
Petals made her delicate,
Strength she took from the mountains,
And freshness from the fountains
Her master was a knight,
Whom she accompanied to every fight
A scenic dusk down the countryside,
Together they were going
Faster than a Boeing
The enemy, who was a cheat
He couldn’t swallow defeat.
From behind the bushes,
He flung an arrow
Pierced the rider’s bone marrow
Thud! On the ground he fell,
His blood he could smell,
She, although was confident of her ability,
And wanted to save him from the cruelty
She bent to the level of the ground,
Just before the second arrow arrived
Her body ate the steel, aimed at the knight,
Three arrows in, She never showed fright,
The devil ran away before peasants arrived,
The mare expired but the knight survived.
Bravo! Exclaimed the locals,
They praised the wounded man,
And took him to the king,
His highness gave him yellow to fulfill his greed,
And in the happy picture of victory,
Everyone forgot the steed.