Thursday, May 30, 2013

The One Night Stance

Silence, they call it, of what,
I may never know, and it won’t ever matter.
The strange custom before a storm, was stranger,
Today, as a guest in proceedings of war.
Blows becoming sodden expressions of a raging world around
Wounds an obvious affliction, memory the natural drug,
Indifference the natural cure.
All full of pity, and hate alike,
A casualty among living they name it,
As the victim was reason, slaughtered by some private treason.
A daft and blunt version, I say,
Of a mind corrupted by lack of reflection.
Let treason be the trigger,
But the shot was the devil’s sacred thought unleashed.
A victim of of reason, held up against pointless existence,
Being turning savage, for against what it was pitted.
The essence of laughter changing by day,
From an elated sense of victory,
Becoming a peace from ease of loss.
Slowly it and its breath choke on fumes, turning into,
My lone awareness to a fire that lives on me
When it leaves, will it leave me burnished or ash,
Is an unlucky man’s guess, and I’ll be making it for him,
But depart it will, I won’t let it stay,
For the love or blood of God, I say.
Faded illusions that passed in time,
Black faith in passiveness to back it,
The season past be a painful night
A nightmare of thoughts endured and endeared,
A wishful fall, a leap, a flight,
A belief abandoned a one night stance.

-Piyush Bhatti
2nd Year, Mech

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

The Sinner's Act

No matter how many times you cried
But you still couldn't feel
No matter how many times you fell
But you still couldn't heal
No matter how many times you woke up
To the music of the gale apart,
As the children plunged their knives
Right in the middle of your heart
To believe in a fairy tale is a child's dream
For the poison rain in which you once played
I strip the soul off its chaste innocence
And the body burns in which the shadow once laid
Tell me would you rise just to be buried inside?
Tell me would you run away just to win a fight?
Your life is free from every fair frontier
It's all over in a matter of your eternal plight
Don't you remember the time when life went free?
The birth of you and the death of me
The children are back with their hands full
And the blizzard is knocking on your door
Tell me would you cry to never feel?
Or kill yourself only to never heal?

- Harshil Bhardwaj
2nd Year, Meta

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Special Theory of Relative Cannibalism

Statutory Warning: The views expressed in this article may be unsuitable for the holier-than-thou, self righteous people with low self esteem, no sense of humour or irrational religious beliefs. Also if you are a 10 pointer, this article is not for you. It may be relevant for some low level backlog chap but since you are above all that, why don’t you go to library and borrow some books, a**hole (you know the word)

Of all the violinists considered smart, Einstein was the silliest. For his obsession with relativity had such a profound trickle down effect on our policy makers that they decided to stuff relativity in every possible way they can in our education system, thus turning a perfectly functional, cordial classroom into a $#!thole of cynicism, an every man for himself (or, for that hot girl sitting ahead ) zone. But then, who am I kidding. Hot girls and engineering almost seem like an oxymoron (Being in an oestrogen starved branch makes matters worse). On seconds thoughts, ranting on about hot girls, or rather the lack of them, in a technical college has become such a cliché and since there will always be those thick headed, android 2.1 using orthodox who just can’t suppress their urge to employ a cliché, so I happily leave that topic to them. Soon after falling in this deep sinkhole of higher studies, I uncovered some pretty depressing facts about my beloved college and all of those problems had something to do, in one way or the other, with this concept of relativity which those nonchalant policy makers have such inhumanly embodied in our curriculum (again, screw you Einstein!).If those incompetent old clowns can’t do it to their wives, they do it to their country. And yet, are still voted back to power because of idiots like you (yes, you!). And our college complements that by putting up an atrocious attendance system and by keeping an obscure curriculum, with that redundant train engine and helicopter being an apt symbolism of this obscurity. Legend has it that the Air Force helicopter once landed for a minor repair work and it couldn't fly back. Ever again. True story!

Now, allow me to commit sacrilege on the 10 commandments of our sacred CGPA system in which you get an opportunity to get screwed with your pants on, by a bunch of no life 10 and 9 pointers over and over and over and over and over again (sounds cruel? well, it is). But a few 9 pointers might come in handy for copying assignments from. And the most intelligent decision taken by the authorities (and perhaps the only) is to let 4 photocopy shops open in the PEC market so that the time wasted in photocopying assignments can be considerably reduced. And boy, how much I love assignment deadlines! I almost have a fetish for the jet like sound they make as they fly by. But if you are a 9 pointer (and most likely you are not), then after some time of good intention-ed assignment sharing, you start feeling like an open source software (a prostitute everyone uses but no one pays).

And speaking of grades, getting wasted the night before exams just because of an inconsequential binge dare won’t help your case either. But ‘Dare’ is the one word that makes the ego levels reach the zenith and makes you drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. ‘No, I am a pussy’ should be your reply because the prospects of a possible one more year of going through that same hell (i.e. year back) don’t seem too appealing. Besides, smoking kills. And if you’re killed, you have lost a very important part of your life. But I know for sure people will continue doing that and the legacy will go on, even though it may seem nonsensical in hindsight. Because, perhaps, making sense is too mainstream (note to self: stop using clichés, you moron!). That one guy defying the mass cut, that one girl submitting assignments on time, it’s because of teacher’s pets like you (again, you!) that the entire class suffers for four consecutive years. If only we could remain unite. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or rare gemstone. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. So let us shun our differences and stop fighting over petty issues such as grades and placements. Let’s be united for once and make this world a happier place. Or maybe, smoke weed, get high and give the same number of #*%&s as the number of d**ks in Justin Bieber's pants. Amen.

Written by Rishi Rohan
2nd Year
Mechanical Engineering

Friday, May 10, 2013


My body sat on the swing quietly one night,
My mind it’s only companion, wandering the lair,
Of my thoughts, and suddenly- cold fright!
An empty swing glides gracefully through the still air.
On cue, a crow croaked,
Waves of cold my body soaked,
Why is it suddenly freezing?
And then I heard it, a sickly wheezing.
I could have sworn I saw something there somewhere!
Yet, when I looked, there was nobody there.
The crow moaned, a black cat waltzed by,
It stopped. Slowly twisted its head, as if shy,
And fixed me with an evil gaze,
Then the lights went out in a cold dark haze.
I felt, in every nerve and sinew and vein,
The kind of fear that drives men insane,
Exept maybe, it was there all along,
Building up inside me like a slow song.
Whence came this unwanted notion?
Oh who’s this? I see some motion.
The lights came back, but they, they were different this time
Spewing rays of malice that coalesced with the shadows,
As the swing hit the side with a chime.

I stood there, rooted in fear,
Stabbing my a heart like a spear,
Move I did, thanks to the reptilian part of me
As the part that reasons drowned in the sea
Of fear, and as I reached my home,
I looked back to see a pair of eyes,
 Shining like precious stones,
The silhouette of the cat’s face made me scream,
It wasn’t over, it seemed.

That night I woke up, bathed in sweat,
Slimy worms slithered on the floor to make it wet,
There was only thing I remember from the nightmare,
The black cat and it’s evil stare.

To escape this all, I sought religion,
I meditated, and used psychedelics to get crazy visions,
Desperately seeking some relief,
From the idea that fear is our deepest seed.

Seconds became months, months became years,
In my solitude I conquered all my fears,
Enlightenment beckoned from the distance
Nightmares and black cats ceased their existence,
I saw angels float serenely in the air,
Mesmerizing beauty shine everywhere,
The ultimate truth, I searched
Where everything that ever was and is, converged.
I took a deep breath,
and closed my eyes,
Preparing for the truth
To let go of lies,
An image flickered,
I knew it well.
It was the evil stare of the cat from hell.

-Fateh Singh Mann
4th Year, Mech

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The Happy Boy

With a bucket of flowers, wet and sweet,
And pockets filled with all things pretty.
With a heart full of joy,
And a barrel of happy juices.

He trots through hills and valleys alike.
With the gaze of a tomahawk, stares around.
Looking for the distant Shiela placed,
Amongst yellow blooms and toxic ravines.

He plans his entrance with tedious detail.
The happy boy glances, drops of sunshine.
A cool breeze she feels, her bosom.
He watches her, her moves. How he watches her!

With songs of love, of tragedy, and life.
Percussion, strings and notes unheard.
With a funny twang and a perpetual bang.
He enters tip-toeing into her sphere.

His charm, and his heavenly pleasure,
Putting at rest the world and her defenses.
With a touch, a smile and a wink,
He puts her world in a joyous topsy turvy.

For the happy boy places his seed deep within;
A seed wrapped in myriads of packets of happiness.
With his conquest made, and a life changed,
The happy boy trots on to hills and valleys alike.

-Avneet Hira,
General Secretary, SAASC (2012-2013)

Friday, May 3, 2013


It’s tough to explain how the existence of an individual can affect you. You love them, hate them, like them, dislike them, or maybe the existence is just a part of your regular life, but it still fills a part in the life you live. The existence of all the people in one’s life defines an individual. We know that. We all know that. What we don’t know, or maybe just don’t care enough about, is that the absence of an individual can affect one’s life in a greater possible way, compared to any other thing in the world. We all love, we all live, and well, we all kill, but never do we think about our actions as right or wrong, or good or bad. We never think what impact we can have on someone, or what impact others can have on us. The impact is just a mere significance, or the instant attraction towards a person, not necessarily in a sexual manner, but the way in which one becomes a fan, a follower. And that’s probably the best thing to do in this life, to be that person, who becomes an idol, or maybe just a person to look up to.  To be someone who matters. To be someone who does the work. To be someone who will always be remembered, and kept in mind, even if keeping in sight is no more an option. We all will define our lives, but influencing someone else’s will be the better thing to do. To live is easy, but to live a life is tough. It’ll be a tough experience to laugh, to be sad, to be happy, or to be mad, the correct way, at the correct time, with all the right people, but it’ll be all that matters.

To err is human, and that is all that we must know. Knowing and expecting beyond our capacity is what does not happen. One never knows when the time will end, or when there will be a new start, as there is too little time to worry about such things, as life is what it is, and we all live through it. It’ll happen to you when you’re busy pouring yourself a glass of scotch, and thinking what it would be like, if it would have been different. It could have been better, or worse, or maybe just the same, and the significance might just have changed. And even if it would have been different, one day it would have come to an end, just like everything does and everything will. But one thing that will still stay when there’s no skin, will be the impact, and the significance. The fact that you loved, or you hated. The fact that you lived for all of it. And here I sit today with my drink, thinking, how different it would have been, if some would still have been there. How would it have affected me? And I wait, for all of it, for my share of it, for me to matter, and for me to exist.

-Vishwa Vijay Singh Dhandu