PRINCE CHARMING!

In the movie “up in the air” there was a scene when the young girl asks a middle aged lady, what are the things she look in a guy to be her “Ideal partner”. To which the lady simply replies “he should not be an a****** and have a nice smile…..”

This really stimulated my senses. We really open up the options by simply eliminating the resistances that we once had. All of us mostly have a benchmark when it comes to choosing a partner in our youth. Let the “requirements” that we desire be stupid enough as; he should have long hair, should like boy bands or country music, should enjoy the same things as I do etc. but in the end we manipulate it. It may not be mandatory for the one to fulfill all the crazy requirements but most. As the time passes we settle up and reduce those requirements even further and ultimately we are mostly left with the most basic i.e. “he should not be an a******”

I felt a great deal of melancholy today after reading one of my old diaries (The teenage one). I had mentioned a lot of such crazy requirements. And now as I have apparently grown up and realized that such a combination cannot exist….

It was a long list and I don’t want to revive any expectation by writing it here and burden my unconscious mind with useless hopes. I relinquish my search for that childhood Mr. Right, because if he exists he probably is on some other planet…

Authors note: you need not to be the same, opposite attract but of course you should be looking at the same direction i.e. have same goal in life…

MEAN MACHINE

I have always been fascinated by big machines!  But this one goes beyond all my fascinations. It’s simply spectacular!

The Liebherr T 282-B is radical category diesel/electric power train haul truck. It has an empty weight of 203 tons and load capacity of 363 tons. This makes it this truck with highest payload capacity truck in world! 

Its engine (made in Germany, MTU) provides the maximum output of any commercialize automobile in the world. It is big enough to be used as an emergency power generator for international airports. The engine weighs 10.4tons, has 20 cylinders in a V arrangement and a capacity of 90 liters. It has a maximum power output of 2700kw and maximum torque of 14.457kNm. An important characteristic of the Liebherrs T282-B is that the diesel engine powers two Siemens electric traction motors in the rear axle. This intern provides fast acceleration and high speed. It has electric retarders that provide precise speed control to slowdown the truck.

Because of its enormous size it is transported to the site in components and assembled latter.

Length: 14.5 m long

Height: 7.4 m tall

Wheelbase: 6.6 m

Top Speed: 64 km/h

Costs: US$3.5 M

 Liebherr T 282B was launched in 2004. Designed and manufactured by the Liebherr Mining Equipment Co.(basically a German entity) in Virginia, USA. A few dozen of them are sold every year.

 

CURIOSITY

 

My Facebook home page read updated from Paulo Coelho, this time I read

Paulo Coelho Curiosity kills the cat, but helps the tiger to live // La curiosidad mata el gato, pero ayuda a que el tigre viva

 I am not sure about you but I know nothing about the story of this cat! So I searched and tried to find out how the cat got killed. Apparently it was no easy thing to find!

All I could make out is that, it certainly is a way of saying “ignorance is bliss”

All I could find out is that, the phase was mentioned in some write-ups in various forms like “care killed the cat”, "curiosity killed a Thomas cat (Thomas is a form of male cat).", “hang sorrow, care'll kill a Cat, up-tails all, and a Louse for the Hangman.”

In the phases where care killed the cat, the secondary meaning of care is considered i.e. worry/sorrow and not the contemporary meaning i.e. “to take care of”.

I know nothing about the writer nor about the cat but these arcane thoughts certainly kill me if anyone amongst my readers know how the cat was killed, what sort of a curiosity killed it. Do mention it to me…

Author’s note; this post welcome all the stories that help me vindicate arcane thoughts.  

PERHAPS

It was an awful morning; I woke up alone and lost. I cannot remember when I slept; it must be 6 am or so. I can recall consciously looking at the wall clock reading 5 am. The second’s hand was rushing to eternity. I don’t have the clock that ticks in my bed room. My watch is always in a hurry but perhaps, I never noticed that both the clocks (i.e. the one that ticks and the one that runs) move at the similar pace

Last night was not the first time when I slept weeping silently on my bed. I am blessed with plenty of such nights. This has happened earlier too. It is awful because in those times I needed someone to hold me so that I could fall asleep but I have no one to cuddle, so I just curl up and cry with sleep deprived eyes. Wishing and begging to god for some sleep so that I could vanish in my dream and never have to wake up and face another awful morning.

I had two dreams that night. In the first dream something really good happened, my uncle who is paralyzed was walking around in his office. Setting up on some new business project and was high on life it was great!

In the second dream I was walking in search of something upon a bridge, it was apparently leading towards infinite limits but I could not reach to the place I was heading. I was stuck on finding the bridge broken. I leaned to see the landscape beneath, which seem like a volcanic magma but the temperature was chilling. I sat hanging my legs upon the black, red and orange molten rocks underneath the beautiful sky.

I woke up to a sound of rain pouring heavily on the window pane. I lay still for a long time wondering … nothing at all. On deliberately scanning my mind, I realized that for the first time maybe, I was not thinking anything. It took me back to the time when my physics teacher told us while trying to teach up how to meditate that, it is apparently not possible to track mind when it’s ideal unless one is in deep meditation state. I was certainly not in deep speculation may be I was just exhausted!

I sluggishly crawl out of my bed and cleaned my room. That’s the first thing I do every morning. I never get satisfied with other people’s cleaning skills for my room. Only I know how to clean the mess that I created.

I was still lost as I took bath. I wrapped a robe around my body and moved to the bedroom to get dressed. I should dress up to go out but yet another day, I gave up the plan. I put on loose tees and moved to the dinning, sat on the chair and pretended to read news paper. I held my head and buried myself in the newspaper.

I realized that I was just staring at the rag when my vision got blurred with tears. I finely broke down and placed my hands on my face. My hands were sticky as they touched my face. I felt my hair were sticky too I soon realized I forgot to rinse of the conditioner.

I moved into the bathing chamber and stood beneath the shower for eon of time.  I heard a pungent sound, when I turned and saw the exhaust moving in eccentric manner. Apparently something had hit the fan, when I noticed a fur slowly floating towards the ground.

I did not care to see if the bird was killed or injured. I do not care about it whatever it was. Even if it was killed or still have to slog with the daily struggle of survival. Did the bird cared how I was feeling.

A thought of sharp edge of knife came to my mind and I had a thought of slashing my wrist. I may die may not die but certainly deserve to get hurt. I always thought it was very insane to do such an act of self destruction.

I still cannot believe that the reason impelling to such a disaster. It’s because of stuff that I love; I am sitting at the edge of life and thinking about destroying myself.  I don’t care what the f*** people may think about but is not the one facing this 

Author’s note; Perhaps, to be continued…

PIGGY BANKS

I have been a little sad lately, but this does not block my random thoughts.

 I was wondering why piggy banks are called “piggy” banks?

After trying hard to stop thinking about this and concentrating on my useless woes. I relinquished neglecting the thought and finally decided to goggle it! (Aha!! Our world revolves around Google! Don’t you think so? It has just made information so handy!)

So our small saving banks are related to pigs! Eerie! Though pigs are cute (if only they stay clean), they are the favorite animal of my baby cousin. (because they are pink!) But saving does not go with pig right?  

Piggy bank is not just the conventional name of our personal bank. Origin of this term is something that I would call a creative mistake! During the 15^th century metals were really expensive. So for domestic purpose people used jars of clay. They even used it as a saving bank and dropped a coin or two in it on daily basis. The clay used for this purpose was called “pygg”. (It’s orange clay which is still used in India to make pots.) Those banks were called pygg banks!

Latter about in 17^th and 18^th century people forgot the origin. When an English potter received orders for traditional “pygg banks” the potter was obfuscated and he crafted banks shaped like pigs! (That was a creative accident!)  The product was admired by everyone and that’s how we got the name piggy bank!

PS Now that this thought is out of my head, I can concentrate nagging about my personal woes. It is always a relief to knock down arcane thoughts!

Eccentric Fiction

I tried to write a fiction but just like my thoughts, the characters that I created went out of my control. To know more read on…

It was getting late in the night. I was out on journey to countryside in search of adventure since morning, as I drove my red Porsche boxster Saw some light at distance. I scrutinized from the distance and found that is was some busy country inn. I think after such a long drive it’s just perfect to get some booze and rest. I parked my Porsche Got out of it and walked towards the bar in the inn.

An owl was hooting on the top of a leafless tree. The moon was on zenith. The surrounding was filled with terror of night.  The zephyr from the west was the only familiar thing to me on this land.

There stood an old man in a cowboy attire by the bar’s door. He looked at me in an undue admiration. He lifted his cowboy hat and gave me a bow with a sly, toothless, gummy smile. Certainly it was not often that he gets to see a carefree city girl having an adventures side. My leather jacket and denims gave me a punk look. He seems to have had an admiration for punk and Yankee. Or perhaps he was just drunk like rest of the people around.

The bar was filled with just few people. An old country song “Lucie” was being played. A fat woman was sitting in a corner table all alone, six people were playing cards in a table nearby, rest of the crowd was seated on the bar stools, drinking and chatting.

I sat on an isolated place from the rest of crowd and ordered for beer!

“Hey you!” said a riffraff country boy as he sat next to me and sipped some lacquer from his bottle.

“Hello” I replied

“Never saw you around, new to the place huh?” he asked with a smile.

“Yup I am!” I said almost avoiding any further interaction.

“I live in the nearby village. My name is Cassinin my folks just call me “Cas”. I am a cowboy I work in my farm! What do you do for your living?” he asked

“I am Karnika. I am a blogger! I write for my blog and apart from this I am an engineer in search of adventure and inventions” I said proudly

“Ah! Blogger sounds creative! What do you write about?” he asked as he got quiet impressed by it!

“I write fiction and random stories about my adventurous journey on my blog “The three dimensional living world”. You might have read it. It’s quite popular!” I bragged

“How do you expect me to read it when you are currently writing your first fiction?” he demanded.
“How do you know?” I asked in shock.

“I know! I know a lot. This incidence is going to be your first friction. In this story I am the one who listen to all your heroic deeds in the country, get impressed and fall for you. But you evidently reject me as you get to find out that I am scared of even rats and really coward! So I don’t match your carefree sprit…” he kept on his blab.

“Hey! You are not suppose to revile the story like this!” I said to hush him.

“Now that you have already broken the on tenterhooks, I will have to change it. So now you are just another stupid crazy country boy who come up with a raunchy pick up line and is hitting at me!” I announced proudly.

“Sounds great!  I am single country man there is nothing wrong in just a little flirting and trying my luck…”he said and sipped his beer.

“No you are not single then. You have a beautiful girlfriend” I said.

“Beautiful girlfriend! Why would I hit at you then?” he asked with the taste of sarcasm.

Now this guy was testing my limits, I took a deep breath and said “because you are a country Casanova! And you are already cheating on your girlfriend as you are having an affair with the dancer in the bar!”

“What sort of story is this? We never had any dancer in this bar!” he asked out of confusion.

“We do have one now. I am the creator of the story! Remember?” I said

“That’s a pathetic story! What kind of start was that by the way? I would never hit at you as I have a beautiful girlfriend and an affair with the dancer! Who is there in the bar only” he said


“I can always go back and change how it starts. Now that you are pressing on it your girlfriend is ugly and wears braces!” I said out of reigning.

“You wore braces too!” he laughed.

“You are writing this just to make yourself appear like a hero as you are self obsessed! But it is not a hidden fact that no one will hit at you” he said with sarcasm.

“Let’s not get personal! “ I said as I got up and started walking towards the door.


“That’s what I meant to say when you portrayed me as “Johnny bravo”!” he shouted as I passed slamming the door.

I leaned to my car and stood alone for a while. As Cassinin came out of the bar’s door. He said to me acrimoniously “see!  You hurt her too! You are so haughty!”

“Who?” I asked out of surprise.

“The lonely woman who was sitting in the corner, you called her fat. She is crying uncontrollably in the washroom” he answered.

The old man standing at the door joined cassinin and complained “she even made me look like a dumb drunk man, with toothless, gummy smile”

He turned towards me and asked me out of rage “You could have mentioned that I had dentures of artificial teeth, but you wanted to make just yourself look pretty and heroic and rest of us look like fools.”

He continued “I felt more honored when Paulo Coelho mentioned me in the alchemist, he respected me and never said that I ogled! at anyone unlike you did.

“Hey but I never said that you ogled!” I said out of shock

“But you meant that. Didn’t you?” he accused me.

“Holy f*** you were in the alchemist!” cassinin asked the old man.

“Yeah! I was. That is where she took me from and manipulated me to her own soppy character” the old man said.

“But I never mean you ogled at me. What I said was that …” I tried to give them my clarification.

But I was interrupted by cassinin “well! You are writhing about the countryside and you must understand the difference in their culture, perception and interpretation as you write.”

“Yeah! We are country men we believe in male domination. How can a young girl of your age out roll our men? And how come you possess a porches and I don’t get even a horse?” added the old man.

“Oh that’s pathetic you are acting as chauvinist!”

“No you are being excess of feminist, you got this porches and we don’t even get horses. And apart its countryside you are writing about that’s not fair” Cassinin rebuked.

“Enough! It’s my story I may write it the way I like” I made clear and walked away.

As I walked I heard a strange voice of hoot. The owl sitting on the top of the leafless tree was calling me.
I looked at it. He called me again and said “Hey you! Why you have made me sit on this leafless tree? Why u didn’t make me sit on tree with leaf. It is sort of thing makes the readers think that owls are scary and sleepy and lonely ….. That’s not fair...” 

PS Did you just thought “owls can’t talk.” what do you mean owls can’t talk?
THIS IS MY STORY I MAY WRITE “WHATEVER” I WANT AND IT’S MY FICTION…..”

PPS A special thanks to Mr.Aseem Kaul.

GOD'S WRATH

The sole of sand, eyes of stone.
Unwelcome the vivid vibes.
You stand alone despite of your reigning.

The god is peeved.
No man kindness was seen.
He doubted what he created.

Commencement of hate did not go unnoticed.
Hate rendered the night so dark.
Genial of moon was blocked by eclipse.

Stars had only one last hope.
But the god abdicated
And he resigned his post…

Language of universe…

Looking at the night sky,
Reminds me of your deep dark eyes,

The wind,
It reminds me,
How it use to blow away your
Hair off your face and ….

The sun shine,
It reminds me,
Of your… oh!! So perfect smile,
That always conveys the message from your sole and your eyes putting up the message into a language,

The language that universe owns.

The language of… love, hope and silence.

This language… no matter what it says,
It always sets up the same message, same moral, same desire.
 

The desire to know truth, to know more,
To seek out the answer for hundreds and millions question arising.

These entire questions has the same solution,

An answer that one can realize,
When one looks at the Moon

The Moon,
Shining brightly in the sky,
Giving a soothe comfort
To my eyes....

DAD! GIVE ME MY WINGS BACK...

 I was born with wings!

It’s the part of story told by my father, when I was too young to think logically!

I was told,

 I was given to my parents by the fairies. On my birthday the fairies came to see my elder sister, as she was also given to my parents by them only. I was with them. At the time when we i.e. me and the fairies were going back I got really sad and wanted to stay with my elder sister. So the fairies left me over and told my dad to take care of me.

As I had wings, it was really difficult for my father to take care of us with wings! He at that time took off my wings and kept it safe at the same place where he had kept my sisters wings!

From that day onwards I was asking for my wings all the time.

But I was always denied.

My dad said “if I will give you your wings back you will fly to your fairyland. What if you won’t be able to fly that far as you have never practice, you may get hurt in the way? I will give you your wings when you will grow up! And will be able to live on your own. You are too young. I can’t let you go I will be alone”.    

I mostly agreed to the deal but always had a desire to at least have a look at my wings.

 I often asked,

What is the color of my wings?

I was told they were pink!

I had a logical approach too!

What if I will grow up and they stay of the same size?

Dad said he is keeping a check and we have been growing with the same rate.

My parents made me eat rice (that I don’t like at all) by telling me that the fairies came and made it for me.

And I ate it quietly…

I asked how come they did not meet me.

Thinking if I could have met them I would have told them that I want my wing back. And they would have convinced my father.

I was dyeing to see my wings and hoping that I may fly. I was eager to grow up and get my wings back. I always copied my elder sister in a lot of ways so that I could pretend be of her age!

As I grew up believe in the story got giddy and I got occupied in the other stuff appropriate for my age then.

PS:  Dad I want my wings back!!