Must Read Books, in case you die...

Here's an interesting blog I've run into....

it tells you the most important thing about life and allows a comprehensive list of books to read, before you, or in this case I, die....

The list is spread out in time century-wise, and you can argue it's a bit euro-centric.... and i wish it also told you where to get the books, in case you were living in a remote corner of the world, without access to the Libraries of Tlon and Ukbar...

But check this out if you're interested.

The True Story of Job Search Engines

Aren't they wonderful?

You think of landing yourself in the best place you can sell yourself, and they advertise for you in the way anglers advertise live worms under water. We like to be worms.... that's the primordial genetic buzz recurring from time to time, and there is no denying that. So there are elaborate procedures, forms to fill out, newsletters that don't mean anything, and search engines which always make you think that you are a dreaming loser....for you never find the 'dream job' (as if a job can be anything other than a nightmare)....

Ever thought why these job search engines exist?

Here's the secret. I have mostly kept it to myself since few people would believe me, and it's hard to believe all the same. Leave that to you.... here's how I learnt.

I learnt it that day I climbed on my lame duck and planned for a long Himalayan tour.

Me and my duck, soared up high into the clouds one day and without deviating from the original version of Buro Angla's story, did a sightseeing that could have spoiled all the fun out of your goggle earth... we even planted pins and re-wrote locations in the clouds when some wikid kites mapping the sky in rectangles chased us off the clouds.

So, we kept to well-trodden routes and limped....across the sky.

Houses, villages, deserted playgrounds, for the children were back from schools and off to their coaching classes, bushes, with lots of moonstruck couples reclining in the under shrubs to escape the glare of the sun, cell phone towers that looked like obscene pins stuck on residential butts, and rice fields that looked like motorcycles and small cars, for we are having serious industries now in West Bengal and we are damn serious about 'unnoyon',i.e. develop, developer, developing, and always developing... whether you like it or not.

Soon enough, we found a pack of wild ducks heading for the abode of the gods.

"Did you register?", their pack leader cried out hoarse.

"Where?", my duck asked.

I took the pleasure of explaining passports and visas and long drawn-out forms that have no meaning for a bird. Even when he's a lame duck. But the wild duck waved me off. You see, she was waving her wings, rather flapping, but you can easily make out a gesture of dismissal.

"Did you register yourself with the Engines?", she asked with a proud flap.

We were ashamed and knew not what to answer. My duck did a silent negative flap-flap.

Flap-flap! Flap-flap!
Flap-flap! Flap-flap!

"Why don't you say something?" I shouted.

Flap-flap! Flap-flap!
Flap-flap! Flap-flap!

And she smiled like a fresh frank and finned air hostess in black n white and told us the way to a forest where we would find an answer. The sky whizzed past, and my lame duck kept complaining about hunger and I wished I had a roast duck.

Soon, after three hours of flap-flap, we reached a dense forest with birds hovering around and cursing. The pack leader of the wild ducks had mentioned a tree where they did the regis... er, you know, the important things... and we moved in towards that.

There was a long queue( not the bevy sort) of birds, fluttering and cursing, with feathers descending all over like when you see many pillows bursting in serious fights over biscuits, but a solemn line that looked like a pack of winged superherons(that's the neuter), bound by duty to explore the world's collective ass than save it... There was also a heron selling packed biscuits and tea. But who was there at the end of the line?

Why, there was the raven I had chased in the morning with a sling and both of us had missed each other's eyes and then decided on an honourable retreat. Now, he was sitting on the highest branch of the tree that looked like a terrible yawn and he was handing over forms to fill up. And there was a weasel who looked like an obscene overgrown cat, scribbling something on a nut that looked like a nut-top. He was purring over his cell phone from time to time. I heard he was with the avian resource department and if you stepped in close, you could spot the features of a small sparrow bristling from a corner of his mouth. She had tried to reason with him.

"How many?" the raven asked a dove who looked like she would cry.

"Zero hits," the weasel whispered to his ears. "And the employers are very angry".
The raven handed her another form.

The dove spoke imploringly," Please sir, this is the unghthjufhfyhfth time I have tried... Tell me, is there no way out?"

"None!" cried the raven.
"None!" cried the weasel who looked like an obscene overgrown cat.
"None!" cried the queue that looked like a pack of winged superherons, bound by duty to explore the world's collective ass than save it...

"What's that for?", asked my lame duck.
"None!" I said and gave him a good kick. And he kicked me back with his lame foot.

unght!! flap! flap! you got it!


the sound of rain falling on rain

There's the sound coming.
It is raining outside.
And it's two thirty into the night.

The streets have fallen asleep and there's no one outside except....
There, can you hear that?
There goes a rumble, and another, and there comes another one... the thunder gods are out to chase out words. I wish I could go outside, drench myself, and carry into my room all the orphaned words who are yelping outside.... forge them anew into letters and paint powerful shapes that would tempt and tease...

where does one write?

Well, here i've started my blog, and i don't know what to do with it...
there are some inane words, which were wanting to reach out ....

but where does one place them? Do they stay put? What happens when one is not sure whether there is any space left for communication.... is there?

A ceaseless sound that is new to the ear, a name that is free from memory, all melting lies, parched tales of disturbed sleep, honeyed oblivion.... and a name that is free from memory...