TIME TALK

 Time line, time pass, time dilation, New York Times, Times of India, time bomb, time this, time that, time, time, time.

Well, the list can go on. But now, I know what is bothering your neurons!

No. Not the ultimate question of life, for which the answer is 42. But why on earth (or Vogosphere!) am I talking about time, when we have no time to make some time to read this shit (sheet?)?

Allow me to explain the “Time syndrome” which bothers me every time I think about time. 

Disclaimer: Geek alert, geek alert. I speak Geek in the following lines. My words may smell chemistry. Sometimes they may come alive and try to poke your eyes. So wear goggles and take off your thinking cap for your safety. Fasten your pant belt (or should that be seat belt?) and don’t break the speed limit, for thou shall be killed.

Is das clarr? (Don’t reach for dictionary to look up das clarr , coz it does not exist)

Now that I have warned you, let me set up the scene for you.

Tick tock, tick tock…….

1:10 AM.

It was quiet and calm outside my room while there was an equal amount of chaos in my brain.

Tiny alarm clocks (or were they biological clocks?) were swinging from one neuron to the other. I know, they were doing it in vengeance. Every time my alarm rang, I used to thump him on his head and cajole my sleep.

Yes, they were taking revenge on me. They swung, they wrenched, they pulled all my neurons .while one of them slid down my spine (from r3 to r8, to speak in Geek), the other ran a program (in T++, an object and time oriented programming language) in my brain.

Consequence: Ugh……. Honey, I was shrunk.

I found myself in a clock.

It was (and still is) a small world there, in the clock; a family of 10 members (0 to 9).Each member has a surname, AM or PM, depending on time.1 is seen either alone or with his twin brother at 11 or his friend, 0 at 10 or his another friend (who is a girl) at 12.

Pss….Psssss. come closer…………… clooooser.

I know a secret. Don’t tell this to any one, especially 1.

There is a rumor that 1 has an affinity to 2. He is so in love with her (reference: some paper in Times journal)*. But 2 seems to have given her valence electron (or is it her heart?) to 3. They form a strong bond (Stronger than that with 1, possibly a covalent bond) that they are mostly near to each other, except at 12.

You don’t believe me?

Then may be your thinking cap is still on. Safety I say, safety. How many times should I repeat it for you? I am telling you, I am not responsible if you go crazy after reading this piece.

Anyways, coming back to the family. Their life starts at 6 am. No, not sleeping lazily, but doing their duty punctually. They ring the alarm, just to get hit on the clock’s head. You might be thinking how boring their life is, to do the same thing again and again. They say “We try to see new things in the old-every day. We never get bored. And we do have our own sweet time to read, write, contemplate, have fun etc. When we are at hard times, we just change our batteries (but don’t kill ourselves).  You are a moron, if you lose time.”

So you suffer from Time syndrome, if you are a procrastinator or a secret agent [Bond, James (chemical) bond] recruited to kill time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Post script: I was just kidding. I don’t have Time syndrome.

Post postscript: Well, may be a little.

Post -post- postscript: My skills of procrastination and the subsequent realization of the loss due to wasting time was the driving force to write this piece. Yes, the force does follow New-Ton’s laws of motion. No, don’t ask me any more questions. I am immune to them.

* Reference is given just to make you believe that the hypothesis is scientifically proved (P>0.05, n= 1 and 2). Hence, proved. Ting ting ti din…..:)

Image credit: CLUE (Comics about Life, Universe and everything)

Check this out-https://www.facebook.com/cluecomics?ref=ts&fref=ts

Page 42

A windy Sunday night: the moon seemed to be swimming in the dark, rain filled clouds. As the breath of the wind created commotion in the clouds, moon light peeped through a broken glass window. The room was illuminated by a big candle which was almost fully melted. It was a spacious, but sparsely furnished room, except for a table, a diary, a wobbly chair and a huge clock. Quite the opposite of what the room looked like, it was replete with many experiences all buried in the pages of the diary which lay on the table.

As the wind sneaked into the room with curiosity, the diary was turned open exposing its crisply written words on the yellowed pages which personified the feelings of its owner, a poet.

“I like her smell, pure and nostalgic. Her picture is painted in my mind. Her eyes: as pure as crystals. Her hair:  as free as waterfall, and the face: as pure as the first rays of the sunlight. I crave for her…… ” said page 1.

Page 2 continued describing the beauty and the need for her. While the next 10 pages talked all about her, page 12 said “He is the root of all the misery. There can be no other beast as cruel as him….He has snatched her into his blood thirsty soul. She was molested till her blood soaked the grains of sand…..”

 By that time, the fragrance of innocuous flowers had made its presence felt. It was very curious to know if it had felt the people referred to, in the diary. As the wind and fragrance read on, they could not guess the identity of the people. Their curiosity peaked. With one more breath of the wind, all the pages were flipped just to expose the last page, PAGE 42.

“It is her, THE PEACE, which we have all been craving for. She can never be free until he, THE WAR, is confined in the darkness…..” said page 42.

                                                 

 Wind exhaled a gush of shame, as it realized that it was polluted by the hatred and violence all around. It was during the time of World War 2 that the diary was written. Time was the witness to all the misery. It was with the same frustration that the clock had stopped ticking as it could not bear the violence and hostility any more.

Photo Credit:   bitsandpieces1.blogspot.com

  A letter from the Lord

To

Homo sapiens

Earth, Solar System

Date: Today

Place: Lord Krishna’s office, Heaven

Dear Humans,

I have been following all your arguments on Evolution and Creationism, rather heated debates at times. I am writing to you on behalf of all the gads (I prefer gads over gods) not to defend the idea of creationism, but to question the evolution of the creators itself. The old man, Charles Darwin, and many other people like him, have proposed the idea of evolution so as to explain the vast diversity of life forms. I kind of like the idea as they explain by reasoning and experimentation rather than just blind faith in something.

(Image credit: bestofdesijokes.blogspot.com)

Considering this scenario on the earth, I always wondered why the hell we, the Gads, look the same since the time we were created. The world is changing with time; even the tiny micro-organisms are evolving mechanisms which are good for them. I mean-what is wrong with you?

You never changed the way we look neither in photograph nor in Photoshop. So I am putting down a few wishes that we, as the Gads you created, long for.

We always wanted to get funky looks, wear branded clothes, and be called by a cool name like Krish. At least an electric guitar which could help me hack a few girls’ hearts. Let me tell you, it is not all that vibrant here in heaven as you have described. You have attributed to me success with many girls. But, it is a completely different situation here. Sex ratio is quite skewed in heaven. Blame the sex identification techniques of the corrupt doctors who do not seem to spare even the Gads.

                                       

Image: momorobo.com

You might ask why I would need all these.

C’mon. I am not asking you to give me money or build a fancy air-conditioned temple with swimming pools and all those luxuries. I am just asking you to update the way we look at least in photographs so that I would upload those narcissistic photos in my Facebook page.

Hoping for a crazy change,

Yours Gadly

Lord Krish

“Gad must be crazy.”

PS: This is just a piece of fiction. It is not meant to hurt theist’s feelings about the Gad(s), but FYI, I am an atheist.

               Life is colorful, so is our blood

I was born in a factory. They had filled me with blue blood and dressed me in a transparent plastic outfit. I was then given a plastic helmet which protects my intelligent head. So did my siblings - ten of them.

We were all happy together until one day; a boy separated me from my beloved ones. He removed my helmet and put down his thoughts using my intelligent head. My blood  drains out every time he does this.

“Dinner is ready”- a husky voice from downstairs.

At that moment I found myself amidst many other people like me in a small pipe. The first person whom I saw was Mr. Highlighter. He was a fat man with fluorescent yellow blood. He said he has been living there since many months and has seen many ’Use and throw Pen’ men pass away. He was very proud of himself as his head is used to highlight the important points in any document.

As I averted my glance from the bragging fatso I saw Ms. Pinpoint Red. She was a slim and sassy girl and had pink blood. I had not seen such a beauty ever. I was ogling at her to her discomfort. While I tried to take my eyes off her, I saw Mr. Reynolds Black, who is from Africa. There was Mr. Add Gel who knew German and had the German technology gel mechanism on the rear end of his body.

Then there was Mrs. Pencil, who was a very strong hearted woman. She had a graphite body. She always wore a wooden outfit with colorful stripes on it. She was married to Mr. Eraser who is from the West. He said that he always erases the mistakes of his mistress and expects perfection in every work. He also said that she always goes to a beauty parlor called ‘The Sharpener’. She comes back with a very sharp head and a beautiful smile on her newly carved face.

                                   

“Our life is colorful” exclaimed a few sketch pens. Apparently they were all similar in appearance but different in color. There was Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange and Red. They said, “We come in rainbow colors and we make lives interesting”.

 Suddenly I had a strange feeling in my body. Some of my blood had oozed out. Mr. Ink Pen said its cancer. I was startled then. I thought I would die. But Mr. Ink Pen took me to Dr. Ink Pot’s clinic. He was a fat man with lot of blood in his body. After examining my condition he told that it was just due to a mistake in my making and it could be cured by changing the tip. He then took out a tip from his collection. My tip was surgically removed and the new tip was implanted. Since then I am hale and healthy, happily helping the boy put all his thoughts on paper.
   Credits:Inspired by an article "UNPROTECTED"by Simon Rich,JULY 30, 2012 in The New Yorker.