Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Not if it's Delhi's, thank you very much.

And guys gimme a break, I can't always come up with things to write! So here's something that made me purse my lips in the office and laugh inside my mouth till me face went read.

10 ways to talk like Shakespeare:

1. Instead of you, say thou. Instead of y’all, say thee.

2. Rhymed couplets are all the rage.

3. Men are Sirrah, ladies are Mistress, and your friends are all called Cousin.

4. Instead of cursing, try calling your tormenters jackanapes or canker-blossoms or poisonous bunch-back’d toads.

5. Don’t waste time saying "it," just use the letter "t" (’tis, t’will, I’ll do’t).

6. Verse for lovers, prose for ruffians, songs for clowns.

7. When in doubt, add the letters "eth" to the end of verbs (he runneth, he trippeth, he falleth).

8. To add weight to your opinions, try starting them with methinks, mayhaps, in sooth or wherefore.

9. When wooing ladies: try comparing her to a summer’s day. If that fails, say "Get thee to a nunnery!"

10. When wooing lads: try dressing up like a man. If that fails, throw him in the Tower, banish his friends and claim the throne.

If you liked this, or even managed to reach here, you might be interested in visiting Talk Like Shakespeare. If you feel angry about the elections and the candidates you would definitely wanna learn a few of these Surprise!

Happy reading!

Beam me up, Scotty.

There are two types of girls in this world-
Those you take home to your mom and those you don't
You take them home and there's a bolt but no mom
Then the girl with a heavy bong accent goes Jeez mon I was so domb

How she worked hard to be intelligent, talented and funny
So she could contribute to a double income, for her family to swim in money
But little did she know all she had to do was dote on the guy and make palak corn
Sit home and be dependent and weak while the other foolishly learnt sex tricks from watching porn

And we're proud to be intimidating, strong and witty
We're the ones that change the world by forming feminist committees
So thus, we're taken for granted 'cause you believe we can bear it all
Have fun with us but run back to your child-like future bride when she calls

Poor things, they're just like everyone else
Have a sensitive heart but strength in a woman never sells

Fooled ya

Cupid in a cup
Drink it down
Don't speak, don't ask
Continue the task

All's not well?
Enjoy yourself
Thank me later
Or forget about it

See, I don't care
I'm real busy
In conning another
My cap's other feather

La di la la
Perfect little me
What's my fault?
Don't blame me
(La di la la)

Wolf in sheepskin
I wore the song
I wore every song
And I give a fuck

Goodbyes

I never look back.
It hurts to watch you leave;
You think otherwise.

Tonsil-tied Part-Tres

I sang.
I didn't utter a single word.
Think you heard me

We are not cats! Part-Uno

Think of now
You speak of next lifetimes
Who has seen it?

But you stand tall!

Applause for you!
Your crooked talk puts to shame
Pisa's oldest tower.

Things that go wrong for things to go right

My finger got caught while closing the window, hope the zipper didn't hurt your tiny one as such
And tripping over the foot of the table, when you said I love you and I said Thank you very much

I knew I should've said juice when you asked if I wanted coffee
For now my tongue is burning, can you go to McDonald's and get me a softy?
While I'll sit here on the potty, curse my life and bad luck
Girl, be wary of the surroundings, don't say things like f*cking shit or shitting f*ck

And you're back with a really lame ass joke hoping to lighten the mood
My eyes drain out my brain fluid as I say He he. Humor. then I dig into my plate of food
Then, when I was looking for a map so I know exactly where to run my car when I leave
You start telling me how your best friends from work are Glen, Mark and Steve
I don't really fancy such small talk, contrary to popular belief
So I broke the glass in my hand with frustration but smiling as I bleed

Ah! It's ok don't touch me, I'll manage, just get me Dettol and a couple of tissues
*Thinking* It's quite evident we have more than just a couple of issues
Did I really ask for this? Mother of God please tell me what I can do
Is it possible to put him in a big pot of boiling water and make boy stew?
...Could it be legal to put him in a big pot of boiling water and make boy stew?

Bad girl, shake it off, he's human too
But thank God I'm not his mother, I think when he popped out of her he said "Gotcha! Boo!"
Wasn't she scared? 'cause it seems your face resembles the Joker's
I'm sorry, this may sound mean, but I can totally picture you saying Why so serious?
Can't believe I once found you cute, 'cause right now you're just making me delirious

Why did I start a blog?

Having realized I was going to be working in an Online Marketing space over summers, I thought it’d better get myself acquainted with the dynamics of the web, the power of community building, the rising influence and innovativeness of the internet user and discover online brand-building since it is now demands an increasing space in the media plan of every organization that realizes it cannot afford to be left behind in the race of the brands.

Clap.

Stop.

Just kidding! *snicker snort snicker snort* It’s a good thing I didn’t get the ppt ready in time. For the 8-page document you can mail me on archita.trisal@gmail.com (I’m not kidding about this)

See, I have a non-existent love life. It’s been so long, I can’t even spell sxe right. Grades are low, motivations lower. I’m getting fatter, older and somehow my acne phase just wouldn’t pass. I don’t expect to see any cute juniors and even if there were, my motivation levels would fail me. To sum up, I have no life *sob* I have only you cyberspace, my lone love affair; my release, my own world of free speech.

Gotcha again!

So what really happened? Let’s do a regression case analysis, Written Analysis and Communication (WAC) style, shall we? (MICA I miss you. Not.)

Situation Analysis

Archita Trisal first got acquainted with the word ‘blogging’ back in 2005 through this super-cool insightful information providing bulletin board at Career Launcher. She read it once, she did not understand. She read it twice and she gave up. It just did not make sense to keep an online diary whoopsies JOURNAL (my bad) which was supposed to be personal yet made public.

People wrote endless highly interesting stories on their blogs. Exhibit: “Today at college we bunked our first lecture and then Saurabh and I went for a movie. It was called (insert here some random Bollywood movie, shot in the Alps but pretending Ooty) After which we had Rasam Chawal at Udipi from the banana leaf and slurped till the rasam wet my bra sliding through my arm.” Yay! So while the rest of the world was throwing their hands up in awe or simply getting that vicarious horrible feeling of arm-wetting, Archita pondered “I can do this. Big shit. Should I, for starters, type out my 9th-12th grade JOURNALS? I do have juicy, angst full stories on my different crushes every year and how I just stared at them from a distance while they never noticed me and had fun with the hot ones from my class.” (She is hot now you losers and she can sing too. Imagine all the sxe and the babies you could have made)

But every time she would start a blog, the pressure of being interesting used to get to her and she suffered that ill-fated disease called (insert Balaji ending-credits music) Writer’s Block. She was caught between a rock and a hard place (not that she complained)

Till one fateful day in Jan 2009, while attending one of the most boring lectures in the history of boring lectures, she scribbled 7 Haikus in the notebook she never found again and asked herself “What do I do with this? It’s not big enough to be called a poem and I don’t have the heart to throw this shit away, for a writer always keeps drafts even if they suck real bad”

Problem Statement

What should Archita do with her 7 Haikus and what would resolve any further occurrences of such an event?

Options

a) No! Don’t get sucked into cyberspace!
b) Start a blog like every other loser on this planet.
c) Open a MySpace page instead, featuring her international hit single (She has three takers in Japan, I swear, I don’t lie) “Blue Butterfly”

Evaluation of Options

a) Say no to cyber roam (Cyberspace is for losers with no sxe life): Ehh option directly eliminated considering bracketed premise coinciding with current circumstances.
b) Enter ye Blogosphere: 7 Haikus find their mother and following babies shall have an immortal home.
c) Let’s take a break. I need MySpace: Considering her endless number of talents, a MySpace artist page is sure to follow. This is being looked at as a long-term marketing strategy, after adding a few more hit singles to her kitty, rather than an instant gratification tactical solution.

Recommendation

It is recommended that Archita starts her own blog to make her creative juices flow and drink it too (Creative diarrhoea sounds unpleasant no?)

Action Plan

Choose a blog website from amongst Blogger and Wordpress. Wordpress has the cool snapshot tool but Blogger seems to be more popular with her friends and also has a virtual gadget called ClustrMaps which she thinks is nothing but a clever spy tool.

Give it a really tacky name like http://smalltalkcompulsion.blogspot.com after discussion with 2 other friends who aren’t helpful at all.

Go to her friends’ blogs and say “Jeez! They call themselves writers? They should be banned from using the internet, let alone having the right to say “Yeah man, I blog””

(Word Count: 637)

So there, case closed.

...While somewhere far far away you hear the sweet sounds of Archita singing “Ayo I’m tired of using technology, why don’t you sit down and blog with me”

Local Bus

*I dedicate this one to Route 492!*

As obvious as repeating an OCD
Respect this space non-availability
The faces and the different fares they pay
The sights and the sounds of everyday

Views hindered, curiosity rising
What my eyes see and what appears is surprising
A girl with the most piercing brown eyes
Turned out to be an old haggard in disguise

The conversations I could not overhear
The angry screams of people when the bus sharply steers
Lips moving with ferocious frequency,
With music in my ears, are as good as ones not

How much can I capture in a few lines?
Of pick-pocketing, molesting and other dangerous crimes
Of anger, frustration and mundane jubilation
Of boarding, travelling and reaching destinations

The local bus is my morning glory
Evenings have the same story

The Writer

He wrote his own obituary
For the words come out right
His will said he had no heir
For he never owned enough might

He wrote to complete his story
Lest it should be misinterpreted
By the flickering candlelight
Every night to himself he read it

He wrote on stacks of bar napkins
As light as his heart heavy
Fallen legend with little fortune
Toast to last days of fake merry

Time flew, none on his side
He failed to be anyone's bother
'Cause he wrote and he wrote and he wrote
But never could read another

Four posters and inbetween

*Non-Haiku alert*

There you are
The open door
Here I am
Anticipating to explore

Resistance makes worse
Countless logical deductions
Risqué dangerous callings
Voices of seduction

Hands of God
Lips of devil
Skin of child's
Eyes cause peril

Whimpers of pleasure
Escape the mouth
Between the sheets
Moving further south

Erratic lost breath
Sweet nothings murmur
Dizzying the head
Four glasses bourbon

Dusk to dust
Haltings can wait
Dewdrops after dawn...
It's too late

Written, not forgotten

He once said
"You will rule the world".
Funny, how he fails her