Saturday, September 27, 2008

The Price of Honesty

Imagine this:

You are walking down a crowded market road with your little brother. Because he's only 13, your mother has asked you to keep an eye on him. So that he doesn't get lost, or kidnapped. That kind of thing. It is quite crowded today. So you grumble and sigh but agree and have been keeping an eye on him all morning. He's been behaving, which is a good thing, but he's a good kid anyhow and you smile when you think of the ice-cream you're planning to reward him with at the end of this trip. It'll make him happy and he'll probably flash that happy silly smile at you. The one you keep making fun of, but secretly adore.

You buy some flowers for the project you're supposed to work on tonight while your little brother ogles at a gaming console at the other side of the street. Its getting late, so you decide to head back. You don't wanna be late for lunch after all. The place just seems to have gotten even more crowded and you urge your brother to hurry. A black motorcycle makes its way into the narrow street and you frown in annoyance. people move out of the way and you too take a step back, holding on to your little brother's hand. The black motorcycle makes its way slowly and carefully through the crowded street. As it nears, one of the two riders - who are both in black - drops a black polythene bag with what looked like a lunch box inside. Pulling his hand away from yours, your goody-two-shoes brother hops forward and picks it up. You look at him and roll your eyes in exasperation, but you can't help but feel proud of him. He's your little brother and he's turned out alright. You smile and think to yourself that perhaps you should buy him two cones of ice-cream instead of just one. You notice a nearby old lady smiling at your kid brother as he picks up the packet and turns to the bikers, and your pride soars even higher.

"Brother, your packet has fallen..."

Those are the last words you hear him say before the blast.

Those are the last words you ever hear him say...


A thirteen year old boy was killed today in a Delhi market as he attempted to return a fallen packet to its owners. Unfortunately for the young sincere child, they did not want their "packet" which turned out to be a low intensity bomb. The last words heard by eyewitnesses and his relations were ‘brother, your packet has fallen.’

My deepest condolences go to the family and friends of the child...

Thursday, September 25, 2008

I Wonder

If you can still dream of dead people, can you dream a dead dream?

Saturday, September 20, 2008


Sometimes the silence gets too loud
Deafening, scary, quiet
I try to shut it all out
but it makes its way in
Down to my soul
Twisting and turning like the sharpest blade
I'd scream just to destroy it
But I can't... and the silence never stops

The Ring

Sometimes I can't take the phone ringing
Over and over, it glows
I don't want to hear your voice
I don't want to talk
Leave me alone!
So, I pretend to be asleep
Pretend to be away
Because apologizing is so much easier
than forcing inside the pain
and then maybe I can believe
You won't call again...

A Hindustan Times Article: Ah, that explains a lot...,008700010014.htm

Law students more depressed than others


Sydney, September 19, 2008

Law students and lawyers suffer twice or even thrice as much psychological distress as medical students and others, according to a representative study conducted in Australia.

The study, conducted by the University of Sydney's Brain and Mind Research Institute (BMRI), included over 2,400 lawyers and 741 law students from 13 law schools.

Law students were found to have much higher rates of depression than medical students or other general students at the university. Significantly, law students were also found to be less knowledgeable about depression, but had greater concerns about alcohol and other substance misuse and greater reluctance to seek professional care.

They were more likely to expect that they would be discriminated against in the work place as a result of being recognised as a person with depression, a Sciencealert report said.

The study extends previous work done by the national depression initiative in 2007, which had demonstrated that lawyers reported higher levels of depression and substance misuse than other professionals.

In his presentation, Ian Hickie of BMRI emphasised that the willingness of the law schools, the Law Society and bar associations to support the study and go on to consider ways to greatly improve the situation was welcome and urgently needed.

Hickie presented the findings at the third annual Tristan Jepson Memorial Oration here Thursday.

Pictures in Old Books

So do you hide your pictures of me?
Stuff them in the middle of your books
In old forgotten cartons,
And all the places she never looks?

Do you smile every time they play our song?
Or do you just close your eyes?
Do you think of farmhouses and laughter?
And cold darkening November skies?

Do you ever think of me?
And all the times that we had?
Do memories of me make you laugh?
Or do they only make you sad?

Did you ever read my letter?
The one I wrote right after we fought
I wanted you to know I was sorry
but in my pride I was caught...

Do you wonder if I still love you?
But I don't think that can be
I jus wrote this song coz, darling,
I was going through some old books you see...

Monday, September 15, 2008

A Journey of Two

You lie
I have no right to the truth
I lie
and you have no right to the truth
You yell
and I yell back
I yell
and you yell back
and then we laugh
You cry
and I tell you its going to be ok
I cry
and you tell me everything will be fine

You lie
and I pretend I don't know the truth
I hide the truth
and you tear me to pieces
I yell
and I apologize
You yell
and I still apologize
You cry
and I break
I cry
and you tell me it will be okay

You lie
and I stab you with words
I lie
and you don't know
You yell
and I yell back
I yell
and then shut down
You don't cry
I don't cry

You lie
I don't want to know...
I lie
you don't want to know
You yell
and I listen
I don't yell anymore
You cry
and I break
I cry...
but only when I'm alone...

Saturday, September 13, 2008

In Response to a Friend's Well-Intentioned Arguments Against Smoking and Drinking

Monday, September 8, 2008


She didn't know why she had to torture herself so.
'Torture' she mused, a faint smile tugging at her lips. How dramatic. But it would be the apt word. What else could you call it?
It was like watchin the cooking special on TV the night you were dying of hunger and it was too late to buy anything to eat... or like reading your ex-boyfriend's letters, or even worse, reading your own diary's account of the most painful day of your life.
Yep, she thought, combing her rain-drenched hair. Torture was the perfect word...

She wondered if he had noticed though.
She frowned slightly, hoping that was not the case. It would be terrible if he had...
After all the work she had put into this facade, it would kill her knowing one tiny gesture of comfort made it all crash to the ground...
But he had been so upset...
She shook her head, and glared at herself in the mirror.
It was all for good.
Hers and his.
She was just glad she pulled her hand away before it rested on his shoulder...
Jus glad that she pulled it away before he raised his bowed head...
Just relieved that when he looked up at her, the pain had not made the hate vanish, just dimmed it for a while...
So relieved...
and so...

Thunder sounded in the distance, shaking her out of her reverie...
She smiled at her dismal reflection and ran the brush through her hair again.