Thursday, October 23, 2008

This is just a first Draft of the prologue of the book I was thinking of writing for a long time. A book about one of latest loves... MICA..

Try to enjoy it (else click on the small cross at the top right hand corner of the window)

Statutory warning:

All characters in this book are meant to resemble people dead (hopefully not) or alive on the MICA campus. Any person ignorant about the above is free to contact the author for details. Any person disliking any part of his character should face himself in the mirror and pledge to actually do something about it. 

Prologue

This book is largely concerned with a race called MICAn’s, and from its pages, the reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history. Though there isn’t much documented about this particular race, it is said to thrive in an undisclosed location near the forests of Shela. There have been many, who have tried to find this self proclaimed Shangri-la, but it is said that only the ones who really desire it, find their way in. It is said that the doors only open once in a year for the true believers to enter this hamlet, but it’s been written in various other scrolls that due to the insistence of many, the Great King PAT threw open the doors of MICA to some others, whom we will refer to as the ‘shorter ones’, at different times during the year. It’s been written on the gates of MICA with the fire that does not burn... “You can check in anytime you want... but you can never leave”. It is said that the great bard Bryan of the west, composed a song on this about the great summer of 69’ when the Great King PAT came to power and such was inscribed upon the gates. 

Many may wish to know more about these people but may not find much documented in books. All that was, was in the form of scrolls found on the bed of the yellow sea. For that reason, a brief history of the race along with their legends ... mica-lore if you may, is presented to the readers.

MICAns are among the 3 races that walk the postgraduatistan. MICAns are joined by IIMites, who form the so called elitist societies and the “oderlowlies”. IIMites and oderlowlies have often joined hands to form B-school and calls MICAns C-school, a derogatory word, not quite unlike the term muggles, used to refer to non-magical people in the world of Harry Potter. But as it is another world, we shall not dwell much on it. But MICAns being MICAns and under the able leadership of King PAT, welcomed the re-christening as an opportunity. MICAns had the freedom to run things their way and were not bound by the guidelines written by the great dictator “AICTE” in the book of law. 

MICAns are proud and very young people. Though they have not walked the earth for hundreds of years (supposedly) like the IIMites, they have a pride to match them. They love their music loud and consider partying, a second nature. They do not and did not like deadline machinery and often pushed them so far that they broke away and disappeared, much to the amusement of the people there. They are quick of hearing, sharp witted and have a secret that has a bloodline limit, “Pfaffing”. Only MICAns can possess it in the copious quantities that they have, a normal human would go crazy and perform hara kiri if exposed to such huge quantities of the same. Their great King PAT is believed to have come to power because he had developed over the years such great amounts of it and could control it with such great ease, that he defeated several powerful ex-IIMites, many much elder, who wished to gain control over the newly established kingdom. For that reason he has been accorded a title of “Pfaff King”. They are also said to be nimble and deft in their movements. They possessed from the first, the art of disappearing swiftly and silently, when folks from the neighbouring world of “Globalized Industry” came to distribute “gyaan”. MICAns were never one to accept charity, they worked hard to achieve what they got (which was not much) and/but they were proud of it. This skill they have perfected to such an extreme that outsiders deem it as magic. But MICAns were never “magical” people, and the above is solely due to the professional skill that heredity and practice, and a close bonding with each other, and which has been rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races like the IIMites. 

We will be talking of only the MICAns of shellington village, at the edge of the forest of shela. The other MICAns who have settled in a not so near “gardens of law”, shall be referred to as e-MICAns in the book, and thus the reader should not confuse one with the other.

We shall now continue to the adventures of the author, who will be referred to as R (for the time being, untill I get a good name), his discovery of MICA and his stay there..

CHAPTER 1 - The Hunt

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Please do comment on parts which you liked (or did not.. right now preferably did not) so that I can work on it while working on the second draft. Also the rest of the story will not neccessarily follow on similar lines as the prologue and thus should not be judged on that. The story so far (The prologue) derives a lot of its inputs from J.R.R.Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" and that fact should not be held against it for the simple reason of the difference in storyline and of the book being more on the lines of a parody.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Drama
I once saw a pretty girl,
pretty I say, coz I thought it so.
I saw and saw, until it was a stare,
the stare became a gaze,
the gaze, a longing,
the longing, an urge,
the urge, a need,
the need, an obsession,
the obsession, the death of me..
I came, I saw, I sat, I gazed
Of coffees and movies and gardens and benches.
The thirst in the eyes,
a lingering pain.
There was a desire,
a need for more
Love it wasn’t,
Lust it couldn’t be.
An angel, naaah...!
From heaven she could not be.
Oh to touch her, the tingling feel,
Sparks flying hither and dither.
The changing texture
a touch, and from skin to blush
a hurt, the touch withdrawn.
The moon, the light, the flowing hair,
the choreography of desire
An ethereal envelope of emotions,
Submerged, wrecked, a drowning man
Me, in the waters of extreme passions.
A voyeuristic touch, me, a peeping tom
I see her living her life
The unwavering gaze, following her
Step... matching with step..
But as i move closer,
It leads to a blur
Reminded of Heisenberg’s uncertainty.
The unacknowledged, me,
Striving for attention
A look, a glance, a wink, a sign
Something, anything,
just to satisfy them doubters.
Finally it all changes,
Horizons reach their limit,
the central character ... disappears
the autofocus of my eyes, searching.
The nothingness unhinges me
Lives go by, people rush ahead,
Like moving images on a static frame
I wait, I wait, they come, and they go
Then Blackness...and the screen reads..
“The END”



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