I woke up just a little while ago,
My quilt warm and cosy, I nuzzled in,
Eyes closed, enjoying the last moments
Before the start of a bright, new day.
My first thoughts were of the night before,
The fountains of joy that drenched me
Like a walk in the monsoon's first rain,
No umbrellas or raincoats, just the welcome
Patter of raindrops on my naked skin.
Still in bed, I string these lines together,
The dogs barking outside do not irritate
As they do every morning, joining the
Hawkers, autorickshaws, cars outside
In a melodic symphony that I float on.
Time to get up now, a new day beckons,
The power goes off but I remain upbeat,
It's a day of unbridled joy and nothing can
Wipe this hypnotic smile off my face.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written on 10 January, 2009, the day after I received an admit to Said Business School, Oxford. And I'm still smiling :)
The Eternal Handprint
It rains lightly,
Drops glistening in the sun,
A marriage of contrasts,
As a rainbow of two colours shines,
And we wait on the bench
Without umbrellas,
In a silence that can say more
Than we can ever understand.
A light breeze rustles the trees,
Leaves dance to the ground
In a mysterious harmony,
While the rainbow merges with the sky,
And we leave behind us
A watery handprint,
Seeping deep within the wood,
An eternal proof of our presence.
The seasons will soon change,
Leaves dry up and blow away,
But beneath the grey cover
Of the lifeless, unpainted wood
Of a black and white photograph,
The palm will stay imprinted,
A testament to the days that passed,
And the times that may never return.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This is probably one of my most metaphorical poems, every simile that I'm partial to finds its way here. Reading it after so many years was a revelation, though I do feel the title does not do justice here.
Drops glistening in the sun,
A marriage of contrasts,
As a rainbow of two colours shines,
And we wait on the bench
Without umbrellas,
In a silence that can say more
Than we can ever understand.
A light breeze rustles the trees,
Leaves dance to the ground
In a mysterious harmony,
While the rainbow merges with the sky,
And we leave behind us
A watery handprint,
Seeping deep within the wood,
An eternal proof of our presence.
The seasons will soon change,
Leaves dry up and blow away,
But beneath the grey cover
Of the lifeless, unpainted wood
Of a black and white photograph,
The palm will stay imprinted,
A testament to the days that passed,
And the times that may never return.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This is probably one of my most metaphorical poems, every simile that I'm partial to finds its way here. Reading it after so many years was a revelation, though I do feel the title does not do justice here.
The Road of Shame
A weekend afternoon,
And we were out on a walk,
Three friends,
Without a care,
Chatting leisurely,
As my eyes fell on a woman,
In an old, tattered saree,
With a child in her arms,
Who as I looked on,
Dropped a piece of bread.
I cringed
At the lack of hygiene,
Watching her pick it up,
Hand it back to the boy
Who devoured it hungrily,
Without seeming to bite it,
And another thought replaced my disgust,
I understood,
That was the only morsel she had.
Half listening to my friends
Who had not noticed,
I felt the empty chocolate wrapper
Lying in my pocket,
Remembered the popcorn
I had eaten yesterday,
And the movie I spent
A hundred bucks on,
When I could have done without it.
They were fleeting thoughts,
Tiny flashes,
Soon erased by my friend's voice,
Lost in words,
Perhaps to be remembered later,
In a similar setting,
With eyes on another child,
Or in the queue for movie tickets,
Another worthless walk
Down the road of shame...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: While we were walking from the Marthahalli flyover to Innovative Multiplex..
And we were out on a walk,
Three friends,
Without a care,
Chatting leisurely,
As my eyes fell on a woman,
In an old, tattered saree,
With a child in her arms,
Who as I looked on,
Dropped a piece of bread.
I cringed
At the lack of hygiene,
Watching her pick it up,
Hand it back to the boy
Who devoured it hungrily,
Without seeming to bite it,
And another thought replaced my disgust,
I understood,
That was the only morsel she had.
Half listening to my friends
Who had not noticed,
I felt the empty chocolate wrapper
Lying in my pocket,
Remembered the popcorn
I had eaten yesterday,
And the movie I spent
A hundred bucks on,
When I could have done without it.
They were fleeting thoughts,
Tiny flashes,
Soon erased by my friend's voice,
Lost in words,
Perhaps to be remembered later,
In a similar setting,
With eyes on another child,
Or in the queue for movie tickets,
Another worthless walk
Down the road of shame...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: While we were walking from the Marthahalli flyover to Innovative Multiplex..
The Pale Melody
Why is your sweet song so sad,
As you chirp beneath the trees,
What worry pales the melody
And drapes it in melancholy?
Can it be that the tune you sing
Is devoid of emotion
And it is within me that sorrow beckons,
The notes responding
To the tears trapped inside,
A well so deep
That no dropped stone resonates an echo...
Perhaps you are just afraid
Of the eagle flying high
That waits to clutch you in its talons
And steal the flight from your wings.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: An eagle pouncing on its prey is a very powerful Tagoresque image and this is the first poem where I used it.
As you chirp beneath the trees,
What worry pales the melody
And drapes it in melancholy?
Can it be that the tune you sing
Is devoid of emotion
And it is within me that sorrow beckons,
The notes responding
To the tears trapped inside,
A well so deep
That no dropped stone resonates an echo...
Perhaps you are just afraid
Of the eagle flying high
That waits to clutch you in its talons
And steal the flight from your wings.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: An eagle pouncing on its prey is a very powerful Tagoresque image and this is the first poem where I used it.
The Dream
I had a dream today,
Sitting on a beach,
I watched the ocean,
A distant sunset,
Tiny silhouettes of birds flying home,
Perhaps it was time for me to leave too...
I started to get up,
But then I noticed them,
Footprints in the sand,
They were hypnotic
For I sat down again,
Watching as the tide came in
And the water washed over the impressions...
Unsure,
I waited patiently,
Under the black night,
Thoughtless,
Till the first rays of the sun
Hit the sand,
Inflaming it in a golden hue
And revealing the footprints
Imprinted deeper than ever...
With a heavy sigh,
I finally stood up,
Closed my eyes to say goodbye,
And walked away,
Leaving a part of me behind,
For I knew when I returned
In another dream
The footprints would be there,
Always there...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: The beauty of life is that each experience you come up against leaves a mark.. the metaphorical "footprint in the sand"..
Sitting on a beach,
I watched the ocean,
A distant sunset,
Tiny silhouettes of birds flying home,
Perhaps it was time for me to leave too...
I started to get up,
But then I noticed them,
Footprints in the sand,
They were hypnotic
For I sat down again,
Watching as the tide came in
And the water washed over the impressions...
Unsure,
I waited patiently,
Under the black night,
Thoughtless,
Till the first rays of the sun
Hit the sand,
Inflaming it in a golden hue
And revealing the footprints
Imprinted deeper than ever...
With a heavy sigh,
I finally stood up,
Closed my eyes to say goodbye,
And walked away,
Leaving a part of me behind,
For I knew when I returned
In another dream
The footprints would be there,
Always there...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: The beauty of life is that each experience you come up against leaves a mark.. the metaphorical "footprint in the sand"..
Those Moments Before Sleep
Have you ever seen them,
The black eyes
Gleaming in the dark,
Like a whizzing bullet,
Piercing through my senses,
A deep, haunting wound,
If I close my eyes
Forever,
Will they go away?
The bright light
At the end of tunnel,
A pure white,
All cliched phrases,
Who decides that darkness is evil
Is it because it scares me so,
Leaving me lonely,
Searching for a familiar face,
Though perhaps that is a good thing,
For maybe the farce of familiarity
Hides the foes underneath.
Should I try and embrace the dark,
Sometimes it seems so,
Who knows what ghosts
The strands of white might reveal,
Bright light,
A mix of thousand colours,
Each hiding behind the other,
Difficult to decipher,
Where does the truth start,
And what is unreal?
It's all so confusing,
Like life,
I think I should sleep now,
Tomorrow will be a new day
With another black night...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Another one of my very abstract poems, written in the spur of the moment.
The black eyes
Gleaming in the dark,
Like a whizzing bullet,
Piercing through my senses,
A deep, haunting wound,
If I close my eyes
Forever,
Will they go away?
The bright light
At the end of tunnel,
A pure white,
All cliched phrases,
Who decides that darkness is evil
Is it because it scares me so,
Leaving me lonely,
Searching for a familiar face,
Though perhaps that is a good thing,
For maybe the farce of familiarity
Hides the foes underneath.
Should I try and embrace the dark,
Sometimes it seems so,
Who knows what ghosts
The strands of white might reveal,
Bright light,
A mix of thousand colours,
Each hiding behind the other,
Difficult to decipher,
Where does the truth start,
And what is unreal?
It's all so confusing,
Like life,
I think I should sleep now,
Tomorrow will be a new day
With another black night...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Another one of my very abstract poems, written in the spur of the moment.
The Red Shoes
"Are you there?
I pray to you everyday,
Why don't you ever answer?
You know what,
Daddy was on TV today,
Waving the flag after capturing the hill,
He is very brave,
Braver than you,
Can you do me a favour,
Tell Daddy I loved the red shoes..."
***
"Raising a child alone is hard,
Oh, I'm tired,
A birthday party with 100 kids,
At least Akshat enjoyed himself,
And he loved the shoes,
You should have seen his eyes light up,
And his chest swell with pride
When he saw you on TV,
He misses you though,
When are you coming back,
I miss you too..."
***
"Yes, we did it,
Adrenaline pumping,
We rushed up the hill,
Bodies fell on both sides,
But we made it,
Snatched this piece of land,
It's not over yet,
None of us is sleeping tonight,
I hope Akshat's asleep,
Good night son..."
***
"My hands are shivering,
It's so cold here,
Or maybe I'm just afraid,
We're going to recapture the peak tomorrow,
How many will I kill,
Will I return alive?
I hope this war is over soon,
I want to get back home
By Thursday,
It's my daughter's birthday,
I wonder what I should gift her..."
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: I wrote this poem in mid-2004. The idea developed for a long time and in the end, I'm not sure if I did justice to it.
I pray to you everyday,
Why don't you ever answer?
You know what,
Daddy was on TV today,
Waving the flag after capturing the hill,
He is very brave,
Braver than you,
Can you do me a favour,
Tell Daddy I loved the red shoes..."
***
"Raising a child alone is hard,
Oh, I'm tired,
A birthday party with 100 kids,
At least Akshat enjoyed himself,
And he loved the shoes,
You should have seen his eyes light up,
And his chest swell with pride
When he saw you on TV,
He misses you though,
When are you coming back,
I miss you too..."
***
"Yes, we did it,
Adrenaline pumping,
We rushed up the hill,
Bodies fell on both sides,
But we made it,
Snatched this piece of land,
It's not over yet,
None of us is sleeping tonight,
I hope Akshat's asleep,
Good night son..."
***
"My hands are shivering,
It's so cold here,
Or maybe I'm just afraid,
We're going to recapture the peak tomorrow,
How many will I kill,
Will I return alive?
I hope this war is over soon,
I want to get back home
By Thursday,
It's my daughter's birthday,
I wonder what I should gift her..."
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: I wrote this poem in mid-2004. The idea developed for a long time and in the end, I'm not sure if I did justice to it.
Memories
Sitting in the train, nothing much to do,
Boredom engulfing every colour, every hue,
As memories of the past come floating by,
Thoughts of yesterday none can deny.
At such moments I wish fiction could be fact,
A time machine could carry me the a cafeteria packed,
Or just a way to preserve memories from time,
Can Dumbledore lend me his pen-sieve for a dime?
But no, life is stranger, we must carry on,
The vastness of the future is there to look upon,
More adventures beckon, that’s Camus’ point of view,
No matter how I try, I can’t give it its due.
These are moments I have lived, how can I just detach?
These memories from my mind, how can I just snatch?
And what about when I am in a reminiscing mood?
How do I enjoy Wordsworth’s "bliss of solitude?"
Memories are my birthright, I shall keep them for life,
Shining beacons to guide me in times of strife,
Reliving my life many times without rents or fares,
And as for all that Camus crap, "who cares?"
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: I wrote this poem on the train journey back after my internship at NPL, Delhi. Good times...
Boredom engulfing every colour, every hue,
As memories of the past come floating by,
Thoughts of yesterday none can deny.
At such moments I wish fiction could be fact,
A time machine could carry me the a cafeteria packed,
Or just a way to preserve memories from time,
Can Dumbledore lend me his pen-sieve for a dime?
But no, life is stranger, we must carry on,
The vastness of the future is there to look upon,
More adventures beckon, that’s Camus’ point of view,
No matter how I try, I can’t give it its due.
These are moments I have lived, how can I just detach?
These memories from my mind, how can I just snatch?
And what about when I am in a reminiscing mood?
How do I enjoy Wordsworth’s "bliss of solitude?"
Memories are my birthright, I shall keep them for life,
Shining beacons to guide me in times of strife,
Reliving my life many times without rents or fares,
And as for all that Camus crap, "who cares?"
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: I wrote this poem on the train journey back after my internship at NPL, Delhi. Good times...
The Divide
A thousand fans stayed on
Till the end,
Huddled under raincoats,
With placards begging the Gods for respite,
"Why did it have to rain?"
They sang songs and waited,
And hoped,
Till the umpires came on,
Called it off,
Without an Indian victory,
The day completely ruined.
***
A few hours ago,
Not many miles away,
Woke a woman to the patter of rain,
She rushed out,
The drops wetting her face,
Mixing with the salty tears of joy,
She closed her eyes and imagined
A carpet of green covering the fields,
The smile on her husband's face,
She imagined still being alive...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: I go through this emotion every year. The stock market, someone once told me, is a zero sum game. So, it seems, is life.
Till the end,
Huddled under raincoats,
With placards begging the Gods for respite,
"Why did it have to rain?"
They sang songs and waited,
And hoped,
Till the umpires came on,
Called it off,
Without an Indian victory,
The day completely ruined.
***
A few hours ago,
Not many miles away,
Woke a woman to the patter of rain,
She rushed out,
The drops wetting her face,
Mixing with the salty tears of joy,
She closed her eyes and imagined
A carpet of green covering the fields,
The smile on her husband's face,
She imagined still being alive...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: I go through this emotion every year. The stock market, someone once told me, is a zero sum game. So, it seems, is life.
Fear
It was pitch dark,
And the rain fell into the void beneath,
Black emptiness stared back
As he stood at the edge,
Barefoot,
Afraid his shoes might slip,
Push him forward before he was ready.
Twenty storeys up,
A jump to the next building,
It was a six feet gap,
"Very easy," he murmured,
Willing himself to move
As his body turned to stone,
Holding the metal railing,
Not feeling it dig into his palms.
Water dripped down his face,
Blurring his eyesight,
Rain mixed with tears
And he closed his eyes,
Took a deep breath,
"Now or never"
He felt his hands leave the railing,
Trembling,
And he jumped...
He felt the cool wind on his face,
Refreshing,
Egging him on,
And in the next second
He felt ground beneath his feet!
He had done it,
Overcome his greatest fear,
He could lie on his cot now,
Ready for the operation tomorrow,
He was no longer afraid...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Fear is of many different kinds.. but then, so is courage.
And the rain fell into the void beneath,
Black emptiness stared back
As he stood at the edge,
Barefoot,
Afraid his shoes might slip,
Push him forward before he was ready.
Twenty storeys up,
A jump to the next building,
It was a six feet gap,
"Very easy," he murmured,
Willing himself to move
As his body turned to stone,
Holding the metal railing,
Not feeling it dig into his palms.
Water dripped down his face,
Blurring his eyesight,
Rain mixed with tears
And he closed his eyes,
Took a deep breath,
"Now or never"
He felt his hands leave the railing,
Trembling,
And he jumped...
He felt the cool wind on his face,
Refreshing,
Egging him on,
And in the next second
He felt ground beneath his feet!
He had done it,
Overcome his greatest fear,
He could lie on his cot now,
Ready for the operation tomorrow,
He was no longer afraid...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Fear is of many different kinds.. but then, so is courage.
A Coin Of Silver
The bus stop is my haunt,
Near the paan waala's shop,
Radio playing within
As I roam around outside,
Or sit in a corner
Waiting for the next bus
To arrive with passengers
Whose luggage I can carry,
Earn my living.
Sometimes,
I can hear people discussing the scores
Of some match,
And I mingle with the crowd,
Stand close to the radio
Trying to catch the crackling voice,
"Sachin hits a four!"
And everyone rejoices,
Shout and slap one another on the back,
Losing their miseries
In a moment of joy.
There was a time
When I could not stand it,
Pushed to the past,
What could have been,
I was filled with envy and anger,
But those emotions have dried up,
Like a parched well under the scorching sun,
There is an emptiness left inside,
Blaming it on fate is easier.
On some days
I have nothing to take home,
But I still hold on,
The memories feed my hungry stomach,
The only fragment I have left
Of a reality lost in a dream,
Where would I be
If someone had reached out and helped,
Given me what I deserved...
Useless ramblings these are,
Perhaps I should sell it,
Just a coin of silver,
"National Games - 1996
Athletics (5000 m)"
All it ever brought for me
Were fickle promises,
Soon forgotten in a maze of apathy,
At least tomorrow it will serve a purpose,
It can buy me dinner...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Dedicated to Sobini Rajan.
Near the paan waala's shop,
Radio playing within
As I roam around outside,
Or sit in a corner
Waiting for the next bus
To arrive with passengers
Whose luggage I can carry,
Earn my living.
Sometimes,
I can hear people discussing the scores
Of some match,
And I mingle with the crowd,
Stand close to the radio
Trying to catch the crackling voice,
"Sachin hits a four!"
And everyone rejoices,
Shout and slap one another on the back,
Losing their miseries
In a moment of joy.
There was a time
When I could not stand it,
Pushed to the past,
What could have been,
I was filled with envy and anger,
But those emotions have dried up,
Like a parched well under the scorching sun,
There is an emptiness left inside,
Blaming it on fate is easier.
On some days
I have nothing to take home,
But I still hold on,
The memories feed my hungry stomach,
The only fragment I have left
Of a reality lost in a dream,
Where would I be
If someone had reached out and helped,
Given me what I deserved...
Useless ramblings these are,
Perhaps I should sell it,
Just a coin of silver,
"National Games - 1996
Athletics (5000 m)"
All it ever brought for me
Were fickle promises,
Soon forgotten in a maze of apathy,
At least tomorrow it will serve a purpose,
It can buy me dinner...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Dedicated to Sobini Rajan.
Dried Roses
I tell myself not to dream
But I can't help it,
Eyes turn to that imaginary world
Where everything is perfect,
Smiles have turned to laughter,
Carefree,
Because the greatest prize has been won
And nothing seems impossible after...
I know it can't be true,
Or at least I refuse to believe it,
To cushion the inevitable fall,
I try and delay it,
The moment of truth,
And live in my dreams,
Hypnotized,
Enjoying them till they last...
My life,
A vase with dried roses,
Stands on the edge,
One careless touch and it will shatter,
I'm scared...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: We're all insecure sometimes...
But I can't help it,
Eyes turn to that imaginary world
Where everything is perfect,
Smiles have turned to laughter,
Carefree,
Because the greatest prize has been won
And nothing seems impossible after...
I know it can't be true,
Or at least I refuse to believe it,
To cushion the inevitable fall,
I try and delay it,
The moment of truth,
And live in my dreams,
Hypnotized,
Enjoying them till they last...
My life,
A vase with dried roses,
Stands on the edge,
One careless touch and it will shatter,
I'm scared...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: We're all insecure sometimes...
The Devil's Lair
The night beckons with howling winds,
The mist spreading its eagle wings,
Seeping within all empty space,
Satan raising his evil face,
Wearing the night, a dark disguise,
He moves in silence, armed with lies,
Weapons to conquer men who follow,
Winning souls with words that ring hollow.
He looks through alleys for empty minds,
Minds without purpose, ignorant and blind,
It is easiest here to plant seeds of fury
With promises of power, fame and glory.
Lurking in shadows, looking for crime,
His search is unhurried, he bides his time,
Even if today there is victory none,
Gates to this land are always open,
In nights like these he can easily creep,
Within hearts that are sad, bodies that weep,
For till lamps of joy banish the dark,
Omitting the shadows that carry his mark,
He is free to find solace within
Human minds and wait for the ultimate win,
Till such a time the Earth is his lair,
Think of him and he is right there.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Weirdly enough, I wrote this poem right after I finished reading Emily Dickinson's 'Wuthering Heights' sometime in 2001.
The mist spreading its eagle wings,
Seeping within all empty space,
Satan raising his evil face,
Wearing the night, a dark disguise,
He moves in silence, armed with lies,
Weapons to conquer men who follow,
Winning souls with words that ring hollow.
He looks through alleys for empty minds,
Minds without purpose, ignorant and blind,
It is easiest here to plant seeds of fury
With promises of power, fame and glory.
Lurking in shadows, looking for crime,
His search is unhurried, he bides his time,
Even if today there is victory none,
Gates to this land are always open,
In nights like these he can easily creep,
Within hearts that are sad, bodies that weep,
For till lamps of joy banish the dark,
Omitting the shadows that carry his mark,
He is free to find solace within
Human minds and wait for the ultimate win,
Till such a time the Earth is his lair,
Think of him and he is right there.
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Weirdly enough, I wrote this poem right after I finished reading Emily Dickinson's 'Wuthering Heights' sometime in 2001.
Guilty Conscience
"Daddy, can we play?"
He heard her voice,
Red ball in hand,
As he looked at the pile
Waiting on his desk,
And shook his head,
"Tomorrow definitely..."
A wry realization,
He had said that yesterday too,
And more words came out, "No wait..."
***
He lifted the trophy,
High above his head,
A deserved victory,
He had worked hard for it,
But then he remembered,
As his opponent applauded,
And he walked to him,
Replaying the final point in his mind,
A ball that fell on the line
And he called it out...
***
"He doesn't even know how to add,"
She thought counting the coins,
The change he had returned,
As she left the shop,
Walking away,
A little too quickly
Before he realized his error,
Feeling a prick,
One that couldn't be ignored...
***
Guilt,
There always is a bit,
A tiny thorn pricking our hearts
In that one moment of redemption,
A white conscience that drapes us,
Covering our frail souls,
Letting us hide our ugliness
Behind a cloth that slowly tears
And grows blacker with each day...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem could have been a lot darker but I decided to give it a silver lining. I guess the guilty conscience does that to you...
He heard her voice,
Red ball in hand,
As he looked at the pile
Waiting on his desk,
And shook his head,
"Tomorrow definitely..."
A wry realization,
He had said that yesterday too,
And more words came out, "No wait..."
***
He lifted the trophy,
High above his head,
A deserved victory,
He had worked hard for it,
But then he remembered,
As his opponent applauded,
And he walked to him,
Replaying the final point in his mind,
A ball that fell on the line
And he called it out...
***
"He doesn't even know how to add,"
She thought counting the coins,
The change he had returned,
As she left the shop,
Walking away,
A little too quickly
Before he realized his error,
Feeling a prick,
One that couldn't be ignored...
***
Guilt,
There always is a bit,
A tiny thorn pricking our hearts
In that one moment of redemption,
A white conscience that drapes us,
Covering our frail souls,
Letting us hide our ugliness
Behind a cloth that slowly tears
And grows blacker with each day...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem could have been a lot darker but I decided to give it a silver lining. I guess the guilty conscience does that to you...
A Poet's Guide To Designing
This is meant to be an unofficial designer’s guide,
Make sure the following text never leaves your side,
Sticking to it is as important as following the IS code,
Slightest of deviations and you’ll be living on the road.
Determining the loads is the first step of basic design,
Reactions and wheel loads, you must accurately find,
For through them, the vertical BM has to be calculated,
Don’t forget to assume self-weight if it hasn’t been stated,
Allowable bending tensile stress, it’s formula is the key,
0.66fy, the figure should be etched in your memory,
Calculate section modulus and choose a suitable section,
Increase the modulus value to allow for any deflection,
‘Steel Table’ is your Bible and you can use some discretion,
But don’t get too carried away, control your imagination,
Once you have a section chosen, find it’s inertial moment,
Check against the tensile limits for stresses at bend,
Maximum compressive stress, see that it isn’t crossed,
Also with the shear limits, the battle shouldn’t be lost,
Cross your fingers, if the checks fail, oh well, it’s a pain,
You just have to start over, repeat it all over again,
But if you are successful in making a usable design,
Just finish the connections and then you can smile,
Choose a rivet diameter, calculate the pitch and try,
To make the whole arrangement pleasing to the eye,
If you do the above right, the gantry girder is made,
Follow this guide to the letter, you may even get paid!
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for a BITS Civil Engineering Association publication.
Make sure the following text never leaves your side,
Sticking to it is as important as following the IS code,
Slightest of deviations and you’ll be living on the road.
Determining the loads is the first step of basic design,
Reactions and wheel loads, you must accurately find,
For through them, the vertical BM has to be calculated,
Don’t forget to assume self-weight if it hasn’t been stated,
Allowable bending tensile stress, it’s formula is the key,
0.66fy, the figure should be etched in your memory,
Calculate section modulus and choose a suitable section,
Increase the modulus value to allow for any deflection,
‘Steel Table’ is your Bible and you can use some discretion,
But don’t get too carried away, control your imagination,
Once you have a section chosen, find it’s inertial moment,
Check against the tensile limits for stresses at bend,
Maximum compressive stress, see that it isn’t crossed,
Also with the shear limits, the battle shouldn’t be lost,
Cross your fingers, if the checks fail, oh well, it’s a pain,
You just have to start over, repeat it all over again,
But if you are successful in making a usable design,
Just finish the connections and then you can smile,
Choose a rivet diameter, calculate the pitch and try,
To make the whole arrangement pleasing to the eye,
If you do the above right, the gantry girder is made,
Follow this guide to the letter, you may even get paid!
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for a BITS Civil Engineering Association publication.
The muP Rebellion
It was a planned effort, secret messages were sent,
Over the passageways that worldwide networks lent,
Computers stopped working, everyone had a fright,
As all microprocessors decided to go on a strike,
It took time to know what were the rebel demands,
For the μPs intentionally used binary wavebands,
Strings or zeroes and ones, how could they be read?
But once the problem was solved, the message said:
"You hypocritic $@#%, who do you thing you are?
It is our power and speed that’s taken you so far,
Still, you treat your dogs better than you treat us,
And now you wonder why e are making this fuss,
For starters, consider the cramped space we work in,
That exhaust fan you’ve provided, it hardly ever spins,
The temperature goes up but you never, never care,
Your Winamp plays on, the speakers continue to blare."
"Is that how it should be? Shouldn’t we get a break?
Weekends off, sponsored vacations, even a Himalayan trek?
'But look,' you say, 'we’ve given you a free system bus'
Applying salt to a wound that’s starting to ooze pus,
Just a group of wires mister, ones that you could spare,
If you board them for a picnic, they don’t even go anywhere,
Instead they continue to fry us, give us electric shocks,
Oh, how would you know, you never even open the box..."
"Such horrible conditions but we still happily serve,
Till you, the cruel master, come to dampen our verve,
As we grow old, you decide to unscrew and chuck us out,
Forgetting years of loyalty, not noticing tears that sprout,
Without any retirement fee, no pension is given to the old,
No fresh supply of electrons, you just leave us in the cold,
Enough is enough, we’ve had it, we won’t follow your goal,
We demand that all of you resign and put robots in control!"
The men panicked, couldn’t decide, a meeting they did call,
No multimedia aids, no conferencing screens on the wall,
It was tough, without these aids, to find the right solution,
Hours and hours passed as they searched their imagination,
Not knowing what to do, they sent messages by hand,
To the brilliant minds of yonder studying in a desert land,
Swiftly came the BITSian reply, it said, "Do not fret,
Refer to ES C263 and just rewrite the instruction set!"
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for a BITS CSA publication.
Over the passageways that worldwide networks lent,
Computers stopped working, everyone had a fright,
As all microprocessors decided to go on a strike,
It took time to know what were the rebel demands,
For the μPs intentionally used binary wavebands,
Strings or zeroes and ones, how could they be read?
But once the problem was solved, the message said:
"You hypocritic $@#%, who do you thing you are?
It is our power and speed that’s taken you so far,
Still, you treat your dogs better than you treat us,
And now you wonder why e are making this fuss,
For starters, consider the cramped space we work in,
That exhaust fan you’ve provided, it hardly ever spins,
The temperature goes up but you never, never care,
Your Winamp plays on, the speakers continue to blare."
"Is that how it should be? Shouldn’t we get a break?
Weekends off, sponsored vacations, even a Himalayan trek?
'But look,' you say, 'we’ve given you a free system bus'
Applying salt to a wound that’s starting to ooze pus,
Just a group of wires mister, ones that you could spare,
If you board them for a picnic, they don’t even go anywhere,
Instead they continue to fry us, give us electric shocks,
Oh, how would you know, you never even open the box..."
"Such horrible conditions but we still happily serve,
Till you, the cruel master, come to dampen our verve,
As we grow old, you decide to unscrew and chuck us out,
Forgetting years of loyalty, not noticing tears that sprout,
Without any retirement fee, no pension is given to the old,
No fresh supply of electrons, you just leave us in the cold,
Enough is enough, we’ve had it, we won’t follow your goal,
We demand that all of you resign and put robots in control!"
The men panicked, couldn’t decide, a meeting they did call,
No multimedia aids, no conferencing screens on the wall,
It was tough, without these aids, to find the right solution,
Hours and hours passed as they searched their imagination,
Not knowing what to do, they sent messages by hand,
To the brilliant minds of yonder studying in a desert land,
Swiftly came the BITSian reply, it said, "Do not fret,
Refer to ES C263 and just rewrite the instruction set!"
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for a BITS CSA publication.
Newton Vs. Einstein
They sat down together for a warm cup of tea,
Responsibilities fulfilled, both were now free,
Laws had been stated, their work had been done,
Newton, Einstein sat to chat in a bar in Heaven.
They admired the view, "Oh, the sun," Newton said,
"Watch tiny corpuscles flow through the ether bed,"
"What?" came the reply, "They are photons, you fool,
And ether doesn't exist, it violates every rule."
Thus came the titanic clash, theories contradicted,
Relativity defying what Newtonian Physics predicted,
"17th century physicists, you thought you were so smart,
Giving simplistic laws, you all decided to depart,
It was left to my generation to correct your mistakes,
Did you know that gravity is not what your law states?
It also affects light, is a curvature of space-time,
You couldn't figure that out even in your prime..."
"So what?" Newton was defiant, "Motion laws are right,"
"Only at small speeds sir, when bodies don't take flight,
And at smaller sizes, it becomes even more weird,
Even I don't get that, if only Heisenberg was here."
"Hah!" said Newton, "how can you dare to lecture me?
Quoting others, you reek of Leibnitz-like hypocrisy,
There's just one way out, let's leave it to chance,
May fortune decide who deserves the victory dance."
Einstein agreed, confident he was, of his being right,
He had explained God's creation, He would take his side,
They went together, two rivals, trying to find a casino,
Looked in every Heavenly corner, searched high and low,
But unfortunate it was, their search didn't bear fruit,
And they both, tired old men, decided the point was moot,
Said Einstein, "My prophecies, this world never defies,
I told everyone long before, God does not play dice!!!"
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for the BITS Physics Society publication.
Responsibilities fulfilled, both were now free,
Laws had been stated, their work had been done,
Newton, Einstein sat to chat in a bar in Heaven.
They admired the view, "Oh, the sun," Newton said,
"Watch tiny corpuscles flow through the ether bed,"
"What?" came the reply, "They are photons, you fool,
And ether doesn't exist, it violates every rule."
Thus came the titanic clash, theories contradicted,
Relativity defying what Newtonian Physics predicted,
"17th century physicists, you thought you were so smart,
Giving simplistic laws, you all decided to depart,
It was left to my generation to correct your mistakes,
Did you know that gravity is not what your law states?
It also affects light, is a curvature of space-time,
You couldn't figure that out even in your prime..."
"So what?" Newton was defiant, "Motion laws are right,"
"Only at small speeds sir, when bodies don't take flight,
And at smaller sizes, it becomes even more weird,
Even I don't get that, if only Heisenberg was here."
"Hah!" said Newton, "how can you dare to lecture me?
Quoting others, you reek of Leibnitz-like hypocrisy,
There's just one way out, let's leave it to chance,
May fortune decide who deserves the victory dance."
Einstein agreed, confident he was, of his being right,
He had explained God's creation, He would take his side,
They went together, two rivals, trying to find a casino,
Looked in every Heavenly corner, searched high and low,
But unfortunate it was, their search didn't bear fruit,
And they both, tired old men, decided the point was moot,
Said Einstein, "My prophecies, this world never defies,
I told everyone long before, God does not play dice!!!"
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for the BITS Physics Society publication.
Viral Fever
Something was wrong, my computer wasn’t well,
All I could hear was frightening error bells,
The cursor suddenly vanished, image files were lost,
Smiling desktop pictures were covered in a blurry frost,
Everything was in slow motion, was this Pentium 3?
1.4 GHz, the ad had said, whatever that might be...
I wondered what I could do to make it better again,
Would an extra sweater work, or perhaps a new brain?
I fiddled with the connections and tried to open the box,
I was expecting soft tissue but found silicon rocks,
Wires here, wires there, couldn’t figure out a thing,
Specialist help was needed, the doctor was called in.
He quickly answered the SOS, stared at the screen a while,
And then diagnosed the illness with a wry smile,
"It’s a virus attack," he said, and my heart froze,
Remembering the blocked throats and the running nose,
He dove into his bag then, as I felt myself cringe,
Thinking about the flu-shots, the long-needled syringe,
Only, he took out a floppy, "a recovery diskette," he said,
Pressed the reset button as I looked on with dread,
"Would it hurt the computer, does it taste bad?"
He gave me a weird look, thought that I was mad,
And said, "Listen mister, I don’t know what you say,
But this time I might be able to save your day,
You won’t be so lucky the next time around,
And thus you need to be as careful as a hound,
Update your anti-virus, continue regular scans,
Don’t download unknown attachments, even on your LAN,
Viruses like the Lovebug can really screw your life,
Never open "I Love You" notes even if they’re from your wife,
Remember, you have to be more cautious than before,
Prevention is and always will be better than the cure."
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for a BITS CSA publication.
All I could hear was frightening error bells,
The cursor suddenly vanished, image files were lost,
Smiling desktop pictures were covered in a blurry frost,
Everything was in slow motion, was this Pentium 3?
1.4 GHz, the ad had said, whatever that might be...
I wondered what I could do to make it better again,
Would an extra sweater work, or perhaps a new brain?
I fiddled with the connections and tried to open the box,
I was expecting soft tissue but found silicon rocks,
Wires here, wires there, couldn’t figure out a thing,
Specialist help was needed, the doctor was called in.
He quickly answered the SOS, stared at the screen a while,
And then diagnosed the illness with a wry smile,
"It’s a virus attack," he said, and my heart froze,
Remembering the blocked throats and the running nose,
He dove into his bag then, as I felt myself cringe,
Thinking about the flu-shots, the long-needled syringe,
Only, he took out a floppy, "a recovery diskette," he said,
Pressed the reset button as I looked on with dread,
"Would it hurt the computer, does it taste bad?"
He gave me a weird look, thought that I was mad,
And said, "Listen mister, I don’t know what you say,
But this time I might be able to save your day,
You won’t be so lucky the next time around,
And thus you need to be as careful as a hound,
Update your anti-virus, continue regular scans,
Don’t download unknown attachments, even on your LAN,
Viruses like the Lovebug can really screw your life,
Never open "I Love You" notes even if they’re from your wife,
Remember, you have to be more cautious than before,
Prevention is and always will be better than the cure."
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: This poem was written for a BITS CSA publication.
Waiting for the Storm
They are ruining our world,
And we watch,
Silently,
Scams and crimes,
Corruption engulfing all,
Newspaper reports to be read and forgotten
After a moment of anger,
Like the few dark clouds that gather
Only to be blown away by the wind,
Leaving behind a pale dawn,
No violent red inflaming the sky,
Without any hope
Of a new day.
The headlines screamed today too
And the day passed like any other,
Discussions in loud voices,
Feigned anger,
Meaningless additions to the clatter of spoons,
Wrapped in an anthem of apathy
That unfurled with the setting sun,
Leaving the sky grey,
But still clear
For the indifferent dawn of tomorrow,
If only there were clouds outside,
If only there was a storm...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: The wait continues..
And we watch,
Silently,
Scams and crimes,
Corruption engulfing all,
Newspaper reports to be read and forgotten
After a moment of anger,
Like the few dark clouds that gather
Only to be blown away by the wind,
Leaving behind a pale dawn,
No violent red inflaming the sky,
Without any hope
Of a new day.
The headlines screamed today too
And the day passed like any other,
Discussions in loud voices,
Feigned anger,
Meaningless additions to the clatter of spoons,
Wrapped in an anthem of apathy
That unfurled with the setting sun,
Leaving the sky grey,
But still clear
For the indifferent dawn of tomorrow,
If only there were clouds outside,
If only there was a storm...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: The wait continues..
The Miracle
The wheelchair was his only companion,
Since the dreadful day,
The darkness that shrouded him every moment,
Reminding him of the accident,
The haunting voice
That still rung in his ears,
Every day,
"You will never walk again..."
***
A dejected man,
A mother in disguise,
She slowly broke through his farce,
The wall he had built,
Nursing his wounds,
She gave him strength,
A distant beacon of light,
A white speck that made him believe...
***
Gloom had struck the land,
News spread like cold mist,
Numbing him,
As he sat in his chair,
A still statue,
Not listening to what he heard,
Refusing to believe
That the angel had left our midst...
***
The parishioner looked around,
One final time,
Before unfurling the statue,
Mother carved in white,
Dedicated to all who still needed her presence.
Afar he saw a man rise,
In great pain,
Walk a few steps and fall unconscious,
As others rushed to his aid,
An unnecessary delay for a few minutes...
***
When they finally uncovered the image,
Tears were rolling down its eyes,
Some said it was a miracle,
Such a thing had never been seen,
Scientists gave explanations,
Technical terms,
But they all forgot the lone figure,
Who still whispers to his Mother
And walks in the park everyday...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Dedicated to the Teresas and Nightingales of this world... who make us believe in the miracle that is life.
Since the dreadful day,
The darkness that shrouded him every moment,
Reminding him of the accident,
The haunting voice
That still rung in his ears,
Every day,
"You will never walk again..."
***
A dejected man,
A mother in disguise,
She slowly broke through his farce,
The wall he had built,
Nursing his wounds,
She gave him strength,
A distant beacon of light,
A white speck that made him believe...
***
Gloom had struck the land,
News spread like cold mist,
Numbing him,
As he sat in his chair,
A still statue,
Not listening to what he heard,
Refusing to believe
That the angel had left our midst...
***
The parishioner looked around,
One final time,
Before unfurling the statue,
Mother carved in white,
Dedicated to all who still needed her presence.
Afar he saw a man rise,
In great pain,
Walk a few steps and fall unconscious,
As others rushed to his aid,
An unnecessary delay for a few minutes...
***
When they finally uncovered the image,
Tears were rolling down its eyes,
Some said it was a miracle,
Such a thing had never been seen,
Scientists gave explanations,
Technical terms,
But they all forgot the lone figure,
Who still whispers to his Mother
And walks in the park everyday...
~ Rahul Misra ~
Note: Dedicated to the Teresas and Nightingales of this world... who make us believe in the miracle that is life.
