Pommes Frites

Sunday, November 27, 2005

A disclaimer first..this has nothing to do with that affordable and crunchy snack of the same name.

Am just done with my level 1A of french classes and now time to look back and gloss over what really happened. While my tone suggests I have been through a major traumatic experience, let me allay all such fears. It was quite the opposite. I thoroughly enjoyed my time and the experience and I have even got a 82.5/100 as a final score to boot.

I was watching TV5 Asia the other day and was suprised how much I could comprehend of the written french and how little of the spoken variety. Obviously its a huge mountain to scale and more so since I haven't been able to give it enough time.

Read this:
I was standing at the counter chanting something. He marches upto me and demands some information. I regard him and think, I am getting deranged by this young man. But then this is my travail!

Now the whole situation wasn't so dramatic as is presented in the para above. Its just that I took the liberty of translating something directly from french without thinking too hard. This is what was originally meant:
I was standing at the counter singing something. He walks upto me and asks for some information. I look at him and think, I am getting disturbed by this young man. But then this is my work!

Talk about information getting lost in translation!
Just one thought lingers...why couldn't the english import words without having to change their intensity.

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Labor of love

Friday, November 18, 2005

A night not so long ago,
when I was in deep slumber,
she appeared with all her allure,
and begged me to come to her.

I woke up later with gumption,
to make the dream come true,
To seek comfort in her nestle,
and start our romance anew.

Pretty soon did I get the chance,
to devise another sojourn,
To get closer to her,
and seduce her to be my own.

Then when i did get to see her,
she stood in all her splendor.
As if challenging me to get to her,
and make it a moment to remember.

Slowly and steadily,
I start from the base.
She looks down at me,
and stands, uncaring and blasé.

Her undulating terrain,
so tough and wild.
But the splendid view,
so refreshing to the mind.

So many memories come back,
during the long journey up.
Of the times gone by,
the high and then the slump.

Midway during the leg,
I rest and look up at her.
She hides her face,
timid yet oozing with desire.

Now it was just a matter of time,
before the passions tipped over.
And as promised, ecstasy and joy,
would this labor of love doth deliver.

Giving my everything,
I reach the climax,
Exhilarating is the one word I could utter,
on reaching the Chembra peak top.

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Forlorn

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Walking along the one way street,
I arrive at a crossroad.
The heart says "take this bend,
To meet your destiny"
"Do it" asserts my soul,
"Yes, yes" whispers the wind.

Now, when am at the deadend,
the heart does nothing but cry,
the soul asks "what have you done?"
the wind stays quiet
and I whisper to myself
"I stand all alone"

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My bike

Monday, November 14, 2005


mummy said i become a big boy now. i write an essay. so i want to become bigger. i write one more essay. i make no spellng mistake also. my bike is a girl. she drinks a lot. she like petrol. she got angry that i write essay on camera first. but camera is a boy and i am a boy. So i write on camera first. my bike take me and camera everywhere. she is older than camera. she is 3 year old. she likes to go out. she cries when i dont take her out. she runs like a dog runs when i throw stone on it. i dont throw stone on my bike but she still runs fast. i sit on her like i sit on my tricycle. but she has no pedals. i want pedals but mummy says big boys dont need pedals. my bike go faster than other bike. she is a fiero no. i dont know what fiero mean. mummy also dont know. my bike has big tyres. two of them. they go round and round and round. i also make it go round sometimes. she also make me laugh. i kick her to make her run. then i laugh for 5 minutes. then i sit on my bike. then i pull her hand and then she runs. she throws a lot of smoke. i dont like it. i ask her not to do it but she is stubborn girl. i have to take her to doctor every 3 months. she takes her bath only there. she is dirty no? he he he. i take my bath everyday morning. my camera dont want to take bath at all. both are dirty. my bike is very big. one day it falls on me. i got hurt. i cried.

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My Camera


My camera is my baby. He is one year old. He cries a lot. I make him quiet by pulling his battery out. He then goes silent. He makes a lot of noise when i take him out. All people see me then. He is very big. I carry him by his strap. He is very heavy also. My camera make me laugh. When I make him on, he puts light. I laugh a lot then. he take a lot of picture and store it in his head. i see picture afterwards. He is a good boy. Mummy dont like my camera. She tell that I spend too much time with him. But my camera will cry if i dont talk to him. He has only one eye. It is very very big. I have only two small eyes. My friends are all jealous of my baby. I dont give him to anybody. He will cry. I love my camera. He is called Nikon. He has initials also. It is D70.

He take picture and i take picture of him. You can see him above. This is the end of my essay.

Coming soon....my bike.
(Whew! Its tough preparing for writing b-school admit essays. Atleast am trying hard)

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