Tookii and 42 others followed your blog JOTTINGS

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Tookii and 42 others followed your blog JOTTINGS

I am sitting in my room, Physics demanding my attention because I have session ending exam tomorrow and the new Whatsapp feature of adding a story managing to grab it.

I am busy ignoring my Physics and giving the much needed attention to my friends on whatsapp arguing on every useless topic we find ourselves discussing.The first one is about Stranger Things and how it got so famous both in viewership and acclaim, I find myself playing the devil’s advocate. Sometimes I do that, always trying to prove the negations and  getting jealous on silly things.

“I have not updated my blog yet” I type, punch in and hit the send button.

The message is seen as soon as it was sent, and the next second I see the words, “typing.” This is the best part, I feel as if she is genuinely interested in hearing my rants about myself.

I am always irregular. The inconsistency in my posts are the days of Lunar Eclipse and yet I sit there on the same chair with my physics textbook staring straight at me but my fingers skimming through my stats. A blog of zero people looking forward for future posts and an author who is consoling himself that he is going through the much hyped, “Writer’s Block.”

“Write something. Post one of your poems that you keep stacked in those rusty old pages.” 

I recieve the reply.

She is right, before joining WordPress to what I believed would bring recognition instanty, I used to PRACTICE POETRY in my small notebook which I used to carry everywhere. I had enough poems written down to run my blog for the next 6 months with a weekly post and yet here I was cursing myself and the whole world about the lack of ideas and the constant self lamenting of not being able to write anything. 

It was not, “Writers Block.”

I was scared that of all the time that I would put into writing a good piece of poetry or a small inspiring piece of literature and dreaming of how famous it will get and how people in innumerable numbers would comment on it and shower their love and support, but bottom line kept staring right at me, “Only 40 odd followers my friend.”

I write it, punch it, type it and send it.

Tick. Two ticks. Seen. Typing. 

” You had none, zero followers when you started my friend.” 

She is right, yet again.

My rants are becoming more of childlike complaints and excuses. “I need more.” 

I type it, punch it and send it.

Tick, two ticks, seen, typing.

“Just as you write this beautiful poem of yours, ten thousands of them from our very nation and more than hundred thousand from across the globe are doing the exact same thing. Imagine millions of poems out there and yet that one reader decides to open your blog, read your piece, like your work and comment on your masterpiece. That’s an achievement you should be proud of.”

She had shot her arrow on the right target, aimed it at my foolish perception and voila! 

I stand up, not punching, typing or sending anything nor having the least respect for my physics. 

Just as I am about to open WordPress, I am startled by the logo of WordPress on the top of my screen. There is a smile on my otherwise face and as I scroll down to read what it was about, I see the most beautiful lines I will remember forever,

“Tookii and 42 others followed your blog JOTTINGS.”

To be really honestl, I am more than happy with my bunch of reading-writing friends and so proud so as so to sieze your attention from my work. So glad for having you click that follow button and so happy to never leave your side. 

This token of love and thanks goes to all my 43 Reading-Writing friends. You mean the world to me because you decided to read me.

Thankyou

Imagination and Ideas over Knowledge – Story of the founder of Instagram

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At the end of the day, it comes to ideas and imagination. Not knowledge of the whereabouts. Knowledge is void if it has no imagination and imagination is a singularity in this infinite universe which has no connection to knowledge whatsoever.

Instagram’s founder had no programming training. He’s a marketer who learned to code by night

Instagram CEO, Kevin Systrom, will go down in history as one of the greatest Silicon Valley success-stories of our generation. Unlike Mark Zuckerberg, the man responsible for acquiring the popular photo sharing app for $1 billion, Systrom received no formal engineering training.
Systrom, an active user on Quora, is a largely self-taught programmer. While working in the marketing department at Nextstop, which Facebook acquired in 2010, he would spend his evenings learning to program. According to Systrom, small projects included combining elements of Foursquare with Mafia Wars.
Kevin Systrom explains on Quora :

The story starts when I worked at Nextstop. While I was there working in marketing, I started doing more and more engineering at night on simple ideas that helped me learn how to program (I don’t have any formal CS degree or training). One of these ideas was combining elements of foursquare (check-ins) with elements of Mafia Wars (hence the name Burbn). I figured I could build a prototype of the idea in HTML5 and get it to some friends. Those friends ended up using the prototype without any branding elements or design at all. I spent weekends working on improving the prototype for my friends.
At a party for the Hunch folks I ran into a bunch of people who would basically make starting Burbn a reality. At that party were two people from Baseline Ventures and Andreessen Horowitz. I showed the prototype, and we decided we’d meet up for coffee to talk about it. After the first meeting, I decided to take the dive and leave my job to go solo and see if Burbn could be a company. Within two weeks of leaving, I raised $500k from both Baseline and Andreessen Horowitz, and started work on finding a team.


Thanks to Codecademy and the like, there are growing numbers of self-taught programmers in Silicon Valley. Instagram’s success will augment the enthusiasm for learning to code. And Systrom may prove to be an inspiration for this new generation of budding entrepreneurs – one they can actually relate to.

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Thanks
Nik

Letters are not for granted

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Letters are not for granted🗯

Something stirred inside me today while teaching a 14 year old , 9th grader how to write the alphabet . You read right , today in my time at Cresecent-a Muslim girls home at payanapilly , I was teaching a 9th grader how to write the alphabet in a two line notebook .
In ninth grade , you and I were engrossed in quadratic equations and acing our 300 word essays , we had long surpassed the writing in a two line book stage and were too far out to even remember that such a phase existed in our early school years .

The girl in question was suffering from a writing disorder called dysgraphia , its  certainly not as famous as its sister disorders like dyslexia and ADHD but the chances are it’s as common and the failure to understand it, is from our part.

The knowledge and the experience you gain while dealing and working with people struggling  with such disorders , opens doors of gratitude within yourself .

While it does sound pretty narcissistic to be grateful of your abilities whilst encountering people who aren’t as fortunate , the reality is that a mere engagement with them is as humbling as any experience .

It just reminds you that the things we consider as the most fundamental of our abilities and which we often take for granted are in fact a blessing that most people are impaired of . 

Simple joys like writing , creating and formulating your own ideas and thoughts in a way that only you can are in actually not such a common ability .

So like every other thing in life , letters too are not for granted .


Reposted: Posiedonna


 

My Brother

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“How the sudden death of his brother leaves him with just memories”

Finally, this poem has a root for its existence and a reason to cease. The beautiful relation of two brothers, distance apart but yet close in ways not understood. I bear a similar kind of relationship. We have no interest in talking about where my life is going or his.We do not talk about my relationship status or his. We never have those candid talks. There is not a time where I and he will sit together and grab something to eat. There has been no instance where he had come to me and asked me about my grades. We have never watched a movie together at home. There is never that touch of care in his voice when he talks to me. There is actually no emotion when he wishes me on my Birthday. And trust me I am the same.

But there is something. Something I can not put into words. It’s hard. And So I am writing this. Not my story but a similar context.

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My Brother

A second late between the vehicles
And my brother was in my arms.
Scoundrel, cheater, disheart
the car did not stop but just marched past.

The football lies at its place
waiting to be played.
And the bat and the ball
which see no holding of the hand.
No crying in the morning
And no play in the eve.
My little brother took with him
the happy disturbances of my life.
The books are at their places
And my files are never disturbed.
The much-appreciated silence for studies in the past
Now haunts for a little noise of his running car.
The mere perfection of my room
with everything at its place.
Seems to me as the flaw house
Of errors and mistakes.

Minutes later, People arrive
And I move him closer to my heart.
Keypad tone, wailing parents
It was too late for his heart.
Not the vehicle which stopped late
Stopped early was my brother’s heart.


 

Is BA English in India just timepass? (2 Min read )

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A straight post citation from Times Of India. (Article : Ketan Krishna| Jan 3, 2015)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person studying English Literature as a formal course, isn’t really studying. Whenever an Indian boy decides to offend his parents and ruin the toil of an entire lifetime, and do an English Course in a DU college, it is knowingly accepted as a step into the bottomless pit of aimlessness, unemployment and inebriation. No jobs, no future, no wife.

It is in this backdrop that a student of English Literature in DU starts his journey that will last three years. It is taken for granted that he will “read novels and waste time”. The first challenge is the transition from the space of the school to the college campus. The campus is a socio-cultural hospice. It is an amalgam of pop culture and semi-rebellion. There is every kind of individual – the intellectual, the inebriate, the local cosmopolite, the jhola-toting revolutionary. There is no uniform. There is barely any institution-imposed discipline.

The teachers don’t want silence. The teachers don’t want classes either. However they are highly learned individuals, and there is much to learn from them. The concept of education itself is altered. Knowledge has to be extracted rather than absorbed. The initiative has to taken by the student who wants to learn. There is a syllabus which has to be taught in inadequate time, and which multiplies into reading beyond the stipulated material.

Literature is a highly interdisciplinary category. One can learn about history, culture, politics, sociology, Marxism, Feminism, Postcolonialism, critical theory, literary theory, Structuralism, Post Structuralism, and several other ‘-isms’. For a person who genuinely wants to study literature, the field is fatally vast and deep. There is an infinite stream of knowledge to satisfy an unquenchable thirst that yearns to know more, without knowing why it wants to know more.

The biggest challenge which emerges is the problem of ‘telos’. ‘Telos’, which means ‘purpose’ or ‘end’, is a Greek term used often in literary discourse. Teleology – work done towards a grand conclusion. The question that begins to haunt one is that of having an objective. What is one to do, and why is one to do it? What is the purpose?

 This dilemma arises out of the education one receives when one studies literature. Starting from Dickens, fact and fancy are distinguished. Then one reads the Victorian Realists, who highlight the ‘reality’ of modern life, followed by the Russian Nihilists who doubt the ‘realness’ of life. Finally Modernism and Existentialism question language and doubt meaning. When one is wondering what to do, Beckett delivers the final blow and declares ‘Nothing to be done’.
 A student of Literature is taught to doubt order. Hegel and Marx tell him that teleology and grand design are to be opposed. Structuralism and Foucault say ideologies are biased and the words that one speaks, the institutions one works under, are all to doubted as systems of control and suppression. The result is a lack of orderliness. The student oscillates between romance and reality, order and anarchy.
‘Existential angst’ is a term often thrown around to describe the young-adult. He is supposed to struggle with the meaning of life. ‘Is life worth living? What to do? What to be? How to be? To be?’ The student has an affinity to ask himself these, even though he realizes he doesn’t authentically struggle with existential angst. He identifies with the Beatnik bums of Kerouac, the Holden Caulfields, the James Deans and Marlon Brandos, the low lives and the vagabonds. He scoffs at the elite, the rich and the driven. But he also knows that he isn’t actually alienated. He is constantly in a process of growing up, of coming of age, of going from one point to another, of journeying, but unable to locate himself. He is taught to always doubt identity, because identity is a performance. The real self, the personal mission is what has to be arrived at. It is what cannot be arrived at.

The journey through college for a literature student, is an eternal contradiction which must be resolved in under three years. He begins with uncertainty, he is taught to be uncertain, and spends most of his time in an environment of uncertainty, but decisions have to be taken and choices have to be made. To choose from a void of infinity, is the irony of student life.

After school, he is told that he is going to enter the ‘real world’ now, but what he actually enters is a space of intermediacy, a limbo. The Beatles tell him “Nothing is real”, but before he can dismiss it as fancy, he encounters academic work which enable doubt. The true challenge for the student of English Literature, is ultimately the old, cliched one of growing up and coming of age.


What are the benefits of writing in a journal or diary? (1 min read)

How I Write

Who we really are?


 

My Best Movie Dialogue – Shawshank Redemption ( 1 Min read )

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From the all time best The Shawshank Redemption the following conversation:

Andy: I had Mr. Mozart to keep me company…[points and taps his head.] It was in here. [gestures over his heart] And in here. That’s the beauty of music. They can’t get that from you. Haven’t you ever felt that way about music?

Red: Well… I played a mean harmonica as a younger man. Lost interest in it, though. Didn’t make too much sense in here.

Andy: No, here’s where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don’t forget.

Red: Forget?

Andy: That there are places in the world that aren’t made out of stone. That there’s… there’s somethin’ inside that they can’t get to; that they can’t touch. It’s yours.

Red: What are you talkin’ about?

Andy: Hope.

Red: Hope? Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It’s got no use on the inside. You’d better get used to that idea.

Andy: Like Brooks did?

Towards the climax Andy leaves a letter for Red:

Dear Red, If you’re reading this, you’ve gotten out. And if you’ve come this far, maybe you’re willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don’t you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I’ll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Andy.


What are the benefits of writing in a journal or diary? (1 min read)

How I Write


 

What are the benefits of writing in a journal or diary? (1 min read)

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Writing a journal has many benefits, but here are a few I think are important to consider:

 

  1. Writing in a journal is a way to establish a writing routine. By making the time every day to jot down thoughts, whether one page or six, creates a good writing habit for those looking to improve their skill.
  2. Writing in a journal gives you the power of perspective. Revisiting past times and selves will help you realize that day-to-day life changes so much and you have, too.
  3. Writing in a journal is a way to say what you would not have otherwise said. Some of us have a lot rattling around in our brains – the release of a journal can not only be therapeutic, but it can also be life-saving.
  4. Writing in a journal is a productive way to spend your free time. By having it as an option, you can sit down and be quiet/listen to music and just be.
  5. Writing in a journal is an excuse to be creative. The space can be used in any way you choose – whether to write a daily account, doodle something you saw on the bus, or write lists of things you want to do this week. Having creative outlets is good for you.
  6. Writing in a journal is something that’s privately yours. Having a secret or place like this can be freeing.

 

How I Write

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​It describes the various ideas running in the mind of the poet when one fine morning he takes out his diary to sit and write. The challenges ahead and the thrilling journey with words.

How I Write

Millions of thoghts run in my mind

As I take my pen to sit and write

Random thoughts in the wondering mind

Fighting with themselves to dot the line

 

A sudden blackout

Dismantled line

Words elude

Failing to fly

Saturation of mind

Asking to fill

The gaps in the line

Failure strikes

And I do nothing but smile

 

I keep my pen down to my right

And keep the diary to where it belonged 

With a smile on my face to prolong the poem.

The next first try would be the time

When I write

To give justice to the reason why It started the very first time.

Who we really are?

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2016 came to an end and like every passing one it had its memories both good and bad. A sonnet satire at its worse to understand that the only resolution we need for this year is “INTROSPECTION.”

Better behaved gets treated the best. Life is full of people and we Indians know that more than anybody. You might have been the most important someone for somebody this past year but don’t make yourself count for naught for this coming one. Let your actions compliment you for who you are and not your fashion statement. Flattering does not help! Because words are best to books the least.

Who we really are?

We lay on the backs of each other

not withstanding but

withholding them.

 

We lie against each other

against all the individual disparities

not with a motive to solve them but

to complicate them further

 

We lie on each other

Not for the matter of reliability

But to push,

the other person down.

 

We lie facing each other

Not with the promise to face

the problems together but

to blame it on the other

 

We lie away from each other

Not because we don’t want them to

be the part of the problem but

to make them realize they were the problem.

That’s who we really are.

Hidden Desires

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Every Poem has a motivation, a root for its birth and a reason to cease. This has none. An Elizabethan Poet and dancing with the wind.

Hidden Desires

I am hit by sudden profoundness

The feel as the thought strikes my head

The mere presence of her in my mind

Pushing the hair upright and showering the unspoken words.

 

Words which will never elude my lips

Words which will be buried alongside my grave

Words if spread could change the scenario

But not willing to take that one percent risk.

 

I am going underwater, under my own self

Bringing about a reason to treason my old self

Pages of a book to read the quoted lines

Understanding it’s tough to bring em’ in life.