Wacky Food Lyrics

I adore cooking. Mostly cooking up things. Sometimes it’s food. Palatable, usually. Here’s one of my many wacky dishes.

RICE ‘N’ CHIPS

Doritos crumbled into rice swathed in egg mayonnaise seasoned with a thousand islands and sprinkled with grated cheese and red chilli

dish 1

because there is poetry in food … and food for thought

You know you’re in University
When your taste buds have worn out
With the bland and the boring
And the numbingly unalluring
“Things” to eat

And you know when you’ve crunched
On supermarket candies and cookies
For days, mayhaps even weeks
Because winters have come
With blanket retreats

You know you’ve truly forgotten
How the good food melts like
On your tongue
For to walk a mile
(Or what seems like one during exams)
Is a real problem

But when your stomach starts wheezing
And your bread is hosting fungus
Oh your jam’s got it too
You walk that mile (despite a humongous workload)
But your options are too few

So you don’t even take the road
Less travelled by
But get off of the fork
You wade through the forest
And pick that what might just work

– Akanksha Gupta

TO VOTE OR NOT TO VOTE

Politics is messed up and in return, I am lousy at it. It is a very healthy relationship I assure you; of being uninterested, apathetic, uncaring, and indifferent and all the synonyms you can find in the thesaurus for the word “voter”. Do note that the word ‘voter’, here, not only refers to those who vote but also those who can but prefer not to.

And I appreciate the voters who don’t vote. After all, they must have more pressing concerns such as working to put food on the table. They have no reason to care about which candidate gets elected or what schemes he proposes. Those schemes are never going to bear them fruits. But yes, if they must, they would rather vote for the candidate that delivers promises before the elections even begin. After all, he ‘shows’ promise despite his track record. Now, while most cultures may call this ‘bribery’ and condemn it for being a despicable act, the truth remains that nobody would admit but everybody is guilty of it. And that makes the whole world which includes those who vote and those who don’t equally and unequivocally a despicable lot. Since everybody is born this way, no-one is alone in being lazy and dishonest. Thus, without shame I can confess to you, one voter to another, I’m one who’d rather not vote.

THE UNVARNISHED TRUTH BEHIND AN ELECTION MANIFESTO

I will get up

And wash about

Me, my house

 

I will drink

To the health

Of me, my house

 

I will eat

To fill the tums

Of me, my house

 

I will work

Hard to earn

For me, my house

 

Day after tomorrow

I will do all I can

For me, my house

 

Tomorrow I will plan

The how-to-do

For me, my house

 

And I will want today

Your support

For me, my house

 

For what is mine

Is yours too

Even me, my house

 

And together

We sink or swim

That is our house

 

Coz ‘everyday’ comes

But the day after ‘tomorrow’

In this blessed house

However, I vote. Despite the fact that the higher echelons of the society are infested with petty politics of a silver tongued governance riddled with corruption, I vote. After all, the media has spiced it up into a soap opera, irresistible even to the likes of me. And I absolutely despise it; a love-hate relationship. Moreover, I want to feel like Santa Claus. I want to know which candidate has been good and deserves a gift. It gives me a perverse guilty pleasure to note that no politician deserves it. Still I vote; partly because I am inclined to put up the pretense of a nice active voter who cares and partly because if I am to give up my nation to vultures I’d rather choose the least greedy one. So yes, while I am lousy at politics and would rather not dirty my hands with it, I refuse to sit on the sidelines and accelerate the rot. Who knows? Once in a blue moon, the tide may change and long-sought changes may be wrought.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Look at those giant feathery folks

That poke their beaks into businesses

That bother them not

And rather than lay an apology

Thickly and swift

Their tongues erupt into

Hackneyed discourses and juvenile diatribes

That fail to eclipse their wilted wit

So much so that these long weathered ears

Grow wary of potential permanent abuse

Especially as their voices grow louder

And their stilted stature elevates

Mayhap it’s their nearness

But as their beaks elongate

I wonder how many of us

Are blind by choice

And how many oblivious

But it is quite certain that the giants seem

(Beyond their bulbous beaks)

Unable to see

Or care about

Our apathetic visage

And a pathetic state of affairs

~ Akanksha Gupta

(PS: This article was published in HKUST Wings 23.1)

Gratitude – Limerick Challenge

Two left feet fishing
The ground for latitude
Burnt in the agony
Of soundless sonnets
With little gratitude

~ Akanksha Gupta

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My limerick entry for Limerick Challenge Week 7: Gratitude hosted by ‘ Mind and Life matters

Ode To An Droid

I know you’re bugged
By the erroneous syntax
In the title
The fact that
It wasn’t affixed
By “the” honorific
Makes you seem
So inconsequential
After all
Ultimately
You’re psyched to serve
“The” client
But by my word
Your stubborn refusal
To run trivial errands
Makes my fingers
Itch
With frustration
And mind
Limp
With denial
But even as the
Java codes with
JavaScript
Met initially
At crossroads
With no way
To synchronize
That you finally
Responded
However stilted
The reaction
Ignited minds
Renewed passion
And thus molding
The codes
Despite the crossroads
Continued in this
Singleton fashion

~ Akanksha Gupta

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The App & Web Development Team

 

Is there a reason for everything

If we think beyond

We can unravel any riddle

The more that we discover

Further will grow the puzzle

 

‘Coz we’re smaller than small

With the wisdom of one cycle

In the great scheme of things

We’re too inconsequential

 

This world began weaving its secrets

With the sacred thread of time

Now they have grown too huge

For us to be able to divine

 

And all those secrets are linked together

So intricately

That weaving and unweaving them

We will never run out of curiosity

 

In my opinion, the world is built upon rationality and everything that happens here results from and into a process; a long drawn and complex one, with intertwining cycles and hierarchies. But limited knowledge and limited time prevent us from completely discerning it. Furthermore, since we have different emotional responses and perceptions, we reason out every outcome differently.

For instance, consider death. Everyone has a different interpretation; from scientists who call it thermodynamics and cell degradation, to religious scholars who call it the path to after-life. Now, as rationally thinking individuals, we generally base our arguments on indisputable scientific facts. We find it difficult to swallow the religious explanation. Religion, many say, has no justification, yet it exists. It’s a matter of perception. Even the seemingly most unjustifiable thing can be justified. All that is required is a different approach, a different perspective and a different school of thought.

Let us apply this to religion. Religion too has a variety of schools of thought. While one says it exists, the other believes it to be a conspiracy by the powerful to control the weak. There are also those that believe that religion was conceived to put keep a check on human arrogance and deceit. However, simply because we do not have enough time and knowledge, we cannot dismiss the possibility of religions and their Gods existing. In other words, that which cannot be reasoned by quantification used by hard sciences cannot be automatically deemed unreasonable. It can be explained using softer philosophies.

Spirituality, a product of economics and anthropology, is one such philosophy. In principle, many of us are skeptical about it. We tend to complain that misfortune does not spare morally upright and honest men. That it has no justification. Now, this is not true. Take the example of natural disasters that wipe out tons of people. They probably arise from geographical factors that are too massive to mitigate or presently too complex for science to predict.

Few also call them a natural population control mechanism. Such statements, though, are frowned upon. The society may subliminally realize the truth in them yet consider them improper justifications. But you see, justification is not a matter of being nice or right or wrong; but simply of reasoning out everything.

To illustrate, a man who meets with an accident is not “deserving” of it. The accident can be caused by a variety of factors such as the vehicle quality, its makers, the road, the traffic, the driver and so on. The list is endless. But all these possible reasons is why a particular vehicle meets with an accident, while its severity determines the fate of the driver.

In other words, nothing in this universe can be accidental, not even what we deem accidents. By objectively observing all the factors, we can paint a very logical picture; one that isn’t necessarily nice, but honest.

This conclusion brings us to The Leibnitz Principle of Sufficient Reason. It quantifies the very process of reasoning to show how all logical arguments mesh together to culminate into the best possible outcome at the appropriate time. And, to quote Einstein, “The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once”.

~ Akanksha Gupta

Linear Vanity

I want a simple line
Neither straight nor crooked
Neither long nor short
Not too thin or thick
Without an end or a start
Drawn from nothing
Into everything
Drawn with what
Never wants
To part from its art
Indecipherably lucid
And beautifully bald

– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

How To Get Away With Sleep

Sieving through all that old and rotten
And downtrodden mush stuffed
And heaved into a jarred head
My dread increases with the hour
Beads of sweat trickle down
A hairy mess crested atop
Of leaves aged with fungi
And yellowed by fingers
Strumming without a stop
Even as these eyes close in fatigue
And the fingers retire
The mush screams in disbelief
Misunderstanding satire
But these ears are now
Dead to all sounds
Of whether snoring and storing
Or sorting and pouring
Through soft copies and
Hard bounds

– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

Sun, Moon, and Euphorbia

e        d2        Capture

On my windowsill

The woodland pixies sit still

With a touch too much

Of guileless innocence

In their toothless pink smiles

Peeking through an emerald sprawl

That glows greener in the twilight

And they, the peeping pixies,

Blush

Like ethereal brides

Brimming with unbidden delight

Awaiting the dawn

That adorns the skies

With a pale luminescence

That graces the emeralds

With a teary reminiscence

And showers the dewy air

With tender sleepy kisses

From the wine-tainted pouts

Of sleeping beauties

That slowly awaken

To the golden tendrils of sunlight

Streaming in

And to the euphony of birds

Twittering

And they – they sit still and listen

Serene, poised, tranquil

Their hush is overwhelming

More so when the midsummer sun

Glowers at the still blushing brides

Whose painted lips huff and smirk

In silent amusement

While the sun

Suitably offended

Seems to stiffen

With the unspoken challenge

And puffs out hot winds that plow

Ruthlessly through the green

Like fiery, fearless stallions,

Marauding deliriously

In response, at first,

Pink lips seem to part in protest

And then pant with an insatiable thirst

Before they smile once again

And keep smiling stubbornly

Gradually –

Gradually the fire furrows and

Licks feebly at the pink and the green

Until the dying embers wheeze their last

And slump in defeat

Leaving the pixies to sashay

In the lingering radiance of their victory

The moon too softly beams down at

The steady smiles

Perched upon the green beauties

But as the nights grow darker and aloof

The smiles grow bittersweet and wrinkly

A little parched and weathered too

Until one fine cold wintry day

They eventually wither away and droop

But not before a lulling scent

Of newborn babes fills the air

Their toothless pink smiles burnish

Once again in the lush green lair

And thus the pouting pixies sit still

For an eternity on my windowsill

~ Akanksha Gupta ~

PERFECTION: Attempt 2

Perfection is abstract

Abstract concepts are subjective

To every individual

They seem to be distinctive

Yet no pair of eyes

Can claim objective observation

And thus if they see it

It’s their perception of perfection

But since nobody is perfect

And since there is no universal definition

Nobody has the ability to be perfect

By the inherent virtue of perfection

Though on their own they can

Strive for their self-defined ideal

But once they reach and cease

There would be no progressive fuel

This lack of impetus

Would stop further innovation

And a stagnant world would spiral

Into its own rot and degradation

And thus we return to the web

Of subjectivity and motivation

And to the existential crisis

The Shakespearean question;

The possibility to be

Or not to be

That weaves a delicious irony

Of perfection and imperfection

Do you know why we have so many matrimonial services? Because it is difficult to find the perfect life partner. Everyone has a different nature and nurture, and therefore, a very different view of what a ideal being is. Furthermore, their perceptions keep evolving with time.

For instance, in the 17th Century, the society defined a perfect, accomplished woman as one well-versed in a variety of homely arts and social etiquette (Sense the sensibilities of Pride and Prejudice here?). Had the society remained constant in its views of a perfect women, we would still be afflicted with gender roles today. The world would have made no progress.

Take another example. If we had believed that the first phones invented were absolutely flawless, we would have never made smart phones. We would have not invented beyond a certain creative threshold.

That is why it is said that “Forget perfection. There is a crack in everything. That is what lets the light get in.” In other words, we can always find potential for improvisation in every sphere.

However, let us assume for a moment that it is indeed possible to achieve perfection. To begin with, is there any universally agreed upon definition of what that may entail? Your version of perfection may very well be flawed to me. Perfection, therefore, lies in the eyes of the beholder.

The only perfect persona we can achieve is the one that we conceive. For that, we keep on improving and changing for the better. In other words, we strive to be more perfect than before. And herein lies the irony of trying to be perfect but not having the ability to become so.

In short, while nobody is perfect, everyone has the ability to overcome any imperfections in the constant endeavor for self-development where sky is the limit.

– Akanksha Gupta

THE DISEMBODIED WARNINGS

I sigh in exasperationIMG_7362

Whenever

Twice

An annoyingly familiar voice

Gratingly booms

Across the loudspeaker

Without a hint of tired repetition

(Such are the ills of mechanization)

And drones on unneeded explanations

With the gentle elegance of a woman

Drenched in the self-importance

That comes exclusively

With a sense of anonymity

And with the state of being

Soaked in a nervous air

That is nauseatingly muffled

By the conspicuous absence

Of a visible audience

– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

All’s Well That Ends Well

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My mother is a raging optimist

At times it seems rather unrealistic to me

You see I am an enraged realist

A word that eludes her dictionary

Why else would she ask

Why my poetry

Reeks of emotions and realities

Swept into the recesses

Of minds

Frightened by their existence

And their intensity

Well, I say nothing; nothing at all

If I say poetry comes from the heart

She’d be heartbroken

She’d believe mine to be

An eternally aggrieved constitution

If I say poetry speaks only the truth

She’d be perplexed and horrified

She’d believe my lenses to be

Filtered of all joys in life

If I say my poetry portrays stark emotions

She’d likely misconstrue the remark

She’d stare deep into my eyes to find

The glowing wit and the undead spark

So I say nothing; for there is nothing to

One day perhaps she’d see what I do;

A world shrouded in the dark

With streaks of light pouring in

The hunger, the rags, the loan sharks

With generous dollars sneaking in

The tragedies and their tender scars

With hope and healing seeping in

One day she’d see

That my poetry

Isn’t as cynical or resigned;

It is truthful, it is impassioned

It is serene, it is sublime

It talks of the past, the present, the future

It travels through all the good and bad times

It tells you without mercy, by and by exactly

How cruel sometimes the world can be

But it tells you there is hope yet

It tells you not to despair

That there will be pain yes,

But good cheer will reign again

For there will be death of the bygones

If a new lease of life must be spelled

So yeah, it tells you Shakespeare was right

To say that all’s well that ends well

 – Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

The Beautiful Irony of Changing Constants

genie

Like a ship

To the land

Is anchored, and

Like an animal

Of the wild

Is leashed

We are waiting

Forever

To be freed

From the constraints

Within

It is the stifling

School of Thought

That has schooled us

Into a way of life

Caged within

A point of view

And we are comfortable

Within its familiarity –

Release us unto

A world unknown

And we’d have no clue

What to do

Or where to

Haul that anchor

And hook it anew

Now it is too late to be unhooked

From the familiarity of being hooked

– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

Lady Justice

Ear splitting

Tortured

Hunted and haunted

They are screams

They are screaming

My head is ringing

Despite the silence

My head is filled

With soulful cries

With unheard protests

And endless lies

These wails are prescient

These walls are ancient

And my head is resonating

Across time and tide

My eyes are glassy

Shut tight

And while I may be brazen

On the outside

Inside

My head is reflecting

The painful cries

Spilling unto deafened ears

Ears deafened by silent voices

Voices fatigued with endless wait

In a world where

Speech is an improvement upon silence

What prevails is speechlessness

– Akanksha Gupta (only poem)

Welcome To Society

For all its pretense and propriety

Society is an overgrown child

Swimming in its immaturity

Blindsided and pruned from

Truth and rationality

Weaving and wearing

A layer of masks

Masking layers more

A tangled web I see

If see at all

When I gaze upon

A blank gaze

Lying innocently

Upon every face

A mirage within mirage

An indiscernible complexity

Where vulnerability

Hides behind a blank slate

And truth behind jaded eyes

Where nurture is missing in action

And nature is killed in due time

Yet I am not sure of anything

Everything is shrouded

In ambiguity

I look at you

As you look at me

We wonder what we see

Though I am fairly certain

Whatever we do

Is never even partially true

And in a crowd

Of instinctive dishonesty

I’d like to be thusly ambiguous too

For when wisdom is scarce

Casting labels, while common,

Is dangerous in itself

And I’d like to escape

These labels and libels

These society concocted lapels

I’d like to escape behind masks

I’d like to escape from the masks

Now I feel I’m being torn apart

Standing before a Frostian fork

Left and right are deviations both

A choice, and I can never turn back

I’m afraid

These are the only choices left

For even if I turn my back on society

And forge me another path

In this labyrinth of life

At every dead-end and crevice

Society, again, is what I’ll find

– Akanksha Gupta