10 steps: How to be an intellectual

Being an intellectual (pseudo) is just as much important these days as is using underarm fairness cream.
Unless you are one, you might end up being neglected by the ones who have nothing better to do than to quote all the authors or philosophers or historians or Mr. timbaktoo for that matter. The ones who talk like people around them want them to. Much too similar to the underarm fairness cream. (I still wonder why not use a frrrucking white paint instead if its all that embarassing to look natural ).
Anyway, in interest of all I shall giveaway the secrets of being an intellectual for free. Yes, you read it right. FREE!
10 easy steps and you shall walk out tall and intelligent after that!

1.  Use Google and Wiki even if you seek for your camlin pen . Note things down and use them in any random conversation with any random person. To talk in such detail about small things make people go Waaaaw!To add: Read reviews for some award winning author or book. Or if that is too much just know the names of few.
2. Have something to say about Arundhati Roy and Salman Rushdie. Good or Bad. Right or wrong. Just about anything will do as long as you are taking their names right.
3. Crib about political condition and Government policies. Crib about anything and everything. As long as you crib people think you know about things and have an opinion.
Note: Refer to point 1 and  google about who is the PM before trying it out.
4.Wear a kurti/kurta and carry a book or a diary in a shoulder strap bag. Carry a serious yet smiling face, to seem all mysterious. Be careful not to try it out in areas of high security. I will not be responsible if cops decide to pick you up for acting suspicious.
5. Guys - Grow your beard and moustache. Girls- A bindi always helps.
6. Mention the name "Sigmund Freud" in a conversation and start talking nonsense. Try the same with "Kant".  Make sure you know what the name sounds like before you try this one.
7. Criticise Chetan bhagat . That is one thing that sort of serves as qualifier. You just have to have to mock

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Painted Red.

I see dark faces painted in red.
Blinded by the paint
that trickes down their eyes,
they see maybe, only
a shadow of me with a pinch of red,
reflecting from the dripping paint.
The paint on their face.
I go to them to help them wash
But then, they dont see me.
They see a dark shadow
moving towards them,
which they paint red.
Now, I walk the streets
painted in red ,blinded by the paint
that trickles down my eyes.
I see dark faces painted in red.
Red maybe due to dripping paint.
The paint on my face.

Brown Curtains

I love the brown curtains,
that just stays.
It sways and swells and moves and breathes,
all the time hiding something behind it.
Something that I never see,
for hiding and seeing cannot share a moment.
The curtain that keeps to itself
and displays the bright colours
as it lets just the right amount of light in.
Keeping the dust away,
it lets me breathe fresh.
Hiding the hard sun and the dusty wind behind it.
Something that I never see.
And it sways and swells and moves and breathes.
Oh what a wonderful gift,
these brown curtains are, Mother!

रंग

आसमान का रंग  आज पिघल  कर गिरा है I 

कुछ रंग जमा कर ,

दर्पण  मे भर रहा हूँ मै I  

कुछ एक आधा रंग ,

इधर भी लगा रहा  हूँ मै  I 

कुछ अपना,

अपनो के  लिये छोड़  रहा हूँ मै I 

जो होता  रंग खुशी का तो ,

रंग देता सारी दुनिया को I 

अभी तो बेवजह ही ,

लोग  अपना रंग छुपाते हैं I 

उनको रंग  नही दे सकता  ,

पर  दर्पण  दिखा रहा हूँ मै I 

कुछ अपना,

अपनो के लिये छोड़  रहा हूँ मै I 

I am

I am 

The sand , which sank

as waves swept in.

The leaves, that fell off

in the spring to carpet the garden.

The song that was sung and 

then recorded in a tape.

An impressionable mannenquin,

carved to smile and wrapped in a drape.

The songbird that flew and

then was caged.

The paint that glowed and 

with time faded.

The dream that lived, played, jumped

and then died.

The man who once was

a child.