New Beginning..

Cartoon

2010-05-06T16:19:00.001+05:30

Trial

Hark, abandon the roads!

2008-01-16T21:26:00.000+05:30

When god closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.

No more than a week ago, I realised the very essence of that adage, when I embarked upon the longest and greatest journey I had ever made alone. When I say greatest, I mean that I was behind the wheel!

The source was my humble home and the destination, a land far-far away. Well, 30 km in the least. The road was smooth (except for the occasional potholes), the streets were unknown to me (except for the familiar 20 of 30 km stretch) and empty (barring Pragati Madan where all of New Delhi had decided to land up, having developed a sudden interest in Automobiles that came with a 3-day expiry, courtesy Auto-Expo).

Ergo, I reached safely and the car unhurt (well, at least for the first 20 km). The last 10 km shall be the most memorable 10 km in my life (well, except for the 10 km I drove on the highway on my way to Nainital on a flat tyre that achieved its state when I drove it off the.. changing the tyre was fun, whatever part I contributed to its doing).

It so happened that after a long and comfortable run (i.e. 15 of the 20 km), I stood at the commencement of a narrow and frightful road, bound on either side by, well, trucks, tractors and parked cars. The space was only sufficient for one car and a half to pass… as I realized a little later. As I drove carefully, avoiding scrapes on one edge and another, I soon stood behind a stationery car with a driver at the wheel, owner exercising her whip from behind (or sitting passively, I couldn’t say)…. the works. I honked softly (it’s rude to blare). They didn’t notice. He didn’t budge. The space that he’d left on his side was limited. “Can I do it?”, I thought to myself. “Maybe I can. If I’m very very careful.”

I released the clutch very slowly. The car inched forward. “SCREEECH!”

“Uh-oh!” The driver looked out and glared back. I honked loudly, rolled down my glass and screamed “How many times am I supposed to honk!!” He grumbled, confused, and gestured at me to recede a bit. I humbly complied, a perfectly fake expression of disgust upon my visage. He began to move forward, unwillingly. I followed. Soon, he was out of sight and I, having glanced upon my destination, began to seek place to park.

All space on either side was completely consumed. Clearly, the world wanted to tell me that there was no place for me in it. But god opened a door.

Neatly between a scooter and a bike, stood the smallest amount of space that seemed just right. Enough to accept my car and no more. Or so I though.

Could I manage it? In a space so narrow that was “just right and no more”?

I lowered my gaze and looked at the gap fiercely. The sun was in my eyes.

The car “VROOM VROOM”-ed around me. “Shit! Release the clutch a bit more and THEN accelerate!”

The car pulled forward. I edged slowly into the space. And then, god closed the door.

The space wasn’t enough. The back of my car bumped into the scooter, which jumped off its stand and pulled forward into a ditch.

But as said, “when god closes a door, he opens a window.” My window was open! I leaned out and managed to grab hold of the scooter in the nick of time!

With some steady and expert maneuvering, I managed to pull it back and, with a sizeable amount of struggle (not unmatched by that of the seopys of 1857) and lean it against my door, contributing to it another lot of scratches. Having escaped from the other door, I exited the car, acquired on-site knowledge of how to place a scooter on its stand, did the same, returned to the car and, uneventfully, pulled out of the insufficient parking space god had jokingly left for me, and proceeded to find more.

Driving Statistics for Dhruv Khattar for Winter Vacation 2007-08

Total Distance travelled 200 kms (approx)

Total Distance travelled uneventfully 196 kms (estimated)

Total No. of Flat Tyres caused 1

Total Distance Travelled on Flat Tyre 2 kms

Total Time wasted on finding a workshop to

repair the new-technology Tubeless Tyre 1 Hr.

Total Bumps made on the road 2

Total bumps made in the Parking Lot 2

Total No. of random strangers I gave a fright 3

Total Distance driven on a Highway 10 Kms (ambitious)

Total Distance driven on a mountain 3 Kms (ambitious)

Total No. of Times I made Mom gasp 15

Total No. of Times I made Dad gasp 3 (He was reading the paper for most of it)

Final Score 9/10 (Overly Ambitious)

I’m learning

The Subject Of The Matter

2008-01-06T23:27:00.000+05:30

Winter Woes

2007-12-30T17:51:00.000+05:30

Oh, my blog is a year old now. I had planned quite an event, this time of the year some time ago.

Plans are made to fall flat on their face and make you wonder how well synchronised everything in the world is.

To begin with, I looked forward to these winters most immensely and they somewhat slapped me in the face. It so happens that if one spends many many months learning to keep oneself cool in atrociously hot and sultry tropical weather, one forgets how to keep oneself warm in severly harsh Delhi winters. Thus, I was a bit under the weather not once but twice. Food poisoning or something to that degree threatens to play truant on NY's Eve Tomorrow. I suppose I shall welcome the new year with yet another Tar~t forecast that I shall misplace soon afterwards.
Academic Performance and Results were far below expectations. Yes, it's been a terrible year.

What's new in this world? Another assassination. Was inevitable.
Finally an interesting application on Facebook, after all the nonsense it has churned out. Scrabulous! Most interesting. I'm getting better!
Television continues to remain dull and uneventful. It's as if I've aged 10 years in one and a half.
I watched "The Queen" about 4 times. Loved it immensely. The British accent continues to remain enchanting! I shall endeavor to acquire one soon.

I suppose that should do for now.
Au revoir!

Frozen Yoghurt

2007-12-20T08:27:00.002+05:30

No, I don't plan to ramble on and on about frozen Yogurt as a friend would do (No, I'm not leaving you a link.. Ha!)
I AM the frozen yogurt. Back in Delhi after AGES (1 month to be precise :P) and I'm down with a cough, cold, occasional fever, persistent headache and dizziness... basically, the works. The irony in the matter, for there always is some irony in every aspect of my life, is that I came sprinting towards this cold weather with arms open wide and with every intention of embracing it. It embraced me in a massive hug and then took me down.
For 4 days now, I've been denied a voice. No, all that I say is not neglected or overlooked, it simply isn't heard for I'm not audible. My voice is but a whisper, if not non-existent.
It has its advantages, for I can evade answering phonecalls and abuse loudly (and not be heard) but it does get annoying if I'm engaged in conversation with someone. For whilst I'm talking, my voice randomly disappears and my conversee looks into my face blankly before embarrassedly saying "What?!"
It doesn't help to know that the temperature inside my lovely home, paranormally, is at least a degree below that outside. Honest! It isn't a fragment of my imagination!
Nevermind. I shall be Homer Simpson about it, recover and hold no grudge against it.

The city looks as gorgeous as never before. It's cold and misty and everybody has clothes on! That last part itself makes the city so much more civilized than it truly is!

In 2, if not 3 days, I shall do the unthinkable. I shall pack my bags and head further north, to a cold cold region that is buried many feet below layers of snow (slight exaggeration, pardon!) and masquerade as a married person (no exaggeration, honest) for purposes that I consider unwise to share over here. For which I have been forbidden to shave. Due to which I look like a beast (though still mildly handsome). So there!

Anyway, not much to share. Just thought I'd say Hello and that I'd be married in a few days and inevitably unmarried a few days later.
Goodbye!

Full Circle

2007-12-17T19:53:00.000+05:30

Snuggled up in my bed.
The blanket offers warmth, that came from me. The warmth is lost when I lift it even a little..
With numerous small efforts, we build around ourselves a wall to protect us from the cold. One small error and the wall collapses about us, at times before our eyes, otherwise, while we were sleeping.
Another year approaches an end. Once again, it is time to brood. Twelve months ago, I began this journey. It was infrequently updated. The future looked bright. There was lots to gain, little to lose. I gained lots. I lost a little. Then I lost almost all. Another beginning, but the future isn't as bright anymore.

Lots to share, but all in time
Unless all is lost in rhyme

TOW The Black Cat....

2007-12-03T09:24:00.000+05:30

Hello there!
Awkward time for me to write in, it is. No, it wouldn't seem any out of the ordinary to you, would it? Well, it is to me, for you see, in half an hour over eight, I shall have to write an exam, and that too one of the worst I'd ever have to. My preparation is vastly incomplete and in place of reading more about Memory Organisation in ancient computers, I choose to share with you my memories.

What I arise from the dead to tell you about is a tale so frightening and eerie that your bones are likely shiver-me-timbers. I arise from the dead to tell you a tale that is sure to make your eyes grow so wide with fear, that your contact lenses would fall out by themselves. I arise from the dead to tell you a tale that, if nothing else, is likely to compel you to say, "Hehe!"

You see, many of us so-called modern fools pride ourselves in that we do not believe in superstitions. You fear not walking from underneath a ladder on the wall, lest it should fall upon you. What more, you stand there for a moment and do a little jig. To prove that a cat doesn't have nine lives, you drown your own in a your bathtub and say "See? I told you so!"

But you see, there exist some forces in nature that fall beyond our own control and you simply cannot explain. You cannot say why it happens, and you cannot say how. But it does.... and leaves you questioning.... "Is there someone out there?"
Okay, well, no. This isn't a UFO encounter. All the characters involved in this story, human or inhuman, were purely grounded on earth and belonged to it. No one questions their presence here amongst us. Their presence at the scene of the, well, occurrence was purely co-incidental.

Moving beyond the disclaimers, let me tell you why exactly we believe in superstitions. It isn't because our ancestors took the initiative of propagating them through so many generations. No, we were not manipulated into believing them by Influential writers and personalities of our times such as One Ms. Enid Blyton. Our belief takes its roots from hard-core occurrences, as real as the soil beneath our feat (and if you're on concrete, then the soil beneath that.)

It happened so. I was casually cycling back to the comfort of my bed (that is obtained once it has been cleared of books, notes, bags and arbitrary sharp articles that would otherwise re-direct you to the comfort of the hospital bed.) when I was interrupted on the way by one Nab~n N~g. The truth lies in the fact that possessing a bi-cycle on a No-Vehicle campus is super-cool! Everybody wants a taste of it! Being the kind and generous soul you are, you're willing to let them have a go at it (and stifling your laughter when you take it away from them) but Lo and Behold, one would have to be logically incapacitated to give away their vehicle en-route to home and walk all the way back.
Thus I stood, face to face avec une Nab~n N~g who insisted upon leasing my bicycle for the remainder of the journey while I, the possessor and prosecutor, lugged my heavy bag all the way on foot. We argued, I refused, we argued some more. Spectators stood all around, laughing, cheering and offering to take the bi-cycle off our hands for us. Ha!

As we stood there, laughing, cheering and offering to take the bicycle off other people's hands, as I told you, Nab~n N~g happened to chance his eye upon one lonely soul who happen to pass on the sidewalk. She did not stop to look upon us and my bicycle, claiming stake upon it for the next 20 minutes or so. She didn't even bother to stop and opine. Cats usually don't, by norm. Nonetheless, she did divert from her linear trajectory and proceed to cut right through my path.

Anyone with the least bit of awareness would know that a Black Cat crossing your path is said to bring bad luck. Nab~n knew and proceeded to cheer it on.
It crossed my path.
Nab~n withdrew his claim and invited me to continue on my way, through the tainted path.
Was I to stand there and let him have his laugh? Certainly not. For you see, I too was a lost wandering soul who refused to believe in superstitions. How foolish I was!

What is the first thing a person who doesn't believe in ghosts would utter when confronted by one? Well, most obviously, "I don't believe in You!"
Which is exactly what I did. Well ofcourse I don't Not-Believe in the existence of Black Cat themselves but I do Not-Believe in their attributed qualities of causing utter mayhem in the lives of those whose path they cross.
Thus I proceeded to, with full vigour and strength, scream at that conniving cat, "I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU!" Not once but twice, thrice, maybe even four times! I don't recall how many exactly, since I was all steamed up.

Having declared my disbelief, I returned my attention to the company I was in, only to discover that round-about everyone was rolling in laughter. Before I could've prided myself in having caused it, I paused and wondered as to what was so amusing in it all. Knowing that the entire lot wasn't a group of delinquents, I proceeded to inquire on the same.

As it turned out, black cats aren't that lucky at all.
You see, as I stood their proudly screaming at the cat that I didn't believe in it, their happened to cross OUR path (the one connecting the blessed cat and me.... No wait. Strike that out. ... cat and blessed me..) 2 unsuspecting girls; Unsuspecting of the fact that my character had been questioned by the Crossing Of A Cat. Naturally, they took it upon themselves to accept my comment as directed at them, and responded not with a sweet smile and a wave but a frown of an extreme degree and a scowl, falling short (phew!) of a smack.

It isn't just to blame them, of course, for not seeing things from my point of view, in which they weren't present at all. In the stadium had been merely me and the blesse.... No, wait, blessed me and the cat.
Unfortunately, in the point of view of pretty much everyone else, there had existed me, the blessed cat.. oh Argh!.. and the 2 random strangers.

Since it is uncommon for people to scream at stranger cats (and at times, familiar ones) as they pass on the street, naturally my comment would be interpreted as directed at those two lonely girls. Reasonable as I am, even I can relate to the feeling of disgust and humiliation at being told that those around me do not believe in me. As if I don't exist or whatever!

Thus, my faith in superstitions was restored and resurrected and shall last forever more, or until this incident is forgotten from my mind, whichever comes sooner.

Thus remember the next time you stand beneath a ladder propped against a wall, and do a little jig. A bird seated on its rung might defecate on you. The next time a black cat crosses your path, look right, left and centre before screaming at it that you don't believe in it. Rather, play it safer and don't scream at all. Send it a telegram (or a howler!)

Superstitions are true, my friend(s). They're here to stay!

'I'm at a different place in my life right now.'

2007-11-16T06:38:00.000+05:30

Loose words, almost an alibi and monumental to explain if heart-felt. Yet, there come moments in one's journey when one is forced to change track, alter his routine, beliefs, preferences and often, his ideals to accomodate new avenues and experiences, lessons learnt and make fresh beginnings.
There is no harm. Growth and change are natural. Clinging on can often become a handicap. If one day we are prompted and tempted to differ from or even contradict entirely all that we stood by and preached, should we hold on for a matter of pride or dignity?
We should release ourselves to our destiny. We must kneel before forces that are stronger. We must heed the old wise man.
In life, there is a New Beginning.... and then some more.

Know me a little..

2007-10-21T09:02:00.000+05:30

List five things that you want to say to people but never will. Don't say who they are.

1. Open your eyes. Look at yourself. Don't live in Denial. Before it's too late....
2. Don't change if you don't feel the need to. Keep pretending if it makes you happy.
We won't wait forever.
3. It's over. We're no more. It's all for the best so accept it and move on.
4. You misled me all the while. You broke me. Now, you're gone. But I'll wait for you. I adore you. Someday, we'll meet. Remember me.
5. I only live because it makes you happy, and that's how long I'll live. If it weren't for you, I would've been gone.... long ago.

Seven things I’d love to do before I die.

1. Sing on stage. Record an album.
2. Find the one. And then....
3. Play the lead. At the end of the show, stand centre-stage when the crowd has left, look at the empty seats with appreciation and take a bow.
4. Travel the world.
5. Own a large home. Keep dogs, gizmos, expensive furniture and decor etc. Earn a lot and engage in charity.
6. Social Activism. Fight till I drop.
7. Be happy unconditionally for over 6 hours at a stretch.

Five things I will not do even if it kills me.

1. Let myself be forced into it.
2. Cheat someone.
3. Take from the needy or the less-privileged.
4. Enter into a profession that gives me nothing.
5. Let anyone take advantage of my worth.

Five things I do when I'm away from the public.

1. Sing.
2. Look into the mirror and wonder who's looking back at me.
3. Touch myself and wonder if I truly exist.
4. Groan.
5. Dance or sway to the words and the rhythm.

Five fave sentences/quotes.

1. Remember, Remember, the face of you. Surrender, surrender to the touch of you.
2. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players
3. I, too, will fade away.
4. I'll be back. Look out for me.
5. There's No Need To Argue anymore.

Five things I'll make you wish you didn't do if you did.

1. Betray
2. Be unreasonable
3. Oppress the weak
4. Hypocrisy
5. Pull the carpet from beneath another's feet, when he deserved

People to tag-
1. Harshita
2. Neelav
3. Vipul

Summer Sorrow

2007-10-19T12:55:00.000+05:30

I truly wonder why "Summer of '69" is the anthem that it is. With all due respect, the composition is fabulous. The guitarring, I suppose, is superb!
But the words? They're so depressing.. A harbinger of the melancholic existence that awaits us and is inevitable.
It isn't just an ode to our younger years. For some, it serves as a reminder of a lifestyle that they would've wanted to live, even if only for a very short while, but couldn't. "Academics!!"
For the more fortunate who did live that summer of '69, a beautiful chapter of their lives that has ended.

Which of us led that normal life that absolutely normal life, none of which we'd want to change? Are we truly strong enough to let go of every unpleasant memory and consider our childhood well-lived, opportunities well taken and decisions well made?
More so, what lies ahead? Could it be as promising and inviting as the Summer of '69?

Did we truly spend a summer in a garage, fooling about with a six-string caring not for what lay ahead? Do we hold on, still, to those companions that we shared those moments with? Did we really ever think nothing would change?
What of those who walked away.... alone?

Confusions and Confessions

2007-09-27T15:24:00.000+05:30

Hello there! It's been a long time, hasn't it!
I do not intend to abandon you all, dear readers. Thus, one would wonder why I do not write here for such long periods.

I may or may not have stated in the past that writing, for me, is a passion. That is less than half of the entire truth.
In reality, writing has proven to be more of a necessity than desire.
Over time, one accumulates within oneself a lot of creative energy that compels the mind to burst at the seams unless the energy is channelled through a provided outlet.

So where does that leave me at this moment? The truth is that I presently find myself with numerous exits for my creative drive. Every evening, I rehearse for a forthcoming play, soon I shall prepare for my fifth Model UN Conference, details and tid-bits of which I shall share soon; and the many people around me with whom I converse and argue, drain me to great extents of this energy.

Nonetheless, you cannot take from a writer his pen and conversely, a writer must not yield it himself. Thus, you would discover frequent updates on Reflections which isn't as much of an artistic effort as this blog but a soft and subtle effort to pen my thoughts that would otherwise be lost.

Hence, I request you to bear with me. Meanwhile, do explore my reflections and share some of your own.

Goodbye until another day!

Retrospection..

2007-09-11T23:34:00.000+05:30

It has been long. Not much has changed. Time, however, does seem to have passed.
I realise I haven't been writing too often. In fact, I can scarcely recall what I ever wrote about.
There comes the time when you don't feel obligation towards anyone but yourself, or the motivation is lacking. You feel that emotion has dried up temporarily. You are compelled to await the arrival of the next monsoon to reinvigorate your senses. Until then, you are tempted to revel in complacency.

Going through my archive, I fail to reconcile with the fact that I wrote some of those pieces. The humour doesn't appeal to me any more. I struggle to comprehend how I sold myself and exaggerated to amuse and appeal. Maybe it was because I was at a point in my life different from what I am in at present.
Then again, who can truly say?

I bid thy leave at present, promising to return very soon. And honour it, I shall.

The author of this blog....

2007-08-11T12:15:00.001+05:30

is without internet for a week. Please check back later.

Misunderstandings

2007-07-23T12:30:00.000+05:30

Ever find yourself in a sticky situation whereby you're standing with a group of people and you make a comment directed at someone but another individual in close vicinity over-hears it and mistakenly assumes that it was intended for him or her?
Or even worse, ever discovered that it would be rather difficult if not impossible to clear that misunderstanding because of one reason if not another?
And as the icing on the cake, ever wondered if the misunderstanding would become reason enough for you to perceive a substantial amount of threat from the misunderstander?

Well, I found myself in a situation that could be quite described by.... well, the description of the not-so-hypothetical state-of-affairs as given above.

Roughly two days ago, I happened to meet up with some friends at a location towards the south of Delhi as one, whom I shall call DJ, was scheduled to return to college the next day. As it would happen, I met with DJ and Medha in the afore-not-mentioned location (top secret as it was) and having spent some time in one Cafe Coffee Day (where we did not order anything) we decided to drop in at DJ's cousin's house in the neighbourhood outside of which I would have the unique opportunity of parking my car, that I had left only 15 minutes ago in the paid-parking-lot of the complex; and win a meet and greet with her cousin's dog that she loved so.
And so I paid the paid-parking-lot-attendant for hosting my car for a period of 15 minutes (which I wasn't too upset about since I paid him with a very tattered 10-rupee-note) and we departed towards the house. As DJ insisted on having a go at driving my car (which in reality is my mother's since I don't get a car of my own for a 2 month vacation) and, taking a lengthy detour so that she could drive a reasonable amount, she got us safe and sound at our destination.

After an initial meet and greet with her cousin and family, she introduced us to the fine Dalmatian dog, named Shadow. Intriguingly, the dog took an instant liking to Medha but wasn't quite so friendly towards me. Having completed one round of cordial conversation, we slipped into another on dogs and began to share our own experiences of raising dogs.
Having shared my anecdote of Dalmatian-for-a-week, the spotlight fell on Medha who confessed (proudly) of owning a fine German Shepard.
In cognition of my dislike for German Shepards and other massive dogs alike, I expressed my disapproval of possessing dogs that are a threat to society and promptly turned towards Medha and, in a rejecting tone, uttered "Bad! Bad! Bad!"

Meanwhile, Shadow had been slinking around the room, quite pointlessly in fact, and had pretty much ignored or failed to comprehend our entire conversation, interesting though it should have been to him. This did not, however, stop him from overhearing my last comment to Medha, which he quite obviously considered a comment directed at him and rebutted with a growl and snarl, baring his full teeth at me.
Needless to say, I was astounded and felt a wee bit threatened, wondering how I could resolve his misconception. To no avail.

DentalDanger

2007-07-16T15:31:00.000+05:30

Either way, it's my bad (luck). Is this what they call a lose-lose situation?

In 40 minutes, I have a dentist appointment. Reason? He wants to redo a silver filling and substitute it with a white one. It's optional really. Should I desire it, I can continue to look like Bicentennial Man every time I say "Aaaah". Otherwise, I hit the D's chair for yet another memorable experience, the kind that make us go "Even if I must have a painful end, I hope it isn't over here."

The dilemma is such.

Option 1. I visit the dentist, sit on his chair, he puts on the cursed light, turns on the drill, I stiffen up in pain, resembling a statue that's just watched "Koi Mil Gaya" for a 5th time or "Krishh" for the first, and he spends 5 minutes telling me to relax because "I haven't even started yet!"
Then he commences the ritual of excavating the old filling, I grip the arm rest too firmly, thereby deflating its cushion. Then comes the worst and my mouth begins to shut involuntarily and he asks me politely to fight it open. Thereafter, with the aid of my willpower, his guidance and a crowbar, we extract his drilling machine from in between my jaws and he finishes the job.
The filling is cleared out and he discovers further decay so he has to "go deeper." I can't decline obviously, thus I sing curse humanity in my head very loudly in an attempt to drown the pain, wondering why they don't do these things with anaesthesia.
When I'm a needle's distance away from a coma, he finishes up and I throw my arms up and shout "Praise The Lord", subsequently screaming in vicious pain and sending all the patients
in the waiting room scurrying out for their lives. We shake hands, he says "See you in 6 months." I verbally express agreement, mock him silently and leap out in freedom till the following year when father drags me back for a check-up.

Option 2. I don't visit him this once, my deepened cavity goes unnoticed, deepens further over the year, I return to him with a tooth-ache next summer, he shakes his finger while singing and dancing to the "I Told You So" song, I sit there embarrassed, receive a root-canal instead and curse my bad luck.

What am I going to do????

EDIT: I went, got one filling replaced, not too painful, almost enjoyable. Bye! And don't forget to visit your dentist every 6 months!

I'd have prefered "A Storm" but....

2007-07-12T23:55:00.000+05:30

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerous
People will stop and watch you when you appear
Even though you're capable of random violence

You are best known for: your power

Your dominant state: performing

What Type of Weather Are You?

TOW God went "Oops!"

2007-07-09T19:19:00.000+05:30

I believe the reason we don't see god ever could be because god has banished himself for many many thousands of years as punishment. If he really exists, that is.
And assuming, even if hypothetically, that he exists, the reason that he would have to punish himself would be something like this..

I watched Die Hard 4.0 (Don't quite know yet why they put the .0 after the 4) yesterday and I can find myself drawing an analogy. I can't credit the film for stirring this thought in me, that I am about to share, because though it was a brilliant flick et all, I can't acknowledge it for accomplishing feats that it didn't really accomplish. It only happened that I drew that analogy 38 seconds ago with what I saw in the film yesterday.
Well, the analogy is such..

[analogy begins..]There was this person who a brilliant programmer. For people who're checking in from the Stone age and don't really know what a programmer is, don't bother wondering. Basically, there was this person who was really good at something.
[assumption]So he had this wonderful gift that empowered him to do great things. And he did some wonderful things for our benefit.[/assumption]
(Again, I use assumption tags here because I missed the first fifteen minutes of the film and can only assume he did those wonderful things in the first fifteen minutes of the film, especially because it would fit quite well with the storyline, and if that is in fact not how the film began, then the film isn't quite as good as I thought it was.)
Then one day, he did something that he thought was even more brilliant and noble and a favour to those who were watching him perform the brilliant task. Only, others who observed him thought it wasn't all that noble[/analogy] so they put a gun to his head and told him to stop performing this controversial "noble" task. If that wasn't enough, they disgraced him afterwards. That made this guy really mad. So he became evil and started trying to kill everyone and make lots of money for himself.

I ended the analogy in between the paragraph, as evident from the tags, because though god was gifted with powers to create a beautiful planet and wonderful plants, animals and fish (I don't like reptiles and I despise insects. A tortoise isn't a reptile, is it?) and then he did this horrid thing by creating Human Beings.... and the analogy ended there because no body put a gun to god's head (if he has one, if he exists) to tell him to stop and he didn't, afterwards, become evil and start killing everyone.... unless of course, he's causing Global Warming and fooling us into believing it's our fault, which I'm pretty sure isn't true. I doubt God is obsessed with making lots of money for himself because money is something we created just to point fingers and laugh at the poor people.

So after creating Human Beings and looking at what they turned out to be, he went "Oh golly!" and banished himself into a forest or an ocean (with Scuba Diving gear). Or he's probably hiding in the Himalayas, disguised as the Abominable Snowman. Or maybe he hasn't really disguised himself, and that's what he looked like all along and we just don't know.
Infinite possibilities really. But what is most likely a confirmed piece of news is that (if he exists,) he created humans, went "Oh Golly" and ran into hiding and abandonment as penance.

Why do I feel a sudden surge of hatred towards my own kind? It is probably because they're a selfish lot with inflated egos and go to any lengths to get what they want. When they see someone with something they desire, they start hurling insults and abuses at that person, thinking that they're quite quite smart when in fact, they're quite quite feather-brained.
[This post may or may not be "inspired" by anyone or anytwo or anymany in particular.... I'll leave that a mystery.] What I do maintain is that I think humans are an awful lot, only slightly better than crocodiles and more attractive than insects, though not as nice, and this is evident from how decent and kind and caring animals such as dogs are who love us unconditionally, until we pelt them with stones after which they're simply afraid of us. There are a few people who're actually very nice but they're very few and the number may be too large for me to count on my fingers because I only have ten but possibly can be counted by god on his fingers. If he has fingers. If he exists.

The Evolution of Man

2007-06-28T09:42:00.000+05:30

We created agriculture. Then we created settlements. We built roads, we built houses. Then we built markets, and hence, society.
We formed relationships. As friends, then as spouses. We created offsprings and they took it forward. Then there came hatred, then envy, rivalry. Then superiority, inferiority. Then came celebrity and then, the common man.
Common Man was stratified into White, coloured and black. Master and servant. Caste and creed.
We grew food, then we wanted commodities. We made plates, glasses, jars. Someone decided to make it a profession. Thus came textile, cutlery, handicrafts, footwear. First came Cottage and then, Industry.
We realised Purchasing Power, we devised barter, and then currency. Then came moneylending and then, credit. We set up banks. We conceptualised finance.
We developed communication. We created languages. We discovered knowledge of things that wouldn't have mattered if we hadn't come this far already.
Thus came into picture, education. We created schools, then colleges. These taught us language, then math. We decided the importance of learning history and geography. We discovered physics and chemistry. We created art and learned to appreciate it. Music, literature, dance. And to remind ourselves of all that we had created, there was Theatre.
Thus, there arose the literate and the illiterate. The teacher and the student. Then the headmaster, supervisor, teacher, lecturer, professor, reader.
We discovered technology, we created travel and then a need to travel. There came carts, cycles, rickshaws, cars, buses, trams, trains, boats and ships. And then, aviation. We made roads and decided on traffic rules. There came a correct side of the road and a wrong one.
Society created norms and standards. It decided on ethics and conduct. It dictated morals and convention. It composed rules and regulations. Good and Bad. God and Devil. Karma.
Those who abided were sustained. For others, it made coventry and prison. In prison and outside, we saw cruelty and neglect. We saw atrocity and criminalisation. We saw discrimination. And penance.
From gathering and hunting food, we went to finding employment, garnering income and paying taxes. Banking and investments. Stocks and shares. We defined "Survival".
From the need of a cave to spend the night, we went to Real Estate. A hut, a cottage, an apartment, a house with a yard, a mansion. And in between, forts and palaces.
From gathering fruit and hunting meat, we went to cuisines in restaurants.
Friendship and fidelity.

Is man really an animal?

Mission Atlantis

2007-06-21T22:57:00.000+05:30

The countdown begins for the landing of NASA Space Shuttle Atlantis, that is scheduled to bring back to earth, Sunita Williams, NASA Astronaut of Indian descent who has spent the past 6 months at the International Space Centre, somewhere in outer-space.
Though few of the 2-billion populace of India are aware, the shuttle also carries six other astronauts (who are not of Indian descent).

As nation-wide prayers, organised by numerous educational and religious institutions, conducted by priests and attended by our masses, are held for the safe return of the "Indian" astronaut, your favourite reporter catches up with the various strata of Indian society that concern themselves with this rare spectacle.

...say the Priests
"We are praying for the well being of Sunita-beti. She is a good cultured Indian girl who is making the country proud by flying in space."

Though off the record,
"Right, so it isn't exactly the wedding season but money has never been this good during this time of the year and we have little reason to question or complain. Besides, we're concerned about the well-being of all individuals, Indian or phoren as long as there is some dakshina."

... says the Indian junta
"Sunita has brought pride and glory to the nation. Her accomplishments are a validation of the pinnacles to which Indians are ascending. She is like our own daughter and has become a house-hold name. We are proud of Sunita and we are proud of India."

Behind closed doors,
"Right, so we know she isn't exactly "Indian" or that she cares much about this country but we are, nonetheless, going to take a little bit of credit for her success. After all, somewhere up her family tree, someone was conceived on our soil, which is probably why she has triumphed in her work. So did you hear about Mrs. Malhotra? I heard she and her husband were....."

...says the Media
"After the unfortunate Columbia disaster of 2003, the entire nation is concerned with the safe arrival of Sunita Williams after her 6-month long space expedition. She is the second woman of Indian origin to fly in space and is capturing the interests of the Indian audiences nationwide."

Under the table,
"Right, so she's not exactly important to the nation and it isn't as if our political scenario, poverty, unemployment, illiteracy or low self-dignities are going to be alleviated by her return to planet earth but as long as we can fabricate her life-and-times into a catchy news-item and brainwash the Indian audiences into believing that she is an inspiration to and symbolises the needs and aspirations of our younger generations and that she defines India's competency at the global level, we're only helping her help us rake in some viewership and are offering her, in return, a spot in prime-time.

...say the little children
"Sunita didi is my role model. Some day, I hope to follow in her foot steps. She makes us proud of our country. We are proud of India."

Over some candy,
"*Munch munch* Ma'am asked us to say so.... Ek aur hai?"

Blue-Moon June

2007-06-20T12:48:00.001+05:30

I return yet again to share with you a glorious experience I had last night.
But before I come to that, I shuttle back to the evening of June the 7th. That evening, I boarded a Jet Airways flight from Bangalore with my sister (who, on a side-note, managed to talk the ground-staff into allowing us 24 kgs of excess baggage at no charge) bound for home, which awaited us in New Delhi.
The flight, much to my disappointment, fell strongly short of my expectations. A ridiculous amount of turbulence (that I really can't blame them for) and a most unsatisfying dinner (that I certainly can) didn't quite treat us with the Jet experience. I suppose, in a convoluted way, we were reimbursing them for our excess baggage, though unfortunately at the cost of all the other passengers as well. Their bad.
And then, two hours and a half onwards, we stepped off the aircraft.

As we did so (the stepping off) I was greeted by a blast of warm air. Warm? It was excruciatingly HOT! I turned around to step back on to the air-craft and request the captain to promptly return to a destination where my fundamental-right-to-freedom-of-life-free-of-ridiculously-horrid-climate was not violated, but the moving crowd pushed me down the aero-stairs. I was choice-less.

During the three days that followed, I made myself home before either the air-conditioner blast or vertically under the fan, snapping at any individual that so much as dared to ask me to move so much an inch. When asked to perform any chores, I'd adopt an expression of utter shock and retaliate with my standard response of "In this HEAT!?!"
I'd become a cosseted one, over-indulged by my college.

But then on my fourth day here, magic occurred! It wasn't so hot any more! Scanty clouds camouflaged the grey smoke-ladened sky and I resolved that iron could not be smelted in open-air any longer. I thanked the weather gods and normal life began to return.
On the 8th day, another surprise was in store. It began to RAIN! And ever since, I would be woken every morning by the pitter-patter or raindrops on the balcony and the miniature asbestos roof.
Delhi just became a tad more inviting.

Last night undoubtedly took the cake. It happened such that we were returning from the international airport where my aunt had landed at 2 am from HongKong. Having received her and dropped her off at her place, we made our way homewards. As it so happened, my father developed a certain desire to sink his teeth into Club Sandwich. As it happens, not many eateries in the city are equipped to entertain such cravings at 4 am in the morning. Thus, we headed for the nearest 24-hour-coffee-shop-equipped-hotel, taking a detour through the ridge.
As we sped down an empty road, the windows rolled down, I popped out a hand, making waves in the rushing air. I was startled by a frosty nip. That, my father said, was one of the many gifts of the forests that fenced us, and the temperature outside wouldn't be in excess of 25.
Delhi is indeed a city like no other, with flora that few other metropolitans could boast of. As we sped down the stretch on that evening of June, it gave us an experience that was enchantingly.... December.

Finding solace somewhere....

2007-06-19T22:16:00.000+05:30

Hiya.
Truth is, sometimes one is travelling in a car or having lunch or something of the sort and all these thoughts come into one's head, with some direction or intention and one starts pondering over them and wording them laced with wit and humour. One really enjoys how it well it seems to be turning out in one's head and laughs at the merrier aspects and sobs (silently) through the melancholic ones.
So the family may think you're nuts to be laughing and sobbing at absolutely nothing, but oh well!

When you finally sit yourself down before a sheet of paper or before a laptop computer or before one's personal-blogging-secretary/sexretary, those thoughts vanish so perfectly that one feels inclined to believe they were never there at all, quite like the story-line of a Karan Johar flick or Ekta Kapoor's story-writing skills. Truth is, if we hadn't reflected over something to such an extent, we wouldn't have bored ourselves of them.

And thus I endeavour to write this entry without any preconceived ideas or intentions. So it may be pathetic. Then again, it may not. Then again-again, it may fall somewhere in between. Who knows!

But approaching more sober and serious matters, there are times when life plays a cruel joke upon you that you are left wordless and numb. That home isn't quite home any more, and something feels very empty, both inside and out. You wish to get away to a foreign land where all is fresh and new and you can shut out thoughts of the bitter reality that exists, seeking solace in oblivion, hoping that maybe when you return, time will have healed and the ordeal will seem so far in the past that it is reduced to a distant memory. Distant memory, the kind that you want to shut out, to subjugate and you succeed to the extent that it feels old and forgotten. You feel that you have succeeded till those around you bring it up time and again. And you want to get away, even if it means getting away from those who love you and those you love. But it's just too painful and distressing to be around.
Time is a healer.
But time passes slowly, when you really need it to fly.

A lasting impact

2007-06-14T11:20:00.000+05:30

Oh al right, agreed! It isn't polite to ignore those few individuals that visit your world. I cannot ignore you.

I haven't many humorous anecdotes to share, thus if you were in search for them, flutter away. Though I'm not exactly forcing myself to blog at present, I am making an effort.

The thing is, when you live in a hostel room, all that exists between one wall and another comprises 2 beds, 2 cupboards, 2 study tables (one of which is very messy, i.e., mine) and other little bits. The centrepiece is a wi-fi enabled lappietoppie. And when there is very little of other things to do on a lappietoppie, one logs on to Blogger and writes stuff and nonsense about one's tiresome modus vivendi. It's a very small world.
At home, all the things above reduce to one in measure along with a sister who hoards the internet connection at all hours of the day, thereby incapacitating Yours Truly to write to you all.
But today I have garnered the opportunity to acquiesce to your demands and shall comply.

As mentioned before, I have no outrageously uproarious events to relate, but a few less hilarious ones nonetheless.

1. The first occurred on my first day in Delhi. Scandalised by the weather conditions that I discovered upon stepping off the airplane, I vowed to discover an institution that would admit me during the day, allow me to loll about till evening when I could return home once the heat had subsided. Of course, the institution had to be severely air-conditioned.
One such inst. was the British Council Library. I discovered it as a viable option as it lay near the Metro track. Thus, I'd move from my air-conditioned house to an air-conditioned train, into an air-conditioned library, return to the air-conditioned train and back home when the weather was less exacerbating.
So I was returning from the library, with a brochure in my hand, walking towards the train when I chanced upon an old acquaintance from school ahead of me. This individual I had worked with in an event at school, and was not particularly fond of. I wouldn't have minded saying hello to him had he not been walking like a constipated chimpanzee, flirting aggressively with his companion.
As he was moving rather slow and I couldn't overtake him without being noticed, I crossed the road and began to approach the train from the other side.
And so I was trudging along when I happened to approach 3 gentlemen (approximately my age) who stood conveniently on my path. One looked right at me and I observed on his face, an expression of joy and jubilation, the sort one bears upon discovering an old friend.
"Dhruv!?!" he cried in joy. I smiled back, said hello and we spoke for 2-3 minutes, updating each other about where exactly it was that our lives had led us.
Eventually, I bade him goodbye, almost promising to meet him again. We didn't exchange numbers so I doubt he believed me.
As I walked away, I wondered if I had ever seen him before. His face was so refreshingly unfamiliar, I was truly puzzled. But since he managed to recognize me by name, I supposed he was not a total stranger.
Oh well, I suppose I touch people's lives such that many years after I have forgotten them, they still smile upon beholding my presence.

2. The second incident occurred two days ago. Having developed an interest in theatre over the past year, I agreed to attend a play with my father staged by the National School Of Drama. Though it was in hindi, I chose to risk it, and it was worth. The play titled Kafka - Ek Adhyay (meaning Kafka - A Chapter) was based on German writers Franz Kafka. The experience was entertaining owing to the German setting, costumes, short and awkward choreography and a brilliant portrayal of the lead actor's youngest sister Otla a lady whose name I don't quite recall. Her dialogue delivery and presence was so awe-inspiring that I was enamoured.
Caught in the enthusiasm of the experience, I was talked into attending another play 2 days later, an immensely popular musical titled "Ghansiram Kotwal." I'm sure the play lived upto all expectations. But owing to the Marathi-Hindi spoken for most of it, I did not understand a word.
I would've dismissed the 2 hours as wasted had it not been for a short moment that I shared.
It was any other dull scene, as incomprehensible as any other. On the stage were countless actors, one of whom was beloved Otla, who played minuscule parts in that drama, possibly owing to her inability to speak an archaic language. Having sung her lines, she stood in position, frozen. Possibly by chance, her gaze was directed towards me. Our eyes met. Mine were locked. And she smiled. A toothy smile.
Every time she appeared on stage after that, I observed her. She did not smile again.

Chapter 2

2007-06-03T23:54:00.000+05:30

Hello Humans!
I present myself this evening at four minutes to midnight, not to share with you an uproarious tale, nor a horrific event but a dull rhetoric of who I am, what I want out of life and what I am up to these days.... except the bit about "Who I am" or "What I want out of life"

I am a ninteen year-ol....
Err, no wait.

Ah yes, I am presently in a position to wrap up with my end-semester examinations on the day after tomorrow, thereby earning one-fourth of my Engineering Degree.

Since the commencement of my exams, that I regarded with utmost gravity, I have completed reading "About A Boy" by Nick Hornby. The reason for this selection was that both the title and the author sounded resoundingly familiar to me, and I thus assumed that this title must have been a best-seller. My assumption was possibly incorrect but I, nonetheless, had a very good read.
I heard the book was adapted on the big screen, starring Hugh Grant, which annoys me because I feel that he's being type-casted. Thus, I hope never to end up watching the film.

Another title that I picked up yesterday was "The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Night-time" which you will notice was adapted on my previous blog title. That was because the title fit just fine.
The book is lovely. The narration is by a boy suffering from a form of autism. I wonder how the author (Mark Haddon) managed to interpret the thought process of an autistic.
If you have read the book, you will notice a slight resemblance between the style that the novel adopts and that of this blog entry. The effect is unintentional. It is simply a hangover, though hangovers usually don't occur till one is over with something and I've only completed half of the book.

I like TCIOTDITN because it leaves you with a good feeling. This is something Jayashree told me because I haven't finished the book yet.

I recently watched Amelie and The Color People and both of those movies left me with a good feeling, thus I know that I shall enjoy finishing this book.
Amelie is a brilliant film. I hope everyone gets to watch it in their lifetime. So is The Color Purple which is a controversial film directed by Steven Speilberg in 1985 starring Whoopie Goldberg and could be the most sensitive film he could have made.

That is all for now.
Good bye!

The Curious Incident of the....

2007-06-02T17:50:00.000+05:30

It's the talk of the town! Everyone is raving about it!
Recently unveiled, it isn't really the first of its kind, but a brilliant emulation of its predecessor. Newly renovated with sparkling clean tiles and vivid colours, it's the all new Air Conditioned Library!
In the past 2 weeks, you've witnessed so many walk through those glass doors. Everyone is in awe of it. How long can you contain your curiosity? Not long! What is the experience truly like? You desire first-hand knowledge.

Thus, on one fine day, you take the endeavour. It's late evening and you enter. Someone's even courteous enough to hold the door open for you, even though you don't quite know him.

As you enter, people look up from their books. And they stare at you.
"How odd," you think to yourself. "I wish they wouldn't stare so!"
You wander a bit, hoping that they'll return to their work rather soon. But they don't. They continue to peer at you. It is almost as if they have forgotten all boundaries of social conduct. They aren't even making the effort to pretend that they aren't intruding on your privacy. They're openly gazing!

You move away from the gazing eyes, towards another end of the hall. As you walk, everyone looks up. Some even point directly at you and laugh!
"What's wrong with them?" you wonder. "Have they absolutely no civic sense whatsoever?"
Evidently not!

I am, meanwhile, sitting at the round table at one far end of the hall. The clock is approaching ten (or rather, my watch is approaching ten, but I'm quite sure the clock would be complying as well.") The hall shall close, as per schedule, at half past, thus I have no more than half an hour of study with me. The pressure is building, and I am concentrating harder.
Suddenly, I observe you from the corner of my eye. I look up. You've disappeared.
"Stop hallucinating!" I tell myself, but only softly, less people think I'm schizophrenic. "You have tons left to finish!"
I return to my book. Two seconds pass. Then I notice you, again from the corner of my eye. I jerk my head upwards. AHA! I saw you! I smile. You ignore my presence altogether. Customarily, I would be offended. But I take the higher ground and overlook your hostility. I rise from my seat and follow you silently. You aren't aware, for you have your back towards me. I slowly withdraw my phone from my pocket and activate the camera.
CLICK!
You did not notice. I follow further.
Click! CLICK!
How very oblivious you are!

You begin to proceed away, towards the main door, possibly offended with all the glaring eyes. En route, you pause. I'm stalking you. I pause too.
You lower your posterior and defecate on the clean floor.
Everyone is observing. Everybody laughs! You quickly finish up and are on the move again.

You wonder why we are all amused at your presence amongst us. So you're a dog! Big deal! Has no one ever witnessed a dog in the library?

The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night-Time in The Library. Indeed!

Breakfast At KC's

2007-05-09T10:36:00.000+05:30

It was yet another handsome Sunday morning. The air was pleasantly cool, the crows were not cawing, and there was a Sunday-Morn Silence all around as the world would sleep till 10. Everything seemed to be at its usual, but for the trees outside my window. They were unerringly where I had left them the previous evening. Indeed, they hadn't moved an inch! What is most astonishing is that they don't appear to have budged ever since my earliest recollections of them. They simply remain where they are, all the time. Almost as if it is customary of them to remain put! Hmm.. Funny business.

As is not uncommon on Sunday mornings, both beautiful and dreadful ones, college was closed, which meant that the college canteen was shut leaving me with no choice but to seek alternative establishments to provide me my breakfast. One such establishment is called KC Canteen that is located roughly 127 steps away from my hostel gate. No, I haven't counted. It is an estimate (add or subtract a thousand). And that was precisely where I headed.

As most of the world is asleep at 9 AM on Sundays, I went unaccompanied. And for a fairly similar reason, I found that the canteen (hereafter referred to as KC) was not thronging with hungry college-goers as it usually is after 10.

Now a word or two about the canteen.... sorry, KC.... before we proceed. The capacity of KC does not exceed 30, with 4 people sharing a table (unless of course 6 people gracelessly force themselves onto one), thus if you visit alone, you are likely to have to share a table with a perfect stranger (and sometimes, a far-from-perfect one). During early and odd hours, however, low occupancy may allow you to afford a table-for-four all to yourself.

And that was the privilege that was bestowed upon me on that Sunday morning, for I was able to occupy the last unoccupied table in the canteen, with all others having an occupant or two.

The waiter appeared before me, with an expression of utter boredom on his visage. He always has an expression of boredom on his face, something that is nearly as constant as the position of the trees outside my window. Hmm.. Funny business.

I placed my order. He registered and left. Though I was not witness to the same and thus could never testify it before the court of law (with a clear conscience), my instincts told me that as he departed from before me, he continued to have an expression of utter boredom on his face. And that the trees still hadn't moved. Hmm.. Funny business.

So I sat there, waiting. The wait was not long, but in the course of the next minute, something apart from the ordinary happened.

The situation is such. Since I had no company at that ghastly hour on that Sunday morning and since there isn't anything particularly brilliant or attractive about the interiors of KC, I was gazing out the windows. As if it was meant to happen, my gaze fell upon a spectacle so cinematic that it unnerved me.

From a distance, I saw the advancement of nobody short of an adversary. Affectionately christened by me as Ess Row, you can read my tribute to him here.

Having experienced much more of his expertise in the field of English since I wrote that tribute, I take the opportunity to disclose more about this great dignitary with you at this point in time.

After attending one class of his, one pleads silently within, "Why?"

After attending 10 glorious lectures by him, one drops to his knees, clasps his hands together, looks up towards the heavens and screams in pain, "Why, god, why?"

After ending the fortieth, one loses faith in god.

Mercifully, no one has had to attend beyond 30.

As I was saying, I sat there and saw the enemy draw near. The effect was cinematic. He did not seem to be approaching the entrance to KC progressively, nor gliding, skipping or hopping towards it, for that matter. He was clearly charging. Gung-Ho! His figure was looming larger by the second and whatever remains of his hair to this day, was flying in the wind. How he enlivened that effect sans hi-tech equipment or cameras, I may perhaps never acertain. Though again I have no proof of the same since the window constrained my view, it appeared to me that he was riding a horse.

Now don't begin about the absurdity of owning horses in South India. I rode nothing short of a camel, with hump and all, not more than 2 kilometers away from KC less than a month ago, thus I do not find it incredible that Ess Row should find it too arduous a task to procure a horse and trot at full speed towards his breakfast.

To recapitulate thus far, on that Sunday morning, when the trees had not budged and the waiter at KC flaunted an expression of utter boredom on his face, Ess Row stormed in full spirit towards KC on a horse.

Needless to say I looked around me and panicked. No, I did not suddenly find myself in an army on a battlefield, soon to be attacked by Ess Row “The Indomitable”. What a did discover was that there remained not a single empty table in the canteen.

And tell me now, why should a person who can not find an empty table at KC, share one with a familiar face, be it a colleague or a defenceless student?

The reasoning may or may not be logical, but as it happened, I panicked.

Without sparing a thought, or even a fraction of it, I grabbed my belongings, rose like thunder, dove towards the adjacent table and collapsed onto the bench, opposite its formerly solitary occupant, and heaved a sigh of relief.

The unsuspecting bloke, on whose privacy I had unceremoniously intruded, seemed not to be cognizant of the English Professor that approached on a horse or anything out of the ordinary and thus found my behaviour most nonconforming. This was validated by the manner in which he glared at me, as if a hyena had materialised before him out of nothingness. To the best of my faculties, under the bizarre circumstances, I avoided his look.

Meanwhile, the waiter appeared with my order where I previously sat, and placed it before empty space. Noticing that he was serving food to hot air, that was unlikely to consume or pay for it, he raised an eyebrow to the best of his ability. As it dawned upon him that the empty space had not placed the order to begin with, he sought the entity that had.

Discovering me behind him, he placed the food where it belong and, with a slightly malformed expression of utter boredom on his face, departed.

My table companion glared at the apparating hyena, as it breakfasted on South Indian food.

Somewhere in the canteen, another unsuspecting and ill-fated bloke, discovering an unsolicited breakfast date imposed upon him, pleaded silently within himself, “Why?”

Taggedy Dee

2007-05-01T09:56:00.000+05:30

.
Tagged by Nishi

1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
The only visible scar that I presently flaunt is on my right wrist. This also happens to be listed as my identification on my Passport. Interestingly, it appears to have faded, and thus, my passport is under jeopardy.

How did I get it? I cannot remember. I suppose I've had it ever since I can remember. A birthmark? Nah!
I do recall asking someone about it, when I was very young. As young people usually observe, scarcely so we receive an honest response. I was told that I was bit by a bird. Honestly, one would think I'd asked how babies were born.
Nonetheless, it endowed me with a good story to pass on to anyone who questioned its origin. Such as now.

2. What is on the walls in your room?

Mon bedroom? I cannot recall. A wooden shelf for sure, that carries dusty books. Maybe a calendar. Don't think there's much. One has enough side-tables at home to stock ones belongings.
Mon Hostel Room? Interestingly, a lot. Two cheap imitations of famous paintings, 2 frames with family pictures, an RBRRK calendar, two small wooden shelves with plastic creepers hanging off them, another work of art made by Jo for Chinti and 2 puppets by the windows that I got from Jaipur on my last trip. Then of course, there are the curtains. And 2 badminton rackets, scarcely used.
To give you an idea :-

3.What does your phone look like?

Big, bulky, almost like a box.

But I love it! It combines a cell-phone with an iPod. A Sony Walkman! W550.

4.What music do you listen to?

Alt Rock and a bit of pop if its really good. I like Country, Instrumental (expecially Piano and violins)
Favourite Artist : Dolores O'Riordan. For more, check Orkut Profile, thanks.

5. What is your current desktop picture?

A snap I took at Railway Bridge, somewhere on the Konkan Railway. Thank you Kits for dragging me along and most importantly, thanks Bappa for taking us to such a heavenly place.

6. What do you want more than anything right now?

A keyboard, a marksheet with top grades and my name on it.
The entire collection of episodes of I Love Lucy, I Dream Of Jeannie.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?

I don't think that's anything to believe or not believe in, as such. So I support it? In the long run, yes. As of now, I think de-criminalising homo~ty is of more importance.

In the US, I support it, yes. Canada, I respect.

8. What time were you born?

Memory fails me. Would have loved to be born at midnight, though Mother would've hated me for it, but I think it was afternoon. My father, I believe, was born somewhere around midnight, which I quote as the reason for being confused about his birthday for many years. He claims it is spread over 2 days.

9. Are your parents still together?

Yes. Wish I could think of an alternative way of putting it, but nothing comes to mind.

10. What are you listening to?

Dolores O'Riordan - Are You Listening?

Track - Angel Fire (performed Live at The Hospital, London)

11. Do you get scared of the dark?

Terrified. Which is odd because the dark is something that I wish to embrace and appreciate, but I suppose to get there, I shall first have to stop shivering at its "sight".

12. The last person to make you cry?

The way of the world is that he or she whose name I would quote here would be the first person to make me, thereafter. Thus, I shall decline to answer.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?

Sex Appeal! Yeah baby! My Very First!

Interestingly, my very first Deodorant (Just Do It! .... or was it simply "Do It!"??) was also my favourite for a very long time!

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?

Dark Brown hair is terribly attractive. Eyes? Green, Purple, Light brown. The wierder, the better!
I may speak to the contrary when she wears them but I adore Mum's brown-coloured lenses on her.

15. Do you like painkillers?

By golly yes! I can still remember the first time I took a Combiflam. It was right after school, in the 12th standard, and my legs weighed a million stones each. I had a physics tuition class immediately afterwards. Couldn't imagine how I'd make it there. But it was CF to the rescue. I still worship that painkiller, while avoiding it, what with how bad it is for you and all.

16. Are you too shy to ask out someone?

I'd be too shy to ask someone for a pencil. Oh alright, that's an exaggeration. For a favour, possibly yes. Does that answer?

17. Fave pizza topping?

Jalapeño.
And yes, a tip to all losers out there. The J is pronounced H, no matter what the blokes at Subway, Manipal may claim.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

I'd start with a serving of Pasta (Penne) in white sauce with garlic bread, followed by Baked Vegetables in Augratin, then pasta again. To finish it off, a pineapple soufflé and Mother Dairy's Strawberry Crush Ice-Cream!

Sob! I want home!

19. Who was the last person you made mad?

Err, I make lots of people mad with every passing second. I doubt I'd know.

20. Is anyone in love with you?

Who knows!

A Sweet Sacrifice

2007-04-28T20:17:00.001+05:30

I suppose my very first actual attempt at fiction. Re-reading it, it sounds awful to me. But I do consider it my very first.
____

Rahel sat behind his desk, sneaking glances at her. Her vibrant smile and shrill laughter made his heart flutter. He did not speak to her often, for he didn't have the courage to. He did, however, like her very much. Whenever he did gather the courage to initiate conversation, she was always cordial and polite but the words exchanged would be few. If she ever spoke to him, his knees would shake and occasionally, he would stutter.

Misha had always been popular. She wasn't very pretty but she was only 13 and beauty would grow on her in time. Rahel wasn't the only one who knew that. Many boys felt a passion for her. So far, only one had acted on it.

Vivek belonged to a wealthy family. There could be no other explanation to his handsome allowance. He was frequently at the canteen, a privilege few could afford at that age, and was often seen treating Misha, consequently buying time with her.

Rahel could not afford such frivolities on his allowance. He came from a modest household and was prudent with his expenditures. In his heart, he disliked Vivek, but not too much for he was not one to hold grudges.

The next day was 'Chocolate Day'. Some of the girls had been talking eagerly about it. Rahel had not heard of it before. Seemingly, people exchanged chocolates on that day as a gesture. A gesture of what? He did not know. Possibly affection. Probably friendship.

The thought made his mind wander. Soon, he found himself torn between his mind and his heart. H heart won.

That evening, he crept out of his house and walked to the nearest store. He felt his heart beatng loudly but did not know why. His every step was burdened with apprehension.

In the store, he glanced inside his wallet. A twenty rupee note was all that it had. It was a lot at that time for a person his age. He figured that if he bought a chocolate for less than fifteen, he'd have at least five rupees to himself.

He peered into the glass box with the chocolates on display. "How much?" he asked the shopkeeper, pointing at one that seemed neither too large, nor too small. Just right. "Twenty" was the response.

His heart fell. He contemplated. Then Misha came to his mind. He bought it. As he walked back, though the apprehension had not left him, he was filled with anticipation for the day to come.

The next day saw the tittering girls exchanging chocolates between themselves, though mostly candy. Rahel felt happy with the bar of chocolate in his pocket. He waited till he felt the moment was right. Soon, he knew the moment wouldn't come. After much deliberation, he rose and walked towards Misha. As always, his legs were weak and unsteady.

She sat behind her desk, munching at her candy while she gossiped with her friend.
He drew up to her. "Misha...." he called, in almost a whisper. She paused and turned around to face him. He reached into his pocket. As his fingers closed around the bar, Vivek appeared from behind.
"Happy Chocolate Day, Misha," he exclaimed while placing a box of Ferrero Rochers, an imported brand of expensive chocolate, in her hands.
"Oh my god!" cried Misha. "Thank you so much Vivek! I love these!" Her face was filled with delight as she beheld the treasure. "Oh Vivek, you spoil me! This is so unexpected!"
Suddenly aware of Rahel's presence amidst them, she turned to him, still smiling, "You called me, Rahel?"
"Oh no, it was nothing really," whispered Rahel, mostly to himself.
Misha looked at him, her smile giving way to slight bewilderment, as he stepped back and walked away.

Barber Blooper

2007-04-26T02:02:00.000+05:30

Howdy all! It has jolly well been a long time, hasn't it! I do not wish to abandon you all, thus I return.
To be able to return, one needs to have something to write about.. an anecdote or a limerick.
Poor memory, an uneventful life or the sheer lack of desire comprise some of the obstacles that deny us a story to share. There are those who write as an obligation. Then again, some of us refuse to compromise on our dignity by harping on endlessly about food.
Well, today I return for I have something to say.
Did you know that New York is not the capital of the United States? Err.. no, that's not it. I digress.

A yes, Barber Blooper.
Every time we blog, we attempt to title the post with the intention of summarising the entire narration in a few words. Then again, there are those who title an entry "My Trip To Alabama" and deliberate on the Indian Independence Struggle. But as you must've guessed, I do not belong to that category of persons.

So back to Barber Bloopers.
The event occurred at.... well, the barber's. On the scene were 3 boys, say Boy 1, Boy 2 and Boy Me as well as a girl, say Girl. Here, it may be noted that Girl was (is) a scamp.
Boy 1 needed a shave. Boy 2, Boy Me and Girl, you'd be interested to know, did not. Nonetheless, they accompanied to the barber as it conveniently fell on their way home and as it is sometimes expected of people the grounds of friendship.

Thus, we entered 'Super Hairdresser', which I'd suppose to be Manipal's most frequented Men's Saloon.
The layout of the saloon is as shown.

Door 1 would be the Main Door and the remaining 3 lead to 3 enclosures where one finds a lot of hair flying around.

As we entered through Door 1, Boy 1 promptly disappeared behind Door 3 into the A/C Enclosure of the parlour. As the glass walls were tinted, we could not observe what ensued behind them. As he has gone for over a quarter of an hour, rather excessive for a simple shave, we were puzzled as to what could beget the delay, tempting us to arrive at our own wicked conclusions. That he emerged with the top 2 buttons of his shirt undone only aggravated our curiosity. That they were undone even before he had disappeared behind the door was his saving grace.

During the wait, we sat on the benches adjacent to Door 1, looking disinterested in the general administration of the saloon. Time and again, an employee would appear from one of the three doors (2,3 or 4) and ask Boy 2 and Boy Me if we desired their services, since we were utilising the bench space, the oxygen within the room and the wind from their fan, particularly ear-marked for waiting customers. The girl was never questioned as it was a men's saloon. Owing to this discrimination, she was slightly offended and would occasionally requesting a shave. For some obnoxious and unfathomable reason, none of the barbers took her seriously.

Eventually, we tired of sitting and Boy Me rose, pulled Girl through Door 2 where a rather timid-looking bloke, whom I shall call Bloke, stood by a chair, gazing at the door. Boy Me pushed Girl towards him and convincingly proclaimed that Girl wanted a shave. A short explosion of laughter emerged from Girl, which she subsequently stifled, pulled a straight face and corroborated that she indeed wanted one that very moment. Bloke smiled from ear to ear and looked embarrassed, but refused to play along with us.
Just then, a barber walked around us from behind, picked up a hand-towel and started drying Bloke's face. Bloke walked past us to the cash counter to pay.
Meanwhile, Boy Me and Girl realised their blunder and burst out of Door 1, bursting with hysterical laughter that they were unable to control.
Bloke too emerged from the door, still smiling in embarrassment and blushing a crimson red.

Today's weather forecast

2007-04-06T10:49:00.000+05:30

Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable!

The climate of this town is utterly profane. Who, when, where and how authorised the mercury to soar to such extent and the humidity to haunt the life out of us? How can such terrible weather be permitted?

Call the police, summon the Union Government, appeal to the Supreme Court. There has been a serious violation of Human Rights! An entire civilisation is under threat! If that wasn’t horrid enough, I too am part of it!

Why is this grave act of torture upon innocent masses being overlooked? Why aren’t the media reporting the agony that we are being subjected to? Why has the parliament not convened to discuss measures of control? Why has this climate not been condemned by diplomats from the world over? If we debate abolition of institutions such as capital punishment that only plague individuals on moral grounds, is it not imperative to advocate a ban on weather conditions such as these? It is nothing short of top priority. Then WHY are the concerned authorities not taking initiatives?

To make it worse, clouds mock us all day. They think it is all very amusing to hang there in the sky, look grey and promising and then just leave.

What are clouds made of, I ask you? What is their most fundamental composition? What is it you say? Water, is it? Well, why don’t we see any of it?

Can one ever consume butter that wouldn’t make his cholesterol rise? Have you ever purchased an umbrella that drenches you?

Then how can clouds contain water and feign dryness? The very thought of it is preposterous. And lo behold, I am told that nothing can be done about it.

Why would anyone say such a horrid thing? Why would anyone steal from another person an inkling of hope, a drop of desire and a pinch of motivation to fight the injustices that exist around him?

Did the people of Geneva step back and watch as Hitler took over their nation and spread the wings of his autocratic strategies over the rest of the world? Did America sit silent as France attempted to steal from it the Statue of Liberty? Did Jesus’s apostles not file an FIR when the Hindus stole the Bhagvat Gita right from under them? (Kindly avoid correcting any awry contentions. I’m positively peeved.)

Then why oh why do we sit back as the climatic conditions jeer at us?

Outright blasphemy.

2007-04-03T23:06:00.000+05:30

Dearth of posts on this web log are adequately compensated here....

Dream

2007-04-01T08:43:00.000+05:30

Percy Bysshe "A dream has a power to poison sleep."

I differ. "A dream poisons sleep."

The day concludes. We return home after physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. We yearn for rejuvenation of our faculties to face another day. We yearn for replenishment of our senses, for a few hours of mental solace. We yearn for sleep.

We shut our eyes. Events of the day that has elapsed plague our minds. We push them away. They persist. We seek aid to squeeze them out of our minds. A child seeks a lullaby, an adult seeks a song.

Slowly, we begin to drift. Our physical senses lose control, but don't leave us. The mind detaches itself from them, but only almost.

We drift into an Other world. A world not very different from the one in which we lay 'asleep', yet different. Everything here is out-of-place, or rather in a different place. We may not be ourselves. At least, not in every way.

In our dreams, too, we face challenges. We are faced with many tasks to be accomplished. Yet, we cannot pursue them. Yet, the mind has no control over our physical senses. It must observe. In moments of intensity, it tries hard to hint the other self that contols our being, but cannot power over it.

Often, we are seeking for something that we may or may not be able to find. If found, it doesn't vaguely resemble what we had sought all along.

There is no reason, no logic, no pattern.... but a vague connection with our past or person. Nothing can be questioned. Everything must be endured.

We follow our other self as he journeys through a world we've never seen in person before yet is we treat it as familiar.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing fits. Yet we attempt to decipher it all. Our effort is futile for its fruit is soon forgotten by even our own self. Yet the effort is made.

Hours go by in what seems like seconds. Time stands still in the Other world.

The Other world begins to fade. From the darkness, emerges our own in which mind controls the body.

Another day.

The mind is fatigued. Yet, we must rise. Our senses protest but there is no one to listen. Another day has begun and we must rise.

When that day has ended, there is no solace. We must return to the Other world, which is scarcely constant.

This cycle is vicious. The mind is helpless. It protests, but no one listens.

Journey through the Ghats

2007-03-28T11:21:00.000+05:30

A little piece I wrote in the train en route to Udupi from Goa a few weeks back

____

An early morning or late evening ride on the Konkan route is truly magical. The clock is soon to strike 7pm and I shall soon arrive at my destination, the temple town of Udupi.
The sun has set. Dusk shall fall soon. The pines stand tall and motionless but for the occasional gust of wind. The sky appears to be overcast but isn't. The expanse neither a shade of blue, nor one of red but falls somewhere conveniently in between. The hills yonder are no more than an outline. The mist averts the eye from beholding its details. They appear a dull shade of grey.

Lush open fields here are sporadic and few. The track is abounded by evergreen forests of the Western Ghats; but this land is not unconquered, but respected and preserved.
The train crosses over the occasional meandering stream. The ocean is not distant, though invisible. The rivers unite with the sea soon after. The union is unwinessed by our eye, to which the streams disappear behind the foliage.

We cross over a stream. The water us a dark mossy green. A strong wind blows. The leaves and branches of the trees bend towards us, as if bowing in salute.

The train runs past a station. The stations here are small comprising no more than two, commonly a single platform. None can boast of much life or activity, contrasting their northern counterparts in every way.

Darkness has now fallen. The trees are now mere contours against the dark blue sky. Another stream. The water mirrors the dark blue. Every passing second brings me closer to my destination.

We enter a tunnel. We are made concious of the artificial lighting within the carrige, that had been 'over-shadowed' by the daylight all along. One feels as if one is underground. That the clock is past midnight.
We emerge. The mountain rocks are a glaring red. But the wall gradually plummets and the pines emerge and envelope the landscape yet again.

My station approaches from a distance. Soon, I shall conclude this voyage and leave behind the tranquillity one experiences in this enchanting ride.
_____________

Another new.....

2007-03-26T12:13:00.000+05:30

I was having breakfast with Keerti yesterday by the basketball court and as we were talking at length after weeks, we delved into a lot that had elapsed in the recent days.
In the course, we exchanged many thoughts which I found profound and intriguing but felt sure neither would remember too long into the future and that they would be lost with the moment.

I realised how often such thoughts cross our minds and are forgotten for we do not treasure them enough to pen them down. Otherwise, there are views that are known to all but scarcely thought or spoken off that too fade with time and generation. And I didn't want to let go of these thoughts....

Thus was born, Reflections....

On Reservations in College and unfinished biscuits…

2007-03-24T12:34:00.000+05:30

No, I plan not to preach either in favour or against an issue which has been debated not less than Sharukh Khan’s sexuality.

I speak of the reservation system followed in the Individual Study Hall (ISH) situated within the premises of my college Library. As people are many and seats are few (a commonplace peculiarity in this country), disciples of this establishment (the ISH) have a tendency to reserve for themselves a seat by leaving behind a bag or some books.

During exam-time, the practice catches steam, as does the anti-reservation movement, the clique of which takes the liberty of removing any belongings left behind in an attempt to reserve, in order to occupy that seat. Both the contrasting practices have worsened since the air-conditioning of the hall.

Not over an hour ago, an acquaintance who is a student of a sister-college, and is knee-deep in preparations for his ongoing sessional examinations, vacated a seat adjacent to mine. As our common friend is a strong anti-reservationist (not unlike myself), he removed from that seat all his belongings save for a packet of biscuits that I suppose he couldn’t find within himself to consume in entirety.

That packet of biscuits, in itself, found the capacity to brew quite an ordeal.

Through the first half hour, I observed many brainless gits who approached the table with the objective of occupying it, withdraw from the same on being confronted by the half-eaten packet of cookies that bore an ominous look. That was until one enterprising chap dared to brush the packet aside and occupy the seat. He began his (pretension of) study. Ten minutes elapsed.

A passing acquaintance (of his) happened to glance upon the packet that lay on his table. Her greed over-powered her principles. And before the average person could say “Boo!”….

*slow motion sequence begins*

Her arm extends towards the biscuits as she chirps in a deep yet mocking voice, “You’ll always be an unending supply of biscuits.”

The fellow, quick in his response yet abiding by the motion of the sequence, lets out a slow and painful moan “Nnnooo…”, thrusting his arm in order to impede hers as it extends towards the cookies, all the while bearing a look of sheer horror on his visage.

She withdraws her arm. The packet remains untouched. The fellow saves the day by preventing a most lethal grenade from being set off… err, or at least an untouched packet of biscuits from being touched.

*slow motion sequence ends*

“They’re not mine…. They were lying here from before” he laughed, cognisant of how embarrassing the incident could have been for his victim.

She blushed. First a light red, then a crimson followed by brown, purple and crimson again, all the while giggling in an attempt to camouflage her absolute humiliation.

The next 3 minutes elapse with him mocking at her naive exploit. She brushes off her taunts, but daren’t leave his side lest she give herself away and accede to his victory.

Eventually, he moves on to his theories on how the packet of biscuits could have found its way on that table, confirming every suspicion I had of his devotion towards his books through his last 15 minutes or so on that table. He concludes that it was someone’s innovative endeavour at reserving a seat.

The poor girl, his first victim, eventually retires to her seat and dissolves into deep meditation, seeking within herself a retaliation to his jibes.

More victims pass, some stopping for a biscuit, some not so greedy. To all unsuspecting twerps, he dishes out his theory on how some inventive boy could have attempted to save himself a seat using a packet of biscuits as the object of reservation. One wonders if this is how he passes his time here.

Finally, the first victim attains enlightenment. She slowly rises from her seat and trudges towards her victimiser with a look of utter triumph on her face, who has been joined by yet another passing friend.

He cajoles his first, lifting the packet and offering her a biscuit. She is unperturbed. She turns to the recent addition to the group and exclaims in a rehearsed tone, “It’s ironical how in the entire study hall, he chose the very seat that came with a packet of biscuits.”

He’s caught unaware and defends himself to no avail.

The packet of biscuits and I laugh, but neither too loudly.

She wins.

Shanky Row : A Tribute

2007-03-06T22:00:00.000+05:30

Today, I revive an activity in which I had lost all interest, a calling for which I had lost all passion because I, have been Inspired.

I sit presently in my English Public-Speaking class. Our assignment for the day is to introduce a famous personality. To that effect, I introduce to you a revered personage, a pioneer of Idiocy, Imperfection and Perversion, Ess Row.

Ess Row is one of the oldest members of the faculty at the Manipal Institute of Technology (The Other MIT) and most obviously so. Owing to what I can imagine would "never" qualify as one of Humanity's Top 100 Blunders of All Time, he has ended up in the Faculty of English of this esteemed institution.
As is known the world over, Indian engineers have held a reputation for their numerous deficiencies in the English Language and it is only due to the unending commitment of personalities such as our very own Mr. Row that this has been made possible. His endeavours continue in full spirit to this very day.

The Genre of English that Mr. Row "specialises" in may be classified as either old-fashioned (such as that of American Indians) or highly progressive (such as that of the very first talking buffalo.) Either way, his command on it is commendable.

The only ground on which his magnanimity suffers is a lack of sophistication for Sophistication in itself exists neither in his style, nor his vocabulary. Do not get me wrong. What I straightforwardly want to convey is that "Sophistication" does not exist in his vocabulary, as do not many other 5-10 letter words and more. But come now. Surely that is all secondary.

As far as physical appearances go, there is a striking connection between his brain and his head. While his braincells almost a similar shade of grey as that of his hair, his brain is as deficient of the former as his head is of the latter. It is truly uncanny and is perhaps symbolic of his ingenuity.

Ess Row is a charismatic speaker. Whilst before an audience, he exudes charm through his captivating mannerisms, vivid gestures (pronounced "Guess-chers") and posture, highly reminiscent of a Bronze Statue (and the finest of all, at that). As he stands there, rooted to his spot like a banyan tree, with his arms fastened to his sides (with what appears to be Superior Quality Glue), talking endlessly for hours to an end, the audience listens mesmerised (and/or snoring very very softly.)

This tribute would be incomplete without a mention of his spotless diction. Row feels that our youth is regrettably adopting the American manner if talking, a most undesirable trait. He is of the firm opinion that we should instead follow the British as our linguistic role-models. For example, when we say "What", "When", "Where" and "Why" we fall short of stressing on the 'h'. Instead, we should pronounce the same words as "fHought", "fHen", "fHair" and "fHy". Sure the "W" sounds closer to an "F" than to itself but that is how, he alleges, the british pronounce it and that is how we, i beg your pardon, fHe should too.

He is also a strict and intelligent disciplinarian. In today's class, as I approached him for permission to slip down to the men's room, he firmly said 'No' as I went to the restroom in EVERY English class and knowing that I was up to no good. How it could slip from my that I had already exhausted my Quota for Trips-To-The-Bathroom in the 2-Hour-Long English class, I fail to understand.
It didn't end there. When he asked us to volunteer to come forth and present our assignments and I stepped forward, he declined saying that I would probably deliver my bit and run away.

How, I ask, HOW did he see right through my plan? Was it so transparent after all?
My entire strategy of first, waiting for one hour of the class to get over, then requesting for permission to slip down to the loo (JUST to throw him off-track), then volunteering to deliver my speech and, having done so, before his very eyes, grabbing my bag, books and running out the door, while he sat there looking passively and feeling helpless in the entire affair for surely it was beyond his power to cancel my attendance or deduct marks from my internals, had I the audacity to simply run away.
What a smart fellow!

This brings us to the culmination of a glowing tribute to a person who truly deserves every word of praise (for Acclamation and Commendation are very big words).... Mr. Ess Row!

I admit....

2007-02-19T15:35:00.000+05:30

.... I've been lazy. And most obviously, I haven't been posting a whole lot lately.
I apologise.

I have a fairly good reason though. I've mentioned it already.

I'm lazy.

It isn't as if lots haven't been happening lately. One simply doesn't have the patience to transcribe events. Well, it doesn't help if one DOES have the patience while one is walking on a street or doing laundry, but it simply vanishes when pen, paper and/or laptop is in access. It's a most peculiar phenomenon but it exists. And there's very little we can do about it, except gawk at it.

So what HAS been happening off-late?
I started Salsa classes and they're fun. Heavily over-subscribed, no doubt, but fun! And I finally learn a ball-room dance! Hurrah!

Classes are more boring than ever. On the brighter side, they make the Breakfast and Lunch break all the more interesting.

I have no non-academic occupation that I have to fit into routine, which troubles me so.

Sessional Tests are close, and having been blessed with the worst teachers of each department, I feel ever so ready to perform pathetically.

Everyone around all of a sudden seems to be broke. Myself included. It is my belief that there is some supernatural phenomenon operating all around that seems to be driving us penny-less.

The newspaper seems to have nothing appealing nowadays.

Manipal is rather windy and the sun isn't strong so it isn't all that unpleasant to step out anymore.

There seems to be no College Fest around the corner for me to attend.

March draws closer.

I suppose that's all I can think of. Something juicy should hit this page soon.
Stay tuned!

.... in a nutshell.

2007-02-10T12:46:00.001+05:30

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

A Tale Of Two Blondies

2007-02-07T23:39:00.000+05:30

I was rather honoured to be allowed into a delegation of the Literary And Debating Club of our college, representing it at the recently concluded Cultural Festival of IIM, Bangalore (Unmaad) in which I took part in a rather innovative competition called "Spin Doctor."
The contest involved Creative Writing and Extempore and required a vivid imagination.

While a member of our delegation won the first position (Great going, VJ), I tied with a member of the host college for the second position.

The prelims of the contest required us to string together four images provided by them and weave up a story. It had to be as insane as possible, with no room for common sense. In their words, "humour would be appreciated."

The story was to be limited to one A4 sized sheet, the hardest restriction.

The four images were..

1. A Britney Spears promo picture.
2. The Leaning Tower Of Pisa.
3. A Penguin
4. A Hot Air Balloon.

I thus present my entry, which I call "A Tale Of Two Blondies"
Please do not seek any logic. Nor reason.
______________

It was a rather cloudy day. As the rain lashed the windows, Britney sat in her living room consulting an outdated weather forecast. Having decided to make most of the "clear, sunny day", she committed to embarking upon a "Tour de la France."

Britney had made a New Year Resolution on the first day of that month to become self sufficient. That the month was August did not bother her.
Thus she chalked out her itinerary (with chalk), purchased her own air-tickets, flew more than half way across the world (US to Europe, trans-pacific) and completed her journey.

"The Eiffel Tower! How romantic," she gasped as she looked upon the Leaning Tower Of Pisa.
Unable to converse with the elevator operator in spite of aid from her "French To English" Dictionary, she climbed the steps to the top floor for a scenic view only to find another blonde leaning out the window.

"I wish you wouldn't lean so," spat an impatient Britney. "Your weight is making the tower tilt."

"Oh, I must find a way to escape this imprisonment," cried the blonde, Rapunzel. "My prince charming is waiting for me. And that Old-Hag-Of-A-Witch could return any moment. Her watch isn't working, you see. I'm afraid my hair isn't long enough to let me down any more. I suppose I should've avoided a hair-cut."

"Why did you get a hair-cut?"

"Well, I had a free coupon. And the bob is in fashion again."

"How foolish could you possibly get?" exclaimed Britney, disregarding her own existence.

"Hark! How dare you call me foolish!" thundered Rapunzel. "I shall turn you into a frog!"

"Ha!" Ha-ed Britney. "You couldn't if you wanted to. You aren't the Old-Hag-Of-A-Witch."

"Well," chirped an annoyed Rapunzel, "it would interest you to know that I am, in fact, training under the Old-Ugly-Hag-Of-A-Witch."

As Britney 'Uh Oh'-ed, Rapuzel brandished out her new wand (the broken end of a broomstick that the Old-Hag-Of-A-Witch had (ab)used upon Rapunzel on having learnt that she would have to take to climbing steps.) and promptly turned Britney into a penguin. Clearly, she hadn't been following her lessons well.

Britney didn't mind too much for the void in her head was now gone, possibly because her brain now fit well into her head.

Meanwhile, in an unfortunate turn of events, the Bush administration had issued recent orders for extermination of all penguins on the planet.
"I firmly believe that penguins are up to no good," Bush had lashed from atop a Banana tree. "They may look harmless.... Do not be fooled! Look at their faces! Is it not obvious that they are conspiring to do away with the human race? Our lives are under threat! They mustn't live!"
As an alleged innovation, he decided to have them mounted on hot-air balloons and buried into the ground.

And thus, the planet was freed of all penguins as well as Britney.

Rapunzel continued to lean out the window until one day, the tower gave way and collapsed, granting her an escape. As she looked up at heaven and thanked the holy lord, she was , unexpectedly, attacked and devoured by a lost hyena.

The End.
________________

The second round (finals) was all the more exciting. But that's another story.

Nine Things..

2007-01-31T21:17:00.000+05:30

that I associate with a Gust Of Cold Air..

1. A Walk on the mountains (Possibly a reminiscence of a Rickshaw Ride I took late into the evening in December '99 through Mussorrie. Most memorable.)
2. A windy autumn day
3. A fancy hotel room (Quite an amusing association, this.. Not only do I imagine myself in a fancy hotel room, I can almost smell the scent of the wooden cupboards, clean linen and air-freshener. And for a moment, I unwind. Most heavenly.)
4. Winter Rain (Surely the best time of the year, when that comes along. With the exception of, of course, a Foggy day)
5. A failed romance
6. A broken friendship
7. A New Life
8. The Titanic

and finally,

9. Winters (Duh)

Tagged

2007-01-30T14:34:00.000+05:30

by Kyra

I am thinking about…

.. how pathetically Shilpa Shetty carried herself.
.. how I shall fare academically this semester.
.. what the upcoming IIM-B Cultural Fest will be like.
.. how mediocre I seem to be at everything. If not pathetic.

I said...

nothing. I fear saying something I shall surely regret sooner or later.

I am…

.... someone I can't seem to change, no matter how hard I try.
I know one should be oneself. But couldn't I change just a little bit?

I want to…

Be adept at 2 things (that are worthwhile).
Move to a place with a better climate.
Feel inspired to write more often.
Learn how to talk less and wise.
Be more confident.
Tap my full potential.

I make with my hands…

Coffee, and pathetic coffee at that.

I wish…

My short term aspirations would come true. And long term.

I cry…

for selfish reasons.

I hear…

The Fan. The Insects. And the silence.

I wonder…

What decisions I'll end up making in the near future.

I regret…

Far too many things. But then again, I'm never satisfied.

I confuse…

Everyone who doesn't know me well enough. And a few of those who do.

I dance…

In my imagination. And I dance well.

I sing…

Only to be told to shut up. I wish my voice was, well, pleasant.

I am not always…

Talkative. I have my off days too.

I write…

far too occasionally. I suppose I'm lazy. And unlucky.

I need…

to be more occupied. Think less. I need to lose some weight and tone up.

*********

I tag all that have not been tagged.

Change

2007-01-25T19:17:00.000+05:30

Isn't it funny how things can change?
Just when you thought all was perfect, everything seems new? All askew?
Returning to all that you left behind not so long ago, to find that it isn't there any more?
When you thought life is better, it gets worse.
You thought you took a step forward and found yourselves a mile behind.

The good old melodies go stale.
Brand new friendships fail.
Home is not where you thought it was.
Making decisions only because.

Is it a price for what is past? Or what I await?
Or is it simply fate?

It's Change.

"If you knew that you would find a truth
That would bring a pain that can't be soothed
Would you change?

If you knew that you would be alone
Knowing right, being wrong,
Would you change?

How bad, how good, does it need to get?
How many losses? how much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around
Makes you try to explain
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change"
- Tracy Chapman, Change

Of Ecology, Nomads And Innuendos

2007-01-20T19:16:00.000+05:30

Why, just today I had made a sneaky attempt at luring my Electronics professor into an argument over how Hydel Power Plants were being erected at the cost of destruction of the entire ecology of a river and how human domination over Mother Nature wasn't a part of Lord's plan for us. Him being an ordinary selfish mortal of an engineering background wouldn't flinch beyond calling it 'a price to pay for development.' I would, au contraire, accuse him of being in alliance with 'A League Of Extraordinarily Apathetic Gentlemen' and proceed to enumerate one million and one ways that nature would revenge those that belonged to this Anti-Environmental Mafia. But initiating such a debate wouldn't be a cake-walk. And it was imminent for the success of my mission to find a way.
I thought I'd lure him with a plate of Cheeses. Only, I didn't carry my plate of cheeses to class that day. So I thought of an alternative approach. I would decoy him with a technical question. And right when he was least expectant of an outburst, I would present one. It would be no less than accusing him of mere scandal. And thus, I posed a cautiously well-framed question.

The cautiously well-framed question was 'put off' until he 'delved further into that area'. That "co-incidentally" did not happen.
Did he see right through my inquisition? Or did someone prompt him into dismissing me before I could lash my whip at him? A conspiracy, no doubt. But I was warded off.

Not disheartened, I looked ahead and eagerly anticipated my very first class of Environmental Sciences ever. Expectations were high. Aspirations unlimited. Finally, I was to be face to face with another being who would reciprocate my firm convictions against the advancement of technology at the cost of Ecological damage. If he were to suggest anything to the contrary, he would be failing at his duty, cheating himself and betraying those, few but loyal, that battled their own kind for the good of this planet and all that it harbours (besides us).
Needless to say, I was disappointed. The fellow knew no more about the environment than he did about Madonna's lipstick collection. Possibly, a lot less.
What he was good at, in fact, was Dramatics and elocution. The next 45 minutes, he spent reading off senseless statistics and meaningless numbers from the screen with such zest and sensation, one was convinced his classes had been Produced and Directed by either Alfred Hitchcock or Ekta Kapoor.
His elocution skills must have been marvellous for if none other, he had convinced at least himself of his supreme knowledge and expertise in his 'area of specialisation'.

His pupils did not feel deprived of reason to babble and chortle at him. He scarcely felt concious of himself but occasionally would ask us why we were roaring, put his hands dangerously close to his pelvis, raise them consequently (palms facing outwards) and ask "I'm okay na?", only sending us into another fit of sniggers.

He made constant references to what he had told us in 'yesterday's class.' On numerous occasions, I felt ever so tempted to correct him that we had necer had a class 'yesterday' to begin with. My inner wisdom prevented me from shattering his notions of lectures that had never taken place at all. And thank god too, for as it dawned upon me soon after, he had been all the while referring to a lecture he had delivered to us almost a year ago (three days to be precise) that I had missed.

I was only just about to curse him for being such a grave disappointment, a dimwitted fool and a bore that a rather explicit illustration of three men, unclad from head-to-toe holding up spears whilst exhibiting their genitalia appeared before us on the screen. Needless to say, some gasped, some one or two fainted while most, sooner or later, guffawed. As if that weren't enough, he too yelled "Yes! Yes! I wanted you all to see...."
(and passionately gesturing with his arms, mind and soul towards the innocent naked men on the screen, he approached the climax)
".... THIS is what we all were...."
(adopting a grand pose, holding up an imaginary spear of his own and thrusting his precious pelvis forward, boomed....)
"....HUNTERS!"

Our lungs collapsed in laughter.

2007-01-17T19:42:00.000+05:30

5 Things I like About College
1. F.R.I.E.N.D.S (My own, you fools)
2. Always having someone to talk to.... well, almost.
3. In-Class fun.... however limited.
4. Lots and Lots of Laughter
5. Canteen

5 Things I Detest About College
1. Single Bed
2. Having to walk 5 kms for drinking water
3. Having to walk 10 kms for the nearest toilet
4. Dull Subjects
5. Idle moments

Fast Car

2007-01-16T20:03:00.000+05:30

Thus, I find myself back in college. A hectic life had beckoned me, I had thought. I wasn't wrong, but note entirely correct. A hectic and dull one did. Chemistry cycle is sheer boredom, I have realised. I can't say I'm thankful.
It's fantastic to meet up with everyone though. I'm awfully grateful for my friends here.

This evening, I took the monumental task of unpacking as well as putting up all that I had brought to ornate my room, and was thus pretty exhausted.
Just then did my room-mate request my company to the market. In no position to walk, any more than the length of a tennis-racquet, I hastily declined.
Having decided that it would be appropriate to take my first meal of the day (dinner), I escaped with a friend to the neighbourhood Tapmi (Tammy) Mess. As we were returning, I had taken but one step towards the gate when he cried "Stop! Let's go for a walk first." As if in the know that I was only about to protest, he quickly continued the conversation in a rather casual tone devoid of any hint of accusation, yet so full of it saying "Boy did you eat a lot today. We're almost quits for a change."
I had only pointed out that he had had 5 chappatis (four was the exact number, as it turned out) and I, only 3 that he retorted "But you also took a Gobi Manchurian. Gosh, it was absolutely flowing in oil, wasn't it."
So we walked.

Meanwhile, I had a most delightful beginning to the semester.
The day commenced with a Math class. Hon'ble professor walked in and began to call the roll.
"251... 252..." he went on and I listened patiently. How long ago, it felt, since I'd answered a roll call. How long it had been since I was to raise my arm to 279 and call out "Yessah."

"261.... 262.... 263...." he went on and I called off their names on my fingers, seeing how well I could connect numbers with people. Not too well, it turned out.

And it was round about at 268 that she walked in, dressed in a charming outfit. "May I come in sir?" she interrupted. I was stunned.
No, it wasn't love at 3,563rd sight. Her clothes were jangling.
"How particularly odd" I thought to myself.
"Her dress is jangling." I told myself.
"Yes, I know!" myself told me. "I can hear just about as well as me, thank you very much."
"Why is her dress jangling?" I asked myself.

Before myself could respond, another entity entered the door and the massive population of that class-room was increased by one.
But 'one' did not look as he had the previous evening.
"That's funny! No more than 16 hours ago, he had not hair as short as that." you-know-who told you-know-what.
Before the latter could snap back with a "Yes, I know wise-guy. I was right there in you, remember?" I snapped out of my thoughts.

Teacher : 301.... 302.... 303.... 304....

Me and Myself in Chorus : Uh-oh!

Land de incompréhensibles

2007-01-13T01:33:00.000+05:30

Some anti-social elements that think not well of humanity may assert that vis-à-vis I am about to share, I am to some extent or other, be blamed. But don’t you believe a word they say. Mark their expressions of astonishment. Note the disbelief in their laughter. Is it not mere pretence? Disregard their counter-allegations. They attempt to deceive you. What they have against me, I cannot say. But what I am about to tell you is unbiased and true.

Manipal truly is a land of incomprehendibles. The waiters, the peons, the newspaper boys; they know not what they say. Nor do we (know what they say.) In an attempt to adopt one million South Indian languages that they wish to preserve along with Hindi, they have succeeded in developing a hybrid that we, helpless migrants, fail to grasp and are consequently victimised.

Is there a different purpose behind developing this alien dialect? Is it to cheat us? To deceive us? I do not know.

I shall recount a few occasions during which gave birth to my allegations.

Incident one, two and three occurred at an Indian restaurant titled Sheela. Interestingly, anything that you may order here takes over 20 minutes to cook, inclusive of “Maggi’s 2-minute noodles”. Well, everything excluding “Idlis” and “Vadas”, which are served quicker than water.

If that isn’t enough to make you sit-up and take notice, there’s more.

The dishes listen on the Indian menu may sound conventional enough. But do not be fooled. Look at them carefully. Are they exactly the same? What is that you say? They aren’t? I didn’t think so myself.

The “Navrattan Korma” is conveniently re-titled “Mixed Vegetable Korma.” Any ignorant bystander would not have noticed the difference. But I am not to be bamboozled. Are the 2 dishes exactly the same? Or has the original recipe endured mutation so as to render it different in look, make, flavour and what not?

We are not ignorant bystanders. So we do what is expected of all those who are not ignorant bystanders. We hail a waiter and ask him “What does this contain?” And it is there that we err.

Under usual circumstances, you would listen attentively to every word he utters. You would jump for joy for every ingredient that you savour that has been retained, and adopt a look of grief and anguish for those that have been omitted in the preparation. As for those despicable constituents that you despise but have been included, you pucker up your nose, put on a frown, stick out your tongue and go “Blech!”, while spontaneously relieving your face of the nasty expression so that neither it becomes permanent upon your face (should the wind change its direction just then) nor the waiter becomes convinced that you are impolite.

But such is not the case in Sheela. For under the first 3 circumstances, the following ensued.

Incident One:

Me : What does the “Mixed Vegetable Korma” contain?

Him : *Mumble Mumble*

And I looked at him, expressionless as a goat, courteously waited for him to finish, turned to the person next to me and….

Me : (Huh!) What did he say?

Incident Two:

Me : How long will a plate of Maggi take for preparation?

Him : *Mumble Mumble*

……..

Me : (Huh!) What did he say?

Incident Three:

Me : Do you have any pineapple juice?

Bonus : Incident Four

Me : Boss, could we have the bill please?

(Five minutes elapse)

Me : Boss, we’d asked for the bill.

(Seven minutes later)

Me : Boss, bill please? It’s been ages.

Him : *Mumble Mumble……… Grumble*

Me: (Huh!) What did he say?

Incident 5 was fairly recent.

After 3 phone-calls, I had managed to convince the News paper agency that I, in fact, did not want newspapers delivered to my room for the three weeks during which it was to be uninhabited.

On the evening of the 3^rd call, a boy magically appeared at my doorstep with a stack of bills in his hand and a plastic bag containing money and proceeded to hand me one from the stack.

Doubtful of the fact that I had received merchandise (in the form of newspapers) worth the Rs. 200 advance that I had already paid, a perception that the boy echoed, I proceeded to clarify with him that I had absolutely no intentions of paying a further advance to him for two reasons, one that I had discontinued subscription and two, that I did not plan to revive it in the future (for that particular daily).

The boy peered at me in a most queer manner, as if I was barmy, and proceeded to mumble something that I did not understand. At that point, I was pretty sure that he was somehow or the other related to that waiter at Sheela.

I did, however, manage to catch a numerical figure in his oration, I believe a sum of 60 rupees.

Though sensitive of the fact that he was simply a functionary of the agency, a paid employee, sent out to do his work that he was expected to complete, and that he had not bargained for customers like my royal highness when he took up his position, I refused to be cheated, however meagre the amount involved may be.

I thus began to present him with evidences in support of the fact that I should not have to pay a further advance. And to that effect, I began to dig through the clutter on my study table, which at the time resembled the aftermath of a horrific calamity with the intentions of discovering and presenting to him a bill bearing the date I had paid the advance. The expedition was a failure, for I was pretty sure I had thrown it out ages ago, but I hoped that the boy, who now stood impatiently at the door, would give up on me and walk away, leaving it to the agency to negotiate with me. He continued to look at me as if I was loony.

My room-mate meanwhile had lain on his bed with an over-pronounced smirk on his face. After 10 minutes of excavations, as I stood gasping for some oxygen, he sniggered “He’s not asking you for any money, he simply wants to pay you your balance.”

60 Word Saga : Let It Be

2007-01-10T18:45:00.000+05:30

Having been tagged by Nishant to create my own, I present my 60 word saga on the prescribed topic (Let It Be).

Let It Be
_________________

CRASH!

Johnny stiffened as he feared he had broken one of Aunt Helen's antiques.

Aunt Helen came rushing through the door with a look of horror on her face, having feared the worst.

Noting the broken antiquity on the floor, she sedated and to Johnny's relief, said "Don't worry about it. It was my Mother-In-Law's. Let it Be."

________

Note :- I can't figure out if M-I-L is to be considered one word or three. I've taken it as 3 but MS Word considers it one. Thus, if MS Word's judgement prevails over mine, then "Noting" may suitably be replaced by "Taking note of".

Thank you!

I tag anyone who must be reading this and hasn't written his/her own 60 word saga.

Potpourri

2007-01-09T21:37:00.001+05:30

I was at my cousin's place the other day, and we decided to order in for dinner.
In agreement with the more regional palatal preferences of the family, we decided it would be best to order some good old Mughlai.
While he placed the order, I took out some of my most precious time to flit through the take-away menu card of "Moghul Room", located conveniently in some part of Lajpat Nagar.

I certainly feel that that outlet deserves to be a significant landmark, for it is the very first "Mughlai" restaurant I have known to serve............. (drum-roll).............. Italian food.

Knowing that all and sundry wouldn't flock to 'Moghul Room' in hope for world-famous Italian delicacies, the chefs at that most spectacular diner decided to keep their offerings, under that certain category, limited.
However, the few listings under the alien section were most unheard of. It is my firm belief that those items were introduced there to either confuse us, or give us a jolly good laugh.
For indeed, as I looked at the first item under the Italian menu, I felt as if I'd seen a yeti.
The first item under 'Italian Dishes' read
"Chicken Tikka pasta...."
Yes, I know! Incredible! Quite enough enough to send a Mughlai-Chef to rehab. But wait! It doesn't end there.
Item One under "Italian Dishes" in its entirety read
"Chicken Tikka Pasta.... with Chinese topping."
Something tells me dish must have been the outcome of one huge disaster.

Workshop Practice : Beginner's Blooper

2007-01-05T19:09:00.000+05:30

It was like any other day of the first week of college. The sun shone brightly, hot and merciless, peeking from behind the scattered clouds that we had foolishly hailed as a messiah that would rescue us from the scorching heat. To no avail.
As is not unusual in the first week of college, I was to be acquainted with yet another new subject, which I was to either like or dislike but sooner or later, loathe.
Wednesday morning had arrived and I was scheduled to attend my very first 'Workshop' class.

I had heard many tales of Workshop Practice, tales of lust and desire.... err, no wait. That's a different story.
Oh right, tales of laborious work in the gruesome heat, in a shabby little shed tucked away in a place where the cries of anguish and horror could not reach Superman, Spiderman or any of the outside world, for that matter. And wednesday had arrived. It was time for my first dose of workshop penance.... uh, practice.

But wednesday was like any other day.And like on any other day, I was late for class.
And so I strudded along, late as usual. It took me just less than half a century, eight minutes to be precise, to make my way from the hostel gates to that infamous shed; and having descended no more than 500 steps, about 16 should you desire an approximate, I stood at the porch of hell.

There wasn't a soul to be seen. The silence was haunting. Had I gone to hell? Had a famine wiped away all traces of humanity? Had a flood occured, washed away my room-mates and miraculously dried up?
Naturally, not. I was late for class and they weren't. Thus, they were seated inside, and I wasn't. And as I stood there, it dawned upon me that it would be in my best interest to join them, however late. I entered.

Indeed, they sat there, rows and rows of boys and girls with their eyes and ears transfixed upon the two specimens of homo sapiens that sat before them, one short and one tall, who I suitably assumed to be our instructors.
As I approached, the tall man looked me up and down, a nasty glint in his eye, disapproving in every way, peered into the attendance register, looked up again and in a tone one would take with a victim, said "You must be 279."
"Yes, sir", I responded.
As I took my seat, he forewarned, "If anyone enters the class, hence, after 9'o' clock, he or she must carry a note requesting permission to attend that class while forfeiting any claim on attendance." As he spoke, he set his eyes upon me. In my mind, I stuck my tongue out at him. In truth, I looked away.

After a thankfully short and mostly inaudible lecture by his short colleague, we were escorted away by him to be introduced to the weapons, I beg your pardon, tools that we would be working with.
The exercise began. He'd hold up a tool, describe it in unnecessarry (for us) detail, some would listen, others would ignore.
After having introduced us to about 3000 different types of files, 5 to be exact, came the hacksaw, hammers and so on and so forth.
Not surprisingly, I lost interest in the form of concentration. My eyes and ears continued to follow the Smith and his tools, but the remaining senses explored a world of their own.
And in nearly no time from the moment my senses took leave of us, he held up another queer but boring instrument.

Teacher : This is called.... (A short pause elapsed in which, I suppose, he expected the class to answer in chorus, almost as if under the assumption that knowledge of Workshop Tools was General Knowledge.)
............. Tri square (after we shattered his miserable notion by not responding).
(And having confused himself with a Disc Jockey, working up the crowd......)
What is it called?

(To some succcess)
Class : Tri-square
Teacher " It is also called...... Engineer's square. What is it called?
Class : Engineer's Square.
Teacher : It is also called ..... Two-Seventy-nine.
(At this point, some of my senses were restored. And they scrutinized that funny little tool, that resembled a right angle but was called a square though it looked nothing like one, and queerly, was also called Two-Seventy-Nine.
And as my senses pondered over that tool, I realised that I was looking right into my eyes and he into mine.
No, it wasn't love. Something much worse. He looked positively peeved.)
What is it called?
(Realising he was speaking to me, I broke out of a daze and answered..)
Me: Two Seventy Nine.
(People all around giggled. I was annoyed. Seemingly, so was he.)
Him : Yeees, what is it called?
Me : Two Seventy Nine.
(Everyone all around giggled again. Some sniggered. I was all the more annoyed. Here I was, minding my own business, answering the question and people all around were sniggering and he was repeating the question like a malfunctioning tape-recorder.)
Him : So what is it called??!?
Me (Louder and slower as if speaking to a retarded person) : Two - Se - vin - tee - Nine.
(Meanwhile, my friend standing right beside me, one of the many spectators of the show, took upon himself to educate me of my gross misunderstanding.)
Mohit : Err.. I think he was addressing you by calling your roll number.
I sank into my shoes.

DK's Box Office

2007-01-05T10:46:00.000+05:30

In accordance with my nature of wanting to contradict all that elapses in my immediate surroundings, having roomed up with a movie buff, the number of flicks I sat through in the past four months was fairly limited. That unfortunate tragedy was compensated to a fair degree in the weeks that have elapsed since my return.
The following is a list of flicks that I saw, with my opinion, en bref

1. Garfield - Tail of 2 Kitties : Sweet. But frankly, I'd like to kick that cat once in a while.

2. Don : For most part of the movie, I was cursing myself to have allowed my folks to drag me into watching a Shah Rukh Khan flick. I've seen so many of his. Aren't all of them the same? Well, he jolly well seems to play the same character in each.
However, the synopsis was completely unpredictable and left an impact, making the flick worthwhile. As did the presence of Priyanka Chopra. And the music.
I forgave my parents and myself.

3. Dhoom 2 : On that front, I had no choice. I had no option for I was on more of a young-teenage-boy-sitting task. I was to take my 2 cousins for the flick, one of whom had seen it already and wanted to watch it again. Why? Because he's young and innocent and possibly believes that certain robbers specialise in falling from the sky, breaking into supposedly-highly-guarded train compartments wearing one of the most fascinating genus of face-masks that not only substitute the most impossible plastic surgeries but also, in fact, magically transform the voice of the bearer of the mask into that of a person of the opposite sex. Brilliant!
Aishwarya's performance was less-than-mediocre but better than her worst. Abhishek Bachhan, forgettable.
Hrithik was quite good indeed, but I believe he always is. Except when playing the lead opposite Kareena.

4. Funny Face : A 1957 musical starring Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire. It was my first absolutely delightful watch of this vacation. And one that I'd recommend to all. The surprise package of the film was Kay Thompson, one of the most accomplished people in Hollywood who hasn't appeared in anymore than 3 films as an actress. And indeed, she stole the thunder from right under the two main characters. A most fascinating character.

5. Umrao Jaan : The film is 3 and a half hours long with a trillion songs. It is best watched on DVD so that the songs can be skipped. No, the music isn't horrible but the film has simply an overdose of it. Edit away most of the songs and you get a lovely film, made with a lot of effort and definitely worth a watch. Ash is superbly brilliant. This could've been her big comeback and brought her laurels, but fate had other plans in store. I suppose she can expect more out of Provoked, to be released next month. Shabana.... well what can I say. She is supreme. The entire industry should bow down before her. She is, no doubt, the best actress I've ever known in this lifetime. One is almost convinced that she has been living her character all her life, she plays it with such ease and perfection.
Yes, the film is unending. But that is absolutely necessary if the story has to be told completely.

The film was magnificent with pathetic reception, no doubt due to the, what I believe, intellectually challenged indian audiences who insist on making as much use of their Top Floor while in a cinema as they do of their appendix.

6. Meet The Fockers : It didn't have me rolling on the floor with laughter as I would have expected it to. But it was worthwhile. If nothing else, it broke my stigma against Ben Stiller, him being one of the three actors that come to mind presently, that I cannot stand to look at (the other two being Brad Arm-Pitt and whatshisname). So I suppose he's off my list. I'll celebrate by watching Meet The Parents next.

7. Breakfast At Tiffany's : Another Audrey Hepburn classic saw her in yet a new and refreshing character altogether from what she had played before. George Peppard played the male lead with sophistication and style. The film was a great flick though I still can't see much of a connection between the story and the title.
Audrey has indeed starred opposite the most suave men in hollywood, such as George Peppard and Gregory Peck in 'Roman Holiday.' They are possibly the only American men I would want to emulate.

8. Bhagam Bhag : To all those who found this film horrible or anything in that family of adjectives, I ask you a few simple questions :-
a. When you purchased your ticket for this particular film, were you or were you not hoping to catch a good thriller? You weren't? I supposed not.
b. In continuation with the previous question, were you or were you not hoping it would be a good comedy? You were? Why, that would make you a majority!
c. All through the film, did you keep a straight face and not let the remotest giggle escape your lips?
Those who answer in affirmative, I would like to remind that it is futile to tell lies on matters such as these.
To those who answer in negative, which should now comprise all those reading, I say "Then the movie succeeded in its attempt to send forth a few laughs.

Now I know good comedy when it comes my way. Hera Pheri was good comedy. Phir Hera Pheri was good comedy.
Masti was lame in its attempt to incorporate comedy of a good nature. As was Golmaal.
Bhagam Bhag, in my opinion, would qualify in the former genre of the above two, and not the latter. My word is final.

I wholeheartedly enjoyed the flick.
The USP of the film was Govinda. No, not his brilliant portrayal of his part but the fact that his role was limited. I despise Govinda and had the lowest expectations of the flick of which he was a part. But lord, or rather, Priyadarshi has other plans in store.

9. I'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer : The third in the series of horror flicks and hopefully the last should never have been made with its horrid story line and pathetic actors resulting in horrible output.
Stay AWAY from this film.

Well, I suppose that's all that I can recall having watched, so Ta ta!

On New Year's and Astrology

2007-01-03T20:25:00.000+05:30

Hello again! A happy new year to you all.

Once again, another year has ended and a mostly horrid one for me. The last few months, though, were certainly delightful and I hope that trend continues…. till my death.

However horrible, I can’t say the events of the year were unexpected.

I was reminded by my New Year’s date, if I may call her so, an old-time friend, 3 years to be specific (the friendship being 3 years old and not the person), of the events of last New Year’s eve.

Last year, I sat at home, pretending to study, awaiting my dreaded pre-board examinations with a preparation only marginally better than the neighbourhood dog’s.

A mind as distracted as mine would wander so, and I finally gave up the pretence, for after all, I was alone at home and when better to not have to pretend than in solitude.

And so, out of the blue, with a future as uncertain as new-born baby, I decided to pick cards, hoping to gain an insight into my future. As per the outcome, my worst fears were corroborated as a turbulent first half was on the cards, right up to that month of the year when the Central Board of Secondary Education updates its website, to some people’s joy, some others’ sorrow and, of course, to the indifference of a few. Further, I could expect a sea of changes in my life.

The accuracy of that reading, performed no more than half an hour after the commencement of 2006 till today renders me speechless. And it doesn’t end there.

Just then, I happened to receive a phone-call from my 3-year-old friend (then 2-year-old) who was subsequently acquainted with my rather peculiar hobby and fascinated by it too.

As I, upon request, picked cards for her, she was more than pleased with her gratifying forecast, which too, was precise in every way.

So did I repeat the exercise on the 31^st day of last month or the first of this? I’m afraid not, for the cards lie in an almirah parked in another part of the country altogether. Thus, I’m afraid I couldn’t initiate a small, funny tradition of my own.

I did, however, have pasta for my last meal of 2006 and first of 2007, and I’m hoping that sets the tone for my palatal preferences for the coming year(s).

On the astrological front, the paucity of my own cards was compensated by the reading published in the morning’s newspaper. Though I never believe in horoscopes printed in newspapers (for indeed how can one reading fall true for millions of people) if there has to be just one person for whom it may be true, there’s a ruddy good chance that as far as MPU’s reading for 2007 is concerned, I’m he. As my horoscope-obsessed mother read out my forecast for the year, I somehow knew it would come true. But will it? I suppose time will tell.

Winter Blues

2007-01-02T14:29:00.000+05:30

Humour? The winters hold no room for humour.

Winter is the season of romances and heartbreak. It is a season of pain and suffering. Of suppressed grief and unbearable losses.

It is a reminiscence of fond memories and ghosts of the past, a time to share warmth with our loved ones while we emote within the self.

Come winters, we usher in a new year. Why does the mercury dip so on the last day of December? From where comes the thick mist that envelopes the city? Or the harsh rains, heartless and cold?

The mists and the rains… are they a conscience? An innuendo of our promises not fulfilled and of our misdeeds forgotten by us as we, in oblivion, welcome the new year with resolutions that may soon be rendered meaningless?

Do we rejoice with a hope of driving away the gloom? And why do I find solace in the mists and melancholy?

Winters, cold and merciless, can strip away all mask of pretence, revealing the ugliness of human nature, to the eye that bothers to see.

Recap

2006-12-29T01:18:00.001+05:30

Call it desperation but I have resolved to recover from this nasty bout of Blogger's Block that has rendered me nearly thoughtless for the past year and a half.
And times of desperation call for desperate measures.
Thus, I lie here on my (freshly sanitated) bathroom floor hoping for some bizzare inspiration, penning my thoughts with an innovative yellow coloured pen.
And upon this innovative yellow coloured pen is an innovative pen-cap comprising the bust of a (possibly innovative) clown wearing a hat.
And upon the innovative yellow hat of that possibly innovative clown are innovative bells.
And these bells jangle as I write.

Thus, anyone with his/her ear pressed against my bathroom door, god forbid, would be wondering what in the world I could possibly be up to, that would result in a jangling sound.

Moving on..

The past few months have seen many attempts on my part to share with you all (let us not delve into numbers), vivid descriptions of what has swallowed me up and removed me from the blogging world.
Since all those attempts were inconclusive, I shall for a change make a different sort (of attempt).. to recollect the same in brief.

I am 18 years old, studying Computer Science and Engineering at Manipal University (formerly MAHE) in the diminutive town of Manipal located, contrary to popular belief, near the coastal tip of Karnataka and not in the North-East. The place is fantabulous, extremely kind to the pocket and I am, thus, quite at home. However, in accordance with Nature's Law Of Balance, there must be something to even out such bounties. Which would explain the five million species of Insects present there. And all frightfully ugly.

I have a great room-mate who is compatible and (hopefully) a loyal friend and with time, we shall learn to deal with each others' short-comings. That task should possibly take about 4 more months for completion at the end of which the academic year will have concluded and we'll be heading our separate ways, but oh well, there's no battling the ironies of life! One can only predict them and sigh, "I knew it'd happen".

Life has been kind to me for I have been acquainted with like-minded people, the kind I wouldn't have found in Delhi in my strangest dream (unless I dreamed of an identical twin, which too, I feel, would mock at my obliquity).
And it is their friendship that makes me look forward to my return to college.

My room-mate considers himself to be one-in-a-million (to which, in times of frustration, I say "Thank God") and me, one-in-a-billion (to which, at all times of the day, I say "Good Lord"). I haven't, for all the Italian food in the world, been able to decide whether or not it was intended as a compliment. Maybe I'd be less confused if he hadn't conferred those titles upon himself and me in the same sentence. *Snigger*
Yes, I'm cruel to him at times, what with my intellect and all (again, *Snigger*) but I compensate him for it.
In the past four and a half months, the two of us haven't quarreled. Well, not that I know of. The time when I did quarrel with this one friend, I wasn't aware of.
Yes, funny business that,
All the while she sent me messages saying she didn't want to quarrel with me, I thought "That's nice, and why would you!", "What's gotten into her?" and "Am I missing something here?"
Do visit her blog under the (her) name of Jayashree sur mon blogroll.
(And no, she isn't paying me to advertise her blog on mine....
but noting that I did it so well anyhow, she should certainly consider it..
Ahem! I accept cheques.)

Another long time friend I fought with, pretty much through the past 5 months, beginning the very day we united on Karnataka soils, and thus, we decided to call it quits. All for the best.

And thus, I lie here, back home during end-of-semester hols, on my bathroom floor, which is cold, as am I, owing to the weather.
And having recapped some of the relevant developments of the past few months, I bid thee all, goodbye.

Once A Clown, Always A Clown

2006-12-29T01:16:00.001+05:30

You Are Krusty the Clown

You were the class clown as a kid, and you still entertain people.

From faking your own death to getting a wacky boob job, you'll do anything for a laugh.

You will be remembered for: your face being everywhere, from cereal to home pregnancy tests

Your life philosophy: "I heartily endorse this event or product."

The Simpsons Personality Test

New Beginning

2006-12-26T20:37:00.000+05:30

A fresh start, a new beginning.
A turning point in my life.

The time, I felt, was right. And time, in fact, I had in hand.
Thus, I make a return.

This past year has been a trying one. Far too many disappointments, a few triumphs and a sea of changes.
At present, I find myself at a cross-roads, uncertain of what road to take. Yet, I am content. The future looks bright. There is very little to be lost and lots to be gained.

Against all odds, I haven't changed.... much.