The Mistress of Spices

Over the past week or so, I’ve inadvertently taken a trip through the dark side, or at least quite a bit of it. I’ve bitched about people, been rude and ruthless, displayed inappropriate anger, lied, tried forced insomnia and have, in general, been a person worth hating and not not liking. This trip has taught me many lessons, the most pertinent obviously being that it’s never worth it. Another significant learning has been the fact that most of these tools in my hands could prove to be very profitable on my end- and dangerous for others.

But throughout all this, has been an undercurrent of melancholy, which has somehow characterised this semester so far. Unlike ever before, I wrote six separate drafts- all jottings from the holidays gone by- and trashed them all. Okay- another lie. I’d written one, and imagined another, at most, but that isn’t the point. Somehow, now every post I make has to make the cut. The cut earlier was probably a stamp of approval from people I look up to. Now, it’s a concoction of emotions from inside, and an extrapolation of some outside. And in all this lies an undertone of discontent, disillusionment, detachment and, most of all, disappointment- words I wouldn’t have in my vocabulary a year or two ago. But, that’s the kind of times these few months have been. Yet, the darkest of clouds has to have a silver lining. In the midst of hastily deteriorating relationships, I’m beginning to form a bond with my branch-mates, finally, and they’ve been nice enough to accept the late bloomer, too. Status messages have changed from esoteric referencing and dereferencing to corny songs on (un)popular professors. I’m beginning to get the feeling I’ll really miss this motley crew when they’re gone, and that’s a strangely nice feeling to have. A sense of underachievement still overrides these smiles, but anything’s better than the almost omnipotent feeling of indolence. That reminds me- I have to take off my shoes. And stop listening to The Beatles, for now.

True Lies

Lying is an art man has been trying to perfect for ages. If Paris were good at it, Troy wouldn’t have been part of history the way it is. It’s another one of those dark arts that can make man all very powerful. Imagine Dharmaraja accepting it, and the Mahabharata would probably never have been the epic it is. But a vice it remains- albeit a very potent one. Even a decent level of mastery over it and snap: you’re in the seat of power. Of course, social science in its own innocent journey towards uncovering every little aspect of human nature, has left no stone unturned in trying to figure out the intricacies of this dark power, and has been successful to a very large extent. So much so, that some are actually in the profession of finding out when one is attempting to blind Lady Truth, much like her notorious cousin, Justice. But, as one great man implied perfectly in the work of his lifetime, man’s greatest weakness is a consequence of his strength, and vice-versa. To convince the greatest of doubters of your statement, you’d have to do just that- convince the one who can have the greatest doubt: the one who knows it isn’t the truth. Once you conjure up a lie good enough to convince yourself, in a way that you yourself believe the truth to be just a figment of your imagination, the deed is done.

In a way, lying is telling the truth.

The Ultimate Quest

The third of my five-year, epiphany-filled, poorly-tilled but well-willed journey through the realities of R has begun exactly where I’d left it off the last time I was in G-104: in a state of complete disorder. The difference is that that unusually pleasant May had my room completely devoid of any semblance of habitation apart from an old toothbrush, while my mind was in complete disarray thanks to the events of the year gone by, whereas this inexplicably sultry August has my head clear and my room looking like a wartime minefield. My tea-table sits pretty on top of my study-table, and perched proudly on top of that, is the runner-up trophy from last year’s Ashesh Memorial Quiz (the institute’s official inter-department quiz competition, for the uninitiated). Another batch of freshly-turned-sophomores has moved into the adjacent wings, with their usual baggage of over-filled trunks, numerous bags, Linkin Park and random rap music, and filthy etiquette. Another bunch of Matkas (M. Tech students) have stepped into the empty rooms in our wing, and infiltrated our area with the usual Matkagiri¬- random songs blaring out loud, people making you turn right around when they walk out of their rooms as they’re doing a John Abraham from Dostana (yes- seriously!), and, of course, filthy etiquette.

Thanks to these wonderful characters around, I’ve been out of my dwelling most of the time, which has my corridor-mates asking me when I’ve returned from home some two weeks after the registration. After the wonderful set of coffees at work in the summer, and the visits to Cafe Coffee Day back home, the modest six-rupee Nescafe coffee seemed like one of those Nutri-matic drinks Arthur Dent kept getting served in the Hitchhiker’s series- completely unlike the one you’d asked for. Despite the distasteful drink, I continued to pay my regular visit to the ubiquitous coffee-shop every evening and set off for arbitrary walks all over the campus. There seem to be too many new faces around- enough to make someone with a curiosity like mine very uncomfortable. A chat with Ma on the phone about these very people, the JEE, the government policies and politics, in general, got me thinking.

I theorised that the story of Life, the Universe and Everything is too vast, and has too many complex factors, to be broken up into small pieces to make a jigsaw puzzle out of. Yet, I thought about the few factors that do majorly influence lives, and thought mostly from the perspective of one who’s come to and lived for two years, in R(bit)-land.

Choices roughly determine the course of almost every human’s existence; we’ve all had to make some be it one between Rasna or Tang, or the more pertinent one between Manchester United and the rest of the world. Quite amazingly, whenever I thought of situations where I have had to make choices, it’s almost always between two things. The Jan Shatabdi or bus to Delhi, a laptop or a desktop, a four-year study program or five, the hand-held video game player or a new Ninja Turtles 1-in-1 disk, Bournvita or plain milk, and many more. This almost-omnipotent theory of dichotomy is prevalent in life, in general, too- good and evil, Yin and Yang, mind and body, and a host of others. And it takes no rocket science to know that these choices establish the direction of Life. The number two governs choices.

Another important factor in one’s success in Life is how good one is at remembering the things that matter. And, not surprisingly, another number governs this region. Try to remember some popular phrases you might use- lock, stock and barrel; heart, nerve and sinew; the good, the bad and the ugly- it’s so much easier to remember triplets. Public speaking coaches always speak of the rule of three- that an average human tends to remember things in threes, and of an overall presentation, only three important things. Even Aristotle in his discourse on Rhetoric, divides most things into three, and talks of the importance of this number. Winston Churchill, in one very famous speech of his, spoke of Britons having to give “their blood, sweat, toil and tears”. But, the phrase that has widely been attributed to him out of this is “blood, sweat and tears”, isn’t it? Thus, clearly, the number three governs the capability of memory.

Finally, one of the first things to have struck me on this topic was the significance of Luck. This elusive Lady is benevolent to some, brutal to some others, and benign to the vast majority. And, time and time again, she too has shown an affinity for a number, one which we all know only too well. A look into some of Manchester United’s most successful players- George Best, Bryan Robson, Eric Cantona, David Beckham, Cristiano Ronaldo- shows they’d done most of their legendary deeds when donning the famed number seven jersey. Ergo, quite clearly, the number seven governs luck.

The mysteries of Life, the Universe and Everything have been subject to studies galore, people have spent their entire lives trying to find out the Ultimate Question and the significance of the Ultimate Answer. I strongly believe in Douglas Adams’ idea that if we were able to somehow figure out the purpose of this complex Universe, it’ll be replaced by an even more confounding one. Yet, it is only human to wander and wonder about these questions, and in that course, I happened to get the above findings, after deliberating, at various places, in varied conditions, meeting and interacting with a variety of people along the way, and finally only getting to the following conclusion.

The mysteries of Life, the Universe and Everything can’t be unlocked by only a few factors, but take a few significant ones, get them all to work together, and you might as well be successful.

Remember- Two multiplied by Three multiplied by Seven equals...

Where’s the party? It’s your birthday!

Only a day into the new year, and the blogosphere is abuzz with activity. That’s given enough time for me to ruminate for this very very special post. Of course, it’s another fact that I rarely think for a post!

 

The last post of the last year had an interesting snippet about it- it could be shortened to HHH! That was posted, as you could see, in the wee hours of 31^st December. New Year’s eve it was, and the campus was slowly filling to capacity again. I only woke up at eleven, after wrestling down my alarm clock and giving the other alarm’s snooze button a stern test of its patience. After the essentials, minus the luxury of a bath, I finally went out on my way to the mess, and the sun had decided not to come out of its warm blanket of clouds, and the eddying cold winds continued to tease the mufflers and wind-cheaters. But, unlike most others around, I was in the mood for a stroll, and lazily braved the cold to go to the gaanv (village) for a phone recharge, and to meet up with the masters down there. After an impatient wait in his room, spent rummaging through his table to find friends’ indulgences, old colourful scrapbooks and trying to find a way to untangle three layers of sheets, Lefty, His Wordiness (official winner) and I set out for a walk in the pursuit of Happinezz. Along the way, we gobbled up sweets with glee (me with especial glee as I wasn’t paying!) and I wondered how those two were slimmer when they ate like they did. Later, though, we did find what we went out to seek, and it was in hot sandwiches full of delightfully melted cheese. Our appetites were good for one each only, though, as a long night was to follow for all of us.

 

After that, I headed back to my room, and sat down to greet anyone with a green dot beside their name, while mine remained grey (invisibility rocks!). After an hour of aimless chatting, I heard a DJ start playing in front of the canteen, with crowd favourites like Hat Ja Tao Jat Ja and Maar Suttiya blaring out loud into the rooms around. I could even hear inebriated shouts and laughs as the Matkas danced their way to the toilets, where they puked uncontrollably, as I was to discover later (not sadly, thankfully!). After re-installing that perennial favourite, FIFA08, time was whiled away rediscovering my touch and Joga Bonito. That was till the Perusing Poet knocked on my door, and, soon enough, we were out having dinner. After a long meal, interspersed with passionate arguments on Ghajini and the varying degrees of the word ‘voyeurism’, we got back to our respective rooms.

 

They say what you do first on New Year’s day defines your year- I definitely hope it doesn’t come true, as I welcomed 2009 very solemnly, alone in my room sitting invisible on Gmail. But, apart from the various calls, messages, e-mails, scraps, pokes, and hugs that followed, the bright spot was the fact that January 3 wasn’t too far, and this page would be celebrating a year in existence (putting many others at risk!). As jobless as I am, I spent the last three quarters of an hour looking up bloggiversary posts of those on my blog-list. (Different story that I found two, at most) As clichéd as it may sound, it’s been a roller-coaster ride of a year blog-wise, and as it always is with most wonderful things, I find it very ironic that one of favourite posts (which can be found here), has no comment on it (although it's a very first-yearish post). Shape-shifting my way from characteristically quirky to whining grumbler to grumbling moaner (as Kaka puts it) to an overly long-writing bore, I’ve realised the best way to one’s true self, is through self (not to be confused with a traitorous Homeland Security agent on a TV show). 363 days in the blogosphere, and my blog has brought out 30 ways to blow your head off without suffering from side-effects like lead poisoning. I’ve not gone far as a writer, as I spent dreaming countless number of nights. But, then, life’s like that. And, in a spurt of nostalgia, and as mark of respect to the page that has spilled the beans on almost everything about me, I shall revert to the old name, ‘cause the geek still speaks... or rather types! Cheers!

 

P.S.- Dela, you’re next! (Goldberg style! Ah, I still love brackets!)

 

P.P.S.- I was waiting for only one song through the whole DJ thingy, and I wasn’t to be robbed of that pleasure. Ta ta-na-na-na tandoori nights... tandoori nights! Btw, Emotional Atyachaar is the song to be heard this year!

Where are the mines?

The clock ticks away relentlessly on the bottom left, the targets keep decreasing a little more solemnly on the bottom right, as I click away furiously while analysing the numbers, looking for more squares to flag triumphantly. Sky blue 1s, bottle green 2s, maroon 3s, navy blue 4s, red 5s and the elusive turquoise 6s and black 7s adorn my imagination while I’m trying to eat in the mess, and I know I’m addicted to Minesweeper again. I make continual attempts at breaking my seemingly pathetic expert level time with the touchpad when an exam‘s 5 hours away with a sunrise in between, and I also know I’ve picked the precisely wrong time for doing that. The exams have passed by now though, taking with them a blur of a third semester. I realized, though, over this span of 14 surprisingly short weeks at the insti, that studies really are way more important than the next Prison Break episode, that assignments are to be submitted on time even if you manage to convince 85 in a batch of 86 that it’s OK not to, that I haven’t really changed much in the past few years- some say in the past ten- and that it’s never too late to try ironing my creases.

 ***

I hate using sentences with the word ‘life’ in them whenever it refers to one’s being; I’m too naïve, and it’s too way too early for me to do so. Plus I think things like “What I’ve learnt from life is…” or “Life is…” are for old people. I’ve edited these very lines at least thrice while typing them to make it very clear that they’re heavily opinionated. The word could’ve featured at least four to five times in the previous paragraph, and a few more times in the ones to follow. But it isn’t worth it. For me, it rarely is. I dislike Orkut status messages that say “Mah life’s screwed” or “Life’s tuf” or compare it to female dog, or any similar professions. They’re way too shallow for teenagers to be broadcasting. ‘Life’s like that’ is the only such sentence I like. Not because it’s by AP, but just because it’s too darn simple, and to the point, and so very logical. It’s almost instinctively understood, like ‘My name’s Bond’. Plus, it actually looks and sounds kind-of nice too. Try it.

 ***

For the record, by the way, in the fag end of the semester, I gave up on consuming eggs altogether, and thought it’s not really a bad idea to be a total vegetarian from now on. The guilt consumed me too much and too often for me to continue the habit. Also, I think it’s time I really start thinking seriously about my religion, and spirituality, in general, because talking to myself can only take me so far. It isn’t too hard on me and my schedule, and it can only make a better person.

 ***

One of my favourite pastimes, apart from the aforementioned game, the aforementioned TV series, and repeating long words in sentences, is reading through my past posts, and the comments on them. I love analyzing the changes in my writing- content and style-wise - and also reader reactions and frequency of comments. It’s fun. I actually cringe at the punctuation in my first few posts, and also realise how crazy the incessant brackets made you feel. It brings a smile to my face now that I think of it. And, laughing at the jokes in the comments, even when I know what‘s coming. It really is fun. I remember talking to my master about my blog, and he mentioned about the categorisation of the bloggers we know- the glory bloggers and the true bloggers. And he didn’t take a second to point out that I belonged to the first category. I agreed graciously, after an instinctive first rebuff. Before I forget, glory bloggers are those who post only once in a while, after a lot of editing and only after carefully considering whether their readers would love reading that or not. The second category, on the contrary, refers to those who post as and when they feel like, don’t really care what their readers think- or even if they have any- and stick to the definition of a web log. I guess I do fit into the first category, considering my aims at present, but also considering my shift in mood and content over the past few months, it isn’t long before I seamlessly shift to the latter. Talking of my lazy inactive master, I’d like to ask him, while restraining my impulsive desire to abuse him, to please start reading again. I guess I do fit into the first category!

I’d also like to add, that this habit of revisiting past mutterings, and discussions, extends to e-mails and chats, even those on Facebook- I sometimes copy-paste them and save them as drafts. I’ve also saved a few special mails in the ‘starred’ folder of my Gmail account.

 ***

The fact that I talk so much has made me so very transparent that I fear I may not have anything more about me to add when I’m tagged, if I’m tagged. For those who aren’t insane enough to get to the end of my posts, like AP, who I actually think might not even reach here, I’d like to remind you of my request to start the practice of tagging in the blogosphere again.

 ***

I’m typing this post as I sit in a delightfully warm room in Noida, where I’d reached last night after two bus rides I’d love to write home about. The first was with AP, where I, as usual, had a wonderful time chatting for almost the entire length of the six-hour journey, apart from the few motion-sick minutes where I’d slept with my mouth wide open. We came up with exciting plans for the magazine, ones we’d love to share with the Perusing Poet, who just about missed joining us.

The other was alone on a rickety Blueline, from the New Delhi inter-state bus station to Noida, in which I couldn’t stop raving about and feeling sad for and bad about the capital, at the same time. I was born in New Delhi and had lived 40 kilometres off the capital for about 9 years, before shifting to the city of destiny, Visakhapatnam. It’s been another nine years since, but clocks roll back effortlessly whenever I have a rendezvous with this wonderful mega-polis, and I still can’t understand, leave alone explain, the sheer love and affection I have for it. People who’ve lived here all their lives will probably never get it. Those who’ve shifted to the city might just. It doesn’t matter to me. I still can’t properly answer the very common question ‘What’s your hometown?’, and usually say ‘It’s kind-of complicated’. The feeling I have for Delhi is most efficiently described by this- je ne sais quoi.

 ***

Roaming around in the markets of Noida, it was impossible not to notice the greatly heightened security measures- frisking is mandatory at the entry points of almost every mall- and although it was only a Wednesday evening, and it was two days before a momentous one in India, December 6^th, the sparse crowds were conspicuous, and a fact that didn’t exactly make my first visit to Great India Place very exciting. Reading the news reports over the week, looking at the pictures of rallies all over the country, the news of the candle-light rally at the insti, and many conversations I’d heard or participated in, all pointed to just one thing- we’re all very very united right now. But it’s sad to think that only incidents as ghastly as those of the past week end up in shows of such solidarity and togetherness. I wonder if it really needed to take this horrid event for us to finally rise and demand for change. It’s not an accusation, and it’s not that I’m trying to suggest we’re hypocritical or that I don’t appreciate this unity in any way- it just comes as a question to a simple mind like mine. There’s been enough carnage in the past to instill a sense of doubt as to whether our chosen representatives have been capable enough of protecting our homeland. But, you know what? I love the fact that people don’t care whether the guy wearing that white T-shirt standing beside them is a fish-gobbling Bengali, or that lady in the white top is a chatter-some Punjabi, or that man in that sober white shirt is a Bihari, or even someone from the north-east, or any other arbit place- all that matters is that he/she is wearing white and holding a candle for India and Indians. It’s touching, and makes me proud. If only  we could have the same feeling every single day of our lives. Utopia is a wonderful place…

 ***

P.S.- This is only for those nice guys who… wait, I do have girls reading my blog, or at least I’m trying, or am deluded enough to think so, so… This is only for those wonderful faithful tolerant people who actually did read till here. It’d be nice if you inform me what you think of the name change for the page, if you’ve bothered to notice it, and whether you think I should scrap it.

 

P.P.S.- As much as I tried not to, for a fear of sounding depressing, I couldn’t help mentioning 26/11. It weighed a little too much on my mind.

 

P.P.P.S.- I deliberately avoided using examples with profanities in the ‘Life is…’ paragraph, although the most popular example is such, as popularised by the Wild Bore.

Love, logic and long phone calls...

Useless info- This post was ready an hour after the last one, but wasn't posted till date because of the very few comments on the last one. I've decided to post it anyway considering that the fall in readership from 10 to 5 is like po-tay-to po-taa-to.

Reliance Telecom is one smart company. It sure knows where to make its money- the bastions of young, smitten couples. And what better place than the insti! I guess Reliance's Uttarakhand unit makes more than half its turnover from here, especially this year's must've been markedly higher. With many taking the step from 'just good friends' to 'not a moment without you', the need for staying in telephonic contact cutting across barriers of distance has resulted in many new Reliance handset boxes making their appearance on study-tables, with the first recharge being the omnipotent Rs. 496 pack, which basically translates to free STD calling. And, dear-oh-dear, the innovations this development's led to has left conservative, not-committed-but-oh-so-jealous people (striking example- the author) open-mouthed. Most of the nerds around don't really give two hoots, the guys hooked up in the insti are satisfied with their prevailing connections- Nescafe is their temple, and others think Sergey Brin and Larry Page decided to go into the Internet business only to serve their purpose!

I mentioned innovations? Sometime in the past fortnight, I was playing Bingo in class (as always) when the Scuttling Shuttler decided to take a look at the AoE-addict Ace and me shooting away numbers at each other, interspersed with triumphant yelps of 'Bingo!'. Taking time off his PJ-cracking, SS asks us to teach him the game, and after a few hundred seconds, we three are at it while the professor merrily goes on rattling about some 731 arbit types of galvanometers, unheard beyond the six people under his nose. Later in the day, SS is seen on his newly-installed (you guessed it right) Reliance phone explaining the rules. Interesting. But, what happens later is even more intereshting. It's two in the morning, when I'm roaming around looking for company to go to the canteen, when I see SS sitting highly pleased on his bed, pen and paper in front of him, playing Bingo with his opponent a full 500 miles away! And, he later adds with a huge smile on his face, 'I let her win every game!'

This story, of course, took place long after the Sassy Sage got his Reliance connection. SS-2, though, remained loyal to his Airtel phone- for the free STD messaging pack, which helped him stay in touch during classes, until it unfortunately got stolen, only to be faithfully replaced by my number! SS-2, though, is now hooked to Gmail, I believe with the new video chat option being given first preference, but only as long as the erratic Wi-Fi connection plays fair.

I, though, fail to understand all this hullabaloo to stay in touch. I guess, the best part of a long-distance relationship is the very fact that it is long-distance, making continous contact difficult-yes- but making every single meeting once in three months or so, very very special. Also, although as cliched as it does sound, it is the absence of a person that makes you realise their significance. And, again, talking everyday might as well lead to more and more utterances of 'Aur bata' and 'Kuch khaas nahi', leaving very little to talk about. For the best example, take these blogs. I would rarely ever get something to post about everyday!

But, then, as the Perusing Poet likes to put it, 'You won't realise this until you fall in love, my geeky friend'. Yeah, right! Fat chance of any sane female interested in bearing my chatter for anything more than a few seconds! PP thinks it's the perennial concern, that shows in the regular phone calls, which strengthens a relationship more than any corny lines or mushy poems. It's the very fact that you care, that urges you to press that number time and time again, that helps you stay up all night to talk to that one special person. I still believe the only people I can talk on the phone for more than an hour are Big B and Mom. And my cellphone expenses rarely cross two hundred bucks a month. It's totally illogical for me- talking to the very same person every night for at least a couple of hours with essentially nothing new to tell.

PP inters, 'Love doesn't go by logic... And, of all people, you talking of logic is quite a paradox. An SRK fan, who doesn't think Prisoner of Azkaban is the best of the seven, who thinks Catherine Zeta-Jones is way better than Genelia D'Souza, and is still actually crazy about his high-school crush who, quite obviously, defies all the parameters of his own SSB funda... You know what seperates us from apes- the fact that we think, and analyse things, and form a clear perspective, a unique perspective. You, in the most common cases, don't do that. And, one fine day, you come along with your 'logical analysis' to say love is illogical. Of all things possible, you chose love...'

To be honest, I think PP was right for most things. I do not tend to think about things- I just do them. I do not tend to analyse books or movies or music- I just like them or I don't really like them. There's not got to be a well-thought-out reason for me- just the fact that I like it or not. I can't really explain why I adore SRK and his movies so much, or why I like American Desi so much, or why I find The Goblet of Fire better, or why I'm a Manchester United fan, or why my favourite colour is red- I just go by primal instinct. I just dig Catherine Zeta-Jones. I just like to talk...

Footnote- All the best to all I know who're writing CAT. And, for the record, PP and SS-1, are some of the best guys I've met at the insti so far.
And, I am single, and ready to sing a jingle.

P.S.- For once, I hope, the title does manage to attract a few eyeballs...

Late edit- I was kindly informed by SS-1 that the Rs. 496 pack is now defunct. What they all have is the 600-odd rupees pack, for free STD calling to Reliance numbers for two months.

Long time, no see...

Alright. It's been a while since I last managed to bug you with my whining, grumbling or my brilliant sense of humour. 25 days, to be precise. But, this has been a period of change for your truly. 10 days after the last post, I happened to receive my personal computer, or, if I am to indulge in some shameless bragging, my ultra-fast, uber-cool and supremely brilliant (configuration and performance-wise) personal computer. And, it's only a matter of time, before I start getting accused of lack of social activity since its arrival, which might as well be a reason for the inactivity of this very page.

Now, I wouldn't delve into a SriPri or Dela-esque post wondering why I haven't posted in a while, or a Lefty-ish post listing all the wonderful things to have occurred during this hiatus. Not that I dislike doing that; I'm just too lazy. And forgetful.

My sheer joblessness has reduced me to sitting on Chehra ka Kitaab (which always reminds me of that song from Baazigar) with no one else online, sifting between the 'Home' and 'Profile' tabs when not gawking. This, more often than not, results in either me posting, or publicising the blog. As indolent as I've been to type anything longer than a few four-line verses, I chose to do the latter. And, it has actually resulted in something positive, after all. Apart from praise, friends getting nostalgic, and a few cases of nausea, people have actually started taking interest in the blog, even recommending topics for posts. Now, here comes one which I had thought of right at the beginning of this semester before I became too involved in it to remember.

Age of Empires (AoE) had, by the end of the second semester, become quite a fad in our year, so much so that it actually became a significant parameter for the choice of hostels. But, as luck would have it, the branch-wise allotment system led to all Electrical guys being forced to set up base in Azad. But, also as luck would have it, some of the more addicted gamers in the year above ours also happened to move into Azad, resulting in the creation of a huge following and addiction for the game. When I say 'addiction', I mean it.

No meal of the day would have a non-AoE conversation. Strategies, analysis of the previous game, predictions for the next, discussions and a myriad other related things were the order of the day. Chats, even spoken conversations, would be generously littered with spatterings of GG (good game), 11 (AOE chat lingo for laughter), 8 ("All hail, King of the Losers") and other numbers and abbreviations, making normal people (like thou, for a certain period of time) rack their brains.

Now, though, with half the wing playing the game, and the other half too used to it to bother, the aura surrounding the topic has slowly dulled, the LAN installation, removal, and reinstallation being flashes in the pan.

Meanwhile, I also happened to discover that concentrating isn't a tough job. 'Spirit walks', the name stolen from a popular TV series, the idea from Paddy, is this brilliant thing I've discovered which actually lets me think about pin-point issues- an ability whose absence has been felt severely, and mostly reflects clearly in my writing, me being such a scatter-brain.

The other day, a spirit walk went a little astray, with me wandering off to the corner of Azad Bhawan, barely able to hear the chatter at Ravindra Canteen, with Bhupi's voice clearly audible in the now-chilly night air. I went up to the wall and ran my hands over the shreds of broken glass embedded in cement. The instinctive urge to touch those sharp edges surprised me. I started to think of heights, and how I feel it completely natural to imagine falling- not the part where I hit the ground, it's too gory for my fraidie-cat self- it's the idea of falling, going down with gravity, that, well, fascinates me. But, then, the crazy mind of mine began to evaluate the source of the broken glass- light bulbs, broken windows, used tumblers, and whiskey bottles! Yeah, at least all that boozing comes to some use!

Just for the record, a busy Thomso passed by in the weeks gone by, and so did an uneventful Diwali, apart from the night being lighted up by the electrifying guitar scene in one of the most legendary movies of all-time, Karzzzz (It's four Zs, according to the initial publicity promos of the movie).

P.S.- (As promised) Special acknowledgement for the Electrical kholu, for giving an idea for the first half of the post.

Of rekindled, current and messy affairs

Holidays usually make us bring out that oh-so-common line in our blogabulary closet- time to re-ignite the flames of my on-off affair with the television. (Ah, feels strange to use the full form, for a change. I know what you’re thinking, by the way!)

I was just surfing channels, which basically translates into going through the sports channels and then shifting to news if nothing’s going on. The next-channel-button-killing stopped when I saw a marquee on the screen saying- “Coming up- The US Presidential Debate”. I just happened to say to my brother, “Hey, this’ll be our first Debate watch right?”, and the remote was put down. With most phrases like “sub-prime crisis” , “the Georgia situation” , “the healthcare crisis” going over my head, the urge to move on to other channels was strong but, I thought it’d be a good idea to boast about it here. I kept on watching trying to get the nuances of the accent and also, the style of oration, while secretly admiring the lady in the last row, a glimpse of whom the camera had managed to catch while roving to capture Senator Barack Obama. A commercial break inevitably followed, and the remote was hastily picked up and three thumb-strokes later, the loud, boisterous voice of a news anchor struck me, with the words “Aakhir kyun roye Amitabh Bacchan? Jaan-ne ke liye, dekhte rahiye City60!” (Now why did Amitabh Bacchan break down? Keep watching City60 to find out!).

What happens next? A video plays with the original Big B delivering a few stirring dialogues from his uber-famous movie, Deewaar, and then shedding tears after the performance at a concert as part of his ongoing world tour. The same video is shown from 4 different angles, twice zoomed in, and another time in slow-motion with pictures of Amitabh’s (recently deceased) mother being flashed and another few times simultaneously with the original movie sequence. A thorough analysis, sprinkled generously with passionate questions asked by the anchor- “Aakhir kyun?” (After all, why?), “Kya mahanayak ko apni maa yaad aayi?” (Did the great actor reminisce of his own mother?) and others, ended that particular report. I quickly started the ride back to the channel broadcasting the Debate, but managed to catch a cue to the next report- “Aage dekhiye- Nana Patekar chhodkar film ki shooting, karne chale asli shooting!” (Up ahead- Nana Patekar picks up the rifle, leaving aside movie shooting.).

An intermediate channel was showing an interview of Montek Singh Ahluwalia, with the host being Karan Thapar. Two classy speakers, and I stopped by, only to hear more phrases go above my head (Liquidity crunch, anyone?) but with one Harvard and one Oxford alumnus on each side, I had to listen for a few minutes.

The Presidential Debate ended soon, and I had gained, apart from the knowledge that Estonia, Latvia and others were threatened by the re-emerging Russia, comfort in the fact that all this hullabaloo by some news channels to gather eyeballs was not going in vain, as my aunt came by to comment “Hey, is the Amitabh Bacchan report over? Why are you watching those American guys debating on Darfur? Switch over to the other channel, fast!”

Sadly, that report was finished. So was that programme. But, loyal viewers were not to be disappointed.

“Credit card. Mobile phone. Revolver. Akhbaar. Dekhiye kis tarah in chaar hathiyaron se kiya gaya ek ghinauna gunaah. Ab se bas kuch hi der mein...”

(How a credit card, a mobile phone, a revolver and a newspaper were used to commit a dastardly crime- we tell you in a few moments ...)

Garba in Ghatkopar, Disco Dandiya in Dombivli? Yeah, right! I’m interested!

P.S.- How long could I keep my (wrist-less, thanks to a few unhappy red ants) hands off that wonderful Shift+9, Shift+0 combination? Or the one at the start of this part, too...

Eternal rain in the talkative mind

Disclaimer: The content that follows can only be described as one long-suppressed depressed whine. Any comments on the language/writing style/why-do-you-want-to-suffocate-us are unwelcome, as this is one long-suppressed, depressed whine. Any judgements about me are unwelcome, as this is one long, depressed whine. And, if I don't sound bad enough and you have managed to stay in that chair and continue reading this without controlling that primal urge to go for the Alt+F4 combination, you may read on, at your own risk, because (one last time, for good measure) this is one long-suppressed, depressed whine.

One great soul once told me, "You got a problem? Blog about it, forget it.".
This, of course, differs greatly from my not-so-great quote, "You got something good? Brag about it and don't let anyone forget it.".
But, then, I'm not a great soul, anyway. So, one wouldn't expect it from me. What one would expect from me, now, is a few, rather quite a few geeky jokes, some totally useless campus news and my views on them, and a few, rather quite a few whines.

My latest depresses period came about at the start of this semester- nothing new, just the same reasons I had some time ago (blogged about here). But, I had resolved to kill these issues with my personality off once and for all in the holidays (in December, and in July) but, to no avail. I couldn't force any of my friends to bear my depressed mumblings and I surely couldn't bug any of the so-far-very-patient seniors with that, too and thus plunged into some let's-call-it-useless activity for the past few days.

Playing Age of Empires (better known as just AoE) has become quite a fad down in Azad and, despite my repeated statements of not plunging into its elaborate plans to make me an addict, I just sat and watched the battles for hours. Playing AoE till three in the morning is bad enough, just blankly sitting, staring and asking dumb questions about it is pathetic! So, after getting quite a few rebukes for my indulgences between matches (Chatting in AoE is built for someone like me, but only if I could play and not just chat!). Then came the long hours sitting alone in the room...

You anti-social, over-idealistic nerd. You bhalu (bear). You retard. You over-talkative dumbo. You irritating...let's not go into the details, for preserving the family-reading part of this anyway-not-read page. Can't socialise. Can't drink. Can't smoke. Over-hesitant. Apprehensive about almost everything under the sun. Unrealistic. Impractical. Hypocrite. Haddu Ghissu. Argumentative. Irritating. Over-talkative...Ah, forget it!

What I've lost since coming here, and what I so miss, is that characteristic of being impuylsive, instinctive about everything. Don't think about it before, during or after it. Just get it done (avoiding the active voice for fear of copyright infringement) and forget it.
Before my instinctive answer to an invite to go out would have been "Yeah, where to?". Now, it's a highly apprehensive "Why?". Not a no, not a yes, not a when but a highly questionable why. Why? I wonder why. Where's that instinctive, impulsive, happy-go-lucky, forget-it-yaar Murty? Why do I now have to wrestle with a boring, grumpy, geeky, irritating, over-doubting, idealist Bhalu?

This was what caused my depression over the last fortnight.
This was why I posted.
Now, I'm done with it.
Now, I hope I don't sound like I'm in love- because I'm not.
Now, I hope I'm not speaking (a lot of) Greek and forcing people to up Oxford University Press' sales- because I'm not.
Now, I can continue to finish my box of Laddus, with zero regrets.
Even now, I don't like 'Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na' and still think my review- no- my VV was better than the very best.
Now, I can peacefully watch 'Into The Wild' and, maybe, decide to do a DV on it.
Now, I can stop irritating those who either ignored the disclaimer, or misunderstood it or have nothing better to do than read this.
Or, maybe, like my old self, I can continue to type on like a crazy diamond.

Ah, I feel good. I can do what I should.
Someone tell me how PTV thought of that quote right at the start of the post. How!

P.S.- If you have nothing better to say, just forget it and fulfill your desire of clicking on that red cross.

P.P.S.- Apologies to those offended by the last part. On second thoughts, Nyah na na nyah nyah!

Deep Thought

You ever wondered when your thoughts are reaching a level you never thought they were capable of? Ever wondered where exactly that place would be, what kind of atmosphere would be around, which people may be there, and what stimulated your mind into reaching the next level?

Well, most obviously, you have better things to do than that so I'd suggest you rather continue fantasising an evening with Catherine Zeta-Jones.

Sample this. A one-and-a half to two hour bus ride from the centre of the city to its vague outskirts, a bunch of (loud) strangers for company, overcast weather, a drab (so-called) summer, and just your empty mind for company. Doesn't exactly make for a great time, does it? But, over the summer just gone by, I realised I thought out my most deep thoughts in that very period. Devising damage-control measures after a few reckless comments, trying to build more torturous ways of wasting web space using this page, and, coming to the point for this post, devising theories.

No, not theories explaining why my ears are a little small (as done earlier by thinking the barber accidentally chopped them off once upon a time), or why my fingers aren't too long (because of me stunting their growth by placing them on an iron), or why two other toes of mine were longer than the Big toe.

Rather, theories like the great 'How 42?' theory (explained here), now well-known as Murty's Law.

Or, the latest one. I now choose this lowly-regarded piece-of-junk blog to state one of the most Idiot-I-always-knew-it theories which will never ever change the fact that the first thing you feel in your eye every single day when you get up is some solidified yellow thing.

When do you know a guy's getting older?
When he starts answering more questions than he asks.

And, before I'm accused of being a male chauvinist, when do you know a girl/lady's getting older?
When she asks more questions than she answers.

Now, before you head for that sink, just try and appreciate the effort put in to think about this on a boring, albeit visually appealing, and long bus ride.

P.S.- Possible names for the theory suggested.

P.P.S.- Don't call me names.

P.P.P.S.- Honestly, all the geeky jokes apart, think about it.

Got more to add: (comes here as it isn't at all related to the post) I totally adore Minissha Lamba and Isha Sharvani. Now, add Prachi Desai to the list. She looks perfectly pretty in the 'Rock On!!' promos.

P.P.P.P.S.- Yes, you may now head to the sink. Without falling four/six times on the way.

(Late edit) Even if I wanted to, I could never make money off this!