Gratification

Two of my favourite activities are eating and observing people. Obviously, it’s good fun when the two come together. Watching people’s expressions before, during and after the fulfilment of this great responsibility bestowed upon us by Mother Nature is probably the second most enjoyable part of the process- behind the process, itself, of course. Nearing two illustrious decades of nibbling, munching, gobbling, and other similar acts of gluttony, I’ve seen a glut of faces speaking a million words through their sounds of silence, and, in many unfortunate cases, those very faces and some other faces communicating quite audibly.

Who hasn’t seen that million dollar smile, embellished by that nugget stuck between the front teeth? Some faces scream approval for the food, as others, disapproval for their company. While some choose their sparkling clean plates to do the talking, notes and coins do it in their own separate ways in other cases. One of the comparatively rare expressions, though, is that of the countenance that tells the tale of a hungry stomach reaching its complete capacity, a rapacious mind once raring for more, now full to its core; of a gourmand satisfied.

More often than not, when slowly washing my hands, it is this face that I see in the mirror.

P.S.- Weird coincidence that this post should come hours after I had dinner with my father at a restaurant almost named after that other great foodie we know.

For a different breed of muggers

One of the activities a soul with as little an attention span as me tends to indulge in during the pre-test-series hullabaloo is repeatedly go online, and do what one always does when online. The past few days’ status-message-reading and mail-checking has been quite interesting. I was redirected to articles like these, and was reminded of the existence of this beautiful song. But, the one that caught my attention the most were a set of status messages on various lists compiled by Rolling Stone. Some were engaging, like the 100 best guitar songs’ latter half, while others were enraging, prime example being the 100 greatest guitarists list. Some more searching and surfing revealed lists like top 25 angry-at-girl-for-dumping-me songs, and the top 25 songs for a road trip. Mulling over this (as quite obviously, the working of induction motors had lost out comprehensively), I wondered what lists they’d missed out on, and the one that struck me first was the top songs for the bathroom. And, the jobless nut of the first order that I am, I also theorised that there should be two categories of the same.

The water heaters in both the bathrooms closest to my rooms have been put out of service for the summer, leaving people who love their hot water shampoos frustrated. This has consequently led to more and more buckets being left unused, and the showers groaning under the pressure (in some cases, literally). Bathroom singing, one of the most underrated art forms, has always been portrayed to be an act done under the shower. Countless movie songs, including the ubiquitous Thande Thande paani se, have been shown to be sung under the shower. It’s quite understandable, really. But, true bathroom singing enthusiasts never leave the show for only under the shower. The counterpart is a much more difficult task, what with the continuous mugging one has to keep up with, but with the right rhythm, and more significantly, the right song, the musical part of a bath can be preserved, and enjoyed.

So, taking the cue from the above findings, I present to you my top five non-shower bathroom songs.

5) Romeo and Juliet (Dire Straits): For those who can’t forget the pain of separation, that too in when it’s more bitter than the soap you might swallow to commit suicide, wallow in your pain, while the gentle beat and music set allows you to bathe rhythmically. If you wash your face at the end, this song’s perfect as you can shut up for the guitar/piano solo.

4) Zindagi Ek Safar (Andaaz): I’d sung this at the top of voice many times during the Our Bathrooms Have Talent series we had in first year. The yodelling comes out best when you have water flowing across your face, by the way. Plus, it’s a happy-go-lucky song that most bathroom singers love.

3) Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin): This one’s made for those with the niche tastes, the ones who like to be technically correct even if it takes swallowing some foam. Starting off slowly, picking up the pace through the middle, and finishing in a dramatic crescendo- some people just love their baths the same way. Plus, for those who miss the air-guitaring that’s an integral part of shower-singing, the drum solo makes an able substitution.

2) Phir Dekhiye (Rock On): Those who advocate shower-singing always say that their clients have the freedom of choosing their own pace, and considering that many contemplative songs have been portrayed under the shower (Awarapan in Jism and Mirza from American Desi being cases in point), they do have popular backing. But, even such songs, with the right pace, can always make it to a mug-and-bucket act, too. I can’t really explain this one; just try it and you’ll know why this one’s so high up on the list.

1) Highway to Hell (AC/DC): Bathroom singing is, ninety percent of the time, born out of nothing better to do. And what better to do than start jumping around crazily, shout at the top of your voice, and clear your road with this adrenaline-pumping song. The guitar solo’s too difficult for maximum amateur air-guitarists so you can wash your face as you admire that, and with you singing out aloud, the guy knocking your door waiting outside impatiently is gleefully asked to suck it. Two birds with one stone- perfect!

Apart from all reasons given in usual arguments, the best part about bathroom singing is that sometimes it actually is a strong reason for going for a bath. Can it get any better? What’re you waiting for, stinkface?

Much ado about nothing

R-land throws up all kinds of characters. There are those who seem they were born to write algorithms that’ll run the planet, the kind who can see all seventeen primary and auxiliary views of an imaginary object in their head, those who may have been playing with diodes and transistors instead of Lego bricks when they were still sucking their thumbs (if and when they were free).

 

There are those who may not be as brilliant as the aforementioned, but manage things just fine. They may not know why the aperture for *random-lens-name-here* has to be greater than five millimetres, but know that such a thing exists and might as well be on the answer sheet in front.

 

And, then, there are those exceptions who seem to prove one Mr. Murphy right all the time. It’s nice and simple- they just can’t do a thing correctly. Even if they manage to get all the chemicals right, mix them in the right proportions, and by freaks of nature they might call miracles even stir and heat them just right, they will drop the beaker.

 

No prizes for guessing- yours truly belongs to the last category.

 

This semester’s been quite peculiar. The attempts to get back over the wall shaped like the number eight were lost in soporific stupors- the recently installed air-conditioners in the lecture rooms, too, serving dear old Morpheus. The courses have all seemed pretty easy but those marks remain elusive. One might have thought practical exams for three subjects might help bridge the increasing gap between us hapless souls and the unbelievable nerds lying at the top. But, as said earlier, some people just can’t get it right, no matter what.

 

Exhibit A: The first practical exam is Electrical Machines. The preparation’s been half-decent, but I stride into the lab confident that I’ll forget all circuit diagrams as soon as I get my experiment. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen and I find my bed and get started on doing random tests on a transformer. The writing part is duly completed as neatly as possible, and the connections are made arduously over an hour. I get them checked and am given the green signal. I can’t believe everything is going so smoothly. I push up my collar in pride, and give the switch a pompous hit. The circuit is turned on and all but one of my meters reads zero. I almost felt satisfied I was proved right, but one hour of effort for just one of three tests going futile wasn’t a comforting fact. I called the lab assistant for assistance, and was informed I was working in the wrong lab all the while. Oh, yes! I knew my circuit was alright! I entered the other lab to be promptly questioned how I was strutting in an hour late. The lab assistant there couldn’t believe someone could possibly have worked in the wrong lab for an hour, but let me in all the same. Things went on uneventfully, afterwards, until the viva-voce came along.

 

I can talk- a lot. For hours at a stretch, to any random person, at any place, on anything and everything. But, somehow, despite this superhuman loquaciousness, viva-voce sessions aren’t exactly my cup of tea. I’ve only ever given them in two ways- one in which I sit around for a long time saying “Erm... Uhh... Hmmm... Dum tada dum dum”, and the other in which I very straightforwardly say “Honestly, sir- I have no idea.” This one was the former, and I even managed to screw up questions I had a semblance of an answer for.

 

Digital Electronics was up next. The viva was pretty early into the practical, and frustrated with the professor’s slow drooping voice, I resorted to answering questions in a snap, something which seemed to have perturbed the old man and I was sent off in less than five minutes. The LEDs meanwhile, decided to run my counter from 0-3 only, and some jugad later, I was out of the lab after another bad practical. The worst part was that the worst part was to follow.

 

Power Electronics is my M. Tech specialisation. The first course on it has been a nightmare. With the professor’s incorrigible hissing going un-understood and the promise of no attendance, this course has been quietly ignored all the while. The coordinator decides to make amends and conduct a practical exam. Bad idea- no one, including the professors themselves, has taken them seriously and from the first batch, it’s inferred a diagram with some seven transistors, three different ICs, a brand-new clock-timer (?) and some thirty-one resistors and capacitors is to be learnt by heart. No wonder it was called a firing circuit. I was lucky I got to work with only eleven resistors and capacitors and two ICs, but the other components duly made their mind not to help me. The viva-voce was good fun. I answered the first six questions admirably, and to the next three I said “I haven’t a clue, sir.” The nice guy that he was, the professor asked me to make an educated guess. “I don’t really think random guessing is going to help me in any way, sir. You need to know something to guess, don’t you?”, I snapped.

I don’t know why but I think he was impressed.

 

The end-semester theory exams follow, and I ironically feel relieved I only have to communicate by writing on an innumerable number of sheets. Of course, if I can.

 

P.S. - Old Monks this year has been great fun. While Lefty had one full of allusions, Moh meant business with his last quiz. Bang Bang and Chaukanna had a hilarious last one, and Dude's special was most memorable. Only he could've pulled it off!

 

P.P.S. – You’ve got to stick to your principles.

The tradition lives on...

Another set of mid-semester examinations is upon us, meaning it’s been another week full of coffee, gossip, joblessness and, of course, frantic attempts to make some good out of those tests. Speaking of joblessness, R-land has been unbelievably active on Facebook, and not to mention, the preferred activity being those random quizzes that have invaded our Home pages. The conversations in the midnight rendezvous at the canteen earlier used to be the usual “Are these the subjects I really want to study?”, “I should’ve gone to Delhi or Bombay...” or the omnipresent “I want to get committed!”. Thanks to the aforementioned recent developments, these bakar sessions now sound a little different. “What should be your real job?”. “Which city are you/ should you be living in?”. “What is the first letter of the person you will fall in love with?”. For goodness’ sake, even “Which street animal are you?” (I am supposed to be a mangy cur). Facebook was nice and addictive when I first picked it up, but it was the social networking part which made it fun. Poking friends, commenting on their albums, following their status messages- you got to know these people so much better. These quizzes claim to add to the same, but do they? Who’s bothered if I’m a gamma function or an exponential function, or if you’re a stiletto or a pair of sneakers. You can lie your way to becoming a nice bovine creature on the city roads, or boast about an emotional quotient of 138, or claim you’re a real-life equivalent of Charlie Brown’s cousin, and get a handful of guesses as to who your love’s going to be when his/her name begins with an M (which, by the way, every second person seems to be getting). But is that what I really want to know about people? If you say you’re involved in them as just another activity to bide time, I’m OK with it. If you think it helps you connect with people better, I seriously begin to wonder ‘How?’. As insignificant as it may be here, I’d like to ask Mr. Zuckerberg to ponder over this and the suggestion of reverting to the old Home page.

 

Meanwhile, blogging is now officially a fad on campus. So much so that Kondy’s April Fools’ prank involved one, and was quite a rage, might I add! First posts now gather comments I can’t dream of, and cheap publicity is the norm. The new monthly newspaper, YouthZilla, in their coverage of this phenomenon, asked some chips from the old block why they blogged, and what keeps them going. I got that e-mail, too. Pity I couldn’t reply in time. Do read that article for Sushi’s awesome reply. As I surfed through my chat list and found links to at least half a dozen blogs as status messages, I was reminded of my humble beginnings in the blogosphere.

 

My blog began as my vent for all that I couldn’t speak thanks to lack of time/ space/ cooperative audience. But, as the sands of time flowed down, I realised it was much more. It was an endoscope into those great recesses of my mind, a vent- not for arbitrary chatter- but for anything that’s stimulated me , and, of course, a chance to keep writing regardless of my work (or the lack of it) for the magazine. I realised today, that sometime in November 2012, when I’d be a dapper 22-year-old with a mortarboard for headgear and a scroll in hand, there’d be one place I’d look to recount all those little things that made life in the insti as special as it was, and this page would be it- unblemished by time, untampered by opinions, unhampered by incidents to follow- pure as that first drop of rain. After all, as AP so poignantly says, beauty lies in the minutiae.

 

P.S.- All the very best to Dela and Prondu for the Tata Crucible National Finals. I wish the Grandmaster’s legacy passes on to you.

P.P.S.- For all those who're reading this before Sunday, best of luck for the tests. You seem to need it.

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!

And so begins...

As stupid as this may sound, I actually love following my Orkut fortune widget on the Home page. And, after a series of Google Easter Eggs, like 'The man who reads your fortune is on vacation. Try visiting someone's profile instead', my cookie suggested two days ago, 'Now is the time to try something new'. Frustrated as I was with my ever-the-same poor preparation for the end-sems, the want for some good news made me trash the usually-interesting cookie, and go renew my affair with Minesweeper, which, I may inform you, is one of the most brilliant games of all time!

Late into the night, though, the Orkut Home page somehow wandered back into my mind and I decided it really was time for trying something new- but not momentarily. Instead, I wanted to start a tradition- one that would stand for some time to come, and one that people, even if they only were a handful, would remember and associate me with. And, as I smiled to myself waiting for the time to come when I would begin this not-so-grand exercise, my scatterbrain took over again and I found myself thinking about the Fantasy Premier League while trying to remember the features of some strange-looking w(h)att-meters...

The best part about exam-time is that my mind always happens to cook up wonderfully pleasant theories about which pair of socks would go with my sweater, without contrasting too much with my sandals. The sad part is I'm not supposed to do so with the sword of Damocles hanging precariously over my head.

The best part about winter is that I sleep like a log, and dreams are longer, and more enjoyable, and, most importantly, more remnant, in this season. The sad part is the insti happens to schedule exams at the same time, and your slot happens to be the 9 a.m. one.

It's been a pleasing week thus far, the best being today when I happened to meet a very old friend, who now is 12 time-zones away, on Facebook and nostalgia has been the only thing in my mind, since then. I love Facebook, by the way. I joined a month or so ago, and I love wasting time on the dumb movie quizzes. But, Orkut is my first love...

My exams start tomorrow, and, I haven't forgotten, dear reader, of the tradition I spoke of at the beginning of this post. From today, I shall post on the eve of every set of exams I write at the insti. That means 21 more, at least. That way you'll have a post to look forward to before every time you feel jobless before that sham begins. Oops, I almost forgot- I've got non-insti readers, too. Or, at least, I'm trying to get some. So, that guarantees three posts every 6 months. That'll mean I can, if I stick to this tradition, get close to two-and-half score posts on this webpage by the time I graduate- or pass out, as popular usage would go!

I guess I'll get back to studying, now, before I make it more exams than scheduled to post before! So long, patient reader! Good night, and wish me good luck!

P.S.- Dela, I do love Lefty, I'd like to remind, assuming you are getting a sense of deja vu.