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!

Plastic knives aren't a public nuisance

The past week was full of activity. In some relatively insignificant news, the ruling government’s continuing love-hate relationship with The Right’s opposite (which, some consider ironically, isn’t Wrong) took another handful of twists, a lady (who, again, some consider ironically, is half an illusion) took another step towards her cherished dream of leading this very country, another few hundred children were born, another brawl decorated our (some consider ironically) national game and the relationship with our neighbours, and a few more hundred children were born. But the one big news development over the last weekend (which, nobody considers ironically, dominated prime-time on most of our news channels) was the launch of (proclaimed to be India’s most legen-wait-for-it-darrry) chat show hosted by (again, nobody at all considers ironically) India’s most loved (at least if it is assumed that TV channels show what the people want) celebrity, who I shall refrain from naming because of possible notices being issued. The show’s first guest promised that whenever he needed an item number in his movies, the first person he’d call would be the host and played, as he does with any role, the good guest to perfection.

In some more small (compared to the big news, a drop in a glass of sea buckthorn juice) news, a family was out shopping in a city (wrongly conceived to be, on many an occasion, in Orissa, Kerala, Tamil Nadu and in one extreme case, Gujarat) southwards on the eastern edge of the country. After a not-so-difficult purchase of a pair of jeans, and another piece of footwear, one of them left the others at a pastry shop and left, mysteriously, to don’t-know-where. After 20 chocolate-gulping minutes at the shop, which included a few embarrassingly dangerous ones with the kid saying ‘Hi!’ to an unknown lady and smiling at her after he thought she whispered his name, with her (apparently) fat (quite apparent) boyfriend staring right down at him and his mom right beside him, they left for home. At around midnight, when the kid was busy with yet another Sudoku puzzle and his mom was trying to get a few forty winks (after some mentally draining attempts at the day’s newspaper’s Sudoku puzzles), his brother mysteriously vanished (again), apparently to take a phone call. He returned with a (now customary) warm hug, a ‘Happy birthday’ wish followed, and, a (now customary) kiss from mom, a (now customary) ‘Appi Baa-day to you’ and a few (always ready) tears from his aunt, and a (quite big) bite of his favourite chocolate cake later, the kid received one of the surprises of his life- his first guitar! The kid, happy enough to jump for dwarf planet Ceres, eagerly tore the zip down to show off the skills he had (visibly, quite badly) learnt back at his hostel. After quite a few totally out-of-sync notes, and a spattering of his (visibly, quite poor) knowledge of the instrument, he gently placed it back for a (one more?!) bite of the cake and started taking calls and replying to messages. He couldn’t sleep that night, in excitement, in total surprise and, most importantly, in simple love for his family. Even the fact that a few girls may miss ‘scrapping’ or messaging him their wishes (or rather give it a miss), or even a few close (guy) friends might do the same (which, in another show of endearing love, they didn’t!) or a million other not-so-positive thoughts couldn’t stop him from sporting one big (for once, not fake or Rishi Kapoor-ish in any way) smile in the darkness of the bedroom. Apparently, the kid was now officially an adult, which he seemed to like in some ways for the sake of a few acts like voting and driving, but just age can never determine that justly. So, the kid’s heart felt content as he went to sleep, one more day, as a kid.

P.S. - The kid wants to thank every single wonderful person who wished him on his birthday, and also those who forgot and those who chose not to.

P.P.S. – Sea buckthorn juice isn’t great, try Black currant; looks like red wine and tastes like heaven!

P.P.P.S. – The kid chooses not to drive in public interest and not (to quote his History & Civics textbook) to exercise his franchise, in private.

P.P.P.P.S. - Pizza Hut burnt quite a hole in the pocket and The Dark Knight is a nice movie.

Two experiences...

I’ve happened to have read two books over the holidays so far. One was a highly recommended, greatly controversial best-seller about a kid recently kicked out from school, and another, a highly anticipated book by a best-selling phenomenon, about a young suicide attempter and his story.

Two books which I shan’t compare but just recount my experience of reading them (Useless info- I just completed reading the second.).

The former.

All those rave reviews weren’t worth nothing. This, for me, wasn’t just a book but, a totally different take on life, in general. The protagonist doesn’t strike me as a delinquent juvenile, but as a disillusioned thinker, with a particularly world-annoying way of looking at the world (as confusing as the words are, that’s the best I can manage). The book, overall, just gave an amazingly refreshing perspective of our surroundings.

The latter.

Another masala serving from this exciting writer. This book wasn’t greatly spectacular, especially the plot, which was disappointingly over-filmy, I felt. It was his sheer originality and outrageous unpredictability that made his first book extra-special (and also, seemingly, a cult) and the second quality was the one of the few things I liked about his second offering. The original writing style remains but the fact that I could actually predict the next event left me greatly disappointed (even my ego, which would usually jump with joy in the discovery of my super-sleuth abilities, couldn’t suppress this feeling). But, nonetheless, I remained a fan of him, and considering my disappointment with this book, it is indirect praise for the author who will remain a phenomenon, I guess, and his next book will still be even more greatly anticipated.

Now, don’t think I’m also adding a book review (again, unless you’re totally hooked to it, it’s difficult to re-view 255 or 789 wood pulp products, compared to 180 minutes of celluloid) to this torturous waste of webspace. I hope the two accounts are self-explanatory of their purpose...

For those curious souls who were thinking of Googling these books (if they stayed alive through the post, or if they haven’t done it already!), I’d just give it away- “The Catcher in the Rye” and “The 3 Mistakes of my Life” (apologies to those uber-smart souls who were affronted by the previous sentence having guessed already)...6 hours of reading takes its toll...I hope an hour of soporific time-wasting and frantically following (daily) a certain 23-year-old Madeiran’s future can relax the mind now...Sleep can wait...

P.S.- Rupa Publishing rocks! Best-sellers at under hundred bucks- what more can you ask for?

P.P.S.- Apologies for the drop in readability over the last two posts...Maybe it happens when I try to get a little over-personal on the blog...The impassionate accounts are better, maybe...Comments anxiously awaited...

Movie Review: Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na

I thought I’d add a new feature to my already very insipid blog called (very aptly) Viewer View. Dubble Vee, as I call it fondly, is named (very aptly, as mentioned earlier) because review seems to suggest viewing the movie again and I can’t guarantee that all the time and viewer (which makes up the apt part) is actually an anagram of review. So, DV, as I fondly refer to Dubble Vee, today is about a movie called ‘Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na’ (as mentioned above). So, here we go with Digital Voyeurism (as I fondly refer to DV)...

I saw the night show of this movie yesterday and today (as the show extended past midnight, technically speaking) and I felt it was awfully dumb.

Re-views of this highly detailed analysis of the movie are unwelcome (which isn’t necessary to be told, I’m sure).

Unfortunately for your tired eyes and greatly red mind (because of all the blood around it, and otherwise...), I’m not one for short posts so I’d just ramble on...

The last few weeks have been mainly spent trying to complete the hexaple with Tottenham (winning the Community Shield, Super Cup, Champions League, Premier League, FA Cup and League Cup in a single season) for the sixth consecutive year, praying for a certain mailman who paints a tennis court not to do the same (with full respect for his game) and biting the dead skin on the sides of my thumb trying to anticipate the rabbit-hole brothers' next moves as they try to break out of jail, again. Not greatly productive work, I’m sure, but whenever the electricity somehow conjures up a way to go out for minutes at a stretch, I can’t help but feel helpless about my social apathy at this stage. I’d only gone out of the house once in the past three weeks, that too to empty the ATM and bug the cell phone service guys. I hadn’t called (up, on) any of the numerous friends I was dying to meet a few months ago. I realised my only connection with the outer world had been a certain social networking website named after Finnish for ‘multiple *rg*sm’ and my balcony. Ah, the balcony. How much time I used to spend there, staring blankly at anything I could find- the huge apartments building ahead, the thele-wala just at the edge of the crossroads, the eternally-under-repair bridge over the drain which had a stream running down through it where the washermen had smartly placed their beating rocks (the not-so-pleasing-to-the-ears rock music) and, of course, all those people passing by- pedestrians, bikers, cyclists, cars, school kids with their tired spines and dreary faces, coaching class victims with their even more dreary faces, all kinds of people. Voyeurism (in the most positive sense possible) was a wonderful activity; made me relax but still kept me thinking. Now, the overgrown coconut trees’ branches obscure my view of the road ahead but I still love to lean down on that steel railing and look straight ahead, right up, crane my neck way to the sides- do anything to feel like I’m still living in a world with six and a quarter billion people.

As for my social ventures, after a less-than-eventful class reunion (even there I managed to earn a few expletives, and left the fairer gender totally awestruck, in the most negative sense possible, with my amazingly unkempt hair) and a trip to a rare sun temple with the family, supermarkets’ food-and-drink sections were the only contacts.

A(n? Still confused over this) year away from my place and I’ve become an introverted, anti-social, rude imbecile, who can barely start up a conversation. And I surely don’t like it. A change of attitude, a change of personality, a change of outlook is on the cards. I feel like I’m trying to walk sideways, and I’m ending up falling by the wayside. Too many ‘I’s in a sentence surely isn’t a great sign either, for my writing skills. I’m actually thinking of quitting the very magazine that I had thought of committing my heart out to for three years. And I’m not watching enough South Park. These last two very rare days, where a trip has been made to a lower way of sandwiching and the movies, might be a good start. Now, is the time, for a change...

P.S.- The movie review feature will still run, although not that conspicuously here forth.

P.P.S.- My sincere apologies to those who were offended by the title, and decided not to go through the post. But, wait, they wouldn't reach this part anyway. Sad.

P.P.P.S.- I've caught yet another cold, which resulted in this post being typed with greatly mucus-afflicted hands. Useless info. Anyway, no girls read my blog. And, even if they do, the hair was repulsive enough, wasn't it?

P.P.P.P.S.- Yes, Sushi, this thing is pretty popular because we never run out of things to say which are totally out of context.

When the lights go out...

The air has a tinge of moisture. The earth, sensing the impending, lets out a most wondrous smell. The chameleons raise their ever-changing necks to the sky, as if raising a toast to the almighty. The sky returns a nervous smile as the encircling clouds shroud its blue face with a grey veil. Thor chooses to let all and sundry know his power and lets out whiplashes of white streaks across the now grey patch, with vicious cracks sounding across the city. The lights go out, and I walk out lazily to the balcony of my first floor apartment (by the way, the lights just went off now! What a coincidence!) as Dad adds behind me, “The monsoon has finally arrived in Vizag!” I nod in agreement, as the sudden downpour has the unassuming pedestrians running Helter-Skelter (sic, All hail the pseudo-Haddu, soon-to-be pseudo-Bong!), the coconut trees’ branches adding to the numerous sights and sounds of the lashing rain. As it goes in England, in Vizag, too, ‘it doesn’t rain, it pours!’ My favourite season returns, as always, with a loud whack (not always of the door banging, though!)!

With a lot of people getting drenched with the sudden rains, a common cold is pretty common again. It’s one of my old friends, one that stays by me most of the year (a la Mervin Dillon), keeping me, my handkerchiefs (in some cases, the unlucky towel) and the makers of Triaminic Plus busy. One thing one’s advised when he’s caught a cold is to avoid eating ice-cream. But, a food freak (like yours truly) is surely not one to heed such advice and is off for a long-awaited sundae at Jack Frost (real nice place for the best sundaes in town). It’s been over two and a half months since my last visit and over half a dozen since my last dig into that...that...let’s just call it- no-word-for-it sundae called (the?) Chocolate Indulgence. And it’s an indulgence for a reason. One (big fat delicious) slice of chocolate cake, over which is a slab of chocolate ice-cream topped with chocolate chips and (you guessed it right!) chocolate sauce. No more descriptions of creamy, mouth-watering, greed-inducing, fat-rich-but-still-irresistible desserts would have followed had we not been at home now (for charges of being murderous). But, I chose not to have that flavour (took it for Dad, half as good!) and instead chose All Litchis, which was (not totally surprisingly) brilliant as well!

After a (as it is with every Mummy-ke-haath-ka-khana meal) sumptuous dinner, it has become a once-in-a-while practice at home to head for Jack Frost, get four sundaes and rush to the beach to devour them- the moonlight gleaming on the magnificent Bay of Bengal as a cool breeze blows across our (watering near the mouth, and some cream on the nose-bridge) faces. I can’t help but remind myself of that one great original Delhi creation- Nirula’s('s?) very own Nutty Buddy. I comment grudgingly that over a decade, its price has gone up from a modest twenty-two rupees to a (opinionated) hefty fifty-four rupees but it still has that irresistible taste, that same feeling that courses through my taste buds as I crunch through for a bite. Ah, what wonderful times! Nostalgia gives such pleasure, and also such greed! I’d so love it if we were all back in Delhi again. But, my love for the city of destiny (Vizag, for the uninitiated) has grown lately, not enough to match the capital maybe, but still enough to carve its own special space in my (in danger thanks to chocolate overdose!) heart.

Wooh! From the monsoon to a perennial cold, through to some ice-cream and love for cities! Some ride! I need to take a rest...Maybe, just lie down lazily in the moonlight on the beach, with a Chocolate Indulgence in hand...

A(n?) year wiser???

It's over now. The year they'd all talked about. Much before we came here, during the year here, and even after it's over, the first year at the insti is easily the second-most talked-about year of 'em all (after, of course, the final year). Considering the fact that most of the (very few) readers of this post are past that stage, I'm going to ignore that fact altogether and just go about typing this post the way it's supposed to be (Thanks, PTV!).

The one big truth (other than Jugad) that I've understood over the (academic) year has been that R-Land is a highly seasonal place, if you like. It all started off with the bucket-mattress-jhaadu season, moving into the books and stationery season, through to the train-ticket concession season and finally culminating in the trunk season.
Each season had its own share of controversies and it all ended with me leaving those final messages for our prospective room betas (sons, insti lingo for our successors in the room), neatly dabbed onto the very wooden doors the (!@#$%^&*) dhobi used to unforgivingly bang twice a week, on the very cupboards where all my highly palatable achaars (pickles) would have (in a very unorganised manner) been stored, on the very windows from where I'd look out into seemingly endless sky on those lonely nights...

The year gone by, also, was my first away from home but ended up with me having a home away from home in a city I loved to hate, at one point of time. But, as PTV very aptly put it, it's one lovely place- a place with no boundaries (except at KB and SB!). A place where I've met some of the most wonderful people, thanks to two of the most "rocking" (ahem...sorry for the Audio sec-sun recall!) student societies...no, the word 'society' robs them of their beauty...student families on campus and to those lush gardens in front of the hostel canteen, where I've met some of my best friends in my year.

This year also had a few pitfalls, though. The early fallout with the bevdas (drunkards), a ghastly course called Engineering Graphics, the anti-social image build-up, et al - all making it one heck of a roller-coaster ride. I supposedly missed out on two things any first-yearite (I still prefer first-year, though. 'First-yearite' makes no sense to me.) shouldn't- the KB bhawan day and the Thomsonian quiz (from a Litta point-of-view). Still, no regrets for the first and full for the second.

All in all, it's been a long year running out pretty fast.

This post goes out to all those amazing people I've met at the insti so far- THE corridor, the bull-s*itters, the batti guys, the Littas, the entire (working) Kshitij team, the all-night bakar enthusiasts, and all those who've been able to bear me- hugs and kisses to all!

In the end, though, picture abhi baaki hai, boss!!!

P.S.- My apologies for those offended by the last line.
P.P.S.- It's my second-favourite part of the post, though.
P.P.P.S- (thankfully, the blogger server crashed for those 3 hours!) THE RED DEVILS LORD OVER EUROPE! GLORY, GLORY, MANCHESTER UNITED!

The plague that is plagiarism

OK. I've spoken at length over this topic for hours at a stretch trying to convince people around me to either give it up or (in the extreme case) accept it is wrong in the first place.

Copying is all around us, whether it be in the movies, or in our government (at all levels) or, closer home, all around our educational institutions. There's nothing very novel about it anymore. Copying is no longer considered to be really "cool" or a refuge of the uber-smart either. But, for those who don't do it and are worried for that unforgiving, unrelenting ten-letter C-word (referred to as done because of the growing perception that it's the not-to-be-spoken you-know-who-type of word) called (Haha! I'm another Potter in the making!) conscience, it's good enough fodder to give those long "It's morally wrong." speeches to those who don't really give two hoots for it.

But, as one particular smart soul says, "You got a problem? Blog about it. Rest in peace."

The end of the end-sems (with all the animated discussions about this very phrase going around everywhere, I wonder if it is grammatically correct), like the end of every set of exams, brought out my long-recited-over-and-over-again speeches on what practices are morally correct and what not. Countless arguments ensue, with discussions ranging from "Conscience? Don't use fancy English expletives, now!" and "Copying? I was just borrowing ideas!" to "Who're you to decide what's right and what's wrong? That's for a blind-folded lady with scales in her hands to look at." (Yeah, right! You want me to take you to court, now?) and "Mind your business. What have YOU got to do with our consciously-made decisions?". More debates follow on who's got more of a "right to copy"- one who's getting 90 out of 100 and wants a perfect cent to get that (not-so-)elusive A+ or one who's partied all sem and wants to avoid a backlog.

Maybe, yes. I'd rather mind my own business. Just because I'm too dumb or fattu(i.e. scared) to plagiarise, it doesn't mean I've got the right to criticise and counsel those who do.

Maybe, no. Society's only going to improve if each individual improves. One changes himself, influences others to do the same and the betterment of humanity at large can only follow. The ends don't justify the means.

Too far-fetched. Who cares for the long-term? In the short-term, CG matters, results matter, money matters, votes matter. Conscience can have a drink and chillax.

Whatever it may be, this post's done. I've got one big load off my head.

And, I still don't copy (Oh, well. I can be let off for the tutorials, right?!?!)