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.

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...

Home Sweet Home...

Long time spent at a master’s. A bite in the canteen. A long way back cycling with a flat back tyre.

Back to the hostel. Watching friends blowing others’ heads off. Another long cycle ride. And back.

Mates sleeping, me readying for a long night. Orkut open in one tab, Wikipedia in another.

Chatting with friends not seen for a long time. Burning ROMs with Nero’s help.

Two and a half hours left for departure. Packing begins, drowsily. A pack of biscuits greedily gobbled up.

Long chats with Mom on the phone in the early hours of the morning. More biscuits being devoured.

A sip of water, a brief goodbye to the room, a hasty signature and a rickety rickshaw ride.

Long time at the railway station, spent peering curiously at strangers I seem to know.

A brief glimpse of a short crush. Three trains, four phone calls and a noisy boarding later, I’m in my seat.

A brief chat, an SMS home and another brief chat. Sleep at long last.

Little time spent with Dad, more in the waiting area and, I’ve boarded again.

More sleep, struggle for space to stretch notwithstanding. 3 phone calls, an SMS to a friend not seen in almost 9 years and a car ride back home.

Home.

A well-needed bath. A car ride to a sandwich-selling franchise. The beach.

The beach.

An unexpected wash-up, some shaking off of sand and 5 rounds of gol-gappas with Big B.

Big B. Long time, no see.

It’s great being back home. Bliss.

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!

Who loves Orange Soda?

Another late entry into the room, another tired look around, another slump into the bed; after the mandatory brush, of course.

Settling into the new academic session has been an experience uncannily similar to the one in the first year- new hostel, new room (Ah, the smell of fresh paint!), new fellow 'inmates', more luggage-shifting, new classmates, new professors- it's been another tough time settling in. A week into the year, the room was in some state of order, the new mess had nothing different in the culinary sense but the allowance of shorts was a welcome change. The batch-mates got used to me (and my amazingly irritating sense of humour), and I adjusted myself to the grind of classes (read: filling the last page of my notebook and the polished yet ink-tarnished bench with laterally inverted alphabets, a new passion). Yet, there was this sense of incompleteness, a sense of a certain disconnection.

(Evening) After another long nap, I get up to a (most favourite) wet garden outside, dampness in the air, and rain-drenched yellow walls. Frustration. A lazy, drowsy walk around the wing fails to remove that overwhelming feeling. Two hours in the Computer Centre spent lazily drifting between "Home" and "Profile" links suffer the same fate. I wash my face- vigorously- as if trying to rub it off my head, but its recalcitrant character doesn't fall to saponification.

(Night) It's a crawl of an evening, and after bugging a few friends with some (you guessed it right!) let's-call-it-unnecessary small talk, we were headed for dinner. An unsatisfactory meal later (Stuffed tomato? I'd rather not get started), my friends wisely choose to leave me at my room (for their own good) and solitude is easily one of the most potent vectors for the ghosts of the mind to use. Irritation. A sense of incompleteness. A feeling of disconnection. Puzzling clues. The mind's not getting enough exercise. What? Enough exercise? OK. Got it. A quick trip to the security guard, and I'm sitting, having Mom's delicious (Again, I'd rather not get started on those adjectives) laddus and chivda, with enough ammunition to handle those haggard beasts in my head.

Morning arrives, after a long-awaited good night's sleep. But, alas, the devils are laughing. How can it be? More frustration. A stronger sense of incompleteness. That feeling of disconnection attacking with renewed vigour. More irritation. I somehow manage to dawdle my way through breakfast and classes and return, tired and defeated, to my room. The door's being unlocked, lazily, and unlike what would happen in a movie (where my keys would 'accidentally' slip and I'd bend down and see...), I just happened to look down and my ghosts feared their end. Armed with a confident smile, I deftly opened the lock, and slammed the door open and there it was- crisp as a just-bloomed flower, like a raindrop on a leaf. I bent down (not on my knees, careful not to dirty that pair of classy black trousers) and held it with a sense of victory. And, as one would do only when he/she is alone in a room with little risk of anyone else watching, I paraded around the room, holding it as if it were the Jules Rimet trophy.

The newspaper had finally made its appearance on my floor and I quickly turned to the back page to rekindle my temporarily-stalled affair with Sudoku. Four and a half minutes for the easy level- I'm still pretty sharp.

P.S.- The title, as is quite apparent, has nothing to do with the post. It's just a tribute to one of my once-most-loved TV shows, Kenan and Kel.