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December 03, 2008

What makes me tick

People don't understand each other. Not that they don't try. They strive so hard to try and understand someone they consider close to their heart, but sometime or the other, learn that they haven't at all. Probably a price we paid when we evolved to become the complex beings we say we are. We humans are supposed to be sentient. Laughable concept. Each and every one of us is so caught up in his or her own life that we hardly care two bits about someone else. The world, they say, is a closer place. Laughable, again. With communication barriers breaking down, people have no time to spend with the persons sitting next to them because they have a conference call meeting with someone in Prague and a someone else in Melbourne. All this deliberate distancing of souls who don't know what they're missing out in life is getting my gut. Grabbing it and twisting it till it causes extreme discomfort. Led me to do a little soul-searching of my own. Found it buried deep down in a part of my body I wouldn't like to mention here. Thought I'd post some of the stuff I dredged up here. Just to let whoever wants to know. What makes me: Me. Friends. Such a lovely word. For me, personally, it means the world. My World. Its where I can be myself. Even let go of myself, 'cause there's always someone to get me back to me. My friends mean the world to me, as you might have guessed by now. I'd sell the world for a friend. I never really had true friends till I was in the 8th standard. That was when I met (I knew them before then. But only as names associated with faces) the 4 guys who became my friends. My first real friends. A true friend, simply put, is someone who would do anything for me, if it had to be done and there was no other way to help me. I know I would. A true pal is someone who's there. Always. Because he or she knows if the places had been reversed, nothing would have changed. Someone who won't be offended if you teased them a little too much (Admit it, you do get carried away when people laugh at your jokes). Someone who won't sulk because you forgot to say "Thank you!" for submitting your exam form before the deadline when you were out of town, because he knows you are grateful in your heart.Someone you don't really have to speak your thoughts out to (No "A penny for your thoughts.", they're free), they know it before you even say it (But that doesn't mean you take things for granted and expect your friend to know everything you're going through. Sometimes, its better to just talk things through.Especially if you happen to have a thick-skulled idiot like me for a friend). And...I think I said "simply put", so I'll stop here. I think, by now, you get the idea anyway. Since, 8th standard, my life changed. Drastically, as my parents will assert if you ask them (Now don't go and do that!). The five of us (the four guys I mentioned before. Read also my post on "Night-outs and Friends") set out to see the world and find out what friendship meant. It was a journey of epic proportions (No exaggeration. Who I was before then is nowhere close to who I am now) for me. A journey of self-realisation. I turned from a meek, yes-teacher-ing, homework completing, backboneless, cowardly, wearing-clothes-that-mommy-set-out-for-me boy to who I am today (A much better person I hope). I learnt that you can stand up to a bigger person if you have 4 other guys flanking you (Result was we bullied the older students who had made the previous two years of our individual lives miserable). I learnt that you can form your very own five-a-side football team. One of the guys taught the rest of us how to bunk class without getting caught (A terribly useful trick). We experimented on different forms of cheating in exam halls (I've been caught just once. The first time I tried my hand at it). I learnt to ride a bike 5 years prior to my coming of age (Result was I had to pretend really hard when my dad decided I was old enough to ride a bike on my 18th birthday. That was fun, pretending to fall off. Shifting gears really badly. Dad still thinks he taught me to ride a bike. I'm not telling him otherwise. Not now anyway). A host of other things I learnt then, that make me who I am now, will maybe form a part of some later post. I have always had a great affection for my friends. I care about them a lot. In fact, at times, I choose to put my friends over my family. Its not that I don't care about family. Its just the single, simple fact - I can choose my friends. This isn't something I can do with family. If only I could, there happen to be a lot of loud-mouthed uncles and great-uncles on my dad's side I'd happily disown. Friends are people who I let share my life. Family, on the other hand, consist of a lot of people who's company I'm forced to pretend to enjoy just because we have a few million genetic traits in common. Simply put, I'd die without friends. I wouldn't actually kill myself. I'm way too practical for that. It's just that, me, as I know myself would cease to exist. A scary possibilty. But very far-fetched. Considering I'm having the time of my life at present with a whole bunch of new friends I'd never even dreamed of ever having. As for the future, who knows? I really hope from the depths of my heart that I will always be able to count the people I share my life with today, among my friends. I pray and hope Freddy Mercury got it right when he sang "Friends will be friends, Right till the end". But for now, I lead a contented and happy life. I don't expect anything much from my friends. Except that they be happy. I try my best to help them along and hopefully, they like having me around. To my friends, because life wouldn't be the same without them. Heck, life wouldn't be a life without them.

Notice

Dear Whoever you may be,
This is to bring to your notice (If
you are remotely interested) that this blog will not be updated till
after December 2008. So you all can cry you hearts out or maybe even
slip into depression for a dearth of reading material.

-----------Rookie.

P.S. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

November 12, 2008

A Wholesome Meal

I love food. The love is so deeply rooted that I it is usually love at first smell. Yeah, usually, I fall in love everyday. Whoever once said, "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach" , was a very wise person. Each food item has its own rich, distinctive aroma that beckons and my sensitive nostrils are suckers for it. The absolute loser that my nose is follows the floating tendrils of fragrant spices and delicious whatnots, quite forgetting that it happens to be attached to me and dragging me along not unlike a Great Dane drags it's owner by the leash right into some very interesting shrubbery. Like I said, I like food. Nay, I love it. So much so that I can actually palate the hostel food. Truth be told, I relish the slop they muck up for us. They cook up some neat stuff. A little bit of everything is what we get. A well-rounded meal. Well, we don't get anything by way of an aperitif. But, everything else is there for us to eat. "Waitaminute! What about the light entertainment?", you ask. "I bet you don't get any live jazz bands playing in the background", you quip, quite pleased at finding a loophole in my hallelujahs to a place you think is aptly named "The Mess". Let me burst your comfy, cozy, soapy, dream bubble. It so happens, we do get entertainment. Let me tell you, none of it is ever preplanned. We don't get Marvin Berry or Kenny G. What we do get is stand-up comedy! The best jokes are never planned. I can vouch for that statement. I can get a "I second that!", from from my friend Mr. Husband (who claims he's a comedian himself. I have my doubts. I think most of the laughs he gets are directed at him and not at his jokes (Though I'm glad he isn't a Lavendor). Coming back to the entertainment part, let me give you an example: Today, at dinner, my friends (Six, Kissyboy & Orgasmo - who gets his alias from a Trey Parker & Matt Stone parody on the American adult film industry of the same name) and I sat at a table with two guys (who I later found out were doing their first year law course). Those two cases were typical specimens of the murderous mutant species I described in detail in my last but one post. I couldn't but help overhearing their conversation. It was about girls in general and girlfriends in particular (How very typical. A guy's topical.). Now, these guys were the kind that couldn't just look at a girl, they had to leer or stare or both (and I'm sure it wouldn't be the face they would stare at). They didn't appreciate beauty (I'm a connoiseur myself), they were more like those weighing machines you find at railway stations- flashy and making you conscious about your ample figure. The ampler, the better; or like Revenue Inspectors - always monitoring your assets. Take my word for it, this description of them has been toned down so as to not offend female readers. When I said those two perverts were talking about girlfriends, I don't mean they had any. They were wondering why they didn't have any. I could have told them a thing or two, but prudently, I didn't. They proceeded to discuss, in horrble english, whom they would like to have a relationship with. A number of names came up (I feel so sorry for those poor girls). Ultimately, I couldn't take it any longer. They weren't being respectful to two things at the top of my "respect list" , girls and english. I invited my friends to shoot me but they conviniently forgot to obtain guns in the first place (Six offered to tap me on the head with his nunchuks. An offer I refused on grounds that he wasn't very proficient with the damn sushi-eaters' weapon and would end up injuring himself. I wouldn't want him having all the fun of being unconscious while we were being subjected to the third-degree.). So I had to endure them and their half-formed, wrongly phrased sentences for the rest of the meal (Which ended with them deciding to take drastic measures. They were actually planning to hand out flyers with their contact numbers on them stating that they were "Looking for Girlfriends".). Not the best entertainment. Not for me anyway. My friends found it hilarious. Maybe I was too bugged about them being disrespectful that I didn't manage to see the funny side of the whole situation.

October 31, 2008

Mass Murderers Running Amok

Indians and english don't mix. Period. I'm not talking about the British Raj of old. Not of atrocities that happened when our granpappies were wee-bitty bawlers in cradles fashioned out of their mommies' saris. I'm talking about Indians today and english, the language. Don't mix. Like petrol on water. Or black coffee and mango chutney. Nope. They don't mix. Like I said. Period. What irritates me no end is the fact that people around us murder the poor language like they are all psychopaths on rampage and there's no tomorrow. Like, "From now on, I won't do it." , or "Shuttupping him is sooo problem!". Really, I ask you! I've heard that the Spanish are very emotive and articulate, but we take the cake! We tend to say stuff by translating word to word from some obscure regional language. Not even the so-called teachers we had were better off. Actually, they were worse. I'll be wheelchair-bound and breathing through an apparatus before I forget "gems" like- "Pick the paper, throw the dustbin." "Close the window, air force is coming in." "Vents in the earth's crust get unplugegged (un-pla-jhu-good) by hot air." "He talking, you talking, everybody talking once once only!" These pearls were said by some of my high school teachers. We crib for a closer world. Advances in communication has bridged gaps. People interact with others halfway across the earth on a regular basis. Certain bright people have propounded the importance of a universal language for this purpose. In terms of number of speakers, Mandarin and english top the charts. But, english speakers cover half the globe in terms of area (one of the few real good things to come out of colonisation), making it ideal for the purpose. But, brainless worms we have for our leaders here campaign for "upliftment of regional languages" which are dead outside their own states. They want regional languages to be medium of instruction in primary schools (imagine that! Brainwashing kids when they are at their most susceptible). Sadly, they have succeeded partially. Lucky thing every successive government nullifies all the rulings passed by the previous one. There's still hope. I have no problem with other languages (I'm proud to admit I can speak 5 regional languages passably well). It's only a problem when it is used by crazed fanatics as a shield against progress. Good progress. That can only bring good to the world. The big picture. The big picture looks nice only if all the little bits that make it up also look good. Well, I was lucky to have parents who literally covered me with books to read all the time. Man, I'm proud of them! But, not a lot of people are that lucky. I've seen enough incidents on TV where Indians, representing the country on the international stage, invariably stick their feet in their mouths. The situation won't change unless people take literacy more seriously with a long-term plan in mind. Not my place to nag people to do what I think should be done. My ideas are half-baked at best. And I don't wear a Charlie Chaplain mustache and a swastika armband. Heel Hitler!

October 08, 2008

Night-outs and Friends

Its been long. Since I pulled an all-nighter. Decided to do it today. Tonight. No particular reason. Just. Its been so long that I can't remember the last time I stayed up all night. I used to do it a lot. Back in high school. Especially in 11th & 12th. We used to have sleepovers at one of the guy's house (that's what we told our parents. None of parents ever even came close to finding out what we actually did. Bless them all). The thing is no one ever sleeps at a sleepover. We took it a step further. Several steps further. Pretend to sleep till about 11 (waiting for whosever parents to go to sleep). Once snoring commences from the master bedroom, sneak out to the balcony of our room, climb onto the railing, reach for the branch of the neighbour's mango tree and we're out! Bikes wheeled to a safe distance from the house and then started. Freedom for the next 6 hours to do what we want. Empty roads to greet us. Begging us to accelerate. We oblige. Where to go? The beach (a favourite at any time of the day. Or night), The Gudde ( a hill with a cliff on one side. Brilliant breeze. Frequented by druggies and smokers during the day. And by crazy teens like us in the night. Last time I went to my hometown, I found the whole hill bulldozed to the ground and a poster of an apartment building put up in it's place), Holy Hill (a hilltop chapel with a 20 ft statue of Jesus at the peak), a highway dhaba, or just rip on the highways; we had loads of options. I feel like an old man reminiscing about his heyday. But back then, the city was a quiet place at night. Everyone, including the police, where they should be - in bed. Used to be a sleepy place with zero nightlife. Gave us ample opportunity to explore the city by night. Security was so lax we even got into the airport a couple of nights. Raced our bikes on the runway. Almost 4 kms of topspeed on the smoothest stretch of tar I've been on. It was exhilirating. Being on the beach was fun. Just walking along the shore. Trying to avoid the waves in order to protect our shoes. Reading and laughing at the weird boat names. Having mock fights with oars in the light of a cellphone. Finding road-repair equipment abandoned for the night was always a thrill. The number of times we tried getting a roadroller to start up in vain. We'd end up wearing the workers' hard hats and posing for photos astride the machine. The number of miles we've put in just cruising the highways at night, I don't know. I've lost count. Actually, I've never kept count. But, we used to go even into the neighbouring districts. A couple of times, even crossed the state border. Easily done 150 odd kms a few times. I remember once, we were tired out and were about 10 kms or so away from the guy's place where we were supposed to be sleeping, so we parked the bikes and put them on centrestand and slept on them! The best part of these long distance rides were the songs we sang. Out of tune. Off key. But with more joy than a devout Christian on Christmas eve. We said we'd always do it whenever a chance comes our way. Promised ourselves and each other. But like I said, it's been a while now. Opportunity seems to have gone about knocking elsewhere. Or maybe we've just grown apart. Each searching for something new beyond the horizon in different directions. Being in different places for higher studies doesn't help. And guys aren't very good at talking on the phone for hours with other guys. Whatever the reason, a night-out on bikes with those guys doesn't seem to be on the cards anytime soon. Damn! I'm getting all nostalgic and misty-eyed. Those were the days my friend, We thought would never end.

October 07, 2008

The Music of the Night

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation, 
Darkness stirs; and wakes imagination, 
Silently the senses abandon their defences. 

Slowly, gently, night unfurls it's splendour, 
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender, 
Turn your face away from the garish light of day, 
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light, 
And listen to the music of the night. 

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams, 
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before, 
Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar, 
And you'll live as you've never lived before. 

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you, 
Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you, 
Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind, 
In this darkness which you know you cannot fight, 
The darkness of the music of the night. 

Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world, 
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before, 
Let your soul take you where you long to be, 
Only then can you belong to me. 

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication, 
Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation, 
Let the dream begin; let your darker side give in, 
To the power of the music that I write, 
The power of the music of the night. 

You alone can make my song take flight, 
And help me make the music of the night. 
- Charles Hart

October 02, 2008

Bullshit versus Bullcrap

Its time I wrote something on my blog. High time. Not that I feel the urge to write something. The sudden prick in your fingers that are just itching to pick up a pen and scribble away to glory. No, I don't particularly feel the need to put something on paper or type something on this page. But, I have a blog. Some people actually take the pains to read through all the bullcrap I post. Bullcrap- nice word. Much more sophisticated than 'Bullshit' . Bullshit sounds so crude. Bullshit has to be said with a face tailor-made for it. You know, draw in your eyebrows together. Half-close your eyelids. Scrunch up your nose. Put on a nice sneer. Make your face ugly on the whole (not that some people need any effort to do that). Now say "Bullshit!", like you mean it. That's the way to say bullshit. Way too much trouble and expenditure of energy (you need loads of practice before you can get the right facial muscles to pull to ensure a really horrible face). But, bullcrap, you can say it just like that. "Bullcrap.", nice and easy. Keep a blank face. Just make your lips form the word Bullcrap. You could roll your eyes for added effect. There it is. You can't imagine a well brought-up gentleman saying "Bullshit!". That would be extremely ungentlemanly of him. Would be telling on his "breeding", so to speak. But, you can very well see in your mind's eye, a gentleman with a top hat and a tailcoat and nicely polished shoes, a monocle and maybe a stick; walking around Piccadilly Circus saying "Bullcrap, old chap!" to a friend's query about Chelsea FC being the favourites to win the year's English Premier League title. Hmmmm, I like what I wrote. I should come up with stuff like this more often. Its something I'll read 2 weeks later and think to myself, "What was I thinking?! Really! Bullcrap versus Bullshit??!!".

September 17, 2008

In memory of Richard Wright

A sad day. A black day.

This is a tribute, a remembrance, in memory of Richard Wright.

Richard Wright (28 July 1943 - 15 September 2008), a self-taught pianist and keyboardist and long time member of Pink Floyd was a multifaceted musician who gave me many a high with his soaring keyboard compositions. I literally grew up listening to his music. Many boring classes were actually fun 'cause we (my friends & I) used to sit in the last bench humming "Us & Them" or "Shine On, You Crazy Diamond".

The early years of Pink Floyd clearly showcase the artistic genius of Rick Wright (though definitely not as much as Syd Barrett). Compositions such as "Astronomy Domine" and "Chapter 24" speak for themselves. The mid-years saw Wright transforming from a organist and back-up vocalist to full time keyboardist. A step, I'm glad, like many others, he took. The result was sheer musical ecstasy - "Interstellar Overdrive", "Shine On, You Crazy Diamond", "Echoes", "The Great Gig in the Sky" and "The Dark Side of the Moon". The final years of Pink Floyd was a sad series of events with a growing rift between Rick Wright and Roger Waters. Wright left the band before the release of the album "The Wall" much to the dispair of fans. In 1984, Wright teamed up with Dave Harris (of Fashion) to form the band Zee. Following Roger Waters' departure from Pink Floyd, Wright rejoined the band in time to release the live album "The Delicate Sound of Thunder" in 1988. Wright played an important role in the recording of "The Division Bell" (my favourite Floyd album) in 1994 and was a part of the line up for P-U-L-S-E (Woohoo!).

Wright, along with Nick Mason was lucky enough to have been on every Pink Floyd tour. Richard Wright didn't taste much success in his solo career (he released 2 albums and was working on a 3rd at the time of his death). But who cares! His enormous contribution to the distinctive Pink Floyd sound will never be forgotten (not by me, anyway).

Here's to the unassuming and camera-shy legend that was Richard Wright!

Shine On....

I salute you!

September 12, 2008

Higher than you!

Everybody gets on a high. Well, at times. Everybody has a stimulus. Something that gives them a rush of blood to the head. Adrenaline pumping. Hormonal overdose. Usually, its alcohol that's playing devil. Smooth, acidic, hot, throat-piercing, amber coloured group of liquids. Ever since some early man sporting matted hair and matching furs accidently fermented fruit juice that he was saving for the next day and ended up acting tipsy and whooped around twirling his furs over his head in a circle, shocking what was mankind's first society (Needless to say, the world's first sot made it to the cover etching of the world's first issue of Time magazine. It was a stone tablet back then). Alcohol is everybody's common vice. And vice versa. I've seen some "specimens" in my pubbing days. I've seen people losing their heads over half a pint of mild beer (Literally. There was this one guy who started sobbing on a waiter's shoulder saying he left his head at his table and had gone to the loo. Well, it wasn't there when he came back. It turned out he was talking about his helmet. Which after a careful search was spotted on his bike handlebar.). I've seen veterans downing tequilas like they were relaxing with a jug of water after running a 5 mile jog (A friend claims to have shot down 40 glasses of dry rum. He always claimed to be tall for his age. Pun intended.). It seems everyone has a limit. Some have very low capacities while others drink everyone else under the table. On a personal front, I've retired without finding out my capacity (I always ran out of cash before I could test myself). Yet, there are others who get high on other things. I know a couple of adrenaline junkies who swear by speed. They are all back-slapping and high-fiving after a bike ride on an open road (Agreed. There's nothing better than biking down a highway with your friends. Nothing. But, I rather like to take a look around and enjoy the scenes too.). A lot of people go for extreme sports. I don't mind experiencing the rush once in a while, but on a regular basis is not my style. I am the guy who freaks out while sitting in an autorickshaw in Bangalore. Some people, though, are just weird. Anne, a friend of mine gets a saccharine-high. She acts crazy after a dose of sugar-laced coffee. Her usual, dour, complaining self drops away and she goes around singing and dancing around. Coffee. Must be a powerful stimulant. Just today, La had a few sips of my sugarless, black coffee. Gone! She went hysterical. Laughing (more than usual. Not like the laughing she does when with The Nutcase.) for everything not even remotely funny (Of course, we all have a poor opinion of La's sense of humour. But really, she went overboard today. I swear, if this happened while we were on a ship, I'd go overboard. Avast! Man Overboard! P.S. Due to constant reminding, pleading and threatening by certain readers, I have decided it prudent to increase font size.

September 04, 2008

A little education

I've been racking my brains out for a topic for this post ( my brain, as usual, fighting back. Its a regular thing. This fight for complete control. ). I just realised that I always, invariably, unconsciously, come up with a question to start a post. This, my friends, is a conscious effort to start off with a sentence (my brain was no help. But I won! It was a no-brainer.). Now, I know its not nice to start off with a question. But then, I have a perfectly logical bit of reasoning to back up my fault (it isn't my fault). I read in the newspaper yesterday that a recent study showed what every person, with as much comprehension as a cud-chewing bovine that just plonked itself in a field with no intention of getting its enormous 4 chambered stomach off the ground until sunset (or until a spaceship landed in the same field. Whichever happened first), could tell - rock fans are rebellious. Rock music. Now there's a topic after my own heart (Aaarrgghh! Its coming for me! Its killing me! Bad joke. Couldn't resist. Couldn't desist.). I could go on for hours about rock. Could give discourses. Its sad that people have a serious misconception about rock music. They think its all about guys in ripped jeans or leg-hugging leather pants, half drunk, full-high on coke, coming on stage and collapsing in mid-riff ( "-" intended). People! What I described just now was Jim Morrison. The rest aren't that bad. They can hold their alcohol. Well, they haven't all collapsed on stage either. Other people think its all noise. Well, they have a name for musical noise. Its metal. The heavy, black, power, Nu, death kinds (all metal categories). Rock music is as varied as the number of bands that have emerged since the Beatles (which is something to say. Considering today's mockery where every one-album band that manages to jump up from the sewer considers its music a separate sub-genre and names it so. Thanks Linkin Park. How I hate those guys!). Rock music contains a lot of categories that include the soothing soft rock, bluesy rock & roll, religiously correct Gospel rock and the father of heavy metal - Hard rock. Rock has something for everyone. They just need to find out what. Something they can't do by refusing to make an attempt to get introduced to it. As usual, I have no idea what the purpose of this post is. Maybe time will tell. Right now, time is telling I haven't written my record for tomorrow's lab and I won't have enough of it (time) if I don't sign out now. Bugger it all!

September 03, 2008

Rebel! Rebel!

Such a boring day. I've nothing better to do. This post is just. Timepass. Nothing about it is relevant to anything else. No two sentences were put together intentionally. To convey some thought. Thought process? Mind is a blank. As usual. My fingers seem to be punching keys at random. Forming words at random. Making sense in some roundabout, nonsensical way. What I'm attempting here is to regain my self-proclaimed title as "King of the Ramblers". I was rudely dethroned yesterday by a beer-belly sporting, foreigner-hating, half bald, fashion mishap of an english teacher. He was randomness personified. Not in a nice way. You had to be in the class to really get what I mean. He bored ME to death with his lecture on everything under the sun. He covered topics like the Indian freedom struggle, terrorism and taught us a bit about figures of speech. He went on to elucidate how the UK is actually behind the bombings in Ahmedabad, why India should pack up its prosperous tourism industry in the face of national crisis and why Saddam Hussein wouldn't hurt a fly. In between, he went on to brand Jesus Christ a terrorist while providing us much valued insight as to why the US dollar has fallen by a very small margin while US debts are mounting the world over. Hats off to him. Along with a few shoes. He really rambled! But you know what, I'm not bored anymore. I've decided to complete my attempt at regaining my regentship some other time. "He who runs today, will live to fight another day." Or as I like to put it, "He who runs today, is a fitness freak."

August 28, 2008

Wild Worlds

It's a mad, mad world out there. No doubt people like me and you contribute in a big way. We're all eccentrics in our very own tailor-made, quirky ( Melange would argue it's actually quarky. But then she's always been quacky) little ways. Take myself for example, I have a lot of those compulsive disorder thingys - I am overtly conscious about personal hygiene. I have to have all things neatly arranged in their places (so I'll always remember exactly where I can find them. I can almost hear Melange arguing about entropy and disorder being the universal order). I also feel I'm duty-bound to correct people when their making some grammatical error (I learnt it was a mistake, I'm stopping you from making the same mistake. It's a problem that gets me into trouble often, people don't realise I'm not making fun of them). Being a hygiene-freak can be a problem when you live in a hostel with about 300 thinking-of-football/cricket-showering-once-in-3-days kind of guys. As for arranging things in order is out of question with a heavy metal fan for a roommate. The lesser said about my problem of being an english teacher, the better. Believe me, the trouble it gets me into! Quirks are wonderful things. They can piss you off very badly. But they are really good. Its your quirks that add a hint of lime to the glass of water that is your bland life. Personally, my mom for one is really pleased that her kid is so squeaky clean all the time. She can't stop boasting about how neat my room is. How I pick up all my clothes off the bed and fold them up. As for my mania for correction, I've got so many "thanks" from people who believe I was just helping them out. Makes me feel good. Makes up for all the trouble it causes. Its worth it in the end. Quirks. I like the way the word sounds in my mouth. Quirks are good. Two thumbs up! "If you want to leave, take good care, Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there, But remember there's a lot of bad, And beware. Ooh baby, baby! Its a wild world!"

August 24, 2008

Infinite Bounds - No Limit for Questioning

What is the universe? Or is it multiverse? ( I prefer multiverse, opens up so many varied possibilities! I could bunk a class and be in a million different places at once) (maybe I'm a ninjitsu warrior in one parallel universe. That would be so cool). Does the time-curve wrap around itself at the beginning ( or is it the end?) of time-space? Is there a "source wall" (a.k.a God to the faithful) ? Why don't we have 2 arms for 24 hours (be easier to accomplish a lot more with more hands. Maybe the number of arms is proportional to the number of hours in a day. Does that mean Jupitarians have more limbs? I should ask my friend in DimensionX-42. She would know most of the answers. Highly learned, she is.) What makes us social beings? Why do we desire the company of our peers? Why do we need a lesser, biologically non-confirming, Darwinism detractor to push around and throw our weight on? ARE we really social beings? Where did Elvis go when he left the building? Who took a potshot at JFK? Why did Mark David Chapman commit the single, greatest crime in the history of mankind? Why is Blackadder not so famous? Why didn't I realise I hadn't watched the 1st series of Blackadder when I'd already finished the 2nd & 3rd? How can love happen at first sight when love happens to be blind? Why do lemmings commit mass suicide? Why do people enjoy killing each other? Are men from Mars (I'm an alien life-form? Alright!)? Why did George Michael turn gay? Where's the needle in the hay? Why did Simon & Garfunkel decide to break off? Why did no one perceive Hitler's intentions? Why was Custer so stupid? Why are girls so beautiful? Where does Mark Knopfler get his inspirations from? Why do some people have shades of grey in them (while others have streaks of yellow, yet others are green in the gills, yellow-bellied, ashen) ?

August 20, 2008

We Didn't Start the Fire

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray,
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio,
Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, television
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe.
Rosenbergs, H-bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom
Brando, "The King and I" and "The Catcher in the Rye," 
Eisenhower, vaccine, England's got a new queen, 
Marciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye!
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire,
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.

Joseph Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc,
Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dacron,
Dien Bien Phu falls, "Rock Around the Clock"
Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team,
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland,
Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Krushchev,
Princess Grace, "Peyton Place", trouble in the Suez.
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire,
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.

Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac,
Sputnik, Chou En-Lai, "Bridge on the River Kwai"
Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball,
Starkweather homicide, children of thalidomide, Oh-oh-oh.
Buddy Holly, "Ben Hur", space monkey, Mafia,
Hula hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go,
U-2, Syngman Rhee, payola and Kennedy,
Chubby Checker, "Psycho", Belgians in the Congo.
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire,
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.

Hemingway, Eichmann, "Stranger in a Strange Land"
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs invasion,
"Lawrence of Arabia", British Beatlemania,
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson,
Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British politician sex,
JFK, blown away, what else do I have to say?
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire,
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.

Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again,
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock,
Begin, Reagan, Palestine, terror on the airline,
Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan,
"Wheel of Fortune", Sally Ride, heavy metal suicide,
Foreign debts, homeless vets, AIDS, crack, Bernie Goetz, 
Hypodermics on the shore, China's under martial law, 
Rock and roller cola wars, I can't take it anymore.
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire,
But when we are gone
It will still burn on, and on, and on, and on.
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire,
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it.
We didn't start the fire,
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire...
- Billy Joel

August 17, 2008

The Scum of the Universe

Teachers! What a bunch of no good @#$%^&! and good-for-nothing ^&*()_+=0%^%$#$!!! Why is it the proverbial saviour and enlightener of minds always SO.....CRUMMY??!! A gang of nitwits usually is what we get to teach us. A group of old bandicoots that lost out in the rat race trying to redeem themselves. It's alright that they fail miserably. What gets my grill is that they try and pull us down with them. My high school teachers had a readymade reply for any question they didn't know the answer to, " It's out of syllabus!". Then they blame us for not having inquisitive minds and lack of interaction in class. They stuff our minds full of s%@& and drain us of all the lovely common sense we built up as kids. Then they have the gall to take credit for it. They have moulded yet another model human being for the world! Hurrah! I'm especially pissed off with teachers today because we happen to have one extremely obese woman who says she's responsible for making us responsible engineers. This Hitler-hippopotamus cross hands out assignments like there's no tomorrow. Today was the limit. She announced to the class that she was pleased with the efforts we'd put in and that we were ready to progress to the next level. "Bad! Bad! Bad!", I thought to myself when she dropped the bombshell (something she'll never be), "From next chapter, you have to answer the same assignment question for 5, 10, and 15 marks. This way, you'll learn to expand and brief ". I was too shell-shocked to even mentally correct her sentence! What the hell?! The worst part is that we'll have to grit our teeth and get done with it. That's 'cause she's such a sadist that she'll welcome the chance to give us all a zero in internals. Even if we write all 3 of them, she'll be extremely happy to play noughts & crosses in our blue books. She's one person who deserves to be damned to hell and beyond. She was actually smiling when she had her fun in class today! I think the last good teacher I had was my kindergarten teacher. How do they expect us to respect them when they torture us with such obvious relish? I can do nothing more than rant and rave about scum-beings like her. But this post has served it's purpose. An outlet for my ire.

August 15, 2008

Thanks for everything!

I always try and do my best to help out. Wherever possible. Who ever it is. HOW EVER UNDESERVING the receipient is. Helping is nice. Makes me feel good. It's all very peachy. Till you begin expecting the same from everyone else around you. "Room service!", you lift your finger but there's no one around. Helping, people, (helping people) is a thankless job. Why, then, do we, the well-brought up, champion this cause? A one way street. Rather like J.C. Road. Traffic snarling at all sides. Huge buses trumpeting like maddened bull elephants, lorries snorting like a bull ready to run the Pampalona Bull Run, Cars and mini trucks pushing their way through like two different herds stampeding at an angle with each other, even the little 75 cc two-wheelers snapping like terriers at your heels. Why do we endure the hard physical or mental labour when we know for sure there isn't a "Thanks, man" or at least a smile of acknowledgement that all but says, " Thanks, man" ? The things you do, just to make someone else more comfortable. You maybe bunk a class or two so the "helpee" won't get kicked out of class. Maybe you take a fall for them (helpees). A fall right in squelchy mud that sticks to your face like the icing on a month-old chocolate cake. And they aren't even there with a kerchief to wipe the filth of your face. Like I was saying, a thankless job. But we do it anyway. Hoping one day, they'll realise it's time they helped some. Maybe one day when you really need help, they'll turn up like the Delta Force or something (though your need can't get any direr than having mud in your face, making YOU look like a month-old cake). My point is- There's always HOPE! Maybe there's a reason why you behave like such a loser with them. Maybe that's why they are your FRIENDS!

Once upon a time....

Ever had that battery-operated, soft-toy monkey that bangs a pair of cymbals while doing backflips running around in your head? I do. Whenever I don't know what to do (in this case write), this happens. People have sheep jumping fences. One of my friends swears he gets bikini-clad girls jumping over a recliner chair! But no! I get a faux fur (not fox fur), tin backboned simian. He does wear a red band conductor's suit. But still. I titled this post , "Once upon a time...", 'cause a friend told me that was the best thing to do. It could go anywhere from there. Somehow, I don't think this was where I was planning to go when I started out. Writer's block is a crazy thing. Not that I suffer from it a lot. But that's because I hardly write. Never if I can help it. Makes me wonder why I'm bothering now. Not like people are queueing up to read it. "Step right up folks! Read what the brilliant and extremely lucid and...." ....and so on and so forth. Can't see anyone coming and holding a coin under my nose, " A penny for your thoughts!". Doesn't happen. Never are great minds and restless souls appreciated in their own time. I'm good at this. Rambling. Even in real life, I'm a wanderer. A nomad. A vagabond (well dressed , though). I love travelling. One day I'll see the world. I've already seen the universe. Dreaming is free. I've yet to see the world though. Airplane tickets don't come for free. Right, I seemed to have roamed about enough for now. I kind of think I've lost my way a little. Ended up 3 streets away from where I should've been. "Here I go, turn the page" - Robert Seger.