Up and down

8:22 AM - A takes up navigation duty after P’s GPS screws up and ‘We have arrived’ us at random junkyard 

A: Go straight for some time and take the left a little after the next signal. 

P (to M): Ivan yen India-la irukkara maadhiri direction solraan? 

P (placatingly to A): Ey, just enter the destination and ask Google to suggest the route no! Please, just read out whatever it says. Now, which left do I take?

A: The one you just missed. Get the next one at least, get into the left lane, quick! 

P (makes sharp turn and mutters darkly): Thalayezhuthu!

9:05 AM - Arriving at destination deemed by A

P: Are you sure we’re at the right place? Why aren’t there any boards with cool pictures?!

A: (leads the way into alley which opens into a huge hall and an office)

M: (points to framed caption kept in office)

‘JUST BECAUSE NOBODY COMPLAINS…DOESN’T MEAN ALL PARACHUTES ARE PERFECT’

P: (swallows)

9.15 AM - Contemplating the 10-page contract which drills into our heads in 23 different ways the message that jumping out of a plane at 15000 feet might be the last thing we do and Skydive Monterey Bay still have no legal responsibility

P: What if this results in permanent .. (points to head and struggles to find the right scary medical term)

M: Hairfall?

P: $#%^*@. Cerebral damage!!!!

9:45 AM - Handing over forms to Hyper Lady in not-so-nice-up-close pink shirt, ready with $600 in cash

H (smiling brightly): Great, so that’s $210 for the diving, and $89 for the video! Plus taxes! 

P: Oh, no, we don’t need the entire video, we’d just like one still photo each, can’t we get that?

H (nodding vigorously and waves arms expansively): For sure! You can use your own camera and take as many pictures as you like on the ground, no problem at all!

P (flat tone): Do you accept part payment by card?

11:05 AM - Belly butterflies begin settling down. There’s an interview atmosphere with the mostly desi crowd huddling around the notice board everytime they put up the next batch of jumpers. Four lists up with no mention of P, M or A 

P (walking over to H): Hey, they say our turn is only at 3PM. Do you think we can get out and come back at 3?

H: Oh, please do! Go out, do something fun! 

P: Cool, and how much time would it take here once it’s our turn?

H (points thumbs up and down): Ten minutes up, six minutes down! And you guys've come on the perfect day, the weather couldn’t be better! 

(self congratulatory smiles all round)

12:30 PM: Point Lobos. Nip in the air, lovely scenery, just the right amount of  physical exertion.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. 

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. 

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. 

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. 

2.20 PM: Bistro 211. Super pleasant decor, menu looks inviting

M: Ooh look they actually have a whole vegetarian section! Hmm I can’t decide between the quesedilla and the veg omelette!

M (calling waitress): I’ll have the veg omelette. Just to confirm, it doesn’t have eggs right?

Waitress (politely bewildered): Um no, it does have egg, that’s what makes it an omelette.

'Oh. I’ll have the vegetarian quesedilla, thanks' (Exit waitress)

(defensively) 'Hey, back home they just give you some sort of uthappam when you ask for veg omelette, ok?'

3:30-6:00 PM - Up and down

'Damn, I hogged too much. I'm paying a hundred bucks for a ten-minute footage of me throwing up all the way from 15k feet.'

'Ok people, huddle around, I'm going to be your jump master today and here's what you need to know - - Now I know that was a lot to take in and you're probably not going to remember any of it but that's ok. Just keep your eyes open, don't hold your breath, enjoy the view and trust me, you'll be fine. Ready to go?'

'Hey, M? My name's Tyler and I'm going to be your videographer. I'll catch you at the airfield for a quick interview before you're off, ok?'

'Ooh look the first one's jumped! There's another! Man, that is so cool'

'Your interview over? Nice! Why isn't anyone interviewing me I say!'

'Hey, get on that bus, come ON! There's no order, it's all FCFS, just follow my lead, you two!'

'Huh, we're at the hangar again! That bus brought us back!'

'Folks, we're very sorry but the weather doesn't look very promising now. The batch that just went up couldn't see the ground and we cannot jump in such conditions. I know you're all very disappointed but unfortunately, we don't control the weather. You may now take off your harnesses.'

6:15 PM - Back at the office. Lots of disgruntled muttering. The staff are handling each group calmly, with practised responses. Some of them sound bored. P keeps up a steady stream of under-the-breath cursing at the staff

Pissed off Mexican guy (trying hard to be fair): Ok, I get it, it's not your fault, it's not my fault. It's disappointing but it's nobody's fault. I get it. Now I just want my money back. 

Videographer who just sauntered in and overheard: And I want a gold medal. Can't all get what we want, buddy, sorry.

A (amused, on seeing that P shows no sign of relenting against a balaclava-clad staff member): You can be really mean to people whom you don't like no?

P: What do you mean! That idiot is just a stupid monkey... -cap-wearing man!

6:45 PM: Buckling up back in P's car. 

P: Thank god they gave full refund to out-of-state customers! Cha, if only it had worked out, it would've been the highlight of your trip, M!

M: Oh well, at least our hopes went skydiving!

Comment allez vous?

No, I'm not being civil - my comments have gone!!! No, seriously! All comments posted by fiddlesticks (or rip van winkle or that god-awful taffeta) have vanished! In this blog, in your blog, in every other blog she ever left her insights in.. before May 31 anyway.

This is no way to punish a blogger- ok, ex-blogger - for an extended sabbatical.

Someone bring them back and I promise to look after this space.

S'il vous plaît?

Light!

There must be something to this place if it made me of all people do a little solo drunken jig in my room now, to an unholy mix of TapYourFeet-ShakeYourAss-SwingDontWalk tunes belted out by the competing A-Top and B-First DJs.

If summers are here, can Diwali be far behind?

Ignorance unravelled

Lately, I've been frequently told that I plead ignorance a little too often. No conversation with me would be complete without a few I dunno's. One friend, conversation with whom only recently upgraded from the hi-bye variety, was thoroughly bewildered at the frequency of occurence of that particular phrase. Out of genuine, well-meaning curiosity, he blurted out 'How on earth did you manage to crack CAT, when you reply 'I dunno' to four out of five questions I ask you?'. Notwithstanding the fact that the CAT, thank heavens, is not a technical exam, his confusion is understandable. And when I look back to a time when 'I know!' was as much of a catch-phrase with me as the opposite is now - well, the wheel has come half circle, I guess.

Anyway, for the uninitiated, take heart, it's not as bad as it seems. There's more to an 'I dunno' than meets the eye; here's a primer to get you started, decoding that annoyingly regular expression. The most important thing to remember when you encounter this regex is that it comes in different flavours. And each of them signifies something new. So without further ado, I present to you Fiddle's Five Flavours of Ignorance for Beginners. Enjoy maadi!

1. The Filler - Sometimes, when yours truly is feeling particularly chatty, she dispenses with the conventional Um-Hmm-Mmm family of fillers, and opts for a higher species. One that has a meaning, but need not mean it. Yes, you, reader with disbelief and exasperation mixed on your face, you've got it right - an 'I dunno'! All the listener has to do is wait a few seconds, while she fumbles with the flashlights, and, hallelujah! Darkness is replaced with light! Ignorance with knowledge!

'So what exactly is all this fuss about the N-deal about, anyway?'
'Oh I dunno... See, the UPA's yapping on about the deal ending our nuclear apartheid, the Left is convinced we're ageeing to dance to Uncle Sam's tune, and the BJP is just sore they couldn't swing it when they were in power. Everyone else is, as usual, singing praises, advocating caution or muttering darkly, depending on how close to the fence they're sitting. '

2. Bother-me-not - Although the author of this post usually tries not to be purposely unhelpful, there are occasions when the effort is simply not worth it. Especially when an answer, the best that she can summon, would anyway be vaguely incomplete, or completely vague, as the case may be. Sample this -

'What exactly is Brats' project there?'
Ideal answer - 'Rate limiting requests to a web caching server named Squid'
Possibly expected answer - 'Some squid thingy'
Probably received answer - 'I dunno'

3. Breath-saver - Quite often, it might happen that I do know a little more than nothing about what I'm asked, but one reply could lead to another question, which might well be asking for a flavour-five (see below) 'I dunno'. So I take the wiser of option of saving time, effort and thinking, and make it simpler for all concerned.

'Why do you go home every other weekend?'
'If my parents had their way, I'd be going every weekend. But seeing how all I do when home is sleep, sleep, and sleep some more, so much that they wonder if I have some disorder, I dunno why they want me to come.'

In other words, 'I dunno.'

4. Sarcaustic - Some questions are plain stupid. You are not supposed to ask them, in the first place. They really deserve a nice, sharp, biting answer, only I don't much feel like having the conversation, to begin with.

'You lost your laptop? I mean, ha ha, how can someone lose their laptop, for crying out loud?'
'I dunno'

And lastly,

5. Face Value - Ignorance - true, blue, through and through . I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about.

'Hey, what's SMPS? How does it work?'
'I dunno.'

Bring it on, Bengaluru

I’ve never really consciously fallen in love with a city before. Chennai is home, I was just born in love with it. Delhi is where chitapa lives and which is very hot. Hyderabad, when I visited it, was less about the city and more about first-trip-with-friends-just-enjoy-the-outing. Goa… is not a city. Which leaves us, in our discussion of the cities I remember being to, with Bangalore.

Everything about it – the good, the bad and the ugly (and it’s certainly got a generous share of the latter two) is so characteristic of the city, it’s hard to imagine it without them all. The traffic here does complete justice to all the hype about it - which is exactly what the autorickshaw scene has not done, especially to one used to the notorious Chennai autos. For a city so densely populated by migrants who speak in their native tongue with the locals, all the only-Kannada boards and banners are a bit of an overkill.  And for the first time in my life I’ve actually had to buy new moisturizer lotion. Add to that the cost of living, the jerks, the well-founded safety concerns, the unscheduled power cuts .. yep, it has its share of woes, B’lore does.

Whatever. Those minor almost-irritants are entirely tolerable when you step back and survey the experience this city throws at you, every day. The bus travel and walking on the road is all it takes to meet such a panoply of characters. The driver who recalled me and my destination the second time I boarded his bus;  the passers-by who became a friend for the ten minutes that we walked a common stretch to a yet-to-become-familiar bus stop; the burkha-clad bus lady who thrust a Jesus is God booklet into my hand just before getting off; the drunken auto guy’s friend who was convinced I was his sister; the guy who flicked my laptop and who could be but mostly isn’t reading unfinished drafts for new posts;  the people from Country Vacation who promised me a holiday worth 25k plus goodies if only I attended a short lecture and brought my husband along … and a dozen other people I will never see again, won’t remember after a few months, if not for this post.

Thinking about it, even those dampers can be quite fun if you’re in the mood to appreciate them. Getting up and going to work, already a marathon for late-risers like yours truly, has just become something of an obstacle-race-cum-suspense-thriller, thanks to the traffic and the auto-drivers who refuse to go to a place within a 3km radius during rush hour. Twisted delight perhaps, but who cares. Calculating - even as I hit the snooze button and roll over(after responsibly messaging the regular cab people that I won’t be coming) - which of the half-hour shuttles I’m targeting,  and accordingly when to get up; getting ready in half an hour flat; flagging down an auto after half a dozen others haughtily turn away when they hear ‘MG’; willing the traffic lights to turn Available from Busy; predicting the meter reading and fishing out exact change before we reach; running to the MGR Y!parking lot and reading the crucial expression on Security Uncle’s face before turning the fateful corner- to see the cab only just about to leave.. really, could I ask for a more knuckle-biting start to the day? Of course, we all win some and lose some, and there are days when the drama builds up to a major climax only to fizzle out as I see my comrade the Security Uncle shake his head sadly the moment I enter the arena. Nine and twenty minutes of reading all that can be read in DHNS/TOI and a consolation prize of a small nap during the ride to EGL, and I’m ready for whatever the rest of the day has in store for me.  It’s an exciting life we lead here, yessir.

Granted, any place will offer its own potpourri of experiences, if only you will open your eyes to it. This being almost the first time I’m consciously seeking and enjoying them, though, I will always look back at these memories with a special fondness. This truly is an amazing city, daily reasserting its unique spirit of fierce coexistence  - through the locals who share their city with the ever-increasing floating population; the Brigade Road fashionistas who remain defiant of the saffron brigade’s rising nuisance; the luxury-malls of UB City juxtaposed with the thrift shops on Commercial Street; the Mysore Silks and the Miu Miu bags.. you get the picture.

Bring it on, Bengaluru.

 

:P atience

Eons since I blogged, I know. What can I say, any guilt I may have felt about letting this space rot has usually been compensated for by the full, full time I've been having here. New city, new life, new people, new lifestyle.. let's say I've been too busy savouring all the newness to record the feeling here :P

New post (proper one, I mean, not an excuse of a post, an excuse for no posts) coming up real soon, though, so hold your guns, oink, and watch this space :P

Thanks for your patience, see ya soon! 

cut the carp already

The superstar quipped in his blockbuster Basha, ‘A Japanese will die if he cannot work. An American will die if he cannot -’, I forget what – ‘An Indian will die if he cannot talk.’ Sweeping generalizations aside, here in India, it is a thin line between a talker and critic, for we are a nation of armchair experts, of people who have an opinion about everything from the n-deal to the traffic congestion at pondy bazaar, and are only too eager to enlighten anyone with half a functional ear. They can (and do) wax eloquent on all and sundry issues with such panache it’d be impressive - if it weren’t for that pompous dismissal of the entire system. Chronic whiners are a dime a dozen, and finding one dysfunctional tap in a train can set them off into reciting Top 12 Reasons Why The Govt Is Hopeless. Replace Govt with Railways, Media, Auto-drivers, PFA people, pretty much any form of organized effort, and then some – and you have a decent picture of the specimens.

While it is entirely understandable that people are less than happy about a good many things beyond their control(and not even the most regular contact with the irritant can dampen the quibbling spirit), all the harping and carping, with no suggestions for improvement, can sometimes get maddening. These are the people who can list flaws and faults in a trice but balk at the prospect of putting their money where their mouth is, and actually doing (or trying to do) something more than passive criticism.

I’m not against complaining about the things that are, and the powers that be, and everything in between. Hell, no. This blog, this very post, is proof I’m not. What gets my case is how often we hear people saying- and I paraphrase - ‘Those idiots don’t know how to do their work; if only I’d been in their position the contrast would be so glaring’, when in fact they have no intentions of being in anyone’s position but their own. ‘The one thing the Electricity Board has to do is give us power’, they lament, ‘and that they don’t do properly. What has become of efficiency?’ Extending that logic, what if we were to say ‘The one thing man has to do is live, and that he doesn’t do properly. Tch tch’? Balderdash!

Complain all you want, but woe betide you if that’s all you will do! Join a club; vote; write to the editor; contribute for a cause – and not a one-time Bihar Flood Relief Fund either; teach someone to read and write; sign up for a clean-up drive sometime; tell a few kids that people come before gods; try using plastic bags less; conserve water, power, paper; and get others to join you. At the very least, do nothing positive but say nothing negative. Not all the time. Even most of the time is quite putting off, come to think of it. Few things are worse than being a noisy empty vessel.

Q

If nature loves symmetry so, why are there more questions than answers?

A pair of rose-coloured glasses, please

Friday, June 13, 2008.

Midway through my newspaper ritual, I happened to notice the date. Friday the thirteenth. It was the first time I was around to witness the union of the pretty much innocuous day(it’s actually supposed to be auspicious, isn’t it?) and tainted number, to present the ‘sinister’ date. The earlier occasions (if any) don’t count – I didn’t appreciate the significance then. I was wondering idly if the day would bring any sort of misadventures. It didn’t,. Possibly because I didn’t have occasion to venture out of the house for most part of the day. That is, until 7pm.

My brother, struck by a sudden inspiration, looks at the clock and with a violent start demands to know if I’ve collected his spectacles from Turakhia. Ensconced in the island at the centre of washed clothes waiting to be folded, I nonchalantly reply in the negative and continue folding his shirt, tut-tutting at its collar. Rather than express derision at the Surf Excel lady on the small screen at that very moment, he gives me what he imagines is a threatening glare, and bursts out ‘But they were due an hour back, you fool! Go get them right now!’ My aunt, reaching for a towel from the pile, is about to say something when he bellows ‘GO! NOW!’ Wincing from the assault on her tympanums, she gives me a beseeching look that clearly says ‘Spare my eardrums any more damage and just go get the darned glasses.’ With a sigh, I hand over my dad’s half-folded shirt – collar unworthy of any remark – and straighten up and ask my brother to get off the sofa already. ‘But why?’, he has the nerve to ask, ‘I’m not coming with you.’ Hands on hips, I inform him, if he doesn’t care about his precious spectacles, I most certainly don’t so would he please stop expecting people to run his errands for him and also change the damn channel before we all scream bloody murder? Watching the likes of Jackie Chan saying 'Aaku paaku vethala paaku' is only tolerable for so long. Obligingly, he channel surfs and, with a look of incredulous delight, settles to watch two early-men specimens trying to knock each other’s teeth out. Momentarily forgetting that he hasn’t acknowledged the specs part of my tirade, I ask him how on earth we’re getting Ten Sports without a Set Top Box. He simply shrugs happily and continues to stare at the screen rather gormlessly. One of the barbarians is lying prostrate and the other is holding up this one’s hand, with a horrible menacing smirk on his grubby face. Excuse me while I puke. Before I can launch into another tirade, my brother tears away from the tv long enough to give me a puppy face and explain his homework schedule in minute detail and plead with me to go by myself.

Statutory warning – My knowledge of spectacles and frames and lenses and whatnots is abysmal, mostly because I have never had anything to do with them. I daresay that isn’t much of an excuse, but there it is. I’m not even sure what my bro’s specs look like, and what the guy in the shop told me they would do to repair the broken black part.

I walk to the shop, hand over the bill, gaze around at the objects on display with mild curiosity while the assistant tries to locate the right brown-paper cover. There are lines of them, brown-paper covers with their fragile contents, neatly stacked in drawer after drawer near the counter. The assistant hurries forward now, triumphantly clutching one such cover in one hand and my bill in the other, apologises for the delay and makes quite a show of carefully opening the cover, extracting its contents, and brandishing the pair of glasses inside. A drumroll would not be inappropriate now, for all the drama he made of it. I accept the proffered item and examine it rather ineptly. Like I said, I’m not really familiar with my bro’s spectacles, except that they are much sleeker than either of my parents’ and makes him look intellectual as opposed to geeky. I remember the first time we went to the eye doctor, both non-specs-donners then. After getting half the letters on the last line wrong, my brother told the doctor he just wants a cool pair of spectacles. Stylish, he said. Cheeky little jackanapes. Anyway, back to the present. The specimen in my hand seemed a good likeness to me, except for the, whatsitcalled, frame? The long thin line, its end rests behind the ear? Yeah, that. My bro’s, I knew, was quite slender, almost like a wire, pretty much 1-D. This one, though, was kinda fat, definitely 2-D, and forcibly reminded me of my grandpa’s spectacles. Hesitatingly, I ask the assistant for the bill, not that I expect it to be of much help. Was inconsequential anyway, cos he announces it’s company policy to keep the receipt. Now whoever heard of that? Whatever. The assistant, finally realising I’m lingering in his shop with a look that does not convey satisfaction, deigns to consult the bill and assures me they did what they could to repair it, and it’s fully usable now. He even flexes the frame(that line, whatever it’s called), as if to prove it’s fully functional now. Semi-convinced, I thank him and let him usher me out of the shop.

I congratulate myself for my near-perfect timing in sync-ing with the traffic lights, manage to cross the road walking, only breaking into a small run 5 feet from the platform. A boochandi (that right? Bogeyman?) muttering on the pavement at passers-by, grins suddenly and for one mad moment I wonder if it’s at me. Bah, you flatter yourself, my mind tells me, he’s mad, isn’t he? Of course he isn’t really looking at you, even if it seemed that way. He’s laughing at the world, hon. Reassured, I walk on, mostly averting my eyes from people.

By the time I reach home, any doubts I may have had about the specs, have disappeared and replaced by an evil anticipation to see the look on my brother’s face when he sees the thatha-frames. Kicking off my floaters, I give him a thoroughly nasty smile and nudge him to open it, barely containing my excitement. Yes, I know. I’m evil. Muhahahaha. With a great deal of apprehension, he tears open the cover and seizes at the glasses inside. One moment’s silence. And then - ‘Enna di idhu?? what the hell have they done to my frame?’ My cousins can barely contain their laughter, and my aunt wrinkles her nose at it in open distaste. None of it helps my brother’s mood. With his usual disregard for other people’s aural apparatus, he asks me, with no hint of politeness, what on earth I asked the shop guys to do, and why, why they had to use such a hideous frame. Without waiting for an answer (not that I had much of one – I simply told them the thing was broken, so could they please fix it, and when could I collect it?), he gives a fresh moan and now starts cursing the lenses. ‘Did you ask them to change the lens as well?’ He tries it on as I honestly answer no, and in a new tone of surprise, declares the specs aren’t his. Oh boy, that sure wiped the grin off my face. I stutter at him stupidly. ‘Huh? Not yours?’ ‘No, you idiot’, he replies scornfully, all the tension evaporated now, and my cousins’ amusement is now at my expense.

Chagrined, I retrace my steps in silence, my weak ‘I told you to come with me! This is why you should listen to me’ falling on deaf ears. Shaking his head merrily, my brother feigns reproach and repeats the same phrase over and over again. Any annoyance at having to walk to the shop after all is forgotten as he gleefully makes unflattering comments about my competency in such simple things. To my mortification, as we turn the corner, he is seized by an abominable idea - to loudly say ‘Second time to same place!’ and give a pained sigh, at intervals, intended for passers-by. Pooh-poohing my suggestion that some of them might think him cranky, he tells me the others will definitely know I’m the clown here, and that’s good enough for him. Sigh. So much for an uneventful Fri the 13^th. I don’t venture any more opinions, and concentrate all my energies into tuning out the litany of his one-word summing up of my abilities. Not that I succeeded. The phrase continues resound in my head whenever my mind takes a break. Doesn’t miss a chance to leap front from where I’ve shoved it, the back of my mind.

‘Dubuku di, dubuku’

This post is a helluva long one, I know. To make up for the prolonged sabbatical,perhaps. Mostly, it comes as a result of my decision to take a leaf out of naren’s book and convert everyday nothings to humorous anecdotes. How bad was it? And be honest!

Change of cast

My good readers, rip van's decided to take a break from blogspot. And to take his, er, her, place, I give you - wait for it - fiddlesticks! **smiles happily**

Come to think of it, this blog has mostly been sleeping, and that's exactly what the proverbial Rip Van does too, so maybe that's why! Now howzzat for some sophistry? (gre fodus, you better grin now!)

Wonder how long this one will last, now.

Exit rip van winkle. Enter fiddlesticks.

r.i.p

There was once a blogger called rip van

who, interestingly, was not a man.

She thought and sought

to outdo the drought,

and they gathered her ashes in a dustpan.

Critical analysis

Hypothetical situation -

X is walking down the road, minding her own business and looking nowhere in particular. Ten feet from the shop she meant to go to, she is stopped by a scraggy-looking man and a woman carrying a child. All three look lost and tired. Feebly, Man asks X if she knows Hindi. Somewhat reluctantly, X gives a diffident nod.
Man (croaks; X has to strain to hear him): We were going to go to Rameswaram but.. (trails off on seeing X’s face)
X (without meeting his eye): No money-
Man: Don’t want money. Biscuits.. food.. (points to child)
X looks at child and quickly looks away. ‘ I’m not carrying food’
‘..If you could help us.. child.. milk.. biscuits..’
After a moment’s indecision, X fishes out two ten-rupee notes, hands it to grateful Man, points vaguely at the distance to a grocery store, and walks on hurriedly. As she's walking, she becomes aware of two hitherto unnoticed bystanders with unmistakeable sniggers and just a hint of amusement on their faces, and hastens into the shop in relief.

Question -

Was X a gullible fool in the above passage?

au revoir

It’s time for the resurrection post again, the first back-home-to-good-net-speed post. The one that is usually a recap of the sem that was, and plans for the hols. The sem that is to be is too far ahead as yet( and anyway, that will be part of the last-rites-before-hibernation post) Right now, the only thing I can remember about the last sem is.. just that – it was the last sem. Still feels surreal to think that I might never see some of those faces again, that when I go back to campus for the last time, to see it rain-washed as I first saw it, it will not be quite the same.

Because it’s not just your circle of friends and all the times you had with them that you’re going to miss. It’s everyone, and everything you’ve always associated with them, set against that one unifying background of BPGC, that you’re going to miss. It matters not if they were a Somebody or a Nobody to you, whether or not you can attach a name to their face or a face to their name, they were all part of the big picture that will be incomplete without them all.

The guy who always came late to class, the one who always wore one of two tshirts only, the funny- haired fellow (which one of them, you’re wondering, now, aren’t you :B), the girl with the phone round her neck, the guy who slept through s.k.ghosh’s first p&s lecture and began a long series of thoroughly forgettable pj's, the Breakfast Guy whom you only seemed to notice in the mess in the mornings, the girl who petted the campus dogs when noone else would go near them, Bandage Guy cos his hand looked like a mummy’s the first time you saw him, the guy who spoke of Internal Bleeding Inside, the always impeccably-dressed Mr.Mon , the girl who always got up and ran for class, Familiar Face (and to this day, you dunno who he reminds you of), The Enlightened One, the Blue Brilliant Boy, the Insomniac, and Case and Whistle and Red Shoe and Superstar and DDRF and Cannonball and Smiling Face and Hermione and Assistant and all the rest of them, who, bless them, probably have no idea you know them, or worse(?), this is how.

Maybe you no longer refer to them by these first-impression nicknames, maybe you found that first impression isn’t always the best impression. Maybe you now know them well enough to call them something that alludes to a special memory between you, or maybe you know them no more than you did when you coined that first nik. They may have been the first people you noticed as you began a new life in this campus, even before you made your first friend; they may be the people who, unwittingly, are part of your first memories with your best friend, or they may be your best friend. It doesn’t matter, you’ll miss them all, varying degrees or not.

This post, then, is dedicated to all those friends/acquaintances/strangers, nay, to all my batchmates and seniors – the first faces I saw on campus – for all the memories we shared without really sharing.

tch tch

Midsem ppt and report for COP due in a day. Both yet to be started.
T2, the current next time of ‘I will do better next time’, in the near future. Disturbingly near. Preparation - zilch.
Lab tests in analog and eiit shortly thereafter. ‘Nuff said.
Ditto PSOC project. Whatsit stand for again?
Project hunt for 4-1. What, who, what?
Placements next sem. Silence.

And yet, all I could think of as anita agarwal was teaching dual slope ADC was which color recycled paper to use for my college-memories scrapbook. :/

Poetry (ahem ahem) for a change

Remember Fatty of the Five Find-Outers (Enid Blyton) and how he used to make up poems at the drop of a hat?? As it turns out, it's not that difficult after all, if you're sufficiently vetti, and have a fellow jobless freak to egg you on to make up 5th-standardish poems (as in, poems written, not read, by 5th grade kids). Presenting Whose Chat Is It Anyway, courtesy rip van and naren.

ज्ञानं परमं बलम्

A few days ago I was reading this one ebook, Hacking for Dummies, so as to get some sort of footing for a Quark event. Anyway, the introduction made for pretty breezy reading (cos it was all in plain English). Which is when mr.author decides to inform us that he's made a bunch of Foolish Assumptions (yeah, it's actually titled that) about the readers,and apologizes for it too. And Foolish Assumption no. 1 is that I'm familiar with basic concepts of computer-, network- and information-security-related concepts. Arghh. It said Hacking for Dummies, for crying out loud, how much plainer could I get?? I dunno the first thing about networking and security and crap except that I can't stand this McAfee Security Centre on my comp now. And no, don't ask me why, long story.
There isn't a single topic I know of in Wikipedia, whose explanation does not include several links to other (possibly) new, related concepts.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, it just makes me realize how interconnected soo many things are, and how little we know no matter how much we know.
The ocean of all things unknown makes me feel so small, so insignificant, so full of wonder. Behind anything, everything we use every single day, things we don't even think about, from a toothbrush to this laptop, is a story of a myriad minds and hands, from the ones who conceived of the idea to the independent efforts of so many others in implementing it, to bring it home to us, ready to use.

Guess it's the Quark spirit (and the Techfest spirit and the Pragyan spirit and god-knows-what-other-college-fest spirit, except those spirits are all second-hand for me) but it's a time to pause, cherish and savour this unending quest for knowledge that sets us apart as a race.

When you leave behind the studying-for-exams factor, you just have to appreciate any science for what it is. Any subject.

The whole wide world is just.. so.. grand.

Felix Felicis.. slurp :P

I’ve always considered myself lucky, if there’s such a thing as luck. I’ve never really thought much about it, except for the small prayer of thanks I mutter on those happy occasions. Just making the cutoff for a grade, being fortunate enough to maintain an 8-point cg with minimal efforts, things generally falling in place after the initial chaos - I’ve never questioned the quirks of fate any of those times. Why would I, you ask, when everything’s just fine and dandy for me. After all, who says ‘Why me?’ in the midst of good fortune? Fair enough. It’s the ‘Why her?’ of bystanders that I’m scared of, that I do not like. Is it my imagination, is it a guilty conscience, a low sense of self-worth, or is there an accusatory undertone to that question? ‘She doesn’t deserve it, why her?’ I can almost hear the unsaid words hanging in the air. I don’t know, I want to tell them, I don’t make these things happen. It’s as unexpected to me as it is to you. And I can’t help but share some of their feeling, that maybe I don’t deserve the good fortune. Hell, it kills the joy of feeling lucky in the first place. In fact, it’s almost worse than being unlucky, this, having ‘ill-deserved’ good luck thrust upon you that makes you feel all guilty and unworthy. Almost.

But when I think about it, I realize there are as many instances of bad luck as good, just ignored or forgotten. I’ve missed grades by just a few marks, too. And I’ve had my fair share of just-missing-the-bus (yes, figurative) episodes; instances that make me wonder if Murphy used me as his subject. But no, they are only seen as either amusing anecdotes, or what I had coming, due to my own faults.

There is method in the madness, even if it is not apparent to us. God doesn’t play dice with the world, after all. So even as the seeming injustice rankles, and you frown disapprovingly as Lady Luck smiles at me, remember, whatever happens, happens for a reason. Today it’s me, tomorrow it could be you. Or the day after. Or - you know.

PS - And any fool who calls a totaling mistake in my paper, luck, deserves a punch in the face. Those are my marks, smart alec, I’d be unlucky not to notice it.

new year request

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

- The Serenity Prayer,
as it appeared in A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey

oh happy new year!

In less than half an hour now, it will be curtains for the James Bond year(as oink observes). But save the sporadic sounds of crackers, a few whistles at the bus-stop earlier this evening, wishes from all callers now, new calendars from parents' offices waiting to be hung, it's the same as any other day to me. New Year has never really held a festive something for me, like, say Diwali. A few resolutions now and then, and even those not very well-thought-out. For as long as I can remember, the one thing about New Year that would make me curiously happy, was getting used to the new 4-digits in the date, everyday at school. In the first week of Jan, I would beam every time I opened a notebook and wrote the date. The memory of that childish wonder makes me smile (and the grown-up-ness of that last sentence makes me raise an eyebrow in amusement).

The cracker bursting seems to have completely stopped. Funny, you'd think it would get all the more frenzied now.

Resolutions for this year are vague at best. Don't much feel like sitting and fine-tuning them now. There's time till I get to campus, anyway.

I like to think each year gets better than the previous. So I'll drink to that trend, and hope it continues. Cheers!

So long, 2k7! Wotcher, 2k8!

&$#(^*^@!%

Swearing. Second nature for some, highly distasteful for others, but for the broad majority of us, no big deal. None of us being chaste angels, I’m sure we all toss out a few choice words every now and then, depending on the situation.

Frankly, I’m no great fan of the 4-letter vocabulary. Wait, I didn’t say I abhor them like some puritan, or cringe every time I hear them being thrown about flippantly. Far from it. I myself have used a number of ‘ineffable expletives’ (as my English teacher would say), some very much a part of my everyday jargon. The argument against swearing, I know, is that it betrays sound culture, and nice manners. But what is the point of sounding as hoity-toity as that if it doesn’t express how you feel? I’m no drunken sailor when it comes to swearing, but if you are, I wouldn’t hold it against you.
That said, I must admit it’s a tad annoying when an entire conversation revolves around a few words; when every second word you hear is the same swear-word. Far from being offensive, one just comes across as being inarticulate.

As for swearing in writing, it strongly smacks of poor vocabulary more than anything else. Agreed, sometimes, it’s more fitting to use a single ‘unparliamentary’ word than a whole para of ranting. And it’s perfectly justified to vent occasionally by peppering your writing with some colorful words. But mostly, a passage full of the same few words inserted every-which way makes for pretty dull reading. Unimaginative at best, and offensive at worst. Guess it all boils down to context, and being able to express yourself.

And what is it with ‘swear words’ anyway?? They’re just as normal as any other words; they’re only as popular as they are cos of the taboo. Forbidden-fruit-tastes-sweetest all over again. Half the reason why cussing feels as good as it does when you’re in a rage is cos u know its taboo. Most people don’t even think about their meanings when they use them(forget the priceless gems who curse at the drop of a hat without knowing what they just said). In fact, if we were to simply make up some words, and taught them to kids and told them never to use them, why, we’d have a whole new swear dictionary! As far as I’m concerned, they are simply expressions of dissent, and nothing more. Their meanings only serve to give them the blessed tag of curse words. It is precisely for this reason that I can’t stand how some people find ‘thu’ particularly objectionable. I don’t see how it’s any worse than any other swear-word.

Perhaps the reason we no longer find so many of these swear words offensive is their overusage – they’ve become so commonplace that we treat them the same as any other word. Like they say, fuck aint a word, it’s a punctuation. And how normal it is to hear people(ok, I guess here, and everywhere else in this post, people = young people, say high school – college crowd, mostly) greet one another with these so-called curses. We simply respond without batting an eyelid, it’s that normal. So what does that say of us? Just that we think no more of the words than any other greeting, as simple as that.

Personally, I think ‘why the devil’ sounds a lot more creative than the so much more common ‘ytf’, but knowing that both intend to convey the same meaning, why object to either? And doesn’t ‘ a barmy old codger’ or ‘a worthless pile of bat droppings’ sound infinitely more innovative than, oh let’s say, ‘fucking sonavabitch’ ? (jkr \m/) And Captain Haddock, the drunkest sailor I know of, did have a large abuse-vocab, even if he was partial to a few choice expressions.

Ah well, to each their own, I guess. All said and done, filth-mouthed sailors will remain as they are, and really, why the f*** not?