Edge of Chaos

Song of Sparrows

2011-10-28T06:28:00.000+05:30

After many years, the sparrows have returned.

Every morning, all morning, a sparrow tries to enter my room. She keeps pecking against the window pane. When I open the window, however, she flies away in fear. Crows and ravens have always proved to be friendlier creatures. Sparrows are fragile little things.

After many years, the sparrows have returned, and my home is once more textured in their muted songs.

Auld

2011-04-18T22:04:00.003+05:30

There are certain things that will evoke the taste of loss in you, many years from now. Like that of the cheap sugarcandy that you never bought from the local grocer. Stuff that you can't get now, because they have been phased out, too old, too simple to be profited from. Stuff that reminds one of slow afternoons of trams crawling the streets, of the toy seller hawking his wares. But it will be too late, like it is now. The taste of loss is that of cheap sugarcandy and of orangesticks at the zoo and of an unregistered morning during the summer holidays when the flowers still outnumbered the houses on the street.

Capital

2011-02-11T00:29:00.004+05:30

It's too late for a year End post for 2010.

However, now I'm in Delhi and will be here for some time.

Paper Fish

2010-10-24T02:01:00.007+05:30

I've never had an aquarium in my life.

Recently I bought a pair of shoes which cost me Rs.2200/-. Made of black leather, they're really comfortable to wear to work on the odd day that I do feel like wearing formals, as opposed to a T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Back in my school days, a pair of Bata Naughty Boy cost almost ten times less. They came in boxes made of rough, yellowing cardboard, covered in yellow paper. The box, approximately rectangular parallelepiped, was a big draw, for me. It had the smell of a new book.

I would take the box, and line one of the sides with glue and sand and weed clippings. I would then draw aquatic scenery in the background. Finally, I would cut out a side to leave just a frame, and cover the top of the box with hard cellophane. Then I made paper fish -origami or cutout- and threaded them to the cut side of the box with matchsticks tied to the other ends of the strings. Carefully, I would put the cut side back on the frame, and would cellotape it together. Once I flipped the box to the side, the cellophaned top now facing front, and the sandlined side on the ground, it looked just like an aquarium. I would keep it and fuss with it just as if the fish were real. The fish mostly moved up and down with help of the matchsticks, but later I fashioned out fixed tracks along which I could move the little animals. I cannot say I miss my paper fish, but I do miss the ease at which happiness could be found in cardboard boxes.

I've never had an aquarium in my life; but for several years, that never stopped a few paper fish from coming to life on damp Calcutta afternoons.

Paintball

2010-08-19T20:22:00.007+05:30

is good fun, all things considered. Today's score stands at 3 kills, including a headshot. I got shot in the neck at some point, after I ran out of ammunition (limited to 19 capsules). I was playing left flank, attack. Ah, violence. Makes me happy. Capture The Flag, it was.

On a completely unrelated note, you know how there are some people who insist on sticking to outdated, long drawn methods of preparing food? I happen to be one of them.

Last night we had chicken cooked in beetroot, made by my friend's mother. It was very good.

Okay, I am writing this mainly because I feel compelled to write something. Excuse the general flatness of the text.

Few things can beat eating and shooting things. Especially at the same time.

Also, today I have been compared to Barney Stinson. Twice. On separate occasions. By different and unrelated people. That, I consider to be a Good Thing.

Clam

2010-07-26T01:36:00.004+05:30

Today I held a fossilized seashell in my hands which is estimated to be 45000 years old. I must admit, it is easy trick one's mind into a soup just by imagining the course of time over what is essentially the dead body of a bivalvate mollusc. It gathers dust in a quiet, but not forgotten, showcase in a quaint little house in Bangalore.

Just as the house nests seasecrets in several shells and fossils, the house also nests a little fragment of Calcutta inside its walls, spread across the wooden decor, the wall hangings, the paintings, the oddly placed television, the dining table and of course, A Most Curious Showcase With Wooden Side-panels, which, in turn, holds in it curious items on display that would hardly interest eyes which are not trained in picking up the delicate details of life and death.

And yes, there was a cane swing chair with the works, including the slightly depleted cushions, the frayed jute ropes, and the feel of a very old, preserved childhood afternoon that one might have spent on a sunny verandah.

If I could, I would hitchhike the galaxy tonight, yet no spaceship seems to notice.

Romance

2010-07-18T13:23:00.002+05:30

Ah, scrabble, how I love thee.

Two Terrible Jokes

2010-07-07T16:25:00.004+05:30

Please read the following Wikipedia articles before proceeding. Here and here.

---

A neutrino walked into a bar.

No one noticed.

---

Recently, scientists claimed that the Higgs Boson was detected in an experiment.

It was later discounted as mass hysteria.

---

Okay, I'm done. Happy stabbing.

Occam's Dhruva's Razor

2010-06-14T00:05:00.003+05:30

I'm all set for the new week. Yeah.

Copia

2010-04-21T21:09:00.004+05:30

The undiseased will be prone to think that the sound of rain is noise, but in it, the apophenic will almost certainly find music.

Denial

2010-04-13T01:15:00.003+05:30

They might tell you that you are not beautiful, that you are less than perfect, that you are not immaculate and not absolutely splendid.
"No," you must tell them "you are wrong".
You must tell them this because to be able to say such a thing, they must be, in fact, delusional.

Home

2010-04-12T06:06:00.002+05:30

I belong to the sea and to the sky and to the earth that gives them meaning. That is who I really belong to.

At the end of the day, we must retreat into ourselves, no matter what the world demands of us.

I belong to the sea and to the sky and to the earth that gives them meaning. That is who I really belong to.

Among the fields of barley.

2010-03-22T00:36:00.003+05:30

Blew eight hundred rupees on beer. Felt miserable for spending so much. Bought two T-shirts and devoured a chicken roll for salve. Came back, did laundry. With one hand. Colour ran from a T-shirt. Destroyed three shirts and one other T-shirt, in turn.

My life has lost all meaning.

All the fish

2010-03-18T00:17:00.000+05:30

I know everything. Except verifiable facts.

Friday Night Booty Shaking

2010-03-13T21:06:00.004+05:30

One would think that mixing a DJ, a makeshift dancefloor, multicolour strobing floodlights, and an incongruent collection of hip hop, film songs, item numbers and other such is a good idea.

Till, that is, you throw in a bunch of a hundred or so software professionals into the fray.

While most regular people might celebrate the end of a year in December, it is not uncommon amongst working professionals to celebrate the same in other months, especially March.

So anyway, there was this party with two installments of food -snacks and a buffet dinner- and a DJ belting out questionably mixed songs for an hour and a half in between.

Everyone knows its going to be pretty awesome when some people whose idea of a great workout involves walking to the cafeteria get down on the dance floor to shake it like there is no tomorrow. Or today. Incidentally, the dance floor happens to be at the centre of an amphitheatre, inside the office complex, creatively named "The Amphitheatre". A few onion pakorae and aloo bondae later, I ambled over for a nice spot to watch the massacre.

A lone man was dancing MJ moves, egged on by a cheering crowd. Darkness fell as the Earth turned over slowly in her sleep. The lights came on in a heady flood of red, green, purple, and ringed with yellow bands of light marking the seats. Smoke and the more enthused poured in, now reasonably hidden.

I was still unsure whether to continue feeling smug and refined, sitting on the fringe with a bunch of self concious coders, while doing the head-bobbing that people do when they feel the need to shake the proverbial it, and can't quite shoot dignity in the left foot and jump in.

Minutes later, I saw several of my senior managers -who are very cool people, incidentally- standing around in a cluster. They spotted me and asked me to go join the dancing organism of people. Right. Like that would happen. I insisted they should join, instead. Anyway, all of us gingerly made our way to the seats at the very edge of the floor.

Then in one confused and swift moment of suspension of thought, we kind of moved -half walking, half trotting- into the crowd. Everything after that was a blur of hands and feet being thrown in epiliptic ways, and booties shaking mercilessly. Women on the dance floor are always a comfort, though. They generally are programmed to move more aesthetically than men do (Or conversely, one might argue that women, irrespective of their state of rest or motion are more aesthetically pleasing), and this time was no exception. Still and all, everyone was brilliant, in the end. And we men have this trick where we have this mishmash of throwing our hands and legs about in one elaborate pattern which on a smaller scale might seem arbitrary, and we can subtly change it so that it seems different with every song. In fact we are so good at it, most of us are not aware that we can do it. The dance was good, the dinner was good, and one of my senior managers dropped me home in his car.

Irrespective, I still cannot dance except at gunpoint. Only, if I do dance at gunpoint, I'll only end up getting shot faster.

I knew this post would happen, but I thought it would be wrought in a completely different way.

March is always a good month, and how.

Has Bean

2010-03-13T21:00:00.001+05:30

We are now the proud owners of a green bean bag.

House

2010-02-23T20:38:00.005+05:30

The new house in Bangalore is a qauint one tucked away in the third cross of the twentyfourth main in this place called BTM layout, 2nd Phase. Before this, I have lived in two other places in this city.

This house is two storeyed, and has three bedrooms. Five of us share it. I live in the room on the ground floor. It has jittery furnishings and no windows. But the walls are a happy shade of yellow, and I love that. I like my room.

The rooms on the first floor are bigger, and have attached bathrooms and better furnishing. They have yellow walls too, but a lighter shade and just one wall has the same smattering of happiness that my room is. The stairwell is curved, with a nice wooden railing.

The kitchen is nice, and we manage to pull off quite a bit with frugal equipment. All of us like to eat and like to explore food. That helps. The roof is nice, and shaped awkwardly, and is gingerly stuck to roofs of other buildings on all sides. Batman would have thrived here.

The floors are made of marble. The house has the texture of a painting made from a dream. Not quite perfect, but the bits and pieces are evident. The defunct fittings, the cracks, the incongruence and the strong theme of yellow all around reek of happiness and mediocrity and of working class heroes.

There is a bookshelf, and a place where alcohol could be stashed, if we wanted to. We bought a television recently. All we can watch as of now is static. We shall fix this soon. In less than a week, one hopes. A fridge is next in line.

I'm in S and R's room, now and have appropriated R's laptop to write this. As I type, the smell of frying onions are wafting into the room.

I am tired and hungry. I think I shall go and fix that, now.

Confetti in a Bubble.

2010-02-18T00:36:00.008+05:30

This Tuesday, I met the man who saved my life more than twenty three years ago. If there is a God, he lives at CJ 325, Salt Lake, Kolkata. It feels strange to see an old man's eyes light up like the universe herself, just because you exist. I was overwhelmed into silence, and listened with rapt attention, as he formed words and sentences and spun them into meaning. I think I saw a tear, at the very end.

Just when I was about to post advertisements for my lost pet dinosaur, a friend met up after six years. This friend told me something which I have not heard in a long time.

Do not waste yourself.

And here I was thinking that I'm wasted already. Go, figure.

This particular friend also brought up a morsel of memory which was fogged over. Mainly (fogged over, and later brought up) because it is laughable. I shall now recount the tale. About a decade ago, when I had a computer to call my own for the first time, I was so hopeful that there is intelligent extraterrestrial life waiting to pop out from the night sky, that I worked so that I could chip in to a part of the phone bill (Yes, we had a dialup connection, then) just so that I could contribute to the SETI programme. In my defence, I grew up on LEGOs, Transformers and video games and so it seemed reasonable at the time. And this was also before I happened to read Calvin's (of Calvin and Hobbes fame) perspective on the matter.

This also happens to be the period when I was fairly certain that it was just a matter of time before I find out which species I really belong to.

It is curious how we grow up. Knotted, tangled, and constantly sounding just like the build up to an advertisement for leave-in conditioner. But there is no punchline. Ever. I could have written this and several other posts like good people do. In one swift motion of grace, from beginning to the end, containing a gradient of meaning and coherence. But I choose not to. I choose to explore the gnarly way where one spews word after word and paints outside the lines, and leaves spaces inside. Would the rain be as nice if it fell in simplistically ordered patterns?

Just when you think all matters of good and evil and beyond have been debated and resolved in your head, you feel like taking something new and putting it through your system and realize that everything needs redecoration. It is just activity. It prevents atrophy of moral genesis.

If we have ever met, you know that chances are I will make you laugh and make you walk and make you feel wanted and needed. I think it is important to do this. It is an important exercise in making the world nice for a small amount of time, and it helps in sorting people. Laughing at the same joke for different reasons is usually a good place to start the proverbial line that must be drawn somewhere.

I like walking a lot, a lot. I miss the sea, I miss travelling. Ah, firaaq, what would we be if it were not for you?

I forsook magic for a long time. I blink in and out of it now because we must, at the end of the day, retreat into ourselves no matter what the world demands of us. You must listen to what I am trying to say here.

The paralysis of choice can be deafening, but do choose.

Do not waste yourself.

Terror

2010-02-15T19:42:00.003+05:30

Please find rest and peace, where ever you are.

Lives should not have to end this way.

It's alive!

2010-02-11T20:25:00.003+05:30

Everyone who has ever thought about the nature of intelligence, and ergo has evolved to thinking about emergent intelligence has undoubtedly speculated at some point that the internet will come alive and/or will act as some form of a neural network to a greater organism.

Trouble is, most have imagined it in a way where life and/or intelligence suddenly pops into the equation, like a genie out of a lamp.

I think, however, that this has already happened.

PS: Here, 'everyone' refers to the the set of people who have at least some foggy idea regarding what the internet is.

Sticks and Stoned 4

2010-02-08T01:08:00.008+05:30

Clearly, this one is not targeted at more sensitive readers. Fortunately, that does not include anyone who still reads this blog. If you have stumbled into this, sorry. Navigate away if you are disturbed by phallic humour or images.

Right. That's what I thought, too. This is a sequel to the previous post.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let us get on with the entertainment.

Geometry themed, uh, erotica might not sell now, but it will be the biggest thing in the year 7515, and then on. But there is a lot of time before that happens, so I suppose you can put your pants back on, now.

Sticks and Stoned 3

2010-02-02T02:30:00.007+05:30

Okay. This is wrong on several levels, as usual. Plus, it now has hover text. ( Yes, that thing that pops up when you hover the mouse over the image.)

Let me know if I should stop.

Conversation

2010-01-22T23:05:00.002+05:30

Friend: "You are really good at this, you know."

Me: "What? Life?"

Friend: "Yeah."

Gotcha

2010-01-13T11:57:00.004+05:30

Sometimes when people reach a certain stage of sophistication, they like to pretend, at the very least in their own heads, that they have forever been in that state of sophistication.

That they have never been naive and daft and that they have never listened to Bryan Adams while they were growing up.

Year ender post, 2009

2009-12-30T15:03:00.006+05:30

A year just like any other.

But also a year which heralds several logical ends and beginnings, and perhaps for the first time, some material for essays titled "My Goal in Life".

There is much to be said, as always, and therefore I shall not start. Oh, darn. I failed.

It was a year of dark miracles.

A happy winter to you all. Also, love.

Suffer, toil, and take care.

Mutation (And Other Stories)

2009-11-29T22:44:00.009+05:30

Life is essentially that pause when a passing girl, a stranger, with a strange man tagging along, looks right into your eyes, and you have a moment. And then suddenly you realize that it is what propels this world, amongst other things. It is desire. And then in one quick flick you know that how little it takes to change something ordinary into something singularly aesthetic, like a step into dance, like a drawn breath into song. All it takes is that wildly tossed hair, glossed lips, a pretty face.

Desire is a cruel friend. It binds people and things with barbed wire and gossamer. Then you smirk subtly at each other during that one moment of infidelity, as her man glares at you.

Where would we be if it were not for secret desire and other ~~sins~~ morsels of fuel oozing out of our being, like maple syrup on a stack of pancakes?

Life is stepping into a place, and just knowing in your gut that the last song they'll play before you step out is the song that has been chipping geometric shapes inside your head all week. And then that song just trickles out of the sound system when the waiter brings the cheque.

Predictable unpredictability is an awkward comfort. Also, all other variations.

Trigger

2009-11-09T22:44:00.005+05:30

I would write more often, but I don't want to crib.

Stuck in the middle of a curious, preordained and a new kind of defeat, I'm counting my days backwards. Sometimes, and not infrequently, it is a good thing that all things come to an end. Wish me luck. I'm twitching to hit the restart button. Only, the restart button seems to be at the end of a long maze.

Question/Answer

2009-10-11T21:09:00.001+05:30

Why?
Because.

Holidaemon

2009-08-29T23:51:00.003+05:30

At Mandarmoni, on a trip with my family. A thousand years ago.

Life was so good, so easy. :'-)

As an afterthought which most likely echoes your own, isn't that how it always seems? Don't we almost always, deep down inside, prefer an established past, irrespective of how awkward and difficult it seemed at the time, as opposed an uncertain future and a trying present that we constantly possess ?

Business As Usual

2009-08-18T09:33:00.004+05:30

Tonight, I'm moving to Bangalore.
(yay)

How Mow Cow

2009-08-13T16:36:00.008+05:30

These are the top ten search strings in Google starting with "How to" :

get pregnant (13900000 results)
download youtube videos (24700000 results)
reduce weight (27600000 results)
improve spoken english (446000 results)
kiss (59400000 results)
gain weight (26400000 results)
loose weight (25000000 results)
download videos from youtube (24800000 results)
learn english (98900000 results)
lose weight (17900000 results)

Yes, I have been robbed of all inspiration and creativity. Cut me some slack, I'm an IT guy. However, the list seems to indicate that most of the people with access to the internet on this planet are way more hopeless that you or I. I mean, not only are people looking for this information desperately, but there are actually millions of people out there who have taken trouble to spend money, time, and other resources to dole out these instructions (Just look at the number of results).

I mean really, you need a guidebook on how to get pregnant? That's what most people are looking for in this world? (And here I was thinking that people want to know how to screw and not get pregnant. Can you hear me, contraceptive-making companies? Fools, stop making pills and condoms, and shift to lubrication, funnels and babycare products.) At this stage would it be safe to assume that the people looking for this information are all women? If not, sorry to break your heart dude, if you have a shlong, you can't have a baby just like that. And also, how to kiss? What do you need in your instruction manual, sir, ma'am? A flowchart and a diagram that ends in a helpful "Just add water" or "Click here" ?

As regards weight, this is a touchy issue for many, I realise, but the best way to lose weight is to smoke pot. The best way to gain weight is to smoke pot and then consume lots of meat and dairy products. Yes, it works. It is magic. And to 'loose' weight, take a dump, or smoke pot and try to type in 'lose weight', I guess. Heh. Another way to gain weight is to get pregnant. Then, to lose weight either

deliver the baby
pull out your hair in bloody clumps, if you couldn't get pregnant or are trying to figure out how to steal youtube videos.

I know, the way I turn problems into solutions and solutions into metasolutions is sheer elegance. I wanted to write my own top ten How to list. Couldn't. Is it my fault that I know everything?

And these are the top ten search strings in Google starting with "Best ways to" :

propose
conceive
reduce weight
propose a girl
save tax
get pregnant
lose weight
die
invest money
kiss

There is so much bad humour lurking in here, I think I'll just let it pass and then get the coffee I was trying to drink out of my nose. (I wasn't trying to drink out of my nose, please note. I was trying to drink out of a cup. I stifled an awkward and potentially loud laugh, ergo sum.)

Lord, I should move to dumber places and write ~~mis~~guidebooks.

Lonely Planet

2009-08-10T17:10:00.006+05:30

The earth seems to be an unfairly hopeless place.

I mean, come on, do people in the rest of the universe have to put up with layers and layers of, uh, other people who have difficulty in coming to terms with the simplest of ideas?

Like, for example, stonechips and biriyani do not mix. That live wire should be concealed/taped over. That one does not speed on a highway when a wheel is about to break off (and does, after a point, due to abovementioned idiocy).

Oh, I'll live through this. Just you see.

Me Too

2009-08-10T15:58:00.003+05:30

It is slightly amusing how the desire to be validated drives so many (and so much) of life's actions, by the individual or the collective.

To be a good listener is a privilege that few have, and fewer want.

Break Fast

2009-08-10T15:37:00.004+05:30

My being aches to break free. To write. To give in. To be held prisoner.

I know, after such a long radio silence, one would expect something better, more meaningful. But then again, it has been such a long time since the rain felt completely, utterly meaningless.

This constant effervescent activity is tiring. Question is, how does one make a programmer out of a poet? One doesn't. Poetry, philosophy and programming are related intricately, only one needs to know how.

I'm saving money. This means, on days I plan on having an evening snack, I usually skip breakfast. Ah, times are difficult. But then, I have strong teeth.

Setup Files

2009-05-20T00:06:00.004+05:30

Even in departure, I could help not one, but two people onto a very, very solid step forward. Probably more will be added to this list, soon.

It feels good.

Yes, even after more than a year of doing the same for hundreds of people.

:-D

And What Proves to be Yet Another Breach of Trust

2009-05-18T19:58:00.004+05:30

I was swindled by the biggest media house in this city.

Yes, little ones, do not work for The Telegraph.

I avoid proper nouns in my blog. I must be pretty irked to be using a name that is this big. And not as if I'm using it in a good way.

Inaction, In Action

2009-05-17T15:00:00.003+05:30

Inaction does not always stem from indifference. It is difficult to explain, and I am tired. I hope you will understand, eventually.

Hyderabad Blues

2009-05-15T00:11:00.003+05:30

I'm moving to Hyderabad.

What can I say, really.

Douglas Adams said it best, and it is so apt, in context -contexts, actually- that I don't think I need to say much else.

So long, and thanks for all the fish!

Legen -wait for it- dairy!

2009-05-10T23:55:00.001+05:30

I can't promise you the moon, but I can give you the cheese that it's made of.

But for now, I must be excused. The reason is simple. If one has to get cheese, one must arrange for the the ingredients. The milk of human kindness is in slightly short supply, of late.

Weather? What Weather?

2009-05-04T22:18:00.009+05:30

In other times, that storm would bring with it bad poetry and good prose, but this one I mostly slept out on, recovering from sleeplessness and throbbing headaches, therefore.

These days I spend the greater part of my waking hours in a place which is maintained at a constant cold eighteen degrees Celsius. It, I know, is a part of the plan where the system cryogenically freezes the individual to extract optimum work efficiency from them. It doesn't work for me, somehow. I tend to function better when I'm not half frozen.

I don't get to get drenched in the rain anymore, but so what? I breathe her aftertaste, her quiet words which so gently comfort the fuming city. I gesticulate at the rain; that shifty understanding, where love isn't quite sure if its there, but is fairly certain that it was, or could be. I gesticulate when I hum, almost without thought or plan or sequence, rain themed songs. I gesticulate when I get myself cheap food from the food shacks at the bus stands. I gesticulate when I take a small break from work to stare out the eleventh floor window, just because I can.

I wonder why people want to move out of the city or the country. Despite the bad traffic, despite the arduous journey to and from work, despite the millions of little problems that plague the place and its people, I call this city home. Not despite, but in part, because of. In being perfect in its imperfection, it makes me fit in, in a way.

Over the years, I have seen a few places, in different degrees, but I can think of no other place which I can call my own. I have friends who have elevated and reduced me to a part and fixture of city life. To them, thanks.

We crave identity more than we like to admit, and the city has given that to me generously, in presence and in absence.

The world, it is sending me to far off places which teem with people of strange names. Just so that you know, there are some things which are so fundamental to the condition of an individual, that they cannot be erased. I am glad.

The conditioning becomes the condition.
The weathering becomes the weather.

I love the rain, the braille of the sky, even if this time it brings with it bad prose, and no poetry at all.

Ektara

2009-05-02T00:51:00.004+05:30

We must not abandon hope. She needs us.

Life passes, and we too, with it. The suffering of the other always brings to us paralysis, for we do not understand. Yet, we say we do, to give salve and comfort. The other may manifest in so many forms, everyday. From these quiet shores, I look at the sea, and at how life passes, and we too, with it.

The ektara is a musical instrument with just one string. But when unbroken, such music it weaves.

But we must never abandon hope. She needs us.

Atheist

2009-04-28T14:14:00.000+05:30

In quieter worship of an unnoticed god.

And other fancy stuff.

2009-04-26T00:04:00.017+05:30

This, I found in my mail box:

And this is what it contained:

It reads:
Dhruva Ghosh (On the envelope. Duh)

The letters then form the following text:

"From the shadows of the by-lanes where faith looms for IF and when you should despair."

NB: There is the star of David, and for once, not inverted. The darned thing has been used inverted ever since, well, coolness has been used to imply more than thermal properties.

This entire creation is not signed anywhere. It is anonymous.

It is one of the best things anyone has ever made for me. (Not as if people give me gifts with alarming regularity or anything)

But it just so happens, I know who made this, and the maker (Uh?) knows I know, and I know the maker (Uh?) knows that I know that the maker (Uh?) knows, et cetera.

So, what I'm trying to say here is, yay. And thanks. :)

Plus, there was a seashell. This is what it looks like:

Office

2009-04-25T11:42:00.007+05:30

Outside: 41 degrees Celsius.
Inside : 18 degrees Celsius.

42

2009-04-23T23:54:00.001+05:30

is an item number.

City, Traffic, and (Almost) Accidents

2009-04-22T22:25:00.004+05:30

Today, people and I, we stood our ground. Everyone does that, every day, I suppose. But today, people and I, we stood for what is right.

Curiously, only events out of the ordinary breeds hope and despair. And usually, it is a simultaneous event.

I choose hope.

Ventricle

2009-04-21T23:39:00.006+05:30

I walked many, many kilometers today.

Along a busy city road, spotted and striped with powercuts and lights, I walked and sang. At the top of my lungs. Out of tune doesn't begin to cover it, but the traffic drowned it out, good thing.

I randomly started walking from a busy junction because I received a phone call, and I didn't want to drop it just like that. So, turns out, the inertia of motion took care of the rest of the way after I hung up.

It was pretty dramatic, in all. Especially towards the end, because my neighbourhood was completely dark, and the place slowly lit up as I stepped in.

It could have been the power supply came back, but given the clockwork synchronization, I like to think maybe it was just me. :D

Cellotape, Dreamscapes, and Scissors

2009-04-21T00:18:00.003+05:30

I build dreamscapes.

Build is a heavy word; I just put them together. Like piling up sand, it isn't really construction.

I cellotape them together. Scissors and blades are abound, thank heavens.
Most irritating, when you desperately need to tape something together, and then when you finally manage to find the cellotape roll, you fumble with it for a bit, trying to find the open end, and then when you do, the tape itself peels off in strips, and then when you fix that, there's not a cutting instrument in sight, and then the glue dries, and somehow the entire damned thing gets entangled in itself and you, leaving you strangely defeated.

Salad

2009-04-18T23:13:00.006+05:30

The idea of grilled or fried meat is a very, very successful one. It has practically been around ever since man invented fire. I mean, as far as I am concerned, if it is meat, and not on the animal anymore, it is meant to be eaten. Terrible waste, otherwise.

A lot of men I know seem to particularly enjoy barbecued and grilled meat. This is understandable. It awakens a racial memory, a hunter-gatherer instinct, which involves none of the finer aspects of cooking.

Food, in general, evokes the creature instincts.

The problem with me is, my instincts don't need evoking. My adoration for food has remained at the same level as that of primal organisms.

This could be at odds with a more civilized society.

I mean, when people talk about dressing sense, I think "Mmm. Salad."

Yesterday Was 27th Anniversary, Marriage

2009-04-18T21:41:00.003+05:30

Mother+Father.

Good job, I told them.

(Really)

Okay?

2009-04-18T21:39:00.000+05:30

Okay.

The back, it breaks.

2009-04-18T21:37:00.001+05:30

But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Suspended Animation

2009-04-16T22:39:00.004+05:30

Suspended animation is what happens when you see a familiar situation, and almost react, but stop at the last instant of execution of the movement (physical or otherwise) resulting in micromotions, which can collectively be called a jitter, and then you smile to yourself in the head while feeling slightly flustered with yourself and flabbergasted with the rest of the world, at the same time.

I live in, live on, and live off such moments.

Nice. Real Nice.

2009-04-14T22:43:00.004+05:30

Most people are nice till you go and tread on their toes, so one way of finding out the ones which are really nice is to go and, well, tread on their toes and stand there for a while.

If finding out isn't required, it is perhaps best to act in a way where people continue to remain nice.

As it turns out, I have this superpower, special skill -or maybe, huge feet- which ensures that I tread on everyone and everything within a hundred ~~meter~~ lightyear radius.

Fortunately, I tread lightly.

Biology

2009-04-14T21:39:00.003+05:30

There are two kinds of animals, in this world- those which I eat, and plants.

Funniness

2009-04-14T21:23:00.002+05:30

For some reason, what is funny in runtime, must be rendered in a completely different fashion, if it is to remain funny in noncontextual text.

Gah.

Grit

2009-04-13T23:49:00.001+05:30

The streets which lead to solace, salvation, and silence are the streets lined with suffering, doubt, and noise.

Job Satisfaction

2009-04-10T00:07:00.002+05:30

is not necessarily derived from the fact that the work itself is deeply satisfying.

It is actually the satisfaction derived from the fact that one is working.

The fact that one can buy food and other forms of sustenance and comfort using hard work given value in the form of tender.

The fact that one's place in the scheme of things is, in a manner, justified.

Work is like religion.

The worshipped god is unimportant, the act itself is sacred.

Fireflies

2009-03-29T22:48:00.014+05:30

Now, celebrations seem to always cost lots of money. But today, the rain smelled of memory and weariness, as it often does.

I remember a time when powercuts were frequent all the kids from the locality would rush out of there houses. On those evenings, when the road was still earthen, and the roads were lined with Royal Poinciana and Copperpod trees, the entire place would seem ablaze with fireflies. The organic motion of the light would look like magic oozing from the trees. I did not know them to be the Royal Poinciana and the Copperpod, though. To me they were the Krishnachura and Radhachura trees which would come ablaze in red and yellow once a year, in Spring.

But that was when happiness was an unexpected holiday, a paper boat floating down waterlogged streets.

The roads were lined with shrubs and bushes and wildflowers, and my cousin and I -we had a joint family for sometime- would go cycling early in the morning, and even forays within an unexplored two kilometer radius would seem nothing short of deep space explorations, and finding a new flower or some new bug would fascinate us no end.

And there was this little canal -the khaal as we called it- meandering through the neighbourhood. It was choked with sewage, but we didn't care. When we'd play cricket on the small, makeshift field, the ball would frequently go into the khaal, and more than once did we have to climb down to the edge of the muck to fish it back out. There was this tubewell where we'd wash it and our hands and feet, and carry on with our game.

At the approximate center of the field was this scrawny Krishnachura tree which had sprouted despite all loneliness, and it too burned with a fire of its own when the more majestic counterparts of its kind did. I never realized how much I liked it till they cut it down.

And then, slowly, all the Radhachuras died out. Most of the Krishnachuras followed suit. They paved the roads, and put up street lights and halogens, and lots of new buildings sprouted before I knew what hit us. No wonder the trees stopped oozing magic. The tubewell rusted over, and my cycle is now lying in a pile of junk. I know, I know. Melodramatic.

These days I sometimes feel annoyed at a powercut, especially if I feel like basking in front of my computer. They are covering up the khaal now, and most people are happy about it. Though, at night or on some dark, electricity-free evening if I take a walk, I always smile in my head when I spot a firefly. A survivor, an ambassador of the times when happiness was an unexpected holiday, a paper boat floating down waterlogged streets.

I was happy then, and I am happy now.

But today, the rain smelled of memory and weariness, as it often does.

The Simple Guide to Happiness (Flowchart)

2009-03-25T01:08:00.008+05:30

Click on image to enlarge.

Standard notations and functions have been used.

Gin Soaked

2009-03-22T00:47:00.007+05:30

Everyday, I live a life which vaguely resembles a collage.

Today, amongst other things, I ~~invented~~ mixed a new power cocktail involving a 60ml peg of gin mixed with equal portions of apple juice, a cap full of maple syrup, and diluted with about 20ml of water. A dash of chocolate syrup is to be mixed in, for added texture and feel.

And then, I met a few friends -an eclectic crowd, from various spatiotemporal points of my life- and had several cupettes (I refuse to call them cups) of bad-tasting tea at a roadside stall, which has an immense feelgood factor.

Chopin, he makes the kind of music that can dissolve one into the pores of this world.

PS: In absence of gin, white rum also works.

<Title here>

2009-03-19T14:40:00.006+05:30

I can lay claim to the dubious honour of being the only person on this planet to have landed a job in a software company in this day and age while sporting sideburns which practically spell out "Is it 1960 already?". And yes, a mauve shirt, to boot.

Today I found a heap of mint candies in my letterbox.

And had an SMS conversation which stirs my already paranoid view of identity theft.

Doubt

2009-03-18T23:40:00.004+05:30

Doubt is a very important survival reflex in this world. He who does not doubt himself always courts disaster. He who walks slowly, doubting himself, ends up making decisions which outlast the adverse.

It can take long amounts of time.

In me, action has never been the point of procrastination. Choice, however, has been. I can act upon choice easily.
The difficulty in choosing is primarily because choice often means also not choosing so many other paths. Choices I cannot make easily.

I have always been patient, and it works. In the long run, it does.

My default approach to people is that they are good, but only over time when they are pressed to failure or hardships does it become apparent how twisted they can be. It is surprising and somewhat disappointing.

BirthdayBoy

2009-03-15T10:29:00.007+05:30

I have a bad memory, but two years ago, on my birthday the family was out on a vacation. I was holding fort, with friends crashing at my place for campus interviews being held in the city. Money was short, and we were very literally starving. I tried very hard to sleep through lunchtime so that I'd not have to eat lunch (and thus be able to save some money). I was awakened by the doorbell and friends bearing cake and groceries. Groceries. Literally. Some onions, potatoes, eggs, tomatoes, bread, etc. The meal was a simple fare of cake, overcooked rice, the best omelettes in the world, and kindness. Nonetheless, in the evening we had managed to go to the then popular club, Princeton. The band played me the happy birthday tune, and practically the entire club gave me birthday bumps. Friends being kind, some alcohol was partaken of, and the band's food was shared by all. People came over to my place, and a makeshift party was had. The next day was a bandh, and thus the festive mood spilled over and lasted some more.

Last year, I was on a bus with about eighty five other people from my college on a tour. The bus had a capacity of about seventy five or so. Bad songs, intoxicating substances, yelling people, epileptic dance moves, and a bus full of people singing me the birthday song. And since there were so many people, and I have just one posterior, I was ~~given birthday bumps~~ thrashed in four installments. Denizens of my college are neither kind, nor gentle. My last birthday could have been my last birthday. The celebration spanned about three days, two states, and three towns. Massive, chaotic fun, in all.

This year, I spent a quiet night with a friend. Eating, drinking, talking about life, the universe and everything. Existing, generally. Today, I met some friends (I got an amazing home-baked cake, the best poster I have till now, chocolates, and again, birthday bumps), and then later went over to another friend's place for some more conversation and music.

The life of party I have seen through, and transcended.

I love the rain for many reasons. I love the rain because it is the earth reading the sky in braille.

Candy and Floss

2009-03-07T00:11:00.001+05:30

There is something very melancholy about a desolate festival. All the rides, all the lights, all the cotton candy stands are bound by an emptiness which could be transfigured into the twinkle in human eyes, should crowds take note and step in. But till then, it is a festival of melancholy.

Doomsday

2009-03-04T23:21:00.002+05:30

As I wait for some insane stray meteor to collide with this planet and blow it to smithereens, I sometimes get impatient and decide to take matters into my own hands by jumping and chucking pebbles at the earth.

It is not working.

I might have underestimated the world a bit.

Supercreatures

2009-02-26T23:06:00.003+05:30

If one tracks the development of lifeforms on this planet, one would notice that the most prolifically successful lifeforms are virii and microbes, insects, and human beings, in that order. While this might add up to a slightly depressing pattern, it also means that, to be successful in life, generally, one must become a disease, a pest, or intelligent.

I think I'm headed in the right direction. Two out of three isn't that bad. And I know for a fact that this side of the planet has a large number of these superbeings.

I shall now proceed to quote a feature from my favourite science journal, the Snake Oil Weekly:

...Dr.Gobbledegook points out, if this class of human beings were to breed more often, then by now they might have diverged into a new species. Some independent researchers, however, suspect that this has already happened. Pressed to further questions, they refused to comment, fearing sociopolitical ostracization...

In either case, in view of this new information, it would be advisable to not underestimate the annoying boy or girl. They might be the next biggest leap in evolution.

Perspective

2009-02-22T02:07:00.003+05:30

I

2009-02-22T00:41:00.004+05:30

How far is far?

2009-02-06T23:04:00.001+05:30

Far is the distance that one must travel to realize that the journey is the destination.

Undream

2009-02-06T23:02:00.001+05:30

And thus, we assure ourselves that we are still human.

Cosmic Joke

2009-01-17T00:57:00.005+05:30

There are times when I just can't shake off the feeling that the entire universe was constructed with a purpose. Not essentially by an external agency, of course. And when I think a bit into it, I think it is a big practical joke. I mean, why else would we have things like cheeseballs and Gadar: Ek Prem Katha ? It gets worse on some days, when I think maybe the joke is on me, and I constantly keep looking around, nervously, for a punchline. Or a hidden camera.

I swear, the other day I saw a food product at a shopping mart, labeled "Baby Squirts". The box also had something about "juices". I guess this would be a mean joke some disgruntled publicity manager pulled off on his company. If not, I've been in the wrong line of work.

Marsbound

2009-01-17T00:03:00.000+05:30

I must move to Mars. I must.

Trying Times

2009-01-15T00:04:00.003+05:30

Life tries us in so many ways. And every time, we overcome the trial. Because answers to some questions are not correct or incorrect. They just are. Time and grit, I guess, is what determines what metal a person is made of. And if that does not matter, then little else does, anyway.

Or I guess it would also be nice to be a tinselbeing. That which kind of flutters through life, a bit like crumpled, empty paper cups in a storm.

Choices, choices.

Click Clack

2009-01-12T22:21:00.015+05:30

I believe that many of the problems which plague my country can be solved by addressing two areas. Food and education. One cannot hope to solve the problems of a society or country by addressing problems symptomatically. One cannot hope to dole out riches, create quotas or force upon the populace an ideal society where everyone is made equal by everyone else. In fact, sometimes charity can be a disease.

I think, if the vast resources of the country are used to generate and distribute the basic amount of food required by every person to live, and if the country educates the populace enough to quantify and judge the world, the other problems will solve themselves automatically. Indeed, all lasting solutions are quasiautomatic. Emergent.

PS:The title signifies another little hitch that we may be suffering from. We only discuss problems and solutions. We never do anything about them.

Perfect Mornings

2009-01-10T08:25:00.004+05:30

I could not sleep all night, but the lack of sleep was offset by a long conversation with a friend, with whom conversations are always pleasant.

The morning held promise of basketball, and so I went. However, basketball did not happen, and no one else turned up. So I took a stroll around JU, and the morning was very, very pleasant. The sun was just suitably sunny, and the winter flirted casually with the skin and mind. A cup of strong, sweet coffee settled in nicely, and while I was walking back, I met another of my kind who also had turned up for basketball. He seemed to share my joy and my upbeat state of being.

An auto and a brief conversation later, I was back home.

And just to make sure, I'm listening to Bawraa Mann.

Perfection, if it exists, is a lot like this, I'm sure.

I am a decent man

2009-01-10T06:18:00.000+05:30

And I am not afraid to admit it!

Run.

2009-01-10T03:12:00.004+05:30

It suddenly hit me that I want to run away from my life, again. Not because of the usual reasons that make people want to run from their respective lives, in general, but because I realize that I am on the brink of actually giving it some direction, consciously. So far, I have just let life happen to me, and I have experienced it. A bit like drowning in beer or wine, I suppose. The comparison holds true at many levels.

Anyway, I usually put work away till the last moment, and last evening it hit me that the last moment might have been three months ago.

The blessing of the mediocre, as affirmed by Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes fame, not the philosopher), is that happiness is abundant and simply acquired. I secretly laugh at the brilliant. Fools.

I wish I could be rich by inheritance, but that is not a possibility. Also, I make my own path. (Ooh. That one was pure mozzarella)
It builds character. But sometimes I do not want to build character. I just want to build an evil empire. I have enough character already. Overflowingly so. I have this terrible habit of believing in things, of holding onto principles, of taking a stand.

I'll figure out the job scene soon. All shall be good.

FOR THE PAST THREE DAYS, I TELL YOU, I HAVE HAD THESE INTENSE CRAVINGS FOR BLACK GRAPE JUICE.

I walk very slowly

2009-01-09T22:52:00.003+05:30

But I notice the pebbles and trinkets and leaves and other objects of disregarded beauty which line the way.

There Are Things

2009-01-06T16:47:00.004+05:30

Worth waiting for.

Worth living for.

Worth fighting for.

Worth dying for.

Room Temperature

2009-01-06T16:00:00.002+05:30

It is cool to make fun of people's dreams, efforts, and shortcomings. Cynicism, indifference, rudeness, and so on are considered cool. Being a jerk is hot. To not value a human being is hot. Well.

Our Body

2009-01-06T15:24:00.000+05:30

Our prison. Our home.

Astron

2009-01-04T15:15:00.005+05:30

There is a certain kind of star which is not as stellar.

It does not burn the brightest in the night sky. Much of the light it emits is not in the visible spectrum. However, it burns the longest.

When all other lights and other stars go out, it still burns.

To detect such a star, one must have very sensitive instruments.

Or wait for the darkest night.

The young and the foolish will however, pluck the brightest one, or the prettiest, right out of the sky and put it in their pockets, only to realize that when they need it most, they're only left with a handful of cosmic ashes. Stardust, if they are lucky.

Veins

2009-01-03T00:41:00.002+05:30

Of course there is blood in me. That, and lonesome magic.

Dog

2008-12-30T22:14:00.001+05:30

There is a dog that our tenants have. I suspect it does dope. It is incredibly stupid. But it is sweet sometimes.

Familiarity

2008-12-27T20:12:00.003+05:30

This winter is a winter of familiarity. It is only familiarity that brings out the differences. I'm over at my cousin's place. One of them has been working for over a year now. The other has two kids. My brother came over for a bit as well.

Four of us, same roof, same walls. Yet everything is different.

It is curious how certain things never change. I for example, still fit the cliche of the misfit middle child in a middle class Indian family. I quite like this. Sitting alone in a room, typing this in from my cousin's laptop.

Today I almost walked into a pole, again. Sounds of the television from downstairs is just about setting in the atmosphere. Some things remain the same, always. I still look like a wardrobe accident. I call myself a stack-top dresser, in true spirit of computer science. That is, I put on whatever I find on the top of the stack.

Tomorrow we go out for a family dinner. Nice.

Today, however, the hours are slow. There is work to be done, left unattended at home.

I am not very fond of spiders, and I found one the size of a tea saucer in the bathroom. I manage, however. There was a point of time when the sight of these arachnid aberrations would have me dancing on the dining table, in a desperate bid to attract attention towards the lurking predator. A very primal form of the distress signal, methinks. I seem to have outgrown this evolutionary fossil.

Rationale is boring, somewhat. For example, it would have you think that simply wishing for something to happen will not make it happen. Not true. I know dozens of examples where wishes have come true miraculously. But then again, rationale would attribute that to chance. Hmph. Have your way, then.

We are all ordinary creatures who do not read the nutrition information of the side of boxes, except maybe for passing curiousity. We all want simple things, simple pleasures and simple love. Not me. I want cheese in my omelette. I am the plain vanilla, I want the chocolate sauce. I want these things for free. I want to play with my LEGOs again. I want to get back to gaming. I wish I could write well. Or at least the way I used to before my command over the languages rusted. I want to program like a silicon valley geek. I want to play basketball like a pro. I want to be able to drive like a NASCAR racer. I want to make music like a dream. I want to be incredibly attractive to the opposite sex. I want to change the world. I want. So. Many. Things.

Wishful thinking.

I don't really want them. Most of them. They'd be nice to have, of course. I have most things I really want from life. Food, clothes, soap and shampoo. A place to stay. People. Peace and happiness. A crippling sense of humour. Decent money.

Also, at this point, I'm willing to settle for this solitude. This laptop. This room. These humansounds. And that place, called familiarity.

Obligatory Year Ender Post, 2008

2008-12-27T03:55:00.006+05:30

Again a year has ended. Well, almost. It is curious how fast life changes yet how it remains the same. I quite like this general way of being. This year, the major downer is the fact that the usual party that B, R and I used to throw around Christmas time every year has not happened.

College has come to an end, and with it, an extended stretch of formal education. I had serious qualms about typing in 'extended stretch of formal education', because I realize now that I know nothing. I always suspected this, but my recent life centered around vacuous conversation, cards and other entertainments not generally considered constructive, confirms this. As opposed to my not so recent life, which was centered around vacuous conversation, cards, other entertainments not generally considered constructive, and exams. This is relevant because in a more ideal world- or this one, had I been very competent, cerebrally- I would have been working now, and would have been earning money by now. Yes. Real money. Currency. Moolah.

This is something that I don't have right now. Money, that is. Every luxury is a coldly calculated measure, and being a spendthrift doesn't help. Speaking of lavishing on things of the material kind,- I'm not talking about textiles, here- Amongst various parties and cookouts and night outs and night ins which come to mind, the Christmas parties stand out in nostalgia and during bouts of general wallowing in hunger.

These fabled beasts have seen spread the likes of a spit-roasted stuffed suckling pig, to various kinds of bread, to mountains of sausages, to various animals cooked by some of the best cooks of the city. And then there was wine and whiskey from fine brewers. Rum and vodka, and even premium ouzo. They have been witness to music by fabulous musicians, and accompaniments by their drunken friends. And then there were the cakes. At least two different kinds, every year. And there were the finest cigarettes available in this city.

If anything, arranging for the party was massive fun. Always a pleasure to see the eyes of those invited light up in joy and surprise. This year, I spent the 24th night with a few friends having a quiet dinner at some lounge. It could have been any night in the city.

An apt end, perhaps, to the carefree life. -grim, I know-

There are some people who refuse to give in. I'm one of them. Through this crisis of work and times, where everyone around me seems to be on the verge of snapping, I am doing okay.

No need for joy, as it probably means that I'm incredibly stupid.

I also realize that this is turning out to be the worst obligatory-year-ender-post in this part of the blogosphere. Unless, of course, Pran suddenly decides to blog a Chacha Chaudhury year-ender episode, in which case, I'm safe. Do not think that I am making fun of Pran, or that I do not like him. In fact, my reverence for this man is truly undying. Like a flesh-eating zombie, somewhat. I have great respect for those who try to make a normal life out of a bad situation. India has certainly not been very kind to cartoonists, in general. But people who try to make a normal life out of a bad situation with something as outrageous as Chacha Chaudhury, that takes real grit.

Having said that, when I was a kid, I used to read at least two of these abominations on every long distance train ride. In fact, I even remember minute details and plot devices- not to imply that they buried us with variety.

Trips to various places have happened this year, and various people have been met. I do not know how to say this without sounding wrong, but certain personal interactions have been very satisfying. Others bear promise of being so.
Life works in mysterious ways. I swear. I have seen things happen- come together and fall apart, and come together again in different shapes as if it were in a controlled simulation.
It is quite amusing, like dreaming and knowing that you are dreaming, and being able to reach in your grubby fingers to alter it in the way you want.

Self improvement hasn't happened,as usual. In fact, I think it stopped sometime around junior school. Okay, so I -ahem- play basketball now. Though I cannot really play, and not being the tallest player on court doesn't actually help, it is quite fun. For one, it does not involve some sort of paper, electronic device, or food. Completely new territory, for me. Plus, I play in what is known as The LEBaBas (League of Extraordinarily Bad Basketball Players), so I fit right in.

I miss my own college a bit because it provided a perfect runaway spot from the city. Also, probably because in these few years I had been part of various activities there. Plus, it is not possible to not miss a place, however you may dislike it, where you have stayed on and off for four years, roughly. A place which you have changed, and has changed you, even if a little bit. Time goes by fast, irrespective of what various songs would have you believe. And sometimes, that is not a bad thing.

But mostly, it is. I am nearing twenty three, now. And I have nothing to show for myself. No indication of any form of human intelligence or achievements. Not as if I'm particularly well read or creative or trying to break free. Or even trying. Hell, even a few decades back a man my age would be feeding a family of twenty. Being constantly surrounded by terribly brilliant and amazing people doesn't exactly help. As you might have noticed, the only thing more depressing than less intelligent people is more intelligent people. I should considering ordering Prozac from the factory outlet.

I can still cook, fortunately. And there still is music in this world.

It is slightly ironic that I worked in the Training and Placement Cell of our college. And that I have "played a crucial role" in the recruitment of well over four hundred people. I better start working by the first quarter of next year. Else I'll be pressed to apply to Diamond Comics for the post of a writer.

A large number of people I know have slowly been almost leaching out of the city. Mostly for work. Some for studies. Friends who were there in the next hostel room or maybe just a phone call away are suddenly unavailable now. I suddenly miss bhaja maggi now. A simple dish consisting of fried Maggi noodles, it merits a separate post. I am at comfort with my life of simple pleasures, though. A handful of people, both newly met and old friends or old acquaintances-turned-friends make it easy.

Birthday celebrations this year are right up there, with last year's. This year it was celebrated in a bus packed with about eighty five people, where there was a seating capacity of seventy five. All these people from college, on a trip (yes. I know.). The mayhem is not particularly difficult to imagine.

A particularly close friend got married this December. It is somewhat strange because this is the same friend who would call me to talk for hours at end about nothing. And sometimes about solving calculus, long after we had stopped using that kind of mathematics, academically. Suddenly, all this will not be there.

I'm particularly happy for those friends who have proved the system wrong. This is an annual event, by the way. This year stands out in the far reaching implications. ;-)

I'm quite pleased with myself for having handled certain matters in a most satisfactory way. This deserves mention because this does not usually happen. Maybe there is hope for me after all. I also secretly wonder what plans life has for me.

As long as it involves food, music, and travel, I'm in!

Or maybe, starting next year, I shall ~~change the world~~ earn a living. Also, here's some love for you!

Only in Computer Science

2008-12-02T02:39:00.002+05:30

Will you find a sentence like "Press Enter to exit..."

Hollow Man

2008-11-18T00:03:00.000+05:30

Empty vessels sound much, they say. They laugh. I laugh because all instruments of music are hollow.

Crash

2008-11-15T03:21:00.006+05:30

And burn.

And burn.

And burn.

And I watch.

It's not exactly Deja Vu, but thematic repetition. I think I can help. But one has to let me try, first.

How to change the world (In eight easy steps)

2008-11-09T11:46:00.003+05:30

And now, D-Man brings to you a do-it-yourself guide on How to Change the World!

Preparation:

1>First, identify the things about the world that you would like to change. If that is not possible, and you would want vague changes, (like say "a better world", or other equivalents taken from the Little Black Book of Beauty-contest-answers) then restrict yourself to just one parameter which you would like to improve.

2>Desensitize yourself towards destructive criticism. This is key. Also, this is generally useful in having a happy life.

3>Make sure you are aligned towards this change you're about to bring. For example, you cannot be a chain smoker and try to ban smoking.

4>Balance. Be nice by default. Be firm. Be aggressive once in the occasional while. Moderation in all things, including moderation, is an art. Learn it.

The above being done, you are now set to change the world!

Execution:

Conversation is the tool that you shall be using largely through the course of changing the world.

1>At all points, stay aligned to the desired changed.

2>Keep talking about the change, to people around you.

3>Relate the change to the life of the person you are talking to. Graft your dreams and ideals into theirs. Thus you will be bringing about change not just to people, but through them.

People are driven by self-righteousness. Just morph their idea of 'right' to suit your ends. They will go on autopilot from there onwards.

4>Relentlessly work towards the change becoming reality.

5>Refuse to give in. This is another key factor. It is very tempting and easy to give in. Lie down, give up, all that.
The world and you shape each other, so if you do not crumple, you're already restructuring the world.

6>Be open to constructive criticism. But not so open that you end up doing something completely different from what you started out to do.

7>Evaluate. From time to time you must keep tabs on progress. Even observation has its contribution.

8>Repeat steps 1 to 8, till desired results are achieved.

Can one man change the world?

2008-11-08T16:05:00.000+05:30

Yes.

Shift + Delete

2008-11-03T19:25:00.005+05:30

The internet has proved to be a catalyst in what has been an emerging human trait. The internet provides the means for the displacement of the self. Social networking sites, internet chatting utilities, and similar tools are used as platforms for abstracted human communication. These platforms provide a space where a person can (and does) create a projection of what he or she wants to be perceived as. Frequently, the driving factors behind such images are relationship oriented. That includes romantic relationships as well as social standing.

Such paradigms are very curious in their semiconcious acceptance of hyperreality, in the fact that the signifiers in this case are consciously attached by the signified to himself/herself. This causes, not unpredictably, a shift in what the signified is and what the signified portrays. Thus, a new and completely different signified (self) emerges.

Such virtual portrayals are bound by finitely limited templates of labels, like fixed data sets, uploaded pictures, et cetera. Thus a person who wants to portray himself in a certain fashion may do so by simply tagging on requisite labels. Also, a person who might be living out what he/she ideally wants to be will end up projecting a distorted image of the offline self. Bracketing can be done using various parameters, especially intelligence and social exposure. Perceived templates emerge, thus. A person acquainted well with the ways of the internet may consciously or subconsciously form ideas about the portrayed other by just browsing though limited fields, like, say "idea of a perfect first date".

Labels may also be less direct. For example, writing style, inflection of syntax and semantics, nature of captions used in photos, polymorphic interactions with others in the same space, et cetera also help form identities where other physical cues are absent.

This shift of the self can be multiple, and crosslinked to each other, being spread over chat ids, blogs, social networks and online games (or equivalents). The dissociation can be extreme to a degree where the offline self is sustained for the upkeep of, and is driven by, online presences. Instead of seepage of online activities into offline life, the amalgamation can be very deep. Or there may be extreme disassociation. Both being a shift from what is generally considered acceptable patterns of human behaviour.

In a cause/effect spiral, social isolation in the offline world is both being driven by and is at the same time propelling online interactions. This again is manifest in a different degree altogether where a large chunk of the global populace is not connected to the internet. Since this divide is uneven due to geography and socioeconomic factors, the trend might just be very primal spores of a more prominent partition.

We might just be skewing ourselves into a situation where the self is altered. The self is shifted. The self is deleted.

Peace

2008-11-02T23:57:00.003+05:30

I am, after what seems like aeons, at peace. With myself.

No battles, no wars. No wounds, blood or dulling ache. Much less, sharp pain. Few scars here and there, but they do not bring to mind painful memory. Just facts, stripped bare of aesthetic detail. No expectations. Take life as it comes, I say. I always did. just that, now there is no question of negative reaction. Detachment is pristine and good. It is beyond numbness. The numbness set in, it waited till all was healed, and it left and now there is lasting peace.

It is true, after all. To break me is difficult.

Earlier I was zen because of bipolar dissociative balancing. Now it is because of abstracted fluid moderation. That was there too, previously. Just that the first thing has been toned down to a level where it is microscopic chaos emanating macroscopic stasis.

In short, I'm happy. :-)

Otherwise, also known as life in the backdrop of more well sketched people.

2008-09-23T13:19:00.007+05:30

A collage. Torn bits in colour and blackwhite, images and text. Put together from scraps, often of scant necessity to the other. Interweaved, layered, cemented with truth, and lie, and reconstruction in retrospection. Contradiction and moderation are the motifs running through the canvas, in twisting, writhing forms. In the memories of smells, the warmth of human skin and of rum running down the throat. A cup of seabreeze, and memories of the milky way constantly restored with peroxide. Textbooks, backbenches, rush. Backpacking trips, music, and a wildchild life. Coldcomfort. Before that, the scared, confused misfit. No. Misfit always. Social fringe, heartfringe, mindfringe. Dieselsmells, dying trees and recounting of pasts that never were. I'm all about bad humour and cheesecliches.

Cool.Hot.MBA.iPod.Fastcar.Sculptbody.Fuckablemind.Mushmusic.Hormones.Crash.Boom.Bang.Human mating rituals are as strange and as banal as any other species'. But I digress.

People with plans are an admirable novelty to me. My plan is, there is no plan. People put up firm selves to face the world. Firm is also brittle.

I flow. I reach.

Some people are not the kind that fall into perfect rhythm with rest of the race. Not the kind that is music. A bit like the first string of the guitar. The one that just won't fall into tune. The one that snaps because you stretched it too far. Snap.

Put into an ektara, however, these people sing of the earth. Those are hard to find these days.

People who fake sincerity and people who cross certain thresholds of self importance are despicable. Also, amusing. As are people who use a bad past as an excuse for being terrible in the present.

Our greatest strength as a race is our greatest weakness as individuals, in first person. We are all replaceable.

All things pass. And when the world crumples the memory away, I take away just a corner of it, a memento, and make it a part of the collage. It's way of saying that it was there. It happened. I thrive in the way of not denying the self. Or the other. I have overcome the defensive mechanic of denial. I have moved to a footpath, while I watch traffic pass, and people walk by.

Be careful what you wish for, they said. I wished to be ordinary, to fit in, at a point. I'm afraid, with every passing juncture of life I am headed in that direction. Numbing is a bit of a loss. Only the memory of being able to respond to the world remains. Personal strength comes at the cost of a soul.

I'm pretty hollow. I'm an outline.

Orange halogen streetlights, shards of the city, and cellotaped memories remain. Even now, contradiction and moderation are the motifs running through the canvas, in twisting, writhing forms. Good stuff.

Hope makes us tick. No wonder, therefore, that hope is blind. I'm not just about the paperbits of the collage. I'm about the canvas. I'm about the frame. I'm about the nails that crack the wall and hold it in place. I am intense. It is covered in layers of nonsense. I refuse to give in. I refuse to die out. Just yet.

The Sweetest Music

2008-09-17T15:10:00.004+05:30

Ashu was a musician. He played the guitar, primarily. However, Ashu was not an extraordinary musician. He was a mediocre student, and a mediocre musician. He could play the guitar nice enough. He made his own music as well. That was good. In a circuit clogged with all sorts of people jumping into the fray and forming bands, this was not extraordinary at all. However, Ashu liked music not just because it was the rising trend when he took up the guitar, but also just because.

In a twisted way, he liked it because it seemed as uselessly beautiful as the rest of life.

Ashu led a quite simple life, despite what he might have liked to think. He had a supportive family. He was studying, was in a rock band and had a girlfriend, Shinjini.

Shinjini loved Ashu very dearly, and he loved her. He liked her in all her aspects. She was perfect, to him. For him. He liked the way she looked, talked, dressed and the way she knew the exact things that would make him tick in any situation or state of mind. She had been his corner of comfort through all the trials of life. You know, the kinds that seem really big when they are happening, but seem like just a small step later on? Or when looked at objectively? That is because they become facts then, and facts often inspire less reaction than they should.

One fact at hand, however, drew quite a reaction from Ashu. The music he made was simplistic, at best. Simple to the point of lacking beauty.
The main reason for this, Ashu thought, was because he could not feel whatever it was needed to make great music. He felt them, of course. Love, pain sorrow, joy and life...things primarily music is made about. However, the music he made in their inspiration lacked so much, he felt, that they were at best caricatures of what he truly wanted to make. Like the scrawls a baby might make in attempt to sketch things around it.

Never once did Ashu consider that his limited mind be a reason for his limited music. Or maybe he did, he just didn't admit it to himself.

Ashu needed to make music that would inspire. But for that, he needed to be inspired himself. He needed to know how to feel. He needed to know how to make the sweetest music. This singleminded dream caught him, drove him to madness. He sifted the music he liked best through his mind. And slowly he came to a realization. A truth so obvious, so illuminated, that it is ignored, while fools seek it in dark corners.

The sweetest music touches the heart.

And what touches the heart, must also be connected with it in more ways. Ashu kept searching.
___________

Shinjini opened the unmarked envelop, and found pictures of Ashu with another girl. They were kissing. The pictures seemed recent.

In a daze, she went over to Ashu's place.

"How could you do this to me, Ashu?"

"Get away from me you bitch!"

"...Ashu...I never...I thought you...I thought we..."

"Stop making a scene, bitch. You're a whore. I know what you do behind my back. I hate you. And oh, don't feel bad, I've been doing this for quite some time now."

"...I..."

That night, Shinjini, Ashu's girlfriend of five years, broke up with him. She said, in the suicide note, that she had thought their love to be best, most complete. It did not mean anything anymore. Love hurts, she said. No one was to be blamed.

The brutal betrayal had been a blow that sent her over the edge. One blow. One blow, to take it all apart.
___________

Slightly more than two weeks later, Ashu had a new song for the band. He had written it, given it shape and lyrics. He had arranged it and perfected it to the smallest nuance. He did not have to work hard- the music flowed with a life of its own.

They played it at a live concert. The crowd went wild. Musicians of all kinds spouted praise for it. People who used to be Ashu's idols lavished him with kind words. This is like a dream, he thought. In the heady atmosphere thick in cigarette smoke, Ashu wiped his eyes. It's all the strain. Tears of joy and sorrow have a thin line, sometimes.
___________

The song was soon considered to be one of the best written in recent times.

It was worth it, then.
One has to lose certain things to gain certain other things. It had been difficult, breaking his own heart like that. It had been even tougher breaking Shinjini's heart. True, the process had been crude. Still. Who cares about the means, when the immediate end is destruction. His plan, for once, had come together in perfection. He had made the sweetest music.

Now Ashu could die happy.
___________

Ashu's dream had indeed driven him to madness.
In his madness, however, he had learnt one truth.
The best creations come from separation.

The sweetest music is the sound of a breaking heart.

All a musician has to do, is listen.

C

2008-09-05T10:19:00.004+05:30

C is a high level language because hash is included in it.

Okay, for those who have no idea what this is or why, here is the explanation.

A high level computer language is one which undergoes typically at least two steps of conversion, namely:

High level (Human understandable language) -> Low level (Not so human understandable language) -> Machine code (like, say, binary code). C fits this profile.

A typical C source code looks like this:

#include <stdio.h>

int main()
{
printf("Hello world!");
return(1);
}

I must be losing touch because I'm blogging after months and the best I come up with is a sad pun. I mean come on, how many jokes have to come with their own source code and technical support documentation?

Sex (a.k.a. Why I Love My Friends)

2008-06-20T05:05:00.005+05:30

NO! Stop thinking!

The title is a misnomer. The post isn't anything that you might be expecting. Also, I'm not that kind of a guy y'know. Anyhoo. The following conversation explains. Read on.

* Friend explains to me situation where friend and potential love interest were spending 'quality time' *

Me: "So. Did you do it?"

*Momentary silence*

Friend: "Of COURSE not! We did not do it !"

Me: * staring *

Friend: "What?"

Me: "What? I'm staring in belief."

Friend: "O. From where I'm sitting it looked kinda like disbelief to me."

< laugh here >

Back

2008-06-01T14:40:00.006+05:30

Smoking is overrated. I quit, completely. For the first, and hopefully,for the final time. It has been well over two months.

There have been a few unexpected deaths. No one very close, but known and liked.

The college, of which I'm not a part anymore (not in person, anyhow) is at war amongst itself. Again.

Certain things are so unexpected. In fact, some of the most important things in life are.

College has been wrapped up and has been taken care of. One realization hit home. I have been a part of one school for fourteen years. I have been part of a college for four years. I started college with extreme negative prejudice and animosity towards it, and maintained the stance for a long, long time. Yet, I am more a part of the college than I am of my school. Again, my school is more a part of me than is my college.

Right and wrong are laughable concepts, often. I mostly stick to gut feelings.

To everyone who's been there for me... thanks.

Finally, I currently am hooked to Ache (James Carrington) and Angel (Sarah McLachlan) thanks to S and J, respectively.

Sometimes people fit together so well, they're like LEGO bricks. I'll have to wait to find out. I don't mind.

Spite

2008-01-25T00:48:00.000+05:30

If you can not say it to my face its best not to say it at all. But the worst is to be uncharitable behind my back and pretend that nothing is wrong when I'm around. I do not need donated kindness, thank you. Just because we do not have identical values does not make me better or worse. I appreciate all kinds of people for the goodness that they have and the beauty that they might hold.
I can take criticism.
But still and all, I do not appreciate being two faced. If you have bones to pick with me, go ahead, make my day. But do not subconsciously fall into the clique of two faced diplomatic spineless creatures that you so denounce.