GMail bug

This just in:

This is a shot of a gmail conversation i had a few minutes back. I never really look at the timestamps with any seriousness, but certain events (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) have altered my perception a bit.



Hmmm, it seems Google's been working on a time machine.

Big bunch of nerds

Communication has always been difficult for me. And I'm not talking about Fourier transforms and Constellation diagrams (which are rather easy). This is about talking to others in a group without inviting raised eyebrows or generally commencing on what I call "suicidal conversation". You ever get the feeling that a perfectly normal topic you are speaking about is causing people around you to slowly drift away? There, you have just committed conversational suicide.

It's particularly annoying when the Eureka Effect suddenly manifests itself, causing irreversible effects and fatal amounts of ego damage. A case in point:

Me: So, anybody else here ever had this vague problem with MFC? Those bastards call it a feature!
21 others (thinking): Ummm, no. But the bar would be just the place to go right about now.
Me (realizing seconds later): Hey, where did everyone go?

So when I met 21 random people from all over India at the Google open house in Hyde over the last two days, I sorta felt it easy to mix into the crowd. Because, guess what, there were actually 21 other people there who felt it was perfectly rational to let a comment about Java drop into a dinner conversation and laugh about a faux-pas involving a ridiculous bug in a program.

For starters, all of us met first at a bowling alley. There were 17 guys, and 4 girls, which, no matter how you look at it, is an over-the-top sex ratio, since it's much, much greater than zero, which was the figure I had in mind. Now, bowling alleys are fearful places for compulsive suicidal conversationalists. No matter how small, there is always the lingering probability of a physics model turning up in your head and eventually finding its way to your tongue. A comment or two about rigid bodies, and suddenly a radius of two metres devoid of any sociable creatures envelops you in an aura of solitary nothingness.

This is where a chance meeting with an old friend from school saved the day for me. (Well, I failed to recognize her at once, but that went ok, I guess) Reminisces, nostalgia and catching up with five years past subdued would-be outpourings of dynamics and statics, and soon enough I was introducing myself to everyone, as everyone was introducing themselves to me.

And here is where the first suicidal conversation tidbit emerged.

"There is no freaking way I can remember 20 names in so short a time." proclaimed I.

And then realized that while the thought was true, it was not one meant to be shared aloud with the world at large, which in another situation might have been miscontrued as "So who the hell really cares about what you idiots are called anyway? I am Aditya, and that is all that matters." Surprise, surprise! Twenty other people were telling me that the exact same words were at the tip of their tongues, and they all agreed with what had been said.

I would have written here the names of these excellent people I met and enjoyed with over the past two days, but unfortunately, I have forgotten some names.

At least five different people came up to me (wearing my Quake@IITM t-shirt) and asked me if I really played Quake. Wow! That should make interesting company.

Thursday night was basically a freakout session - bowling and ethnic cuisine, and a skit we were supposed to prepare in teams of 5/6, which thankfully never happened. There was also an extremely cliched "uncle's pink pyjamas" game, which in other circumstances would have been the conversation killer, but here everyone seemed to enjoy it.

The next day was damn hectic - meetings with all kinds of heads of everything, who gave deep and inspiring (read uninteresting) lectures on all sorts of things. And of course, meetings with our year-old seniors who turned out to be extremely good company as well. Here, I clarified with them that Quake was indeed part of the job experience.

It was during the lunch break that I made the observation that only 5% of the world smokes, since I was the only one who went outside the building to take a fag break.

Dinner was at the Taj Krishna in an opulent and oversized baquet hall all dressed up in red. The words "GOOGLE DINNER" were arranged in golden letters on a velvet banner outside, and I exchanged them to read "GOOGLE NERD IN". Missing an "S", but quite to-the-point.

Of course, what company could be good without a dash of vodka and rock music. So, after the dinner our seniors took us to a pub called "Easy Rider".

At the end of the day (or two days), it seems like a nice place to go to work every day.

Incorrigible loss

The sense of loss is profound. He is gone. Left us, forever.

May he rest in peace.

The end

He turned back for the last time. He was leaving it all behind. From now, on, he would have a new identity, a new life. He thought about the mistakes he had made in the past. But could he have made his choices any other way? He tried to turn his mind away from the negativity of these thoughts, and suddenly the beautiful image of his wife pierced into his mind. The shock of that forced him to face away. He looked straight in front, tried to focus on what lay ahead, but his mind lay in the past still. The friends, who had turned away, at his time of need. His own brother had refused to see him anymore. His wife, how could she have deserted him? He had thought this would not be so difficult. But then, he had also thought that she would understand. He gazed at the infinite stretch of road that lay in front; at the solitary tree standing in the wasteland among the shrubs, tall and proud, yet alone; at the hills in the distance, seeming to call him forth.

He sat down and wiped his moist eyes, then stared at the heavens. Dark clouds loomed in the blue sky, trying to eclipse the sun, which persisted in its descent towards the horizon, making long, dark shapes on the ground. He had been an atheist all his life, always the one in control of his destiny, always in charge, always the world had obeyed his wishes, always he had been the master and all of nature his influence. But today, he felt minute, just another speck on the vast expanse of creation, a dead leaf blowing in a hurricane. As he took off his shoes, he looked down at the gravel below him, studying the intricate pattern. He wondered when he had strayed from the long, patterned lines on the road, all so equal in length, so well-organised; to the random mishmash of the gravel, the neurotic chaos of the grains; from the light to the dark.

The wind was changing from a breeze into to a howl. The dusk was fading into the night. He knew he had to move on. Maybe, there would be more opportunities, there would be new friends. Perhaps, there would be a new life that he wouldn't end up hating. He breathed in deeply and stood up straight, facing the road ahead. The light danced on his clothes, half of him ashine with the illumination, half of him obscured as the dark clouds blended into his silhouette. The shadows danced on the ground, trying to make a straight line with his feet, an athlete's start marker, for a man about to embark on a journey. The winds danced amid the flailing bushes, while the tree stood absolutely still, as if in a silent gesture of mourning.

His arms crossed themselves, and between the quivering of his lips, and the tears that suddenly enveloped his eyes, he heard himself pray for the first time.

New arrival

The Whatever League

Unbeknownest to the people of this world, a team of undercover superheroes and supervillains lives among them. Their secret personalities as mundane by day as possible, they turn into magnificent beings as night approaches.

"To the service of Justice, Social service, World peace, Orkut, Whisky, Classic milds. Well, whatever..." is their undying call.

The following journalistic entry finally exposes their well-kept secret of 20+ years.

---

THE SUPER HEROES

1. SUPERJHA


It's a bird. No, it's a plane. No, it's Superjha's pyjamas.

Team leader and the general secretary of the Whatever League. Superjha realized his superpowers when he failed to commit suicide by falling into a well in 4th grade. Speaks parseltongue. Moves his neck at velocities faster than a speeding bullet.

Special powers: Instant bakwaas generation (which compensates for his vestige of a brain), transmogrification into his snake avatar, and making poverty into an art form.

2. CYBORG GARY MALL

Able to perform involved computations and evolve complicated strategies from the smallest of assumptions, C. Gary Mall is Superjha's trusted sidekick, aiding him in all his activities even though unfortunately few of strategies have actually ever worked.


Superjha and his Cyborg on the Jhamobile

It (Cyborg Gary Mall) was formed from a failed experiment in the army to create the ultimate spy, and has even worked in this capacity for several years. However, the next generation of the experiment was a hit and succeeded in producing its brother, who is immune to any form of intoxication.

It can sponge emotions completely, because it has none of its own.

Special Power: Complete hypnosis. It is said that CGM once made people apping "strategically" take up jobs.

3. DESTRESS-MAN

Others destress; his distress.


Destress-man's expression after somebody else's hard day at work.

Destress-man is always at the forefront of the team, ready to take in punishment from supervilains for the rest of the team. Unfortunately for him, his own team usually ends up beating him to a pulp long before the villains can arrive.

Special Powers: Long distance phone calls.

4. THE BEHOLDER

It is said that: "Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder."


The Beholder's reaction to a butt-ugly woman.

The Beholder has beauty stuck in his eye in a spot that blinds him to more down-to-earth concepts like symmetry, facial features and height. Can see directly into the heart of his female companions, which is good, since most of them would repel even the most beer-saturated, beyond horny males.

The Beholder derives his superpowers from his "Helmet of unassailability" which renders him invulnerable against any magnitude of force, such as motorcycle crashes.

Special powers: The Beholder rushes in where angels fear to tread. Thereafter, he suffers the consequences.

---

THE SUPER VILLAINS

1. THE BHULK


The Bhulk shows off his goods

Superjha and The Bhulk have a love-hate relationship, akin to Tom and Jerry. He is the arch nemesis, and when irritated is not afraid to push his weight. Many an innocent victim have been pressed against his bulk and a tight spot, and barely survived to tell the tale.

Loves to indulge in extravagant excesses, and can induce magnanimousity in people merely by being close by.

Special Powers: Killer accent, Senti mode, Hooba power.


2. BANNERMAN


Supertrio: From left: Bannerman, Dr. Gadgetron, Junior
"Resistance is futile. You will be bannered."

In the past, with just one click of his mouse, or one keypress, Bannerman has "bannered" multiple blogs, orkut profiles, SMSs, emails... what not. A curse of "bannering" cannot be undone, and the fate of the helpless victim is destroyed forever.

Obsessed with certain rhyming words, his favourite places are Havana and Ghana, and his favourite fruit is a banana.

Special Powers: The curse of "bannering", fist of death.

3. DR. GADGETRON

Dr. Gadgetron makes evil weapons of mass destruction, all of which have hand-driven motors. It is said that the evil part of his brain resides within his beard, and it can only be destroyed by burning it after dousing it in alcohol.

Special Powers: Evil laugh.

4. JUNIOR

A recent addition to the super villain roster, Junior can suck the soul out of his victims by merely placing his hand around their shoulders and using the spell of "Jindagi ka saath". However, his development in the team has been rather slow, since most of the instructions are not in Hindi.

Special Powers: Seniors, Hindi Fundaes.

Ho ho ho!!

Merry Christmas, junta :D

I just got screwed

Didn't make it to any of the shortlists :-(

Winter cleaning

I have to give a seminar on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder tomorrow. I thought I'd finish leeching material off the web by putting a night-out tonight. But what better way to know more about OCD than obsessively, compulsively cleaning up the room?

So after what seems like several decades, I cleaned my room today. Yes, all of it. Even the parts under the bed. Rocky helped me with the heavy stuff. Therefore, I now have a nice, clean room and Rocky has lower back pain and dust allergy.

Needless to say, quite a few unusual things turned up:

• two socks. Different pairs.
  
• one large, green, dead grasshopper.
  
• 6+1 (!) computer case side panels. (WTF, I have 2 computers, one which is used to write this stuff, and the other which I have eternally promised to send Banner the following week. One of these has a panel already on.)
  
• two rotting fungus-infested t-shirts.
  
• three rotting fungus-infested hard disk drives.
  
• cheque made out to Rohit Taklikar in April 2004. Not cashed, now outdated.
  
• also, Rohit Taklikar's CAT admit card and lots more stuff.
  
• two "Operating System Fundamentals", both second editions. Great, wish I were doing computer science instead of elec.
  
• one green candle.
  
• 300 tonnes of Shaastra-related paperwork. NOTE: mild exaggeration.
  
• seven porn magazines.
  
• eight metres of twisted pair cable.
  
• fifteen packs of free ICs from TI.
  
• one lizard that scared the shit out of Rocky.
  
• one Rasna in a pouch.
  
• three year old canned cheese. They say cheese ages with time. I don't think I'm going to try and test that out.
  
• five-year old mixed fruit jam. Now, this is most definitely bad for health.
  
• four buckets. I threw one out.
  
• three shoe-polish brushes. Unusual, since I don't own any shoes.
  
• five empty bottles. 1 beer + 3 vodka + 1 whisky.
  
• one cigarette lighter that worked exactly once.
  
• thirty-two leaves of expired antibiotics.
  
• thirteen certificates for "First place in Choreo", with no names on them. Muhahahahaha!
  
• not-too-old cornflakes that I'll have for breakfast. :-)
  

Other stats:

• Time taken: 6.5 hours.
  
• Floor space cleared: ~15 sq. ft.
  
• Cigarettes smoked: 3.
  
• Number of items originally belonging to Rohit Taklikar found: 17.
  

Whew!! I'm tired now. Must sleep and leech info off the net later.

Self-portrait

Spot the Difference:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Yes, I am totally jobless!!

Copyright (C) 2005. Created using the same tool used to create graphs on BTPs. Yes, Microsoft Paint

Before Lanset, after lanrise

We've got quite a thriving community of quakers and counterstrikers out here. You can log into practically any game at any time of day, and find a fistful of opponents to vent out the whole frustation off.

Unfortunately there's a downside. Pained by the decreasing attendance in morning classes, the insti made a new rule: no LAN from 1am to 4am.

"Bah, Humbug!" I say. Proof, you ask? Well, I am writing this blog; so, sue me. Everyday now from lanset to lanrise, junta watch movies that they've downloaded by bunking the morning and the afti classes. Let's see what miracles that brings to attendance.

The only effect of this sham has been counterproductive to those seriously apping or trying to finish their projects at night.

Which reminds me, I saw the movie "Waking Life" tonight. Ok, yesterday night. Yeah, whatever.

Although it's a FOX production, it's quite different from regular Hollow-wood fare. For starters, it's not real life action, but it's not animation either. It's something in between. It's about a dream and, hell, it looks like a dream. Excellent use of animation. A host of characters and ideas on life and on dreams. Then, there's no story as such. The characters don't stick to a plan; instead they talk about a variety of ideas and experiences. Very very insightful.

This movie is art, not formula computer graphics, fake sex and mindless gore.

In short, if you know Banner, this is the kind of movie he couldn't ever hope to comprehend - he would hate it and label it fart, probably by just seeing the animated content. On the other hand, if you liked "Before sunset" and "After sunrise", you'll love this one - it's a MUST-SEE. There's even a scene with Julie Deply and Ethan Hawke talking about reincarnation, which gives you a strong deja-vu.

Watch this and if you don't like it, go see "Shaadi No 1" instead. You'll be a happy person.

PS: Julie Deply has the sexiest voice in the world. Just the way she pronounces her "R"s and "O"s turns me on bigtime.

An all-in-one trip

Like the 11 year sunspot cycle or the annual flooding of the Nile, it seems that the triennial submerion of Mandakini hostel's ground floor has a deeper meaning than what appears at the surface (pun intended).

So anyway, that is how I landed up yet again in Bangalore, and it's been a very eventful journey right from the start.

After my afternoon train was cancelled due to rain on Friday, I stood three hours in line to get an RAC ticket at 7:58 pm. One more guy had been in front of me, and the counter would have closed with my entry. All this fight to find a train which was so empty, there were seats left after all the RAC tickets had been confirmed.

Ever since, it's been a mish-mash of activity and adventure - quake, a bike trip to Mysore, a miraculous escape from a near-fatal accident, meeting with a cousin, a joyous diwali after a long time, raspberry flavoured vodka... - basically masti of the jhakaas kind.

---

The scariest moment has been the accident. On our way up to Mysore, I was riding pillion to Takli, and Banner was behind Dumbo. Takli was doin 110+ and Dumbo, despite protestations by Banner, was trying to race ahead. Obviously, Takli's Unicorn kept Dumbo's Discovery (or whatever that contemptible vehicle is called) far behind. It was just after Dumbo actually overtook us, when the most ghastly (but incredibly lucky) sequence of events unfolded. It was by far the most number of things happening in front of me ever in just two seconds.


Dumbo overtakes us and we follow him into an unmarked diversion. He bumps into a pit and then strikes some inclined plane from hell, which sends his bike flying four feet into atmosphere. They land, but tilted dangerously towards the left, and Dumbo loses control. The left leg guard screeches against the road, giving out bright orange sparks and leaving behind a hefty skidmark. Takli slows down, and I can see Dumbo falling head first onto the road with a skull-cracking thwack. Fortunately, he's wearing a helmet (but only because there weren't enough caps for all four of us). Meanwhile, Banner grabs Dumbo tightly from behind, juts his head into Dumbo's back and as they fall, he performs some awesome acrobatic stunt. He flies six feet and falls down. Now, our bike hits the half-built road and shakes the jeebies out of us. Takli's unicorn is heavier and slower, and we take no damage.


Immediately after this, Dumbo removes his helmet, and yells around for Banner, who walks back from his landing point, asking if Dumbo is safe. The net damage: A bruised Dumbo, a shaken Banner, bewildered Takli and I, and a bent left leg guard. NO ONE HAD DIED!

Let me repeat that: Nobody had died. Heck, no one even had any serious injuries. Even the frigging bike was working despite its former leap towards heaven.

So, with an extraordinary nudge of luck, four weary and injured souls (with bodies still intact) made their trip to Mysore good and returned the following afternoon, with Takli driving 100+ yet again.

Look, we even took pictures.

---

After lamenting for years about how Madduland Diwali sucks so bad in just so many different ways, I made up for four years of lost Diwalis in Blore. We contributed to buy candles, crackers and colourful fireworks, and shot amazing videos and pics of the beautiful displays. Pics here and here.

Raspberry vodka followed, and since the extended weekend had been so eventful that nobody realized that I had to book a ticket back to Chennai, I've decided to live it up here till Monday. With Bachi coming this Friday, it ought to be twice the fun.

A question of space and time

Suppose you have two tables and four benches arranged around them, each of which can comfortably seat two people. Add several large vodkas, a dozen tequilas, and obscene quantities of beer. Now, put up a video screen. Of course, some earsplittingly loud rock music is in order. Also, a crowd numerically strong enough to make jostling the only form of movement possible, and numerous heads in upswing-downswing motion to the beat of the music. Add springs under the tables which give a particularly woozy feeling if you stamp stoutly on the floor. Suppose you are holding these two tables.

This scene is routine. Welcome to a Saturday night at Styx. A trip to Bangalore without a night at Styx is like going to an amusement park and not riding the roller-coaster. In fact, for people like me, it's more than that. It's almost a teerth sthan.

Now the question: Can you fit in sixteen more people in the 20 sq ft or so of space that you hold?

Surprisingly, the answer is yes. And it's been experimentally tested.

Over the last two weekends, taking a break from it all, I've been chilling out in Bangalore. It isn't very surprising that I probably know more of the city than I know of "hometown" Chennai. Aur kyon na ho with Banner, Jha, Takli, Dumbo, Lala, Naan, Dil and Bachi all staying there in one flat?

The first time I went there was with Banner. Now a full engineer with more than just a muttocked-up project to worry about, poor Infy-placed Banner had gone to Blore to attempt placement at Yantra. The abovementioned party took place right after the interview, and soon news arrived that the poor Yantra-wallahs had actually agreed to employ him.

What Infy had lost, Yantra had gained - One BTech Banner and my wholesome and heartfelt sympathies for the millions of dollars they could otherwise have made.

Serves six, Sir

I remember the day when a bottle of beer was enough to have me rolling on the floor spewing, well, "stuff" everywhere. Times have since changed. Things have since been very different.

Today was the day when Banner finally got done with his viva. He's a full engineer now as far as the degree is concerned - Sourav Bannerjee, BTech (Ocean Engg), IIT Madras. Therefore, it was time for a treat. The name "Bikes and Barrels" comes to mind. It has always been the favourite, albeit a bit expensive, location for most such treats, and we decided to indulge ourselves a bit over there. Just a bit, I had decided, for someone had to guide the auto back home since Banner had already decided that he wasn't going to let mere currency in the way of complete bliss and a bad hangover.

We initially ordered a single bottle of beer for the both of us. "For starters," I thought. Of course, the waiter was a little concerned. So he came back in about five minutes, as soon as the first two mugs were over, enquiring whether he could fill our glasses with another bottle of Kingfisher. "2 minutes," we told him, "We'll order more later."

It wouldn't be unfair to assume that the word "cheapskates" crossed his mind about that time. After all, if you come to Bikes and Barrels, you ought to let down on your pursestrings a tad. Especially, when this is known as a place to enjoy, not dribble over money, or lack thereof.

That's why our second order caught him a little off guard. "Bring us a pitcher of Bloody Mary." we told him simply. The reaction was priceless. His eyes grew wide. "But that's worth six hundred, Sir" he divulged, with some consternation. "It serves six!", he exclaimed after some hesitation.

"Right!" Banner told him, matter-of-factly. "Get some French fries and a Tawa Paneer while you're at it."

The order was duly served after a small delay. Much nudging of elbows, raising of eyebrows, and general chitchat happened between the waiters consequent to the delivery.

Half an hour later, it was time for a second pitcher. Wide eyed surprise gave way to dutiful conformance - "Of course, Sir. No problem at all". Bikes and Barrels had just discovered the two most profitable customers of the day. Soon enough, complementary salad, peanuts, popcorn and an unknown paneer dish followed, replaced every ten minutes or whenever the stuff got over.

Enriched by a serving of beer and six of vodka each, Banner and I left a generous tip, and auto-ed back home. Needless to say, we overpaid the autowallah, since negotiation on price was beyond us at the time.

Moral of the story: On a treat, keep your initial order small, and then follow up with an insane amount. If nothing else, it'll give you the pleasure of looking at flummoxed faces trying to put it all together.

Days with DD

"Naugarh Vijaygarh ki thi takraar
Naugarh ka tha jo Rajkumar
Chandrakanta se karta tha pyaar"

That was DD a few years ago, when indian television was not yet overpopulated with a 1001 satellite tv channels and our very own rendition of arabian nights was still enjoyed a host of people, inspite of its special effects.

In fact, I feel even slightly nostalgic about the Byomkesh Bakshi's and the Junoon's. But today is a different story. I have no cable tv at home these days. Nobody even watches tv at home. And in these times of excessive boredom when I am forced to watch DD's fare, I pray fervently for the souls of fellow watchers out there.

Hey, wait a minute, nobody said these people behind DD productions aren't dumb. They're doing exactly what anybody in their position would do. They're copying stuff from other channels and mixing it up with old tried-and-tested DD ideas.

Like this serial called Qayamat, which is a mixture of a saas-bahu serial and Alif Laila. A Muslim couple give birth to a Jinn, who is prophesized to destroy all humans. Meanwhile the guy remarries and struggle ensues between the two wives. Of course, the editing is as slickly done as an ass rubbed on sandpaper.

Wife 1: Nahin, main ye kabhi nahin hone doongi.
Wife 2: Main tujhe dekh loongi.
Genie Kid: (with magical special effect) Masterji aapke bag mein saanp hai.
Masterji: Ui ma!!!

The clear-headed will notice that the above are lines from two different scenes. The magical special effect is some sort of Ramayan-style ray shooting out of the kid's eyes and reaching into the bag. Why the background didn't change betwwen them is left to the scene editor.

DD even has its share of saas-bahu serials placed right at dinnertime to help dieters lose apetite immediately. They're even stricken by the "Kkkk" bug. Kkaanch is a story of a journey of emotions, the saga of circumstances where relationships are fragile and yet tough - basically it's full of bullshit and mindless & impossible housewife politics.

But clearly the best ones I've seen as serials with names like - "Lady Inspector" or "Detective Karan". Lady Inspector wears a uniform a shade khakier than the others and is never afraid to squeeze the balls out of any criminal. Detective Karan is played by some guy who's appeared as side-villain in 3 billion bollywood movies and is now obviously out of a job.

One thing the DD folks completely don't realize is that taking ugly wannabes off the street and pouring a bucketful of make up on them does not make good artistes. Lady Inspector looks like she had been on the job forty years too many; and when Detective Karan's enemy's secretary smiles seductively at him, one is reminded of a shady grin from one of the Ramsay Brothers' early horror flicks.

The only saving grace is reruns. DD still plays golden evergreen classics like Byomkesh Bakshi, Mitti ke Rang, Neem ka Ped and some others at odd hours of the morning and night.

Pity though that DD's news channel actually seems a better option than DD1 more often than not.

3 more days of misery... Which idiot said "Something is better than nothing"?

A different kind of railway mishap

So this was it. Leaving my best friends behind, I was traveling alone in a 3AC Tamil Nadu Express compartment, all the way to Delhi. It was a thirty-hour trip, and I was well stocked on books - Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist", Dan Brown's "Angels and Demons", Wells' "The First Men in the Moon". For food, I had bought a single big bag of Lays, and a two-litre bottle of water to last for the time being.

Seat no. 25 AS2 was a lower berth. "I am traveling alone. Anyone who wants to exchange an upper berth?" I looked at the varied multicoloured faces staring at me. I swear I heard a whisper saying - "If he has seat number 25, why is he putting his luggage under #26?" Thinking the remark to be a figment of my imagination, I smiled heartily and closely regarded my neighbours to-be of the next thiry hours.

There were four traders: two Tam Brahms, a Jat from Jallandhar, and a Sri Lankan. There was also a Gujju aunty. One of the Tam Brahms and the Jat had the upper berths - both refused to budge. Helplessly, I looked across to the side berths. No luck there either, as a seemingly newlywed couple sat there, hand-in-hand. It seemed like a love marriage for three reasons: 1) both the guy and girl were dressed from top to bottom in red - the woman in a red salwar kameez, the man in a red silk kurta pyjama (and btw, that is totally gay) 2) the guy was a little shorter than the woman 3) the woman had a sense of humour that involved a) shouting "soopi soopi soopi" in a southie accent after the soup-wallah passed by, and b)marrying such men shorter then herself as would dress completely in red silk if asked.

This menagerie apart, there was the inevitable faceless baby, the presence of which was inflicted upon everyone only by its merciless bawls. One wonders how a 3 kg instrument can produce 300 decibels of noise.

They could even have been good company, but at least three of them chose to open their mouths during the journey. The Sri Lankan kept quiet (or spoke in a mixture of Tam+Sinhalese that would bring shame even to the dialect of Madras autowallahs) and of course the Gujju Aunty, with her 5 kgs of luggage and 50 kgs of food, never had the chance to speak lest she accidentally choke herself on delicious home-made gujju grub.

"So, sir, what do you do?" began the Tam Brahm.
"Hello myself Rakesh. I am a trader." The Jaat said with odd contentment in his eyes.
"So are we!" exclaimed the other excited Tam Brahm and they shook hands. "What do deal in?"
"Clothes."
"Ah, garments!"
"No, no, clothes" clarified Rakesh quickly, but then his underclocked brain decided that it was just a synonym. During this time, the others actually nodded. I guess their underclocked brains had decided that these were in fact not synonyms.
"Yes yes clothes and garments. I deal in both." Rakesh smiled. Then everyone shook hands and the Tam Brahms introduced themselves. Their names could have been included, but then the blog would be several pages longer.
"Crunch Crunch Slurp" said the Gujju Aunty.
"Soopi soopi soopi" began the fat woman in the red dress.
"Saapad-qzwtghy blethargqooey" went the guy from Sri Lanka
"Bwaaaaaaaa" bawled the faceless baby
"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God!!!" said the little voice, drowned in all the noise. It took an effort to realize that it was my mind reacting.

A while later, things were mostly settled. The traders talked like old friends (from a loony bin). Other noises continued. Paulo Coelho told me the importance of having faith in omens and realizing that "overshadowing all other human languages is the One Language of the Mind, which communicates with everyone regardless of any distinctions". Unfortunately, since it was already 11 o'clock, the Tam Brahms decided it was time to sleep. Midsentence, Paulo Coelho's book was clothed in dark as the light turned off. Right now the One language was telling me to go and throttle each and every one of these characters and make a bed out of their corpses. After successfully turning on the light twice for fifteen minutes each time, and being rudely interrupted each time, I decided that vengeance would be mine tomorrow morning.

I woke up just before Nagpur the next day. The Tam Brahms were perched narrowly against my feet, careful not to accidentally touch them.

The heat of Nagpur not only took over the atmosphere of the AC compartment but also the conversation. After having an ice cream each at the station, the traders started debating on why Nagpur was so hot this time around.

Several interesting observations were made:
1. A coal mine had just been discovered near Nagpur.
2. Some fart about rain causing less humidity and more temperature. [!]
3. Due to pollution, "global" warming was more here. [!!!]
4. We were getting closer to the equator. [!!!!!]

"The Alchemist" is an altogether nice and compelling story. Sadly, it tells of caravans with expert traders following stars and directions for weeks on end. I wondered if they sold garments too. Or perhaps only clothes. It was time to switch books. At such a time, the opening chapter of "Angels and Demons" makes one overcome with a desire to brand an ambigram of "Eat this, asshole" into the skin of the aforesaid, well, assholes.

The rest of the journey was also mindnumbingly dull. Dull, at most places, but completely mindnumbing where not dull. I made no attempts to speak at all, and as few tries as possible to catch their attention.

Finally, New Delhi Rly Stn approached. The traders got up and into their shoes. They shook hands again for the gazillionth time. Then they exchanged visiting cards. Oddly enough, the Tam Brahms (who seemed to be a group all this time) exchanged cards too. It appeared the Jaat was taking the Sri Lankan to Jallandhar and was due to catch another train.

Nice try, asshole. I should have told him. Does he really expect traders he knows from a train journey to visit him, when they can't even make out which side of the equator they are? Heck, they even do the same trade, doesn't that make them bloody competitors?

But I guess when the God of Logic was distributing brains, these four were shouting "Rs 150. SALE! SALE!" to the people standing in line.

Life@IITM

The sultry, hot weather of Madras.
8 hours of tiring classes a day.
Workshop, where you work like an ass.
Ragging, abuses hurled away
At you, then an unknowing prude.
Life@IITM is sometimes rude.

The first Saarang - cultural flavour.
Ogling at women, coming of age.
Dressing savvier than the next-door neighbour
Who cashes anyhow. Frustration and rage
On this "friend" you decide to "forgive".
Life@IITM is highly competitive.

Bunking: 8 hours of classes reduced to 4.
Notebook in hand, but brain elsewhere.
Wingmates "borrowing" food in store.
Exams passed on the power of prayer.
Thinking of parents' hopes to live up.
Life@IITM is sometimes "give up".

Another Saarang, old errors repeated.
Sticking to forgiven friend like a limb.
At the room alone, feeling kinda cheated.
Resolving next sem to join the gym.
"Never again!" - the heart reminisces.
Life@IITM is empty promises.

Payment for gym given contently.
Mess not visited for the entire term.
Weight gain and more because, incidentally,
The resolve for fitness was not that firm.
Eating out daily at prices just double.
Life@IITM is financial trouble.

CAT or GRE: what choice to make?
Feeling so lost about a career choice.
Enthuless mugging for CGPA's sake.
Waiting for the sem to end to rejoice.
Taking a stand, then parents' opposition.
Life@IITM is confused ambition.

A few more courses, the final project.
Sit back, relax. Cigarettes and booze.
But problems appear: Which guide to select?
Time's running out. Attendence blues.
Meeting deadlines by working long nights.
Life@IITM is last minute fights.

A pitcher of vodka. A pitcher of rum.
A pitcher of whisky, some cigarettes and grass.
Jovial company, all comfortably numb,
Look back at those years and exclaim - "Alas!
These days of our lives forever we'll miss"
Life@IITM is everlasting bliss.

The Golden Age of quake endeth...

The first time I played the game of Quake 3: Arena was in class 12. It was a new game, a first person shooter with a twist of vengeance never before seen. Fancy graphics, simple gameplay - just frag. In my first year, it still represented stress relief of the twisted kind... you kill, and your veins surge with the excitement of an adrenaline rush. But by God, was it addictive! The image of the stereotypical Quake fanatic comes to mind. Geeky clothing, teeth bared, eyes glued into the monitor, he glowers in anger and gloats at the corpse of his dead opponent. Competition emerges. The defeated swells and tried to vanquish the victor.

By the end of second year, it was a daily activity. I was a part of the Quake religion. The capital Q in Quake gave way to the small q in quake. That's when you realize how far reality is from stereotypes. That's when you find out how many other "normal" people were part of the same "cult".

It's really a great feeling. Unknown and talented opponents identified only by their quake aliases became good friends. A new subculture emerged out of the already rich heritage IITM had. "Newbies" practiced hours on end to challenge the successful and the famous. All entertainment. No hard feelings.

We had our own legends - Faisal and Vibra to mention a few. No other year had as many quake afficionados as ours. True, our juniors have had their own crop of enthusiasts, but none of them have gone through the kind of conditioning we have. From mere beginners to people who downloaded every mod available to test all challenges, all limits. From duels against lone nightmare bots to two-versus-six CTFs. Each challenge bigger than the next. From standalone machines to home-made networks to the insti lan. Bigger and better.

Now that the current fourth year leaveth, with it endeth the Golden Age of quake.

Old friends leave and only the legacy of their legendary skill remains.

A Hair-raising tale

"Addy's hair are perpendicular to his scalp, 'nuff said"
"He's shed his hair for more durable and sensitive antennae"
"Aapka baal nagaland house ke logon ki tarah hai - mota. Mujhe har baar kainchee badalnee padti hai"
"His head with its scalp of hair resembles a puffer fish all puffed up"

All odes to my hair, once a live tribute to a point charge's electric field... diverging radially outwards from a point right inside my scalp.

My cousins called it "khandani baal". Apparently, the family genes perpetrate a hairstyle which stands on end. However, before any of them reached the age of eighteen, they had been magically cured of the electric field and sported more familiar and smarter looking partings. But not me, nuh-huh. In my case, the familiar carpet hair refused to sit down. Like freedom fighters bent on gaining independence, they stood right through onslaughts as varied as mom's applications of oil, the hairstylist's regular scissors and comb, and many a succesful hair gel.

There was a time when a particular "famous" hairstylist finally accepted defeat. "I'm sorry, I've seen nothing like this before. I can't do anything about it. Maybe next month..." He refused to accept payment!

At school, I was jibed at as the "porcupine" or more affectionately "the guy with the carpet hair" with some of the more adventurous kind ruffling my hair - a truly enjoyable experience, I was told. In fact, if somebody from school bumps into me, their first remark is - "Wait a minute... Aditya Pandey, oh my God, whatever happened to your pointy hair?"

And so it is. But I know the pointy hair is all but gone. The secret is just the length. Grow hair long enough and it's bound to lay down - after all, even thick pointy hair can't defy the laws of Physics. It all began in third year, when tired of the same style I'd been a victim of for all these years, I decided to not get my hair cut for several months. When I finally did go to the barber, he actually told me to come visit him more often! And as an onlooking friend of mine exclaimed - "It was like shearing the wool off a sheep! Enough hair to make a truckload of wigs and still weave a sweater out of the rest." It was that long. Over thirteen inches and counting.

It was almost miraculous - what happened after that haircut. Like a class of rowdy students suddenly behaving well with the teacher pondering confused what trick they have up their collective sleeve, my hair just settled down. Just like that. No attempt at any anti-gravity stunts. No defiance to stand tall and face the world again. And for a while, it was good. It was new and smart. I looked into the mirror and felt different.

All in vain. Only to suddenly burst forth into full bloom after the subsequent bath! And not just the "natural" antenna-like stance. Something stuck in the middle. Like a cross between a lady's locks and the hair on a boar's tail. It might even have looked better before.

So I tried a middle parting. And it was good again. All seemed well till I went home - hair all grown long, and a parting to rival Salman Khan's in "Tere Bin". Then mom saw it. Four hours later, my new hairstyle had vanished, replaced by half-crazed antennae again.

Since that time, I've tried half a dozen different things, but the resolve of my hair never fails. It's still the ugly cross kind. No matter how long. The worst part is, even shortening it doesn't seem much of a help.

Well, at least it's not "porcupine" any more.

Life is a bitch