Undignified posture

Just when I thought I had become used to being a good-for-nothing penniless bum surviving solely on richer friends' altruism, I hit a new low last night.

It started at 10 o'clock when my friends took me to have the first meal of the day - a five buck plate of idli at Tiffany's. Not that we had any choice, it was the only food left there that late at night. Obviously dissatisfied by the light dinner, my friends decided to go to the beach for some more grub. We decided to meet at Tarams, but when I got there, the folks were nowhere to be found. Thinking they might have gone to the hostel, I returned to my room, only to discover that my room's keys were in a friend's pocket. The fact was, as I later learnt, they were walking to Tarams and were behind me and my borrowed cycle.

So I decided to wait in front of my room, hoping they'd come back to check on me. The thing is, I was wondering if I'd look completely out of place dressed in purple shorts a tad shorter than most micro-mini skirts and stolen bathroom slippers two sizes too small. I would appreciate a quick change of clothing to look more dignified, but I ought to have known that in times like this, survival is the more important thing. Hunger can drive people to desperation, and my friends went to the beach anyway. A half hour passed and nothing happened, so I decided to sit in front of the room and wait it out a little longer.

Next thing I know, I was woken up by someone passing in the wing - it was 11:30 pm and my friends were still on the beach. I had been woken up lying face down in front of my room in the wing, looking like the face of misery, a terribly cocked-up position I had thought I wouldn't want to be caught dead in. So much for dignity.

But there was nothing else to do. All traces of dignity gone, I promptly resumed my place in front of room, the fan inside occasionally blowing thin streams of air on my face from the place between the door's bottom and the floor. It was 12:30 am when I finally got up to drink some water and was spotted by my friends. It seems nobody had bothered to check on me after all.

"College life ke ch**iyape", as one of my friends would agree.

All alone

Thus goes the saying: Mirrors don't lie
Speech is silvern, Silence Golden
Then explain to me, O Truthsayer, why -
There are two of me and not just one?

Alone in truth, alone in reflection
Sad and unspoken, Stolid and still
Staring silently in no direction
Empty of spirit, broken of will.

What I would give to hear them speak
My friends, a decent conversation
But I stare at my future - distant and bleak
Working alone, hoping for salvation

Who's that in the mirror? I turn about,
Find nothing but despair, a mirage, a dream.
Call me crazy - I want to shout
But all I can make is a soundless scream.

Stricken by a stupor of madness.

Voiceless.

Still.

I am all alone.
I am all alone.

New wallpaper

Tribute to Mandak...

Weather forecast

Chennai weather sucks!

My day in lab

7:00am - breakfast
7:25am - ask junta to wake me up at 9:00
7:30am - go to sleep
9:00am - angrily drive away idiots who try to disturb
12:30pm - wake up
12:31pm - check mail
12:35pm - brush
12:45pm - shower
1:00pm - lunch
1:15pm - tarams
1:20pm - feel the heat of madras, reconsider the 1km ride to esb
1:30pm - back in room
1:45pm - quake
3:30pm - reminisce
3:45pm - tarams
4:00pm - sleep

well, time for tarams...

Rich man's poor world

"Paisa to haath a mayl hota hai". Whoever said that must have been filthily rich; obviously, he had never experienced that most humiliating and debilitating of all sicknesses - poverty.

I have recently been afflicted with a form of poverty. Not the malnutrition, starvation, illiteracy, or multiple childen-producing variety - that is for the have-nots, but a slightly richer form. I have a mess account that feeds me enough to keep me fat, all modern sanitary amenities, heck, even a computer and a free internet connection to blog on. But, my net cash worth, not counting the several people I owe debt to, would be around Rs. 1.75 right now.

The thing in common with both forms of poverty is the frustration. I can't get my cycle repaired, I can't buy any more cigarettes, can't buy soap, and I am definitely not in the right place needed for ordering a pizza and a veg. burger with extra mayonnaise and a bottle of coke. That pretty much rules out vodka alright.

So, what do I do? I look up to my wingmates and other friends for monetary support. Rs. 5.25 for a Navy Cut and a Rasna packet from Kuntry, 20 bucks for soap from Panchali, 5 bucks from Bachi for a puncture repair... basically, I get into debt. The month goes on, and the debt keeps accumulating. The first of the month approaches, stipend is withdrawn happily, then debts are paid off - and poof! - all the money vanishes.

I am caught in this vicious circle of borrow and pay back. It's essentially the same concept as that of a credit card, only with the added humiliation of approaching someone at the end of the month asking them for a monetary favour, and sometimes getting weird looks and a beat-about-the-bush conversation that basically means "fuck off".

Oh, how I am waiting to get paid for work, and then treat all those who helped me get by!

Long overdue post: Hostel nite

Mandak hostel nite rocks. Has always. Will always.

Inspite of the dean's instructions and threats against having it, this year's hostel nite saw a repeat performance of last year's Raindance™. However, this time not only was it indigenously designed, but it actually performed better, showering more water per square foot than ever. And of course, there was the now-cliched strut and disco lights arrangement, which Mandak proudly introduced in my third year and which has been shamelessly copied by every other hostel nite ever since.

We started by planting a tree in memory of Jhantu in the Mandak yard - May he rest in peace. One by one, we poured water to nourish its roots, and subsequently observed a two-minute silence.

Food Plaza supplied the grub. That itself was not so good, but they also offered unlimited ice-cream, which junta thulped like month-starved pigs. Being a fifth year has its own advantages, primarily that of cutting the line and my Alak guests and I made our way to the ice-cream before dinner had started in earnest.

Most third year get senti at some point or the other, as the night draws in, and the hugging and weeping starts. I remember our third year, when so many of us inconsolably cried ourselves shitless for hours after the toast. But one has to give it to the present batch - there was an excusable amount of senti of course - but I was almost a strangling victim by the hands of Fart.



Raindance™ was followed by the toast, and in another great Mandak tradition, it went on and on - night turned to dawn, dawn to morning - and finally it finished at 6:30 am with none other than yours truly's rape, after which all those remaining went for breakfast to the great Himalaya.

After the roast, going with the senti mood, I recited "Life@IITM", a poem I had written last year for Mandak nite.

Also present on hostel nite were Jha, Banner, TG and Meha. Jha was the wild dancer as ever, a combination of monkey and elephant in heat with his new Medusa hairstyle flailing about like half-crazed octopuses trying to attack a whale. As for the other three; Banner kept popping into the dance floor every now and then; TG clicked away photographs, made not-so-obscure anti-drug references; and Meha spoke with nothing and no one. Seemingly, their minds full of other things, they weren't really enjoying it.

The blast over, we all retired to our rooms for some sweet sleep till 3pm, when another Mandak enthu-fest - the Treasure Hunt - was poised to begin.

But that is another story for another time.

What a mess!

The aptly named Himalaya officially started (dys)functioning today. I've been registered into the Northie section of the RR mess, as have 1100 others. Contro and Khokhar accompanied me today on this rather adventurous journey to the first floor. But that was the easy part. When we got upstairs, there were like sixty people standing in line in front of us, and the line wasn't moving.

It was a poond-or-die-starving decision. I chose the former. Bad decision. Perhaps waiting would have whetted my appetite so that the distasteful food would at least seem palatable.

When the food finally arrived, there was a sabzi with unpeeled potatoes in dalda, curry that looked like shit (a tasteless but literal analogy), pooris so hard they could put a hammer to shame, and daal conspicuous by its utter and complete absence.

One more great decision by the great powers-that-be to make hostel life even more miserable. Every time they make such asinine decisions, it makes me happy to know that I will be out of here in a few months' time.

And they wonder why IITM grads never pay any homage to their alma mater.

Jackasses!!

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.