Movies

I have quite a long movie backlog now. Here it is.

• American Beauty
• Being John Malkovich
• 2/3rds of The Blair Witch Project
• Fanaa
• Kkrish
• 1/4 th of an episode of Mind Your Language
• 19 Episodes of Arrested Development, Season 1.
• Date Movie (Voted one of the Worst movies ever. I wanted to see how worse worse can get.)
• Every thing except the first 2 minutes of Golmaal
• Munich
• Open Season
• Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak
• Scrubs Season 1 - 102, 106, 107, 109, 111 to 124
• Mission Impossible 3
• The Credits of Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire
• Superman Returns
• Run Lola Run
• The Constant Gardener
• Forrest Gump

Gah! I need more time.

Changes

Ahhh. I had a three hour exam today. Finished it in one hour straight.

And so, I had a lot of time to introspect on a few finer things that have changed over this past year.

• I have grown taller, by half a quarter of a centimeter. (Yaah! Yay!!)

• I have got a lot worse at bowling, the best of my worst being six gutters in a row.

• My hair is beginning to set. Ouch.

• I’m spending a lot less.

• I’m laughing a lot more, often at myself.

• I’m laughing a lot more, especially at the ridiculous things some of our teachers do.

• I just discovered that I can write the most tear – stirring answers possible. My additional English answer yesterday was a masterpiece.

• I have got a lot more defiant. Taking a cue from THW, I started of an answer today with “It would be foolish not to assume that….”. I can hardly wait for my corrected answer script.

• I’ve studied 2 and half hours max, for the four exams put together so far. I think I have chances of maxing atleast three.

• I’ve begun to leave answers unanswered for kicks. Yesterday, I left 20 marks. Cause I didn’t feel like writing anymore.

• I have begun to understand poetry, in bits and pieces.

• I no longer find exams scary. Not one bit.

• I’ve got a lot more religious. As well as industrious.

• I discovered that “Absent to attend my own marriage” is a good excuse to get more attendance. Many thanks to THW for this too.

• I can write amazingly defiant letters.

• I can use 18 different synonyms for the word masterful and create a 4 page answer, repeating the same line over and over again.

• THW’s paper rockets are highly overrated. They might be the best crashers though.

Edit :: Just read THW's blog. Lots of similarities.

Scary Movie Part II

This is a sequel to the first movie. It starts off where the previous left off.
I hate the ending. It's horrible.
But I'm posting it so that I can be done with it. It's been too long in production.
I need to move on.

Yawwwwn.

Long hiatus, no?

Apparently yeah.

Well, the problem is I have nothing to study. And no studying means I have stopped using my brain for sometime. Which means I can’t blog. College tells me my B.Com exams are in progress. But they don’t count as studying. I think even my brain has rusted.

Nevertheless, I’m getting back to full time studying beginning next week. Which means I shall see a lot more action on this blog.

Anyway, see y........
* dogs pulls the author away from the computer.



Oh. I just realized I didn’t have a dog.

Yeah, so , bye.

Friends.

Dedicated to my friend Satya, a.k.a. Sataract, who's going to leave Bangalore soon. Miss you man.

I remember so, so many things about what I used to do as a kid that it becomes impossible for me to narrate them all. I often just burst out laughing when I think of what I used to do as a kid.

Well, this is one of those which I wouldn’t mind sharing with all. (The others which I would mind sharing include me going out on my first date with this sweet older girl, all of five years. I was four then. And there are so many others which I wouldn’t even mention).

Well, after I joined school, I was pretty much of an introvert. I would hardly ever speak to anyone at school, except my immediate partner who always ended up becoming my best friend for the year. Now this seclusion from the rest of the world made me a very creative bloke then. I did everything I could at home. I would throw down stuff from the fourth floor at people walking down the road. I was obsessed with cutting paper, in pieces so tiny the nanotech scientist folks at MIT would roll their eyes in astonishment.

I would celebrate my “birth time” every single day, and force my parents to call me up to wish me then too. I never insisted on gifts and so they were more than obliging to wish me a “Happy Birth Time” every single day. I made imaginary tents with chairs and bed sheets and go camping in the living room.

But the best part of it all was that I had an imaginary friend. I have often included hidden references to the friend all over my blog in the past. He was like no other. I will not reveal his name because it’s too personal. I totally believed he lived. (I think I still do, which is pretty much freaky).

I would get pissed with my classmates if they would sit next to me because they were taking up my friend’s place. I asked my mom to pack extra for him, and she played along pretty well. I soon realized my friend had a pretty bad appetite and ended up gobbling all the food.

I even used to play for my friend as Luigi in Super Mario Bros. And he was quite unlike me, the little friend of mine. He used to talk, and a lot. It’s was like a strange voice giving a running commentary about everything. And I thoroughly enjoyed it all.

I realized much later on that we were so much like Calvin and Hobbes.

CA

I cleared my CA PE 1 exam.

Muhahaha.

Not bad.

Shot Down Dead

I hate getting myself shot with a camera, especially for those dumb passport size photographs. Realizing I couldn’t go on using my photograph shot when I was a cheeky 12 year old forever, I drove myself to the photographer’s studio this week to get myself a new set of photographs.

“60 photographs in 60 rupees”, the banner in his studio screamed. With a portrait of a lady smiling sheepishly at the camera. Heck, I thought, cheap! Well, apparently no. He tried to convince me to go in for 4 “instant” photographs that would cost me 40 bucks. I said no. And I pointed to the banner.

He then put forth the option of me having my portfolio shot for 2000 bucks because, apparently, “I was so cute”(which has loosely been translated from kannada) and was a potential super-model. Nice marketing, I thought, but I said no again. And I pointed to the banner again.

Unrelenting, he gave me another option. This time, he said he would deliver 20 photographs by this evening and throw in a CD of my photographs all for 100 bucks. I sighed. And pointed to the banner.

Peeved, and having failed at all attempts to convince me to go in for anything but that offer, his hitherto smooth, silky voice suddenly became gruffy. He told me that I wouldn’t get the photographs until a whole day later. I wouldn’t mind that, I told him.

He then invited me to a dimly lit room, with a camera on his rather plump figure. He pointed to what apparently looked like a ruler. It was a comb, I later found out, with most of its tooth missing and shards of hair sticking obnoxiously. Some gel too was offered. I declined to both. The cheeky brat that the fellow was, he simply refused to shoot a photograph of mine before I combed my hair.

I hate combing my hair, it just pisses me off. I disobeyed, and told him, just shoot. He gave a growl, and out of nowhere flicked on a switch. Suddenly, the room was flooded with light. I noticed strange umbrellas that covered the spotlights. He asked me to go sit on the lone seat at the centre. He asked me what background would I like. I asked him what choices I had.

He replied Hollywood, Bollywood, waterfall and solid colours. Not a bit adventurous, I chose the solid colour.

Then, he asked me to smile. I tried hard. Really hard. The tension on my face was evidently visible because the photographer immediately started laughing himself. I stared at him, and he replied, “Smile, not frown”. I sighed. And I gave up. It’s just impossible to smile at nothing. But he didn’t understand.

I ordered, “Just shoot”. He said “Smile”. I said “Shoot, or I leave”.

And click. I went blind.

Or so I thought. Stupid flashes. He said, come tomorrow.

The next day, I went to collect my photograph. And with the first look, I immediately burst out laughing loud. It was as if someone had punched me in my face. I told the photographer, show someone this the next time they are unable to smile.

Happy with my new photographs (60 of them!), I sailed home singing.

Edit:: I haven’t changed much since I was twelve. Not bad.

Classics.

Mozart. No. 25.

Delightful.

Busy

Too busy, doing nothing at all.

!

The web continues to amaze me. In this last one year, there have been so many cool things happening to the web that I didn't think was possible previously. Check out Windows Live site for instance. It's so much like a desktop application. Or the Google Spreadsheet thing.

My friend tells me he's downloaded MSN Messenger 8 beta. It's actually Windows Live Messenger. The Vista era seems to be drawing close. You can actually chat appearing offline to everyone else while you're are it. And share folders. Those are features that I'd want.

Google Earth, Youtube, Wikipedia ofcourse, the list can just go on. The web is just getting better. And better. And better.

But within moments, several scientists began to have second thoughts. Fermi became temporarily ill from the stress and worry. Oppenheimer at first remarked that his confidence in the human mind had been restored, but later, quoting from the epic Hindu poem, the Bhagavad-Gita, he solemnly observed, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” James Tuck of the British Mission summed up the thoughts of many who watched the cloud roil the summer sky: “What have we done?”

Microsoft ® Encarta ® 2006. © 1993-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Paying For My Sins.

I’m not sure what it is about these librarians. I think they’ve all evolved into this strange new sub-species Homo Sapiens smile-and-your-dead or something.

I am acquainted with a few librarians, and not one has ever smiled, or exchanged even a “Hello” glance. Probably it’s something about me. Our school librarian always smiled, but I later found out that she had a huge crush on this friend of mine with who I generally was most of the time. She just loved that bloke, DJ, I shall call him. She waved of fines of Rs. 50 and upwards for him, her sweetheart. ( I know I’ll be killed next time I meet him.) She searched for every book he ever wanted to refer to. My spies even tell me she’s been to his house (highly classified and unconfirmed).

Nevertheless, I have never met with such luck. They are grumpy with me. Think of me as a pestering goon. Think I was born to pester.

And they always give a nonchalant response to whatever I ask.

Me: Good evening ma’am. How do you do?

Lib: Now what do you want?

Me: Er, do you have Lord of the Rings, perchance?

Lib: No.

Me: Er, do you have The Shannara Series then?

Lib: No!

Me: Oh, you should be having John Grisham, right?

Lib: No!

Me: Tintin?

Lib: No!!

Me: Eragon?

Lib: No!!!

Me: Shakespeare?

Lib: Yes!

Me: Charles Dic….yes? Yes? Where?

Lib: Search for yourself.

Me: Can you tell me how the books are indexed then?

Lib: No.

Phew. They pester me to no ends. I sat at the library for an hour. Searching for the book. Turns out they have quite a treasure there. I’ll be frequenting it more often now.

And then, they have this habit of talking in hushed tones so feeble, it’s like you’re at someone’s funeral.

Lib: Hush hush hush ppsss psss.

Me: I’m sorry, ma’am , I really didn’t get you. Could you please repeat?

Lib: Hush hush hush ppsss psss.

Me: (I bend closer) (A Bit louder) What??

Lib: Don’t you dare shout in the library!(Quite loud this time) I said, “did you sign in the register when you came in”.

Me: Oh….no. I’ll do that now.

And then, they are all so scholarly. A pair of glasses sit quite comfortably on all their noses. Like they have been there for eons. I once was so bold as to ask a old librarian to suggest some good books to read. And that was the best lecture I’ve ever got. He started, and except for a few gulps of fresh air, spoke at length in a monotone about how each needs to discover his own taste, genre by experience and not by an other man’s efforts.

I sighed in disbelief. And I sighed again.

They get all their lives to read, and read they do. And a lot. And wise they get. They shun the other species soon enough. But they are all amazing. Eccentric odd balls. But amazing people. Just one advice: Stay away.

Placebos?

Things I have before me while I’m studying:

1. A cap or hat. Anything that keeps my head covered. Makes me feel that what's going in is gonna stay there. (Helps really).
   

2. A Bottle of water.

3. My trusty Hero pen, with black ink. Blue ink is pathetic methinks.
   

4. A calculator in which I can punch in numbers accurately without checking.

5. Lots, and I mean lots, of rough sheets to work on, or write on, or scribble on, or draw on.

6. Some tiny toy to mess around with.

7. A list of things I’d like to do after the exams for which I’m studying, which I never get around to do later on.

8. A book ;)

9. Something interesting on my pin board.

10. A nice chair. Comfortable, but not very.

11. Something to munch on.

I have never known any of these to help me, or improve anything. They are just mere placebos. Things that keep me studying.

V - Log

It's my first video. People, please be generous.

Broadband.

No more limits. Yippee.

Guilty

I tore up a library book in class 8 to do a school project.

I have regretted doing that ever since.

Extra Dots. Anyone?

I have been eternally obsessed with joining dots.

I see a dot. I see another dot. I join them. Simple?

No.

As a kid, I forced my dad to my buy me truckloads of Join-The-Dots book. Then, I slowly started dropping a pen on paper from a certain height. I left a nice concoction of dots on the paper which I could join. Joining gave me pleasure. More pleasure than playing with cars or bikes or guns.

My mom thought I was weird. Now I know what it is. I live in my head. And I have a fantastic life there.

There’s nothing more enjoyable to a kid who ran around home in tiny shorts than watching an image come to life by joining a few dots.

Eventually, my obsession became a passion. The passion a fixation.

Heck, I even bought a dot matrix printer so that I could join dots.

Then, the problems started arising. Every other examination I had to write was an OCR multiple choice questions. Nerd that I was, I would quickly complete the entire paper. And then stare.

I would stare at what I had done. Obsessed with joining the dots, I would just join the answers I had just marked. And stare in disbelief at what I had done.






P.S. The IIT JEE paper, once dotted, looked like a mermaid. Sans clamshells.









P.P.S. No puns intended in the title.





(For a change, every part of this story is untrue.)

F.E.A.R.

Every kid has his fears, and as a kid, I had mine.

Back in 2nd standard, I had this mortal fear of magic-men. There was this astrologer bugger near home, whom all called ‘Tantrik’, and he was the scariest person I’d ever met.

As a budding cricketer, I had to my credit quite a few broken windows. Now this Tantrik bugger, whom we shall call, well, ‘Tantrik bugger’ had a nasty habit of scaring little children.

He lived in a tiny one room house at the back end of an alley where we played. The ball, guided by mysterious cosmic forces and a bat, always ended up right in front of the house. Being the youngest, and littlest, of those who played, I was always asked to fetch. And fetch I did.

And then, one day, it happened. The Tantrik bugger came out just as I was fetching the ball. I saw him for the first time. An extremely short man, he had a small pony tail, was bald otherwise, and stared at me with those piercing eyes. That’s still the scariest set of eyes I’ve ever set my eyes on.

His house door stood ajar, and I peeped in. His house smelt weird, had all kinds of idols in it and a good share of red light. Now, to a kid hardly 8, that was S-C-A-R-Y. As I was about to get the ball, the Tantrik bugger shouted out aloud from behind. In fluent kannada, and with a good deal of stammering, he warned me to not play around his house. He also said that he would eat me alive if he did. I was scared. Real scared. (I later on, in class 4, when I was reading Great Expectations, found out exactly how Pip must have felt.)

Petrified, I took the ball, threw it at my brother (who was incidentally batting) and ran crying to my house. I refused to come out of the house for a good ten days. I even stopped cycling out of fear of that Tantrik bugger. When my dad finally noticed my sudden obsession for dolls rather than my cycle, he asked me what was wrong.

I narrated what had happened. And next thing I know, I was being dragged to that Tantrik’s house by my dad. I thought, heck, I’m being sacrificed. My dad knocked. I peeped in, hoping he wouldn’t be at home. But unfortunately he was.

He opened the door and actually invited my dad, and me, inside. When my dad narrated what was plaguing me, that bugger actually burst out laughing, claiming he was only joking and even offered me chocolates. Heck. Like I believed him! (I took the chocolates though). I knew he would gobble me up the next time he would see me alone.

Soon we left; my dad told me that I shouldn’t be scared.

I won’t, I told him.

I would, I knew.
The next day, we played cricket, the ball went in again. I was asked to fetch. I showed them my tongue, made faces, and said you fetch. They did. And every time thereafter. I never saw the Tantrik bugger again.

And thank god I didn’t.


(For a change, every part of this story is real.)

Busy Bee.

Amigo!

My mind is clouded with the Historical And Theoretical Perspectives of Management, drawing ANOVA tables, drafting bids and tenders, calculating annuities and calculating Consignment profits.

Yep. Exams.

Ciao. Till the 6 th of May.

Hout

HOUT

<----------

Ref:
-JG
--GE
---CD

Innovations...

Weird pinwheels that stop as soon as you step on it. Flashy, colourful lights that remind you of a discotheque, enclosed in a 2x2 box. Weird guttural noises emanate from them, inviting you closer, and stop as soon as you step on it. A hypnotist’s wheel rotates lazily, round and round and round, inviting you even closer, to step on it and stare into the mysterious labyrinths of the future.

Yeah, they are the Weighing Machines, found at almost every railway station and bus stop and innocuously absent from every where else.

These weird machines which I’ve always likened to a more colourful guillotine are the strangest of gadgets ever invented. They hiss, clink, clank, have neon lights that tempt people, and at the offering of a Rupee coin, sputter out a card.

These machines are guilty of having made millions of children cry, children who have begged and begged with heartless parents for a rupee. Always wrong, never right, they are the ultimate, most fascinating machines ever invented.

These machines are endowed with miraculous psychedelic powers, powers that hypnotize minds against the worthlessness of the machines. They are also known to possess artificial intelligence, intelligence which the scholars at MIT having been trying to develop for years, but already perfected in these machines.

Displaying weights in kilograms, they always tend to offshoot by a few 10’s of kilos. And the back sides of the cards are the most fascinating part of the machine.

I shall quote an example.

Spit into the spittoons only.
Your Future for today:

SUDDEN travel and change of place may be imminent. Be prepared.

YOUR LUCKY NUMBER : 13.

Now, how the machine knows that I’ve come to the railway station to travel and not to mine Plutonium, I do not know. Maybe it is the artificial intelligence bequeathed on the machine.

Further, the machine is known to accept all coins, 1’s, 2’s and 5’s without complaining. Often, it even screams in help if a slightly obese person alights on it (It may be a technical malfunction too. I do not know.)

Next time you go to the station, try one, and wonder at the ingenuity of modern man.(Or woman).

Bugger. Bugger.

‘Bugger’ must me, arguably, the most under rated useful word in English.

It is a word that can be used in every context, in every situation. A word that acts as a substitute when you can think of no other words. A word to start a conversation. A word a class apart.

Take, for example, it being used as an exclamation.

“Bugger, look, bearded man!”

Or as a question,

“Want to attend next class, bugger?”

Or even as a statement of pure boredom.

“Bugger, I am bugged.”

Its versatility is only matched by the word, Ugh!.

Then, there are cases when you can use it express anger.

“Bugger, I’ll bloody bugger him.”

Or as a proper noun.

“From now on, call me Bugger.”

Or as a request.

“Please, let us not attend this class, bugger.”

Or an order.

“You are not attending the next class bugger.”

OR just a statement.

“Bugger, look, pencil.”

“Bugger, look, bald man.”

“Bugger, you are a bugger.”

“I hate you bugger.”

Or of course, just,

“Bloody bugger.”

“Bugger”.

I’ve even received inside reports that “Système International d'Articlés” is planning to make the word bugger as the fourth article. A, an, the and bugger.

P.S. All these statements were made keeping in mind a certain person. The first example, however, is an international copyright.

Battle Of The Beetles.

A lone window stood open, rattling against the wind.

And ZOOM!

It flew into my room, straight towards my study lamp, which was surprisingly on today. Scuttling towards my economics book, it stopped there, looking at me menacingly. Yes, it was the dreaded black tiger beetle, or in lay man terms, a creature of the

Kingdom: Animalia
Phylum: Arthropoda
Class: Insecta
Order: Coleoptera
Suborder: Adephaga
Family: Carabidae
Subfamily: Cicindelinae

Being the non violent person that I am, I tried coaxing it to return to the place it had come from. Never smash an insect, my pet spider had once told me (he asks me to tell you the same. So, please, never kill an insect.)

Using all forms of politeness, deceit, coaxing and non violence I could think of, I tried to shoo it away from my room.

First, I complimented him on his gorgeous, handsome, cute looks. A glimmering black body, six slender legs, two feelers, he was the prettiest beetle I had ever seen, or at least that’s what I told him. He refused to move away, instead flying of further near the curtain and making himself comfortable there. It was then that I noticed him vividly. This weird creature had a pair of eye-like spots on his butt. Eeew! No wonder he didn’t get flattered.

Then, trying something different, I decided to sing to him. Not known to be the best singer in a million years, I relished in pleasure at having an audience to my songs, finally.(The last time I sang, I received a single slipper from some one on the road, my neighbour called the fire brigade and my brother took chloroform.)

So, I sang a paean of admiration for him. One, which I shall reproduce here.

Beetle, beetle, Oh! My lovely beetle,
Do you want me to hustle you into a bottle?
Get out of my room,
Else you shall taste my broom.
You look cute,
And a bit astute,
Get out of my room,
Or it’ll be your doom.
You are very pretty,
And have spots that look shitty,
But please, Get out of my room,
Else you shall never be a groom.

I shall never know what offended him so much, the last line of my paean or me trying to sing this in the tune of Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, but right after this, this cunning fellow flew right at me. Yelping, I ran out of the room, coming back later and bringing with me reinforcements.

Namely, the broom.

Gently trying to coax him onto the broom, I employed reverse psychology on this hapless creature. I told him about the splendid prospects of finding a bride outside, told him about the doom he faces at the hands (or rather stomach) of a lizard inside my room and went on and on about the banes of staying here.

That’s when it dawned on me.

Heck, this creature has no ears. It’s bloody deaf.

Nearly giving up, I tried shooing it away with the broom. Then, I tried to switch off the light in the hope that he would go away. All to no avail. I used every trick known to mankind to coax him out of the window. But failure, failure and more failure.

Finally, I gave up. It annoyed me by constantly fluttering its wings to annoy me. But I ignored him over and over again. And just when I least expected it, that fellow just flew out of the window!

Heck, I could be an entomologist!

Coco-Nuts!

Warm wind blows across my face. It’s the onset of summer. I stand by, looking out of my window.

And CRASH!

Another one bites the dust.

The southern states in India have been blessed with the majestic coconut trees. And come summer, the leaves begin to fall down one after the other.

What follows after every leaf-falling episode is an enduring debate, an open debate, participated in by beedi smoking grandpas, children hardly up on their feet, aunts, uncles and roadside ‘uncles and aunties’.

All the houses in my neighbourhood have coconut trees flanking their entrances. And thus, I am sanctified with the hallowed distinction of prying into their conversations.

Immediately after the fall, the entire neighbourhood arrives to grace the occasion to ascertain the cause of commotion. Then, the person closest to the fallen leaf declares his fortitude, remarking how he was standing right below the monstrous leaf before Chunnu or Munnu had beckoned him inside. He then hugs Chunnu or Munnu and thanks the almighty. Then, the other person nearby looks up to the tree with wide eyed wonder and thinks out, aloud, as to how grand the leaves are. He goes on to stare for a few more minutes as though a few more leaves might come crashing down. Content that there would be none, he moves to the nearest parked vehicle and examines it with an eye of an insurer for a scratch. He too, then blesses the almighty.

Then, the aunt comes along to drag away her children who are playing nearby, even though they may be miles away from the leaf. She too looks up to the nearest tree, nods her head in disapproval and wonders why a coconut couldn’t have fallen instead.

The nearest roadside idle ‘uncle’ or ‘aunt’ then come along to grace the occasion, with a toothy smile and a graphic description of how their neighbour’s brand new scooter was smashed to smithereens by another such rogue leaf. The listeners nod their head in approval.

Since all conversations eventually always end up with the government, the teenage whiz kid arrives and exclaims out aloud as to why the government does nothing about these rogue leaves.

Spirituality finds a place in the discussion too. Grandma, flanked by her two grandchildren comes along to explain how coconut trees never fall on people and that the tree is mighty and intelligent. On protests by some less spiritual hooligans, she adds a clause that the trees make an exception for those who sin. She then stares up at the sun and asks beckons everyone else to do the same. She, playing ‘Simon Says’, asks everyone to then look down. All do so in unison.

Finally she declares that whoever can see nothing but black needs to mend his way else the coconut tree shall ensure his/her way to hell. Before anyone can retort, she walks off, grunting.

Grandpa acknowledges, chuckles, and puffs out another beedi.

My-steries

Life is full of mysteries; it just depends on where you look.

-Donnie Darko ;)

There are so many paradoxes in life, some I cannot understand, most I do not want to understand, and on the rest, I blog about.

Have you walked into Coffee Day?

Yes?

Have you ever watched T.V. there?

Yes?

Then, pray, for heaven’s sake, why do they mute the T.V and play English music on their in-house jukebox?

Around a month back, at one of these Coffee Day’s, it was delightful to watch Himesh Reshammiya singing Britney Spears’ “You’ve got me crazy” at the top of his voice.

Otherwise, it’s a news reporter head banging in front of the Supreme Court singing the Cranberries’ Zombie.

Or Lalu Prasad singing “I’m a Barbie girl”.

But, I am told, I have the uncanny ability to see through hidden motives. This time too, I’ve succeeded. Coffee Day is acting in the interest of the public. It’s making us burn the calories our drinks are loaded with by making is laugh. Cunning.

Ad. Recommendation:: Maxim’s new television ad. Cunning again.

Just Another Day

I feel just the same as I did yesterday.

Some thoughts...

I like desolation. Especially, when it’s awful.

I would like to sit in the middle of a desert, staring at the lone tree that has survived.

Or on a frozen lake, looking at the fishes through a small hole in the ice.

Or in the middle of a classroom during an exam with everyone is staring at me expecting answers, when I know none.

That, to me, would be blissful.

Song Recommendation::

Baa Baa Black Sheep. Or if you’re into heavy stuff, try Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Both, I strongly recommend.

Stats yet again!

Sigh!!!

Controversies.

Nevertheless, it’s been a good week for me. The cube takes me a maximum of 5 minutes. My results haven’t come out, yet. Exams start next week again, I’ve yet to buy books.

Yeah, that is what would qualify as a week good enough for me.

Yesterday, three of my best friends went out for a movie that I should have gone out for too(Uppi Dada M.B.B.S). Too bad I missed it. But, well it was time well spent at home anyway. Being the type of person that relinquishes the little free time I get, I imported an activity normally reserved for Multiple Choice exams.

Yes, I tossed coins. A Re.1 coin, minted 2001.

I tossed it once, heads.

I tossed it twice, heads again.

Thrice, heads yet again.

Four times, five times all the way up to sixty eight times.

The heads to tails ratio came out to an astonishing 45:23. Now, my statistics book tells me I am wrong, really wrong.

So, to test my hypothesis, I took a Re.2 coin. Minted 2003.

Well, again, the ratio was 42:26.

That got me thinking. Now, it’s only the second time that something so dramatic has happened to me.(I am obviously talking about me thinking).

So, are the coins in India biased towards heads?? Now, now, before you start barraging me with the choicest of abuses, let me assert. They are not biased.

But I, as my own personal opinion say, that yes, they are biased.

Now, it’s only to be found out whether my statistics teacher will buy my argument.

I hope he does.

Yeah Baby!

Words look better when they are highlighted.

Codeeee

Stats Exam's Approaching

The demography of the readers of my blog reveals strange results.

Around 47% of my readers are from Serbia-Montgomery. Apparently, Serbs like goofy people in goofy costumes posing in goofy postures at goofy locations and they are a rage there.

A friend from Ukraine also called up to tell me that my blog was being advertised on National Television there. There are, apparently, secret anti-smoking messages in my blog. I didn’t know they were any.

Indians form a sizable 22%, Red Indians 2% and I can even claim to have a reader from Antarctica who contributes a whopping 0.16% to my readership.

Cypriots claim 6% of my readership and dear ol’ Americans make up 14.2%. The rear is brought about by Paki’s, Danes, Finns and Latvians.

To you all I say, Thank You.

Jang gone mad, really mad.

WARNING: None of this will make sense. This is for my memory. Don’t read further.

Rascal!

These last two days were horrible, tormenting, agonizing, ghastly, awful and terribly boring.

I, with my college compatriots, was asked to attend this anguishing program called “Vishwa- Chaitanya”. Now, there were people complaining about Satanic messages hidden in the program. I am not sure. I was too sleepy to notice anything significant.

There were a number of specimens of the most evolved category who spoke to us about various topics. And since I am not a sadist always, I shall not torment you too by rehearsing what we learnt, or at least what we were supposed to learn.

What was most tormenting of all was that we were not allowed to keep phones. What is generally a saving grace during boring lectures in college here were deprived from us poor, hapless souls.

And while we were there, we were taught the essence of erotic, ridiculous postures and the benefits of them to the human body. We also were given the chance to observe that candles have a transparent vacuum like thing in between, although we were expected to learn the power of concentration while this was happening.

The funniest character there was this Colonel dude. He was a gem, a person whom I’ll remember for at least some hours to come.

He was a dictator-lunatic-Pa , in the order to which he likened himself. This rascal of a person had the bile to dictate terms with our class kingpin, GK. I felt so very insulted. He also commended us stupid people for having taken up commerce, a subject which requires no thinking at all. We were flattered.

He also claims to have invented war simulators (LoSeR??) or something on the lines of that with the knowledge of trigonometry and without the knowledge of Calculus. A great contribution indeed to mankind. He loved speaking about “bombing the Paki’s”, and his tendency to bunk college. I loved him for his guts, and hated him for his guts.

As if all this was not enough, a frightening old lady, who would be celebrating her 216^th birthday this year, taught us how to concentrate better using the mind. Pa’s classes’ coaching paid off. I dozed with my eyes wide open.

The lady still gives me the creeps. Imagine driving on a state highway at night. It’s dark all around. And there’s no one in front, no one behind. Out of nowhere, an old lady draped in white appears right in the middle of the road. It was scary, especially when the highway was an auditorium and the room was completely dark.

I need a psychiatrist.

Of Fevers and Alibis!

I Am Back!

- Janginator!

Or rather, I was here all the time. Or so thinks my Principal who has just been bestowed with the prestigious job of collecting leave-letters. That, I am told, is his 626^th skill, and describing the other skills he is adept at would require me starting a new blog and hence I shall abstain from doing so.

Everyone had different opinions as to where I was. Closest was my neighbour who thought I had been (finally) locked up in Tihar Jail. Avin, a compatriot of mine thought that I had taken to frequent the M.G.Road benches at 2 in the night and hence, my absence in class. My class teacher and now even my Princi thinks poor little me was suffering from Typhoid.

But, well, I had been to a short vacation to a chilly place to just do what I do here all the time; sleep.

The only difference there was me discovering a few more facts about the novel art of sleeping. Here is a short excerpt for my upcoming thesis.

For one, you cant sleep in the Thar Desert with your eyes open. It’s too windy and sandy there, not to mention it being chilly. Sleeping in a Royal Palace is not bad unless you mind the predatory eyes of a throng of foreigners eyeing you like your some mysterious Baba from ancient India. Sleeping on roof tops is acceptable, if you love watching a million stars and don’t mind being frozen icicle the next morning.

(You can obtain my entire thesis by paying me M-o-n-e-y. Lots of it,)

Another question I have often been asked since I returned is how the chicks there were?

Well, just the same Madu Jain College kind of chicks, with a little more clothes on (summers, I assure you, would make me feel right at home there).

Since I have realized that I am just rambling about, I shall leave with just one pic of my tour, in funky attire and all. Chic!