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).