Bad Timing

The Western World, and thus pretty much our world's new years is simply at the wrong time. This year, it's especially at the wrong time, in about a hundred different ways. I just wish we could all celebrate the new years like it was meant to be done, on Diwali, but such is life.
Here's why 31st December is Bad Timing.
Because over One Lakh people have died, and god knows how many more have been affected by the Tsunami. But then, that's hardly the year's fault.
Because it's cold, very cold, there's a wind blowing, and it's miserable. This is the time of the year's fault. They could have chosen November, or perhaps March, like the Chinese, but no, it had to be January.
Because I have preboards in a week and a half, and it's impossible to study properly in this kind of weather, hell, it's hard enough to type.
Because I'm feeling miserable, as I usually do at this fantastic time of the year.
I just wish it would get warmer, I wish these three months of my life could dissapear quickly, but I've got a feeling they're going to be long, protracted and hard to bear.
There's nothing to learn anymore, no competitions, no excitement in life, no interaction, all there is is questions and answers, questions you'd rather not ask, and answers you can't remember to give.
Ugh.
It's been a rollercoaster year, with it's major major share of ups and downs. I lost a bet at the beggining of the year, or maybe, I won it. Who knows. In February, I had the time of my life in Kanpur, in March, I outdid myself in my class 11 finals, in April, I learnt what a terror class 12 was going to be, through the summer I got further convinced of the fact. I had my last few hurrahs in August, September and October, with the end of my competitive life in school, and November December passed by in a flood of memories.
Anyhow, resolutions are all nonsense, no one ever follows them, so I thought I'd come up with a list of things to do for the next year instead. It's divided into the likely, and the damn near impossible, so I don't have to cry about not achieving half of them. They're not stated in any particular order of sanity, though they do have a common theme running through them. If you can aid me in achieving any of the Damn Near Impossible ones, contact me whenever. Especially if you got a clue about the Book or Ice Cream.

Likely

1. Gaining Ten Kilos(I needs the weight)
   
2. Becoming a Part Time Quizmaster
3. Going to College!
4. Having a milky coffee
5. Learning how to drive

Damn Near Impossible things to Do

1. Gaining two inches(In height, you sickos)
   
2. Getting a book published
3. Going backpacking around Europe
4. Having Sugarplum Ice Cream
5. Learning how to Skydive

Remember, impossible is just a word.
Happy Old Year, everybody, and besta luck tomorrow onwards. I'd give the season's greetings too, but lets face it, tis not the season to be jolly.
In the immortal words of my brother. I Hate Winter.

Old School New School

At the end of my school life, it's easy to just look at all the wonderful years, and think about what a perfect life I've had.
Well, it's been built on a hell of a foundation. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have a great way of treating things I don't like, am uncomfortable with, or that have in some way caused some mental trauma to me. I bury them. Forget bury, I erase them completely out of my active mind, if they dare pop up, I just send them right back where they belong, my subconcious. Some of these are the kind of things you'd never get to read on this blog, and some are the kind of things I don't even tell my friends. Some things are best left erased.
But like a google cache, memories just don't delete themselves, they stay on indefinitely, till the cache gets bloated enough. Of the memories that come back are my ten years at Shri Ram, often cross referenced in my blog as "The Freakin' Hellhole I had to spend time in before I joined DPS".
Well, even I must admit that this was an overstatement, which is due to the exceptional time and experiences I've had at RKP, which my old school could not have provided me. Freakin' Hellhole may be pushing things too far, but it was certainly a place I was simply not comfortable with.
Here's a warning to everyone who's gone on about the advantages of small schools, and small classes, and all that Jazz: it comes with it's associated disadvantages, and some of those are more than I could handle. First, because things are small, (and because it was, quite frankly, a posh school), there were only one or two types of people there. There was, as The Lost Highway mentions, a great need of everyone to fit in to one mould, one style. If you were different, your life wasn't going to be made very easy, and that was always made quite clear to me, during my stay. I still recall(and possess) my Class 8 report card which had this thing called "My Page", which was generally bullshitting and drawing nonsense on a sheet, and I had suggested in it that we all just write in each others, like a yearbook, so we have better memories when reading it that the silly things we could draw at the time.
When I got my report card back, I had a long note in it from the Headmistress, about how I was arrogant, and very eloquently mentioned, in not so many words, how my opinions meant diddly squat.
It was after this incident that I really knew I wasn't going to fit into TSRS any longer. Then, of course, there were other things that happened in class 8, but like I said, not everything goes on this blog.
Generally, this was the attitude difference in Old School-New School. In TSRS, it had always been you can't, in DPS it has always been you can. In TSRS, you were congratulated for coming third, and then you abused the winners, especially if they were DPS. In RKP, you are asked why you didn't win, even if you came second. But here's the brilliant thing, when you're in RKP, you walk in expecting to win. In old school, I can't ever remember making as close friends in 10 years, as 3 years in DPS. There was just generally no one to talk to, about most things. My only friend actually left in TSRS, Vinay, was in fact a new admission in 8th. I still remember I used to make really good friends with all new admissions, in retrospect probably with the hope that they would be unlike most of my old time schoolmates. In DPS, you could conduct whole conversations with people without swearing at them, for absolutely no rhyme or reason. The few MSN chat convos I've had with old school waale has involved them compulsively abusing. In DPS, your seniors keep coming back, and helped you out, in TSRS, they all became Jholawallas and started running funny youth organisations, that tried to help you out.
So after I really settled into RKP, all these things seemed very very glaring, and old school became the afore mentioned hellhole. But, like I said, it was an overstatement. My childhood years couldn't have been better at any other school, the juniors are taken great care of at TSRS. There's something else nice I had to say, but I think I've forgotten it now.
All in all, I'm really happy old school is old school, and my school is mine. In which other institution could you win a trip to Thailand, go to IIT Kanpur, work your way so hard just to break it to inter school level, meet entire Large Groups with similiar interests and mindsets, and actually truly understand the meaning of Big.
To the disbelievers, to the rumour mongers, the media, to everyone who told me before I joined, and after I joined that I was crazy for leaving old school for new school, I'd like to provide a great big bad raspberry.
Fbbbdtththtthhtththth.
Now I'm done with that.

I did have one rather interesting conversation today, with PC, where he claims that ALL women, with only rare exception, are just out to find decent malleable "Raw Material" in guys, so they can mould them into what they find appropriate, thus the more malleable a guy, the more popular he would be.
Can all my female readers please comment, and tell him what a load of tosh he's on about?

Happy Bloggiversary

A year ago, Mundane Musings on Mannerisms came into being, which after a brief interlude of being really very dull, turned into Blah!
But you know that already. What you don't know is how much this blog means to me now, and how over the last one year, through the joys of class 11, the disasters of class 12, my creation has kept me both sane, and many a times, very happy as well.
Of course, there are the obligatory thank yous.
Well, thank's to me, obviously. I do write this thing, y'know.
Thank's to DPS, where I had my last working day yesterday, and left without so much as a whimper or cry. I think it'll take a couple of days for it to set into everyones system, that we're no longer going to meet each morning at the F Block Square, and our school days are officially numbered. The point of thanking the Alma Mater has been for the wealth it has given me to write about, be it my experiences, my competitions, and of course, my friends.
Thanks to them to, all my friends, some more than others. But we don't take names now, do we?
I promised something special this post, I'm sorry I have nothing much to offer. It's been a tough week, and my medicines are killing me.
The nice photo's you'll see underneath are from the last day, which was basically a gigantic photo taking session. It's wonderful to know that I've been a part of what I believe to be one of the finest batches of my school, in recent times. I can only recall batch of 2003 to be any better, and they were really stud. Like I've said, we'll answer Delhi's wonderful and prosaic media in six months time, the only way we know how.
A year out, school out, Life in general looking down and out, and one is tempted to sit back, and relax a little, or at least lie back and take a nap. But this isn't the end, of Blah!, of school, of life, it's only the beggining. There's nothing more I'd like than to just stop now, and enjoy the view, remember all the wonderful times. But in the words of Robert Frost

These Woods are lovely, Dark and Deep
But I have Promises to keep
And Miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep

Good Morning, everybody. We're starting up a brand new day.

We found out "What was the last topic!"

All the lads of XII-N

It doesn't get Verse than This

The test series have been going remarkably terribly, just as expected, so I've got better things to do than talk about them.
I will just make an addendum to previous posts, and tell you all that I do have ulcers after all, because the test for H. Pilori randomly decided to turn positive after 36 hours.
Anyhow, I did manage to have a bit of fun this week, in the form of my english paper. Repeating my class 7 performance, but oh so much better, I wrote some of my answers in verse. I however majorly improved upon this, by writing my long 150 word answer entirely in rhyme. Herewith, I shall reproduce my efforts. It's not "geek rap", like Bhaiyyas, but lets face it, I don't do rap.

Q. What was Lord Chesterfield's advice to his son. Discuss any five points in detail.

Ans.

After Lord Chesterfield's work was done
He sat down to write to his son
He said, son my advice please heed
Do not talk often without need
Inssecantly, it is very rude
To talk without break for food
In mixed company, said the Lord
Provoke not arguments if you're bored
And if the company is at your throat
Lighten the mood with a light joke
Speak not, he said, of yourself
Pride and vanity you must shelf
To leave your audience spellbound, and in trance
Talk with grace and countenance
If your words are good, people will still grumble
If you speak them with a smirk or mumble
The Lord also advised never to use
Even one small word of abuse
If for your reputation you care
Take great measures not to swear
Finally, Lord Chesterfield said to his son
Do not ever mimick, or poke fun
For those who's company you may adore
Will then to you shut the door.

I got six on seven, because Ms. Prema Pandey didn't see fit to give me full. Ms. Takru, who is far more enthusiastic about these things, said I should have got eight.
Many people asked me why me, or my brother chose to do such things. Well, the answer's pretty simple.
Because we can.

This and That

After doing a whole lot of organic chemstry, your mind tends to get a bit wobbly, and randomly starts spewing out terrible organic jokes, such as Madam Sodium Aldehyde, and hexanitrosobenzene being the world's best contraceptive(draw the structure and figure it out), and the like. Rather than go nuts, I thought I'd write a short blog entry, on...this and that.
I read a nice article in one of those education dailies about how English Literature was an important course material for all students, as it tought them not just the language, but how to read between the lines, which is an important skill needed pretty much all the time in everyday life, and could well be lost. It was written by some proffesor at Singapore Management University, an institution I incidently have my eyes on.

Happy days are seemingly not going to be here again for some time now. School's pretty much out, and till the boards are over, and come april, I'm going to be living in some collegeless, school-less limbo, which will mostly involve giving exams. Blah!

Anniversary is coming, namely my Bloggiversary(I love that word, rolls off the tongue, so much more fun than simply saying Anniversary). It's been almost a year since Mundane Musings started, and since that woebegotten time, my blog morphed into Blah!, has turned into Delhi's top resource for Gol Gappas, a major promoter for Rabbi, and has got the thumbs up from every single Ego Surfer with the name Bhavya, who googled in search for glory, and only found my blog. Incidently, one even mailed me at Gmail to admonish me for having the same name, dissallowing the same from getting their own first name at gmail dot com. For all this, I'd like to thank me, and tell the rest of you to Jaast. Or I could be sweet and say thanks for all the comments. I'm still planning out what to do for the 24th December entry, and with the paucity of ideas at the moment, it might turn out to be pretty sad.

Vrinda gave me my bit of advice for today, which shall commit to the annals of Captain Obvious'(another one of my alter egos) great words of wisdom. Here it is: Don't ever walk four kilometers wearing heels. Now, while I myself will never wear heels(I hope not, at least), I realisse that a decently sized demographic of readership is female, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Karan and Mnav have been known to crossdress, so it's great advice for all of ya, please follow it.

Dyspepsia

Yesterday, I had yet another one of my major stomach attacks(notice how I'm no longer calling them ulcers), and a repeat check up with Doctor Bhalla was immediately ordered. Coupled with this, I had also managed to sprain my back yesterday, in circumstances that are well...to embarrasing to mention on this blog. You can ask all you like, I still won't tell you.
Anyhow, on with it. This lack of physical motion, and extreme pain I was in yesterday lead me not to study at all for the Maths test series, so it was much relief that my appointment was at one o clock, and thus meant that I could not go and give the dangnammy test after all. But, on the other hand, it was a doctors appointment, and I am not particularly keen on those. I have a paranoid dislike of hospitals, clinics or anything else that smells of Phenol, and I especially don't like visiting them when I am the patient. Anyhow, so we arrive at 2, sharp, and wait for a right hour till three before I'm given a look see. So the Doc re-examines me, after seven eight months, or whenver the last time I visited was. I forget these things, I have a terrible memory, as I found out today; in completely unrelated circumstances.
Anyhow,I must continue. I was rediagnosed with Peptic Ulcers, as I showed all the symptoms of them, but the Doc wasn't very convinced this time,so decided to have a look see, in the very literal sense. In the interim, he prescribed me some hundred medines for the next one month, which I am supposed to have before, on or after my meals, depending which one it actually is. The whole thing is a darn sight too confusing for such a simple mind as mine, and I hope either of my parents, who have experience with this entire medication business, will help me in adhering to the regimen.
Furthermore, I was ordered to get and Endoscopy done, which is a big fancy medical term for shoving a camera tube down your mouth. The above mentioned thing was at six, at Panscheel Park, which gave me just enough time to scoot back from Noida Medical Center, reach home, and do nothing for an hour.
I reach the place promptly at five to six, and with all the filling of the forms, and putting on weird kurta-smock, it's a good fifteen mins before the doc arrives. He then explains the procedure very nicely, which I shall put into non-medical terms for your benefit.
"Right, what I'm going to do is shove this thing down your throat. When I so "when", swallow this pipe, and It'll slide right down. Actually, it won't, haha, I'm kidding, but count to a hundred, and it'll be over, Promise."
He then told me that if I wanted, I could be sedated, or as he put it "Knocked Out". I said no thank you, I wasn't going to have any more drugs shoved into me, and I quite enjoy the experience of being able to feel my whole body, unconciousness doesn't become me. The smock like kurta however, does, or at least my father claims so.
Anyhow, right at the moment the tube's going in, my Bua decides to pop in, so I have now three family members in room with me, for some odd reason. I thought this was a bit too much, so I shoo'ed them all out, parental concern is all very well, but I'd rather not have my entire family collected around going ooh and aah while viewing the contents of my belly. Honestly, it's a challenge to get the three of them on the dinner table at the same time, but Endoscopy, sure they'll all show up at once.
Anyhow, the tube goes in, I swallow, and it's in my throat. Now, the last thing your throat wants at this moment is a tube down it, so it immediately decides to try to vomit it out. Except, there's one small problem with all this. The tube CANNOT be vomited out, as it's pretty much gone in all the way to your stomach, and is now taking pleasant shots of your Ileum, duodenum, and tumdiddlydum(Fine, I invented the last one).
Ah, so right at the moment the picture taking begins, Doc Bhalla calls in Bua, as a fellow medical persona, for a nice insight of the life and times of Bhavya's Stomach lining. "See!" he excitedly claims, "the remanents of the Kadi Chawal you ate for lunch. Now we will take a look at the region where the H Pilori usually lies. Oooooh, it's healthy pink, but very inflammed."
After what seemed like an eternity of poking and prodding, he decides it's time to take his sample, so snip goes some knife like thing, and that's that. The tube is retracted, and I'm finally allowed to vomit out, except I have nothing to be ejected. It's a real dissapointment, I'll have you know.
So, once it's done, I'm offered the VCR of the live coverage of my innards. After having one look at the replay, I politely decline, telling the man that the last thing I want to do on a lazy sunday afternoon is take a look at that again. In hindsight, the video might make a very interesting present to anyone who wants to know the inner me. But, the opportunity is lost, now.
So, after taking the sample, and the good look around, it turns out that I don't have peptic ulcers, just Dyspesia, which means my stomach produces more acid than a seventies Hippie convention, and this acid manages to corrode my stomach every so often. The upside of all this is that instead of a hundred medicines, I now only have to have 98.
Anyhow, I return home, and the local anesthetic that was applied to my throat wears off, and I find out how much having a large tube down your food pipe can hurt. Additionally, there's a bit of my stomach that is missing, and without the numbing effects of an analgesic, that becomes quite noticeable.
But anyhow, all is, finally, well and life will go on. Even if I am on pills for the next six months, and on what the Doc likes to call "SOS Drugs" for pretty much the rest of my life.
His parting shot was, "What you need is not medication, but meditation."
Well, nyem ho ho renge kyoh to all of you, then.

In the End

Today was my last day of regular(or in my case, highly irregular) classes at the Alma Mater. The official last day is tomorrow, but that shall be enjoyed exclusively by the hostelers, and of course, Manisha Roy Choudhary, who wants full attendance for the gazillionth year running.
I'm going to miss a lot. I'm going to miss my character of a class and physics teacher, Subhodh Kumar. We had a bet running what he would say once he had finished the course, as for the last year, he had entered our class and without said, started off by banging the duster on the desk and screaming in his highly nasal tone "What was the last TOPICCCCCCCCCCCCC!"
But yesterday, there was actually the last topic. Just to prove to us that there was no escape from him, he then said, "Now we will do Numericals".
I'm going to miss getting disdainful stares from my English teacher, Ms. Prema Pandey, for spending the majority of her class trying to solve the daily crossword, while simultaneously doing whatever written work was provided to me, so that I had the excuse of having done my work. I also considered handing over Maria to her, for the next generations of Dipsites to use, but she said she'd take it once I pass out, once and for all. It's nice that even though she doesn't believe in the good and holy powers of Maria, she'll willing to ensure that she continues as the team's lucky mascot.
I'm going to miss my Eco Teacher, Dr. Amrita Dutt, and her habitual story telling sessions in class. Here is a teacher who admonishes cheaters by lecturing them with the poetry of Harivansh Rai Bachan, here is a teacher who tells us of the good old days of "Brahmaputra House"; here is a teacher you do not mess with.
I'm even going to miss our maths teacher, V.K Sauron, and his wild and forceful gesticulations, that the front benchers sitting directly infront of me had to swerve and duck to avoid, lest they have their heads chopped off by his flaying arm.
Enough of that. I did, however, have a very productive last day, where I finished not one, but two college applications, and along with Akshay, succeeding in troubling the Counsellor to such a markedly high extent that she finally gave up, and did our work. We did, at one point in the day, go as far as to offer her a loose bribe(to work on the school magazine for her) for now and forever.
Finally, she called us shameless and worse names, said she'd never seen a batch like ours, and managed to finish off our work. I then took of with Akshay for office(he was heading home to Hauz Khas), where I promptly submitted my forms for couriering.
So, that was that, and I've got two forms off today, and I'm feeling highly pleased about life in general.
Now, nothing stands before us and the test series, except our sheer will to bunk. It will test us greatly, and I'm sure that in the end, the holy forces of bunking will win over, at least when it comes to physics.

On a completely unrelated story, but for the simple fact that hazaar people seem to be coming to blah! in search of the link to download bulla ki jaana from the net, for free, I thought I might as well tell the lot of you to go to this site called Cool Goose, sign up there, go to the music section, and download the thing for free. If you like me enjoyed the song enough, you won't mind the five mins that you'll have to take out of your life to get all this sign up work done. Besides, the sites got enough other decent free music for you download hungry lot, so go forth and multiply, or something else important that's written in the bible.
That is all.

Neither Here Nor There

UPENN Early Decision deferred. Polite way of telling me to fugg off :P
Well, I've learned to take a hint.
As the Beatles say,
la la la la life goes on

Anyhow, since I now have quite a few applications to fill, and of course the bugging matter of test series to give, and what not, forgive me my daily trespasses, as I bid adieu to regular blogging.
Do check in every once in a while, I don't plan to die.
And, of course, there's the small matter of my bloggiversary later this month.
As the wise one says, It's all good.

The Cookie Told Me So

It was my moment of glory; I had reached the peak of Mt. Kailash, the unconquerable mountain. As the thin mountain air filled my lungs, and permeated every part of my being, I could remember feeling a great connection with some greater existence. A feeling of pride welled up in me, and for a moment, warmed my frostbitten body. It was right at that moment that I slipped, and fell to an untimely death. As I fell, I felt shocked at how fleeting that moment of glory had been.

It had been one of the best few months of my entire life; however, it hadn?t started off that great. Life was generally tough for an out of work Mountain Climber, and to top it all, I was depressed, both emotionally and financially. My personal life was in shambles, and I felt the proverbial walls caving in on me. It was at that time that I decided to seek my most reliable coping mechanism: Food. I didn?t have a lot of money in my pocket, so I didn?t have too many options before me. The quickest and cheapest was a Chinese place down the road, and I decided that it would do quite nicely.

It was a seedy place, lacking any class or refinement; not that those things weighed heavily on my mind at the time. The food and service, however, still did and no matter how depressed you are a bad meal and an abusive waiter can and will make it worse. Needless to say, I had the happiest moment of the day when my check arrived, along with the complementary fortune cookie. The waiter made hopeless advances for a tip he was never going to get and I shooed him off with much disdain and ate my cookie. The fortune read, ?You will find happiness with a new love?, and I chuckled. It was a gloomy laugh, and got caught in my throat on the way up, and it took a tear from my eye to wash it down. I walked out of the restaurant, cursing my luck.

A couple of days of later, I bumped into an old college friend. She was the sporty type, and as I recalled, we used to enjoy the occasional game of tennis back in the Alma Mater. She was going through a tough time as well, and our mutual predicament led to an affinity for one other. As it tends to happen, one thing led to another, and before we knew it, we were going out for dinner the next Saturday.

It was a chilly evening, and I remember that I didn?t particularly care at the time. We wandered down that same street, and with all the reputable establishments either shut, or way to expensive for us, we wandered into the seedy Chinese place. The food was still awful, and my waiter was the same gentleman, which was unfortunate, since I hadn?t tipped the chap the time before. But these minor details didn?t bother me that day, nothing much did, and even the god-awful food couldn?t dent my spirits. The bill arrived, along with a fuming waiter. I?m sure he had already spat into my plate a couple of times. I tipped him whatever little I had, which included a pack of breath mints, and made my peace. The complementary fortune cookies were brought to us. I opened mine. It read, ?You will reach new heights in your career.? I gave a wry smile as we left the establishment.

The next week, I got my first big break. There was an expedition leading for Everest, to commemorate the Fiftieth Anniversary of Hillary?s climb. One of the members had met with an unfortunate accident, and I had been offered his place. It was my first climb in months, and I eagerly took the opportunity. I left for Nepal the next month, after intensive training and acclimatization. On the flight, my mind could not help but wander to thoughts of fortune cookies. The hand of god seemed to be behind my latest run of luck, and manifested itself in the form of fortune cookies. But I was not a god-fearing person, and didn?t think the good Lord?s mysterious ways covered bad eating joints and the vagaries of a novelty food. I brushed the cookies of as a coincidence, after all, some fortunes had to come true. It was just a matter of probability.

It was a long and hard climb, and we had met with many an obstacle. A snowstorm midway up had nearly killed us all, and it was thanks to my perseverance that we got out of there alive. We eventually reached the peak, a triumphant group that joined an elite few to climb that mountain.

When I reached base camp, She was there waiting for me. It was one of the happiest times of my life, at least the happiest I could remember. We spent another two weeks in Kathmandu, walking the streets and visiting the sites. The Buddhist temples had a certain charm about them. A week later, we stumbled into a Szechwan restaurant, and obliged ourselves. Chinese food was high on our priority list, and the Szechwan style was our mutual favourite. For a change, the food was excellent, and the waiter was an all-knowing type, who gave the noble air of a man borne to serve. With his divine advice of the chef?s best dishes, we navigated our way through some fantastic cuisine. The bill, fortunately, was not equally fantastic, and a healthy tip awaited our Jeevesque waiter. The complementary fortune cookies were next, along with a few pieces of candied ginger. The ginger was very nice, and it cleared my ailing throat. After I sang a brief ditty to test my newfound bono vox, we ate our cookies. She opened hers. It read, ?Faith can move mountains?. We had a little laugh about it, and I indiscreetly ate mine. With uncharacteristic nonchalance, I crumpled my fortune in my hand and dropped it in the confines of my pockets.

The next few days were lovely. On our last scheduled day in Kathmandu, I received a call from the Royal Mountaineers. They were organising a first expedition to challenge Mount Kailash, and after my recent showing at Everest, I was offered to lead the expedition. It would be a tough climb, near impossible, but I felt great faith that I could conquer the mountain. I had never felt surer about anything in my entire life. As I walked down the dusty street, feeling like a million dollars, a crumpled piece of paper dropped out of my coat pocket. It folded out on the street, and simply read, ?Pride comes before a fall.?

I love the ending.

Aged Father Day

Happy birthday Papa! Papa turns a year-older-than-the-age-of-mother-that-shall-not-be-mentioned today. He's taken today to prove a point that he still is, in fact, the nuttiest Khanna of them all, and promises to buy himself a Motorcycle. Mother, Bua and I cringe at the thought of father riding around town on a bike, putting life and limb in danger. But, such is the nature of things. I got papa a double CD collection of what were most of his favourite Guru Dutt songs, and he was much pleased.

On Slams

Like I said, I've got a lot of these things to fill up, and quite frankly, I have no idea how to do so. The first problem is that I can't write properly, so I've decided to fill in the slam sheets into my Now Working Printer, and do it the old fashioned way, print em out. Typing is far easier than writing, in my humble opinion, which explains why there is an average sized book now available in almost a year of Blah!

Priya March

Our school has imposed upon us a pre-preboard test series, which in theory is "compulsory". Well, lets see about that ,shall we. I think its unrealistic to expect us to give tests for which we are hazaar unprepared, at short notice of course and revision, when our very year is winding down. To top it all off, they're going to shove us into the sports complex on the last day. Hrrmph. Well, I think I'll give the test-before-last, and scoot off for a movie post-exam.
Now, there used to be this grand dam ol' tradition in our school called "The Priya March", which involved the passing out batch going in mass for a movie to Priya. Now, when any batch does things en masse, things tend to get a bit rowdy, and Priya March quickly became an expression of general discontent at the end of 12 years of schooling, much to the dread of poor Vasant Lok Shopkeepers, and Madam Principal. The marching bit was removed completely, and last I heard they used trucks as means of transport to Priya.
However, this I firmly believe was not the spirit of the thing. The spirit of the thing is to celebrate your last ever day with your entire batch, and bloody well see a movie before you spend the next 3 months jailed at home, studying for preboards, competition exams, and what not else.
Thus, accompained or not, on the last test day, I'm Marching to Priya, not in a big ol' truck, but on my two feet, and I damn well will watch a movie. Anybody who feels like joining me is free to, just remember to pay fer yer own ticket. Additionally, I will be "marching", so kindly remember to be like fox, and speak only of this great plan "Chor Nazar Se!"

Rabbi

There's a new Punjabi Rock/folk artist on the block, and unlike loud blaring Bhangra, this is very good stuff. The artist is Rabbi, and he's come out with a single entitled "Bulla Ki Jana", with a nice acoustic guitar interpretation of a sufi poem by Baba Bulleh Shah(more "soulfull" versions of which Ma listens to, by a Sufiana Artist named Abida Parveen.) It's a great single, in my opinion, and is already picking up on the charts. The singer, Rabbi, has a great voice, and the guitar chords are simple, yet poignant. It's one of the few things I've heard on TV and had an instant desire to download, and so I did. It's apparently availible for free, legit, on a site which I shall not reveal as yet. Anyhow, it's now hitched onto my Pod, so all is good.

Cookies

After my flashback this weekend, I dug up my story "The Cookie Told me So", and reread it. While the idea is brilliant, it's clearly written by a child in class 10. Now, I'd love to edit it, so I will. There are a few dialogues that need tightning, a few phrases that need fixing, but all in all, I still think its a great story. The ending still gets me.
Ho hum. Seventy Two hours.

Vegetable Satay

Last evening, I accompanied my parents to Dilli Haat, because, well, I had to. The last thing I wanted to do on an evening with chill winds was go to Dilli Haat, where the chill winds are free to bite me, but then, such is life.
Dilli Haat however has a food stall, which isn't that bad. The Kashmiri, Wazwan, is quite good, in fact, and there are pockets of decent stuff here and there. But in general, you get pretty shabby stuff. It is however, the breeding ground for some of the worst english menus our fair mother earth has seen. In some of the north eastern joints, they haven't even spelled Menu right, and it is a matter of great relief they got their state names right.
The insane spellings however have resulted in general hilarity, on occasions. My parents, for instance, went to the Mizo place a few months back, in hopes of trying something new. They saw, to their amazement, a dish called Vegetable Satay. Now, much intrigued by how one could get Satay to be vegetarian, wise parents immediately ordered, so that they could find out. Theories on the same abounded, would it be soybean based? Maybe they managed to skewer some Gobi.
What they got was something alltogether different. A plate full of assorted veggies, lightly stir fried, in a hint of a sauce. It was, in a simple word, sauted veggies.
Dissapointment abounds, doesn't it?
Speaking of dissapointments, Microsoft launched "Spaces", their own blogging utility. Much intrigued by what they could turn out, I tried it out, and it's, in a simple word, crap. In true microsoft spirit, it's a utility that simply cannot be customized. Additionally, like some many other things MS is famous for, it has about one thousand features that distract from the actual purpose of the thing, A BLOG! For the actually blogging, there is no aid whatsoever. There is no WYSIWYG editor to speak of, and they promise to delete certain HTML tags you may like to place in your blog. These people are simply not going to be able to compete with Google and Blogger.
But, such is life.
Did I mention this is the two hundredth post on blah!?
Well, I did now.
My printer works, thank the good lord.

My Slam Book

Now, I've had this problem, which is also faced by a sizeable portion of male populace in class 12 of school. It's the end of the year, and you're
a)Expected to fill up "Slam Books", and Slam sheets.
b)You're also expected to have one yourself

Now, the problem is, I and so many other people are simply terrible with the whole colored sheets, drawing and writing sweet things type of stuff. Unfortunately, we're simply not designed to be very good at all this, and thus it creates a big problem. What I, and a few other people are good at, is typing things out, cos lets face it, we live in a digital age.
So why not a digital Slam Book?
Enter Bhavya's Slam Blog
This way, all of ye who hate to write, can type. All of ye short of words, can just drop a few lines, and all of ye who get mental asphyxia at the site of colored sheets of paper, can simply type out on email what it is ye want to say.
If anyone is interested, please leave a yell in the comments space/contact me at school/somehow reach me, and I'll give you the email adress to which to write it. Just remember to leave your names, and contact information in the mail, and as much hypertext as your minds can make up.

Aged Brother Day

Happy Budday Bhaiyya! My Yai Yai Yum Bangaloore brother turns 22 today, and for reasons that you only realise after living with him all your life, he still doesn't have a girlfriend, and the only girl he's interested in is suspect, and may not be interested in guys at all. Besides, she's a minor.
The point being, have a good year, and do crazy wild things, and generally have a blast. When you get more free, towards the end, when you've got your bigass job placement and all, get some Coorgi Babes, otherwise, I may have to start www.iimmatrimonials.com

Anyhow, that is that with the bigass birthday presents. Anyhow, we move on to more important things in life. Actually, we don't because nothing much else is happening in life. This was typified by a visit to Prateek's place, which has officially become the dullest house in the entire world. There are no books, no television, and his greatest entertainment options include wall staring. He even conned me into playing a game of Ludo(which I lost to Vidz). This is basically a sad life, and confirmed what I believed some three years ago, that class 12 is possible the saddest time of your school life.
Anyhow, all is not disastrous. In the Mock Test I gave, for LST, which I did believe was, to use Manu's catchphrase, an unmitigated disaster, turned out not to be. Somehow, I managed to get a All India Rank of 20. This amazed me completely, especially since I had by the grace of a mouse, marked some answers with the completely wrong answer. Also, I knew nothing about the negative marking system, and randomly ticked whenever I felt like it.
You know, life is unfair. For my halfyearlies, I worked my butt off. I studied five straight days of mathematics, and finished a register and a half in that short period of time. For all my efforts, I got a measly 68. On the other hand, this LST thing, which I'm not even serious about, and didn't study for at all, I manage to get an All India Rank. Ditto with my SAT 2 results.
In simple and unadultrated terms.
Blah!

Aged Mother Day

Today was me mum's budday! Yes, my mother turned some-age-I-shall-not-mention today, and I did my best to ensure she had a nice fun day. For a birthday present, I procured three of her favourite movies in a VCD collection, and it was indeed, much appreciated.
In return, one got to eat at a remarkable but underrrated chinese retraunt at Ansal Plaza, named The Oriental Bloom.
Now, even by my standards, this blog has focussed on food too much, so I shall not mention in great detail that the food was great. I will instead tell you the some of the special circumstances that this restraunt has involved in time immemorial.
Time immemorial, I must point out, is class 10, the last time we were patrons at the joint. Now,this place does the full chinese restraunt experience, which means they're nice enough to give you tea on the house, chopsticks to use(yes, I can use them), and the final touch, Fortune Cookies to end your meal.
Now, I was very impressed with the whole fortune cookie thing in class 10, it was the first time I had been to a place that actually gave them. I was so impressed, in fact, that a week or so later, during a Creative Writing Competition in class 10, I wrote an entire story revolving around a guy who's life was being determined by fortune cookies and chinese food. Hey, you can't blame me for at least trying to keep food out of this entry. Anyhow, after writing the damn thing, I was Hazaar sure I would win the contest, because, hey, it was an incredibly creative, dark piece of writing. Thus, I felt no qualms about saying so to all and sundry. Now, all and sundry of course included one particular person, who was meeting me for the first time, but due to my general brash and stupid nature, I kept a wonderful record of making the worst possible first impression with said person. I later found this out a year and a half later, when it came up in another completely unrelated conversation. I came second in the competition, by the way, and no prizes for guessing who upped me to first. This had led to its own great series of events, as it became a matter of interest to me to find out more about someone who could have beaten me at that event, because they must have written a bloody exceptional piece to do so.
While I never got to read the piece, it became quite clear in a short period of time that the author was exceptional enough to up it, and more. Thus, I wrote a whole story about fortune cookies influencing the life a poor gormless soul, and it seems that everything I write as well, now comes back to bite me in the ass, as I don't think that more influence has ever happened due to the opening of one tiny fortune cookie.
Well, the one I had today promised me that " Your attention will be deeply returned".
On about three or four different levels, I'm hoping this one comes true.
(crosses fingers for PENN)
If any of you leave best of luck comments, I'll kill you all.
I don't think anyone else ever has done more to discourage commenting on his blog, yet you keep at it. I thank you, kind readers.
Two more minutes, and I'll have to write a happy birthday blog for my brother.

Rules, Zindagi ka Superhit Formula

Yesterday, I had a couple of nice chats. The first was with Sonali, a name which is strangely not mentioned very often in my humble(Hahahahahaha) journal. That conversation devolved very quickly, and thus had to be sidetracked with what is known as Polite Conversation by the rest of the world, as is understood as anything but by me. What transpired, after a lot of details that I shall not bore you with, is that I have been pronounced as "one of them", and was berated for having lost my general sarcasm and cynicism about the way things are. This, I do not appreciate, for as far as I know, I'm still as sarcastic as ever, and I hope my blog is fine testament to that. Let us just say that the discussion was a biased one, where the opportunity for cynicism simply did not present itself. Such is the nature of things.
The second discussion was far more interesting. See, every so often, I have a chat with PC, where we chuck all the dramatic details of existence, and just discuss life and living in general. Now, this is an exceedingly strange thing to happen between us, for although we share much in common, including general mindsets towards having vindictive fun, we have completely disparate moral and ethical views on life. So this discussion came up today, when I told him that Law was probably a bad option for me, due to my complete inability to lie.
Actually, I'll amend that. I don't have an inability to lie, in fact, I used to be exceedingly good at it, till the age of 6, I was a pathalogical liar. Then, I just stopped. Completely. I used to suffer from a major lack of credibility, so I just laid down one of my first rules to myself, "I shall not lie". Now PC doubted that one can set rules in life, to which you are unbending to. So to drive home the point, I asked him if he would hit a girl. He said under no condition, and I said exactly. There's no great logical reason that you shouldn't, just as there is no great logical reason that I shouldn't ever lie, its just what you feel is right. Thus, you set a rule for yourself, which you try your hardest not to break, and will only break under extreme conditions.
However, both me and PC are yet to come up with an extreme enough condition to hit a girl, and the situations I suggested kinda fell short. Which brings us to the point that some things can be so exceedingly ingrained in you, that you simply will not bend to them. This was the point I had started out to prove in the first place, and I was damn miffed that I had got it across.
At this point, of course, I had to go for dinner, as I have mentioned previously, one of my deep set rules is, nothing, oh nothing will disturb me during my meals.
Oh, and Blah!'s subtitle just might turn into "Life and Times of an Indian Foodie" for this winter.

Winter Delights

Winter seemingly is here, and its the best kind, where it is winter not so much in temprature, (which I dislike), but in choice of fruits vegatables and food items(which I love).
All those lovely things you have to give up over the summer, Imma having all of them.
For those of you woebegotten lot, who know not of the pleasures of the palate availible in these wonderful months, let me go through a quick run through.
Matar! Peas, wonderfully sweet and succulent ones, the kind that you really love having in a wonderful variety of ways(my favourites being with Paneer or Mushrooms).
Then, the aftermath of diwali is a bhandaar of dry fruits lying around the house, all of which, in the abscence of my brother, it is my sole responsibility to finish. Thus, I chow down on Kaju, Pista, Badaam, and all three together in those wunnerful laccha mixtures.
Ah, but it doesn't stop there. For winter has also brought with it weddings, which, while usually are a pain in the ass, have resulted in me getting two whole box ful of Pinnis!
A pinni is about as punjabi a sweet can get. The whole thing is basically, Dal, Ghee and Sugar, and to add to its great nutritive value, nuts are generously thrown in on the top. It 's the perfect meal, if you may, and I indulge in as many as my currently overburderned stomach will allow.
Ah, but it doesn't end there. There's Keanu ka juice, freshly squeezed, with lovely Keanu's from Punjab, which came along with the wedding stuff(long story).
But the best is still to come. Next week, when the good carrots arrive, then true bliss shall be attained for Herr. Elated One.
I shall have Gajar ka Halwa. Oh yes, I shall have Gajar ka Halwa.

The Future

I hate thinking about the future, I try to avoid it as much as possible. I realised a bit of time ago that its the most dangerous thing you can do, starting thinking about what ifs, and how would that be. But, its getting harder and harder to do that, when the immediate future, just the next month, could change so much in your life.
Take, for example, the fact that a mere twelve days from now, I could be admitted to my dream college, and just as likely, I could not. That will affect a lot of my future, at least the next four years, and will immediately affect my next month. If things don't go through as I'd like them to, I'm going to be a very busy man, running around getting the rest of my applications off. On the other hand, if they do...
Its hard not to think about stuff like that, let me tell you. You try your hardest to put it out of your mind, but there are constant reminders. There are interviews, there are schoolmates, there are Parents, Relatives and a hundred other random wishers.
Then, there's the whole families birthday coming up. That's the great thing about the rest of my family, they all decided to be born at round about the same time, and left me stranded in September. Ma starts off the celebrations on the third, immediately followed by my brother, on the 4th of December, which one also finds out is the date TheBOFi shall land back in Delhi. A couple of days later, well three to be exact, comes Father's birthday, on the 7th.
So I have to think about that to, but that, gladly is out of the way. I took the opportunity of the house being devoid of parental activity to go to GPM for a shopping buzz, and picked up budday presents for one and all. One less thing to think about.
Then, of course, there are more obvious things to think about, such as "Am I going to Flunk my last Monday Test Ever?" Or, Did they have to make the last one's syllabus Chemistry's worst ever chapter(It doesn't help when your chem teacher claims that it's a really easy course, "Bas rattna hi toh hai").
I just wish these next twelve days would finish, really fast. I'd pray for a quiz or two to come my way, or at least a debate. I need something to distract me, and sitting at the desk to study only makes you think more.
Today, I went shopping, and did ENGLISH WORK! Incredible, you can't think while writing down answers for chapters, at least, I can't. So today went off fine. P-Block was the afternoon entertainment, and again...ugh.
So I thought I'd write about it instead. Better than nothing.
I plan to write a rough guide to DPS, but don't know when I'll get down to that. There are certain traditions, legends, stories and tips that my batch fears will not be passed down, what with the current scenario. To ensure continuity, I thought I'd just write it down, and give it to one and all who were interested.
Anyhow, such is my life.
Oh, another big announcement, if ye are going to comment, which I'm told ye enjoy doing, please do it to the comment link to the left and not the one on the right.
Remember, zort spelled backwards is troz.

It's A Royal Shame

You work hard to create a reputation for yourself, your institution. When you walk into other schools for competitions, you're respected, sometimes hated. The tag of DPS R. K Puram bodes well for you, and the confidence it gives ensures that you keep the winning spirit. It's a beneficial cycle. But no, all that is rudely done away with the actions of three wonderful students of a 5000 strong institution.
What do they contribute? What great achievers, aside from a dedicated few, do you get out of our commerce batches? What purpose do they serve, aside from getting drunk at farm parties, and fighting for no particular reasons with each other? But draw the line, please, inside the bounds of our school. But no; as I mentioned, thanks to three wonderful people, not only has much lunch been ruined, but so has my alma mater's reputation, and standing.
What stings the most is not the fact that wonderful people from all over delhi have lost faith in the name of DPS, but our very own principal has lost faith in her own students, and sees fit to send us all letters telling us she's "concerned about our morals". For what? What actions of our batch point to this? None, just the lack of faith provided in plenty to us by the three.
I haven't been upset about much in my years at RKP, but this upsets me. The letter we recieved upsets me. The lack of faith in us upsets me, and the fact that it may even affect any more college interviews I give, just because there is now an undeniable prejudice of every single person in Delhi about the school, that upsets me.
The yellow journalism exhibited by NDTV upsets me, but not so much. I have a very low opinion of those jhola wearing, commie sympathising pseudo intellectual journo's anyhow, so their attention craving actions hardly surprise me, and thus cannot upset me that much.
The fact that commentors ask for links to this wretched thing upsets me. I'd ask you all to stop reading my journal, whoever came in hopes for that. Me and Karan stand united in this, we're not either interested in scandals, or debasement, or rumour mongering, and we simply don't care what constitutes as fun entertainment in anyone's mind. We shall not encourage the debasement of our school, in any way or means. I'm open to poking fun at it, but lets draw the line, shall we? People like Arjun, who think this whole matter is a whole lot of fun, can, in the words of Sir Altitude, "Go Boil Their Heads".
Interestingly, I found out the etymology (how I love doing that) for the phrase "Go Boil Your Head". It is apparently a South Pacific Island insult. Here's where it comes from. See, basically the islanders considered the head sacred, and cooked food pretty much the opposite of that. I guess they liked their veggies in nice salads, as cooking anything made it umm...well...unsacred. So the phrase, "go boil your head" in the local tongue is possibly the worst possible insult you can give. Maanick Nangia, thus, shouldn't go visiting Fiji or Tongo or any such place any time soon, as his propensity for the phrase may get him into a lot of trouble.
My first mock test for Law Entrances is tomorrow. I'm horrificly prepared for it, as I had all of two days notice. Yet, a lot of it is english, easy maths, GK, and logical reasoning. Nothing a good quizzer shouldn't be able to handle. Let us see.
On unrelated, yet happy news, my last and final monday test is, well, on Monday! wOOt! No more monday tests, ever!
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I think the spirit of the festival is one of the wonderful things American culture actually has to offer, yet it seems to be the one thing they have failed to export. Instead, we get McDonalds. Blah!

The Interview

My UPENN interview was, in fact, today. Things went pretty much as I had predicted them to go, along with an aditional twist to the tale. Now, as I had mentioned, Vasant Kunj, and finding ones way around it has been a bane in my family for a decent bit of time, thus it was suggested that I leave early, just in case I get a bit lost. Fortunately, traffic was brilliant, and the map I had got was very helpful and accurate, so instead of arriving around about on time, I arrive all of half an hour early for the blessed event, and spend the next good few minutes sitting around in what was, I must admit, a very entertaining living room, what with cute Golden Retriever with passing interest in you, and other shiny looking distractions. Thus, I whiled away the extra time without much care or concern, till my interview started promptly at the destined time.

The interview itself went...quite well I would say. Compared to my more disastrous ones, (one remembers the incident where one told big powerful principal that one wasn't too sure about joining her big powerful school, and that her entrance paper had grammatical while matriarch tried desparately to kick the same one from under the table), and actually went off quite smoothly. The questions I was asked were pretty standard, I would say, and unlike PC, no rude shocks were thrown my way. Which is, I would think, the only thing that really surprised me about the whole process, I seemed to have gotten used to being blasted on "Personal Interviews", and this seeming luxury of niceness was quite a new experience for me. Not even a trip question here or there.
Anyhow, one of the things I talked about was joining DPS, and I think I've said this ad nauseum to myself, that one of the greatest accidents that ever happened to me was joining RKP. The scary thing is, I don't even have the sniff of a new admission about me, as I joined in ninth, and I'm pretty much indistinguishable from the 13 year Kaidis.
This is because of the following reason. I'm a part of around fifty or so people in my batch who qualify as half-breds, the mongrels of DPS R.K Puram. Neither new admissions, nor old students, we're the lost-in-between crowd. We've seamlessly become a part of DPS, and don't even consider any other place to be home, wheras for the "newadmins" of 11th and 12th, the school is more of a two year transit zone. Among our great ranks are illustrious characters like Manisha Roy Choudhary, Anant Dang, Myself!, and other strange yet remarkably vocal creatures, without whom our batch would definitely be lacking in fun and loud characters.
We're the mirch ka tadka, so to speak, of the great dal that is DPS, the spicing put in towards the end for that extra bite.
Forgive me for the incessant food metaphors, but this diwali has really picked up my appetite, and I haven't had a morsel in me for half an hour now. I think I'll go nibble on some chocolate.
That is all.

Informal Interview

Day after, I have my informal interview for University of Pennsylvania. I have as of this moment, no idea where it is, and how to get there. I'm waiting, and continue to wait for an email that may adequetly explain how on earth I'm supposed to reach a farm house somewhere in Vasant Kunj, and also one that will explain what is it exactly that I need to take along with me.
The interview itself doesn't worry me, but there is a sort of weariness about what's going to happen on wednesday. It's all sort of predetermined. I'll get my stuff in order, after school, and claim to head off. Mother will see my condition, decide that I'm looking like a complete Lukha, and change five hundred things about what I'm wearing, before deciding I am presentable enough to leave. Then, I'll probably hitch it to office, from where I'll get the car to drop me to the place. I shall have to leave before time, because we will inevitably get lost, because its impossible to be on course for a farm house in Vasant Kunj, after Sainik Farms, its the most confusing place in Delhi to get around.
After that, my predictive skills stop. I have no idea what I will be asked, whether it'll be fun and light, or an inquisition taking me apart. Either way, I'm game.
The CAT was yesterday, for all of ye who didn't know. I hope Amon, and whoever else took it did well, and give my brother company, so that he can rag them next year. I remember what it was like last year, for bhaiyya, when the damn thing got cancelled. Total KLPD. One hopes and prays no ruddy mafioso don decides to leak more papers this year, for crissakes, let some people give it off their own accord, what.
Speaking of papers, our Monday Test today had the additional contreversy of the Pen Down syndrome. My class, after much counselling, decided against the whole idea, which is a good thing too. This is no time to take panga with the school authorities. I'll save that for the Three Hour English Monday Test (Full Course) they made so that we couldn't enjoy our last few days of school. I don't like it when people tell me I can't enjoy life, so lemme see what fun I can have.
I can, of course, do a repeat of my class 7 paper, and write it in verse(also something my brother did for his pre-boards). I can use my new found skills in writing subversive messages in between text, and put ek hazaar double entendres into the whole shebang. But then, I'm always open to some more wild suggestions, and look to the wise advice of my seniors for support. TheBOFi, Keerthi, Manu, any suggestions?
Because, seriously, you can't not be allowed to have fun in a time which is the least fun life can possibly be. Otherwise, dimagi haalat theek nahin rehti, and you run the risk of turning into Boss, or other depressed cases.

Aisa nahin kar sakte

I'm tired of hearing this phrase. Over the last three years, I've heard it all the time, for every kind of social sitiution. Aisa nahin kar sakte, you can't behave like this, you can't get this done, you can't you can't. Its like some great chant of adulthood. Well, I don't buy it, not just yet. For three years I haven't, and so far there hasn't been a single time I haven't been able to work around the unwritten diktats of society, school, or social interactions. So a message to all of ye, your going to have to work a lot harder to break me just yet, I refuse to go down without a fight. Tum jaante nahin, ham jaise Dheet insaan kam hi milte hain.

How The Stupid Eleventhie Ruined my Life

Y'know, the video business has gone on long enough, and I've pretty much not cared about it, because aside from a few extra visitors to this blog, searching in vain for the thing on the net, and a lot of questions from pretty much every school student in Delhi, it's not really affected my life much. I am a pretty self-centered chap, and don't care much for world issues, so I kept out of it, everyone had already exhausted the topic to death, as it was.
But no, now things have changed. This foolish commercie and her activities have had now disastrous consequences on my life, and quite frankly, I hope she burns in some form of hell.
See, here's what happened. Once our Principal came to terms with the whole incidident, she decides that this is just a result of discipline in school being shot to death (and not that of a brainless airhead's great ideas). She took to getting the school back to order in much the same was as George W. Bush took to straightening out the world after 9 crazy Jehadi's crashed two planes into the world trade center. Thus, Madam Chona went on discipline overdrive, and started her crusade(not the mathematical kind) by banning cellphones. Now, this again didn't affect me in the slightest, as I do not own one, leave alone bring one to school. Then, we got to hear a lot of lectures, about how we're all morally bankrupt, and how we're not going to get our character certificates unless we behave, and again, I don't care much, because well, I do behave. But then things started getting a bit nasty. Uniform checks are becoming very regular, again not much of a problem, as I'm now pretty used to wearing the tie(being a school appointment), and have no other hassles. Thus, me was still unnafected.
Yesterday, unfortunately, was the straw that broke the donkey's back. In another effort to up discipline, our school dispersal goes madhouse nuts, which basically means, in a roundabout nutshell, that due to each set of buses being sent off at a time, ensuring that one gets even the slightest opportunity to chat up their friends on the way out, my bus now leaves 15-20 mins later than it used to, back in the days when things were normal. As a result of this, I reached home on Friday at the unsightly time of Two Thirty, and didn't have my lunch till a quarter to three. I had to wait, ladies and gentlemen, till a QUARTER TO THREE before I could partake in my afternoon nourishment, and this quite frankly is way too late for lunch.
And its all this foolish 11thies fault. Her shenanigans have resulted in the delay of my lunch, and I can't think of anything else that could be worse.
Actually, I can, and if concerned teachers do random checks on my house during dinnertime as a result of extra discipline checks, then I don't care who's granddaughter she is, she'll be on my list(Y'know, the Uzi one). There's only so much a chap can tolerate, and a delayed lunch just crosses the line.
See, I'm all for freedom, as long as it doesn't impinge on the rights of others. If little-miss-big-mouth wanted to have her fun, she could at least have kept it under wraps, but no...and now I and a lot of other people must suffer the consequences of her actions.
But as I am loathe to say.
Ah, well.
Such is life.

Been down that Road again

Today, I had my first Full Length CBSE mock test at tutes, and it was one of my math tutor's specials. The questions on calculus were damn near impossible, and I was really kicked that I'm actually passing in the paper, and may even get 50-60 odd. This is good news, as
a)The CBSE paper will be nowhere near as tough
b)I gave this with minimal preparation (where was the time)
c)Four o clock after a busy school day on a right handed desk are highly test-conducive conditions.

Anyhow, with that over and done with, I was damn kicked. Doing a lot of math, and actually managing to get some of it right gives you quite a bit of a boost, so I had full adreneline rush while heading back home. Furthermore, the Autowallah's tried to stiff me, and I don't like paying for anything, really, so I told tell all to go to hell, in more choice words, and decided to walk it back.
Only, I didn't want to reach home late, so somehere around IIT gate, I decide that I might as well get back a little quicker, and the only way to go is Jog. Besides, when very loud, very pumped up music is running through your pod, its exactly the first thing that pops into your mind. Besides, you want to prove to yourself that ages of sitting around and stuffing yourself silly with Mithai and other tidbits hasn't made you into an out of shape vegetable, and you wish to prove to yerself that you still go it in you to do a Three Kay jog back home, without having your legs complain. Because, of course, these are the only physical part of you that qualifies as better than the below average mortal being According to another really vela online quiz, which consisted of exactly one question (please state your date of birth), my sexiest organs are in fact my knees.
Well, they damn well did, and I jogged the whole way back without as much as a mumble from me legs, and with the weather the way it is these days, one did not even overheat on the way. Alltogether, a good work out on ze way back. Damn straight, I'm not a flabby fatty who can't manage a run. Me proud.
There are those, of course, who will say that one must be insane to jog 3 clicks back home after a three hour maths paper. To them, I'd just like to say, Nyah Nyah, you try doing it. Buncha fatties, all of ya.

Boom! It exploded!

Remember I had mentioned that one of my greatest recurring nightmares was exploding geysers? Well, this evening, I walk into my bathroom, and discover that my geyser, recently repaired, was leaking again. I reported this to mother, in manner of general indignation over the horrible state my bathroom is generally in. The fittings are just crap.
Anyhow, I was much surprised to find out the reason for the like. While I was at school (as you must have guessed by now), the whole thing exploded, caught fire, and is now well and truly kaput.
Which is a damn good thing. It was a terrible geyser. The thing took a minimum of half an hour to heat up water, and didn't make it very hot at all. To add insult to injury, it claimed that it was saving 15% of energy while doing this. Helluva lot of energy it saves when you have to turn it on the night before so that you can have a bath in the morning. Blah!

Online Quiz

I don't usually take online tests, but a nice book one seemed too much to resist.

You're One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest!

by Ken Kesey

You're crazy. This has led people to attempt to confine you to a safe
place so that you don't pose a danger to yourself or others. You feel like you pose a
great danger to the man (or maybe the woman) or whatever else is keeping you down. But
most of the time, you just end up being observed. Were you crazy before you were
confined?


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Who'da thunk it?

The Tuesday that Wasn't

Today was just not a Tuesday. For the umptillionth time this year, the Monday Test was held on tuesday, and we had full Monday timetable, which meant that for the umptillionth time this year, we missed our physics lab. This also means we're all going to fail in physics, but that's another long, and painful story. Till then, we'll all just have to figure out what the last topic was.
Thus, we went on today, like it was a monday. In all effective purposes, it was the first day of the week, only Monday's gone, and as the Kat Stevens song goes, Tuesday's the Day.
It hit me deeply, because the nice comedies that come on monday are not coming today. The entire force of the universe, in effect is disturbed, and it had a profound effect on my subconcious this Tuesday morning, where I had some of the strangest dreams I can ever remember, and its only the really strange ones that you do remember.
The dreams, of course, are none of your business and you will not get to know them, unless you prove yourself to be cute and charming, with a dazzling smile.
This condition is now recognized all over the blogging world, as it has been found that what most regular computer users are in fact interested in is girls with charm, and dazzling smiles, rather than Mozilla Firefox. Of course, Mozilla Firefox is a means to an end, and proficiency in setting the thing up will be regarded in little or no circles as a tool to impress these girls.
However, as the case often is with us poor sodoff teenage guys, the girls are never impressed.
I did have a point here.
This is what happens when you change around the world's great order, just so that you can hold your silly little Monday test, of which I have heard, today was the penultimate for that of Class 12.
Which basically means, a week later, I may be giving the last monday test of my entire life.
Aaah....bliss.

Tikka Day

No, this wasn't the Paneer Kind. This was full fashion Bhai Dooj ka tikka. The major problem with these things is that they take place in the morning, and the day after the day after diwali, patakas are still going off, and you really want some sleep, because you haven't had a good nights rest in ruddy ages. Thus, we you are dragged out of bed to get ready, you're not all that appreciative of the whole concept. But, anyhow, life goes on, and Bhai Dooj will be around long after you're gone. I, of course, will live on in spirit, and it'll always pretty much bug me, but that's another story.
Another wonderful thing this year was that Tikka location was at my Tau's house in...DLF! Which involved a long journey across the seven seas, and disrupted NHAI flyovers of Delhi-Gurgoan. Anyhow, as a lot of you will be aware, I'm not much fond of the suburban life, and my opinion doesn't seem to change much, every time I visit. Nasty place. Too far from the city, methinks.

Right, so we reach, and there's the slight problem that my sisters haven't. They will be late, they say, so me and my cousin brother sit around like twits and wait for them. There are three who are still in town, and must put Tikka, and of those, only one has graced us. Papa, meanwhile, had very punctual sisters (my Bua's), and they all very quickly finished their Job. Thus, papa beats a quick retreat back home as he has to cook , while I am left in the lurch with my cousin brother. Around twenty mins after Papa leaves the house, cousin sisters arrive five minutes between each other, and we finish our Tikka responsibility. Except, now we can't leave, as Bua must chat with other Buas, and me and cousin brother are now forced to sit around, and politely smile while all my cousin sisters, and their mothers and my Buas discuss labour pains, contractions, and other pregnancy related things.
Basically, not the best Tikka Day experience one could ask for. Anyhow, got to meeet me cousins in entirity after ages, you lose contact with em when they're all aged, with young kids, and busy.
So that ends the festive season. As usual, its been busy enough to keep all thoughts of any serious studying away, so will have to get down to it tomorrow. Id will have to get the boot, at least in my family, we can't celebrate everyone's festivals now, can we?

"It's a Long Story"

Me king of the World!
Hehe, just thought I'd blog this picture. Seemed too nice to leave out.
Why am I doing this? Like so many other things thesedays, "it's a long story".
Went for Vidz's Budday lunch today. A somewhat belated Happy Birthday to her, as this year, the Diwali Greetings stole her thunder(and we thought it wasn't possible). She was in a bit of a glum mood, with the backfiring of the festive season, and what (k)not. Hope we cheered her up a good bit.
Also met Prasan(bloglink on side) ages after we last annoyed quizmasters together at quiz. Law school has ravaged the poor childs mind and soul, he's turned commie, and shows up with Jhola in hand, and long hair and mustache. What has come of this world, I ask you, when college turns fine young men into socialists, even outside of the Jhola-touting confines of Delhi University.
I'm just so dissolusioned right now...
Oh, well I'm not. In the wise words of Lennun, La lah-lah-lah life goes on.

Happy Diwali!

By Far the most Colorful Blog you'll ever see. All the best wishes for today, to one un all.


May Laxmi bring riches into your house

May Ganesh eat laddoos on his mouse

Generally have a blast. And try not to blast em crackers, gives me a headache.

Carnival

The second and final day of my last ever School Carnival was yesterday. Although, one cannot say for sure that it will be my last ever, as quite a few ex-students, who just can't seem to give good ol' DPS up bunked classes, ran away from families seeing them after four months of college, and generally cutting away other responsibilities to be there. It is heartening to see that Manu Saxena can make up excuses about leaving on a 3: 30 train to Hyderabad to get out of his afternoon lecture, and make it back to school. It gives hope to the least of us.
Anyhow, on to the actual event. The thing started off slowly, very slowly. For the first half hour, the DJ was for some reason playing Shaadi music, the soft slow kind which plays at receptions while everyone is getting tanked up, or waiting eagerly for the food to come. After generally realising that this was getting nowhere, the chap finally turned on the music, and made full use of the mountainous set of amps provided to him.
The DJ, was, of course, in true DPS carnival tradition, worse than the one last year. Okay, fine, he was better, but his style was really cramped by the fact that
a)He played Dhoom Machale five hundred times
b)He was continuously interrepted by idiots who wanted to make it known to 2000 adrenilized dipsites, much angered by the moron stopping their dancing, that they had lost their wallet/watch/camera/mobile/other expensive article and would really appreciate it if we all stopped whatever the hell it was that we were doing, and looked for it. Such an atmosphere of hope our juniors live in.
c)He had to end the thing, on force, at 3 PM sharp, and his last few tracks were, quite frankly, terrible.
Aside from that, it was all good. We danced a decently large amount, and I managed to screw my neck over for the fourth consecutive year, of DPS carnivals. Fortunately, its a much stronger neck now, and its not that badly done over, should be allright by the afternoon.
For a mighty large, and varied school, there sure is a lack of variety in dressing, I must say, of the students. Pretty much everyone turned up in some form of Jeans/T-shirt combination, and I was looking kind of out of place in Kurta-jeans, which strangely enough, no one else wore.
Other notable fronts in the fashion department were Ishita (Flower-girl) and her Dorothy Shoes (if she clicked em together, she'd go back to Kansas), and of course, Shravan and his falling jeans, which Copal wanted to take off post haste. Jeans aside, some junior did oblige with his shirt, and did a Salman Khan while dancing. Hats off to the chap, nasty bugger made the DJ stop for a good five mins, he should have been tomatoed decently for that.
Right, so everyone was in the "last time ever" frame of mind, and were on picture patrol, taking group snaps left right and center. I'm doing the great service of taking snaps from everyone's digicams, and putting them all onto one nice CD. Ain't I the best?
The day did not end, however, with the ending of the Carnival. This is because it ended at 3 30, and nobody in their right minds was about to give up after that. Besides, I had birthday present shopping to do, and in my clearly exhausted condition, I decided to walk to Priya, thus indulging in a watered down version of a banned pastime, The Priya March. The actual Priya march, does not, I have heard, involve much of marching, and is conducted on large trucks, which carry the pseudo marches to Priya. I, however, prefer my techniques better, and would actively participate in it again. Anyone care to join me?
Around the end of the carnival, Vidz (for whom I attempted to buy the budday present, instead failed miserably, and decided to have ice cream at nirulas with assorted company instead) showed up towards the end, and went on to watch a movie with PC, Karan, Daffy, Manav and Smita, which later resulted in big big trouble. This is what happens when you go watch Garfield and ditch your friends. Blah!
Not only that, Smita and Daffy for some reason decided to get on PC and Vidz's case, in a fashion that was much reminiscent to what happened to me in Camp, in class 11. It goes something like this.
"You're really close friends, are you sure you're just friends?"
"So why won't you go out with her?"
There are no good answers to these questions, for the simple reason that they will all get you in trouble with Vidz. lets face it, its a nasty game to play.

Diwali is tomorrow, but for the usual reasons, this year family is not celebrating, so one will, for a change, sit at home and...umm...well I don't know what I'll do actually, can't remember the last time I was at home the day before, and the day of diwali. Usually out visiting people. But, such is life.
I may write about the whole festival thingummy tomorrow. For now, adoo.

Access Granted

WooHoo! I love it when this gets repetetive. We won access, the whole shebang, edging out DPS VK, thanks to our inne se bachche of DPS Vasant Vihar. There was a really nice looking bigass winners trophy, which we walked off with, along with several other plaques and related items.
Related items include things like vouchers for 300 bucks worth of anything at a Reliance Web World, and, a scientific calculator, which arrived a bit too late.
On a personal note, I won the GD event, which I was made to go for, missing out on first day of Carnival at DPS. Thus, its a damn good thing I won, otherwise...one would have been hazaar pissed.
As I said, I did win the Group Discussion, and was told that I was pretty much a shoe in. I had great fun, however, and this usually results in victory. Besides, I was bound to win, for certain other reasons that were residing in my pocket, (she still hasn't lost an event). The topic for the finals, I must say, was quite a boring one (Business Process Outsourcing), and it was only the formation of an anti-DPS VK Cartel between me and Ankit Sud from AJP that made the event the interesting scope of random abusing, and debunking that it turned out to be. (I have noticed that a lot of the words I now use in my blog feature from the Delhi Times crossword of that particular day. Strange.) The prelims were far more fun, where I went on to prove that Bill Gates was in fact born in India. The full story to that is a long one, and like so many other things, loses its flavour when not told in person.
Ah, anyhow, I win this thing, and for the prize, these people have the strange sense of humour to give me the book "Public Speaking for Dummies". Seriously! Give the losers, or even the third place chap that un, but for crissakes, if I've won the damn thing, one should hope I know a thing or two about public speaking! The prizes were equally dumb for other events, giving Programming winners C++ for dummies, and the like. Jeez.
Right, so with all the auguries of competition out of the way, its time to concentrate on the less intensive fun things in life, such as Tomorrow's Carnival, at DPS. Its been a long time coming, hasn't it? After its over, all we'll have is the farewell...
Ah, I can't resist.
Chalte, chalte, mere yeh geet, yaad rakhna.
Kabhi Alvida na kehna, kabhi alvida na kehna.

But for now, adieu. But a minor promise, that I may or may not keep, that this blog will not die in college, oh yes, it shall live on.

Access Denied

The second day of Access didn't go so well, but then, it went well enough for school in general, so nyap nyap nyap, basically.
Anyhow, here's the low down.
I came third in crossword, which is good as I got a podium, going in as team two from school. Our team one, won, which as also good, cos we scored a nice load of points over there. Thanks to our gamers, who got a dopieta, we've got a slim 300 point lead in the final tally, so lets see how that goes.
I've got a GD tomorrow, for which I'm missing day one of the school carnival, so I'm really hoping day one will go quite spectacularly boringly, as its mostly a lot of gassing about with L-G of Delhi coming. GD is my speciality event, so I'm kinda hoping I manage a position in it.
Ugh, enough of competitions, it boils the blood. Actually, it doesn't, they're great fun, but only as long as you're taking part in them.

I know this is getting really repetitive, but consider it a weeklong series of insights I've had into myself. Trust me, they'll all vanish soon enough, and I won't bother myself with them for another good load of time.
Anyhow, this is it. I'm a stubborn ass. Many people know this, and have commented towards the same(though not on this blog). Notable among these people is my Educational Counsellor, Mamta Sharma, who as a direct result of my stubborness had to spend one of her saturdays writing my recco letter, as I sure as hell wasn't going to write my own. This is a part of my stubborness, you see, if I think something is wrong, that is, if something conflicts with certains RULES I have set for myself, no amount of reason, or sweetening/buttering is going to make me change my mind. This conflicted majorly with two of my great five rules, and that's a bit too much, really. Even one is enough to set off my mule like attitude, but two, and you've got yourself the provobial rock and hard place.
Anyhow, so here are my current, five hardcore rules for life, the universe, and everything. They're little unbreakable things I set for myself, so that I don't have regrets, because what I've come to realise is that what hurts you most whenever you start thinking (which unfortunately happens quite randomly, and excessively, go ask Skaran) are regrets, things you wish you hadn't, or had done. With these maxims, I ensure that I can almost never have done anything that goes against what I felt I should have.
I'd like to remember them, when I grow old and senile, so might as well right them down, what? So here they are.
Rule 1 : Honesty : I used to be a pathalogical liar right up to age six, where I am told I would lie for the sheer fun of it. I regret that, so I no longer lie. I've never cheated on an exam, or monday test, or whatever. Is it wrong? Who knows, but it hurts my ego to lie or cheat anymore. And I've got one hell of an ego.
Rule 2: Honour: Very important rule. You'll run into people all the time, to whom you will be indebted, because, hey, people are nice and do wonderful things. Some people, anyway. It is then, of utmost importance to honour them. Secondly, and more importantly, honour thyself(doesn't that sound all formal and greek/latin?). Its useless living a life which you don't want to live, just because you feel you're going to get ahead.
Rule 3: Respect: Much related to honour, but not completely. When you honour something, it sometimes an obligation, with respect, it never is. Go out of your way to work/encourage/generally touch hands and feet of that which you respect. I feel very strongly about that, and hope that I will continue to do so.
Unfortunately, I also have a very teenage, headstrong belief that you should go out of your way to abuse that which you do not respect, which I'm hoping I'll grow out of in time. Otherwise, hehe, I'll live in interesting times.
Rule 4: Bhavya's Talisman: I've given myself a Talisman. Whenever you are in doubt over your course of action, think, will this make me happy in the short or more importantly, in the long run? Will what I am doing matter at all to my happiness even a week from now? Will it eventually hurt my happiness? When you've answered these questions, you'll realise that there's no sense in doing that which pisses you off. Even at the price of success, and I'm someone who LOVES success.
Rule 5: Do not EVER let anything disturb you during your meals. Unless someone's suicidal, or there's a medical emergency, there's nothing so important that it can't wait for after lunch/dinner/breakfast.
Damn straight.
These five have kept me happy for two years now, and I don't really remember being pretty happy before that.
I guess I just respond better to being a rigid, stubborn ass.
As many people have heard before
Ah, well.
Such is life.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon

I've often read that you can put subliminal text, or information into most forms of entertainment, and get away with it. Conspiracy theorists have gone on about how our movies contain advertising, propoganda, secret cult messages, and everything in between. Its remarkable any of us have a mind of our own, anymore, with all these messages being sent into our poor little minds.
On the other hand, you have the secret cult-like clans or societies of Dan Brown, which delight in putting subliminal text into more common and open information for the sole purpose that nobody understands it, save a few smartass souls. One would think that you'd have to go through quite a bit of trouble to start doing such things, so I thought I'd start giving it a shot on Blah!
I'm going to becoming a minion of the anti-christ, or some other such nonsense, and transpose secret messages to the rest of my bretheren, who of course, don't read my blog.
This is a remarkably stupid idea, of course, but lets see how many of you spend half a minute scanning through this entry for little secret references, and cryptic messages.
Anyhow, I've been told over this last week by the smarter gender about how males are generally a dumb and senseless lot, which I agree with, and how most of them are royal jackasses, which I'm still in quandry over.
The dumb lot, however, is undeniable. Proof of the same drops daily like Manna from the Heavens, feeding the feminists who wander like Nomads through the Sinai desert. Take for example, the latest titbit(The Americans, who are a lot more prudish than they think they are, spell this word tidbit, as during the victorian times, they thought the word alluded to obvious female body parts) I came across related to the male reaction to a Whale that Exploded in Taipei, Taiwan, which boggled even me. I mean, videos are one thing, but this just took the cake. Go read both articles, if you've got the time, they're not very large.
If you read P.G Wodehouse, which is another thing I've been doing this weekend, aside from qualifying for Crossword Finals at Access 2004, you will confirm your suspicions of not only this, but another universal truth.
To make up for traditional male stupidity, so that the human race can survive in some relative peace, women have been made crazy, so as to let them put up with us. Each one I have seen (okay, I haven't seen too many, but still...), is crazy in her own special way. Of course, when you're in a large school like DPS RKP, these ways often overlap, so you can start broadly classifying them.
However, I will not do this.
You may, however, try.
What are comments for, eh?
They're certainly not for flame wars/telling me that you're stalking me in school.

The Case of the Stairs

Here's a fun thing, for all those rumour mongers who love to proclaim that I'm nuts. I am not crazy, by the way, I am in fact the most sane member of my illustrious family, and definitely the most stable. All I have is a few little eccentricities, all of which I am aware of, and this is one of them, which is starting to become quite a major one.
See, it all started around around end of class eight, when Ma got tuberculosis. Now, if any of you don't know, TB is one of the most horrid diseases to pick up, it practically disables you from an active life, without doing any serious damage whatsoever, you just become too tired to do anything constructive, and the medicines that take care of this actually only succeed in increasing your symptoms. It's not a very fun time at all, and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. If anyone wants to go into medical research, chuck cancer and miracle cures for AIDS, take care of TB first.
I've developed digression into an art form, haven't I?
Anyhow, so as Ma was sick, and Papa was really busy with work around that time, and Bua had a hospital to Run, and my Grandmother was also very very sick, I was pretty much taking care of both of them for that time. This was made significantly tougher by Ma's stubborn refusal to have any of her gazillion knock-out pills, and quite frankly, in the same position, neither would I. They're horrid, and make you feel really bad, and don't seem to have any significant effect at all.
Anyhow, she eventually did have to have the stuff, cos we all forced her too, and it left her feeling quite knocked out most of the time. So, for a period of around a year, I had grown used to escorting her up and down the stairs of our house.
Now, habits once formed, die very hard, especially when you have slight obsessive complusive tendancies. So two years after Ma's all better, whenever she's at ground floor, and I'm going up, I sort of coerce her into going up the stairs with me. Now, this isn't a bad thing at all for anyone else but my mother, but things are now starting to get worse. I've noticed this in school, and other places, that whenver a staircase presents itself, and company is there along with me at the bottom/top of it, I feel an uncontrollable urge to take company either up or down with me.
This, then, has become a problem for poor unfortunates. I now have a paranoid compulsion to include people in my sojourns up and down the F-Block staircase, and while for the better part, company is willing, occasionally are quite reluctant, and must be forced.
At the end of the day, it's comforting to know that for even this matter, come what may, in the end it is my mother's fault.

I'm on Drugs

Well, I'm not. And those will not be my last words, by a long shot, and as much as I would like to think so, I am not, in fact, a Golden God.
But I did have a very strange day today. Around some time after the break in school today, and sometime during the physics lab, I started getting this mellow high, reminiscent of the Beatles songs I've been listening to a lot(Try combining Strawberry Fields and Across the Universe in your head, and see what the world feels like to you). Thing have appeared to jump out at me all day, and not in the Boo! surprise kind of way, in the sort of, "look here's a three D movie, everything's in an extra dimension to you" kind of way.
Anyhow, so I exit the lab, and I've got this strange smile on my face, the kind that wants to jump out, but is restricted by the sheer smallness of your face. Since I had no particular reason to be overjoyed, and quite frankly, I was not overjoyed, I have no idea why it popped on, but everything suddenly seemed very alive. Another factor that helped was that both Copal and Damini were absent today, so there was nobody to tell me that I was plotting something evil, and that I should stop smiling immediately(these are the kind of things I have to hear on a daily basis).
So, anyhow, this lasts about twenty minutes, and then I'm back to general smileyness, right uptil this evening. Then, as I'm walking back from Tution, on the IIT road, it happens again, probably trigged by nice music, and suddenly all the things I generally blank out with loud enough music start hitting me right in the face. Thankfully, these are not cars, but twigs and branches from hanging trees, the smell of the ground, faces of people passing me by, the absolute comfort of my new pair of pants, that sort of stuff. I bet if there was an orange wall infront of me at that moment, I would immediately have said "Look, an Orange Wall!"
Suddenly, I'm able to think and listen to the music at the same time, and for the first time in a long time, thinking didn't lead to dangerous things for me.
Its been a surreal day, and I have no idea why. Sometimes, life just throws these at you, for funs sake, to tell you how little you're using your senses.
Unfortunately, we're a bunch of creeps and never listen, so we'll get back to our dull lives of studying, and the general hum drum activity that surrounds us, in some vain hope that it'll lead us to security and happiness.
Or maybe it will. As with so many other things when you're just seventeen, only time will tell.