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.