Ring in the New

Joy to the world, felicity to all men(and women) and a general Happy New Year to everyone.

There are various ways of figuring out that the year has come to an all too abrupt end. A nice, pleasant way is to read the often-random forwards on your phone or in your inbox, from people who you thought had forgotton all about you, and then you get lil kicks of pleasure that they haven't. Its a lot of fun wishing people and generally looking forward to an Entire Year of doing So Much in, so many possibilities and so many bad jokes to be made.

Unfortunately, there are other, far worse ways of ringing in the new year. Going (where the voluntariness of the entire trip is to be taken with More than a spoonful of salt) to a party which involves six hours of being in the bus, canNot possibly be a good idea.

The Partay

We left in the bus at 8 pm. At 11:10 pm, it was realised that we had crossed the city limits, and were pritty far from civilisation and were thouroughly lost. At 11:15 pm, a knowledgable senior arrived at our stranded locale and cheerfully informed us that we had taken a 2o km detour. We turned back. At 11:40 pm, the bus got stuck in a ditch. So everyone piled out. The Bigger Men pushed the bus. The Females stood on the road in their skimpy clothes. Which of the above was the stupider plan, is anyones guess. At 11:59 pm, we reach the blasted venue. There's a general shout which goes around to the effect of "Happy New Year". The party is...well....fun if you like all this sort of thing. Getting drunk senseless(and I'm not even going to Mention the other things), dancing to Some crappy music, and eating uncooked Rolls from Shitty Bites. I was delighted when I caught the first bus back at 2. I hear some others returned at 10 in the morning.

Gah. Give me a new year surrounded by friends and Good Food and lots of cheesy pasta(and cheesy jokes would be good, too) and book shopping. Thats what I intend to do now. And all the hung over people can sleep till 3 and feel happy with themselves.

It can't be repeated often enough. Happy New Year to all. And remind me to stay in bed next time around. And if you think this is a rant, well, you're correct.

Two? You Don't Say!

Merry Christmas, Quanza, Hanukha and the other weird festival I'm forgetting to all. It matters little, for today is a day of far greater significance, for today I complete two years of blogging. Yes, I know it's grown sporadic of late, and yes I know I'm a dog sometimes, but Blah!'s not done with quite yet, and it's a good day to celebrate a bloggiversary.

As it happens on moments and times of great significance to me, you shall all now be treated to my clever witty observations on life, and my brilliant(or terrible) advice for those younger than me. Admittedly, those younger than me are few and far between, so I would appreciate it greatly if you chosen few took these few pearls of wisdom to heart, and lived your life by them. If you don't, it's your loss. Really.

Two Years Worth of Unsound Advice

In very particular order of unimportance

• Women multitask a lot better than men. A lot better. Deal with it, and learn to use it to your advantage.
  
• I hate winter. Singapore has great weather.
  
• Under no circumstances should you let anyone near any part of you with a pair of tweezers.
• Steel Bunz is a wonderful name for an assasin. Especially if it is a bunny rabbit. (note to self, review manticore's secret in a few days)
• Things always work out better than you imagine. Especially if your imagination routinely involves dreams where all your teeth keep falling out.
  
• This is actually very sound advice, so listen up. Have faith in me. It pays very rich dividends. And you're most definitely getting it at a discount on the coupon rate.
  
• I am, unfortunately, or fortunately(depending on your point of view) going to be back.
  

Sadly, I am no longer the wisest person writing on this blog, so I'll leave a few pearls for V to finish off. After all, this is a bloggiversary, we can't be done just yet.

Good night to you, and good night to all
Steal Tiny Tim's crutch and use it in a brawl

You Go Girl!

I returned to the Alma Mater today, for the uninitiated that happens to be Delhi Public School R.K Puram, the wonderful place where I spent my school days. Getting back on track, it was indeed a pleasant and warming experience, which is exactly what you need when you're stuck in a Delhi Winter. I love being home yes, but there's not much in particular I enjoy about sub 20 degree tempratures. One met beloved teachers, annoying juniors, and spent a decent amount of time involved in the ever present activity of Shutting Manav Up.

For those again uninitiated with a phenomenon named Manav Kapur, it quite frequently latches on to you, becomes very loud and obnoxious, and will on occasion hit on you, regardless of your gender. Many studies, surveys, and solutions have been tried, but to no avail. There are few ways known to get rid of this Manav creature. However, somewhere in RKP there is hope, and it's in section 10 D.

I'm in the library at school, and this nice tich of a girl comes up to me, and tells me she likes reading my blog, so I say how nice of you, thank you very much. Manav gets annoyed that above mentioned lady has not been reading his outdated and long dead journal, and questions her to the same. Our lady replies in a sweet and polite tone that she has never heard of the rag. At this point, Manav badgers on further, explaining how Blah! carries a link to the same, and went as far as to tell her the appropriate URL. He then nary commands the girl to go visit, something she is clearly not very impressed with. She smiles at the lad, and tells him "I shall do my best not to visit the said place", or something along those lines.
Manny, now obviously hurt, goes "What was that supposed to mean", to which she responds in quick and biting tone "It's called Sarcarsm", and walks away.

Manav, he who cannot be silenced, was. He had been shut up in quick and suave fashion by a young lady three years his junior. A hush and pallor fell over a once noisy library, broken half a second later by my constant and undying laughter. I turned to the girl, to get her name.
Sadly, I was laughing too hard to pay proper attention. EDIT: I have been told it is Akshara. If you are reading this, you have my heartiest congratulations, you could be the cure to a vile and virile disease. At any rate you gave me and some of our teachers a damn good laugh. Pip pip, and three cheers to you.

Home

Indira Gandhi International, Arrival Lounge, Delayed Luggage, Dug Up Roads, Security Check, Safdarjung Enclave, Night time fog, My dinner table, Paranthas, Dahi, Sabzi, Daal, Gajar Ka Halwa, Fawning parents, Insane Aunts, Did I mention food?, Own bed, night time chill, landline phone calls, Crazy home, Powercuts, Television, My big bad bookshelf, Morning Breakfast on the Table, Eggs and Toast, Buttered Properly, Friends, Insane Friends, Manav(a category apart),Delhi Roads, Inefficient Banks, Prepaid Lines, Proof of Identity, More Television, LSR, DTC Buses, The Sheer and Unadulterated Rush.

Home.

Sigh...

It's good to be back.

This is My December

This is My December
This is My Time of the Year
This is My December
This is all so clear

Exams are over, term one is over, and I shall now mooch around with an insolent smirk on my face, for some time to come.
Welcome to my december.

And You Thought Blue Lips Were Bad

It could be worse. You could get the Kiss Of Death.

It tastes like Peanut Butter.
Be careful, boss. You never know...
Hehe.

Wrapping Things Up

It's been a long time since I last wrote. The sad irony is that I have had plenty to write about, it's been one of my busiest months ever, well busiest half month's at least(I am now doing practically nothing, as I have only two exams to study for, unlike most of the poor sods, who have four or five) and a very interesting one to boot. My first term at college is at an end, and...I leave back for home with a few mixed feelings. Obviously, I could have done more here, obviously I missed out on a good few good times, and should have learnt some things a lot sooner than I did. Well, I take it all with a pinch of salt, and look forward to next term. Lest I speak too soon, I have two exams to wrap up, ensure they go well, and keep my GPA sort of on the higher side.

That said and done, I miss home, and am really looking forward to going back. I want paranthas. Lots of them. I want to watch TV without chinese advertisements extolling the beauty of perfectly clear skin. I want to see how in god's name they have advertised, successfully, a product named Fair And Handsome back in India. Above all else, I want to sleep before midnight again, I miss that. I'm not a late night person.

My impressions of this place are constantly evolving. In many ways it is a lot like my home city, Delhi. It has the same struggle for identity happening, the same clash of values and clash of cultures. The same stigmata associated with migrants to the city (although over here they do live in first world standards and not slums), and I have discovered a very similiar divide between the english educated and the non-english educated population. However, I do feel they're a good few steps up the ladder as compared to Delhi inasmuch as creating an identity for themselves, through the many racial and cultural divides that exist here. It makes living and studying here a very interesting experience.

There are things I would love to take back. Malls here have their head straight, they come with GIGANTIC bookstores, such as Kiyonoyuki(I've spelled it wrong, I know, sue me) and Borders. These cover the better part of an entire mall's floor, and stock pretty much everything you'd ever think you might find in a bookstore. They're the size of larger public libraries. You can get lost in them. Why can't Delhi have something like this? Om Book Shop touts itself as large, it's a piddly little ant in comparision. Instead, we get decadent malls with apparel outlets, and possibly one or two tech shops.

There's a sense of order and cleanliness that again, I wish I could import back home. Here, Delhi is changing but has a long way to go. But if you notice Delhi, the areas that are clean stay clean, because at the end of the day no one feels like creating a mess where there isn't one, but everyone is fine with adding to an existing one. Bit by bit, there more areas we deem "Clean", the fewer people will have to pee on, and chuck their garbage around. Again, this isn't going to happen fast.

Oh, and I love the Mass Transit here. It's the best ever, the buses are comfortable, compartive in price to Autorickshaws, airconditioned, and faster than rick's anyday. DTC of course does have it's wonderfully rustic charm (two hoots to anyone who doesn't agree), but really you have to admire the services here. They're privatised, obviously.

It's going to be an interesting few years is all I can say. There's plenty yet on this Island I haven't seen, and plenty I haven't discovered. You get the oddest things here, though, so I imagine there's a lot more out there for the continuing adventures of me.

But for now, I look forward to home: two weeks and 2300 miles away.

Jugaad

The concept of Jugaad is not a new one. Jugaad is managing with what you've got, and creating solutions out of that. Jugaad is the Washing Machine that's retrofitted to make lassi, Jugaad is the hairclip keeping your electrical system together.

Jugaad is also what you do on Diwali, away from home. Because Diwali is meant to be spent at home, with family and close friends in an atmosphere conducive to nothing more than joy. Jugaad is the tips and tricks of getting Diwali into a foreign country, where there isn't what you would regularly qualify as a good ol' jing bang celebration.

Jugaad is going to the supermarket to hunt around for something, anything that can be converted into Diwali decorations. Jugaad is hanging college identity cards as counterbalances to the back of diwali decorations in an attempt to hang them to a wall, and actually succeeding.

Jugaad looks like what you see in the photo right there, everything just works out in the end, and wonderfully so. This was our diwali night, at hostel, when we had no plans, no decorations, no crackers, no diyas, no pleasant looking lights and none of that other fancy stuff. We had a whole bunch of semi-depressed hostellers missing home terribly, and generally losing hope of having a good time. Two hours later, the lot of us were buzzing, eating copious(well, as much as we had and could manage) quantities of Mithai (Kaju ki Barfi, mostly) and having a general good time.
It's diwali time, and I've had some great presents from one and all.

There were presents from Dhoni the day before the blessed event, there were presents from my family, especially my Bua on D-Day and it seems an organisation much hated in college, known as the CCTE has given a wonderful present to a good few people the day after the blessed events.

Happy Diwali, once again, and Eid Mubarak for tomorrow. It's a great new year, with a great new start.

To Reiterate

Happy Diwali to all....especially to all kindred souls stuck in a place far far away from home and loved ones. May big fat hairy monsters die lonely deaths for not calling up more often. May everyones year(by the Hindu calender) go off as hale and hearty as Captain Haddock on a drinking spree...peace on earth, goodwill to men.

Happy Diwali

Happy Diwali to one and all. May the new year bring you much cheer and joy.

More on this later.

The Weekend Roundup

Weeks are passing by way too fast. Here's what you should do, and should not do, one more time.

Things That you Should do

Read East of Eden, by Steinbeck. This is a seminal book. There are few novels that can convince me to sacrfice my sleep, my time and...other stuff. This was most definitely one of them. I stayed up till four at night to finish it off, and somehow managed to get myself out of bed at Seven thirty in the morning, to make it to my class. Without coffee. That's how good a book it is.
The book itself is a retelling of the story of Kane and Abel, but fatastically well done. It takes a 16 verse piece of the bible, and turns it into an epic. It's about family, and brothers, and most importantly about the freedom of choice. The defining theme of the book, "Timshel", or Thou Mayest makes the most brilliant of sense, that at the end of the day the choice of sin, the choice of your future, and the choice of happiness is yours and yours alone.

Read Cocaine, by Dominic Streatfeild. It's an amazing book. It's about Cocaine. Well, that's about it, really. But it gives a really incredible detailed account of the drug, and how it's shaped our world today, and the events that went into making it such a phenomenon in the states. For any of you college going chappies who're into experimentation, the brutality of the thing will also scare the crap out of you. This is the most addictive, scary and complex substance in the world. Read about it.

Switch to firefox, if you haven't already. Makes my life easier. Gets me a better grade too.

Things you should not do

Watch "Anchorman". A worse feat of cinema has yet to come out of hollywood. This is a terrible movie. If you thought "A night at the roxbury" was bad, you're in for a surprise. Will Farrel can be worse. If you thought Maid In Manhattan was cliched, you're in for a surprise, it can get worse. This movie is so bad, you actually want to watch it to the end, to see just how terribly bad it is. However, you are all busy and don't have time for this sort of thing. Therefore, this is definitely something you should not do.

Attempt Rock Climbing with Sandals. Just don't. It's a bad idea. You slip, cut yourself, and get blisters.

Attempt to win brownie points from your professor by calling her a hundred years old. Especially if the proffesor is female. Especially if you're telling her that she'll get nostalgic using a typewriter.

Horror and more

You know how it happens, when you read a lot of an author, and you go through like a graph of how much you like them. Its very sinusoidal in nature often...you'll really like some books, and your opinion will dip with others, and so on. Well, Stephen King just took a very abrupt downturn for me...He was, surprisingly enough, pretty mush rising with Carrie, and Dark Half accentuated that. Dreamcatcher got him crashing down.He was raised to god-all levels with Shawshank Redemption, and Plumbed with Apt Pupil(I mean, Eurggh).But you have No idea what disappointment feels like till you read The Shining.Youve heard a lot about the scariness, about the uber-cool Jack Nicholson movie and whatnot(and of course, that Joey is shit-scared of the book) and naturally expect there to be a good amount of thrills and chills. Well, in a line, it is the stupidest plot in a book I have ever read.There is a complete lack of anything close to sense in the book-and yeah, not much titillation, either:PHopefully the current book will deliver to expectations...

There Was a point to the above. Which was basically, to request All of you who are in the vicinity, or are in the mood for lots of fun event, take part in Legala.Advertising doesn't seem to be the norm in this blog, so I shall desist, but please do contact me if you wish to participate.

Decadance

Mid Term Breaks are wonderful things. They give you a chance to relax, take things easy for the shortest life and reorganise the priorities of your life. To put it simply, they let you eat, sleep and do not much else. "We see this as a good thing".

Well, I did exactly that in my break. I relaxed, I didn't wake up to smell the coffee, I tried not to wake up at all, in fact, but failed miserably. (No, I didn't try to commit suicide, you silly rabbits). There is a word to describe this lifestyle. It's called decadence. During the holidays, I found the Prophet of the Religion Of Decadence. The Decadent Cupcake.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, once priorities have been reorganised, this blog will now shift back to it's usual and primary purpose. The Description of Food.
For Two Dollars, from the College Seven Eleven Store, you get this monstrosity of a cupcake. Female Figures have declined politely, and impolitely to try it, citing reasons of acute calorie abusage. I can't fault them with that. The cupcake is largish, rich chocolate, and covered both inside and out with chocolate goo. The goo is thick, fattening molten chocolate. This is decadence if I ever saw it. The sad/happy part is that I am addicited to it.
This means, money I would earlier spend on such piffling concerns as meals and Ice Apple Tea will now go to the decadence fund. That's because I've reorganised my priorities, and boy is chocolate important.

Aller et Venir

My vacation time fast approaches its end.To sound nice and cliched, time flew-only yesterday, I was cribbing about having nothing to do and losing a Lot of balance messaging useless bums in the next compartment in my train because we crossed the ****ing state border and the network went into roaming.And after about two week of pretty much nothing but sloth(and meeting people. And How.)-I have-despite other peoples attempt to snatch the title from my rightful hands-perfected and mastered the Art of Sloth-its time to go back to the ol' rut.

A big fat furry friend of mine and I were discussing this once, the subtle but crucial difference between Coming Home and Going Home. Pretty much all of school life was about coming home after school, after coaching, after (extended) lunches, after vacations-home was the bedrock. And now, life has turned to going Back home, which involves planning and boasting for a week in advance, endless packing and repacking and the essentially tragic and shattering realisation that you'll be living out of a suitcase and your hold over your home has been weakened ever so much.You mighn't be Alpha when you get back...

Such questions are futile, of course. Hence, I gear up for the drudgery of US Budget deficits(SIGH) and endless classes-though perked up by the fact that Hutch-Hutch rates are cheaper:) and hope to reconcile the question topmost in my head. The name of the song/movie haunting me, of which the Only part I distinctly remember, is "Jhonka something somethng something, baarish bulata hoga na...". Its damn pretty and damn obscure. Ah well, such is life.

Dussehra

Hullo to all. I'm not dead, contrary to popular demand. I have been resting. The hell I have. I've had midterms, and then a very busy midterm break is in progress, where I sit around, procrastinate about project work, and watch movies. Lots of movies. This is I believe, a good thing and what college should be all about. Sadly, this is simply not true for the better part of my college existence.

Happy Dussehra to one and all. I miss home today, I miss home a lot. Dussehra is a time of togetherness, of family and most definitely of Poori Halwa, Poori Aalu, and Poori Chana. With all these things absent, a great gaping hole exists where once a heart flourished. Or in other words, I was willing to fork out five dollars to have pooris with aalu.

Time is of the essesnce, so once again a quick run down of things you should or should not do.

Things you should do

First, watch Hazaaron Khwahishein Aisi. It's a brilliant, brilliant film, and definitely deserved an oscar nod above Paheli, and Swades. It's beautifully done, set in 70's India, has gripping characters and performances, and an ending that leaves a lump in your throat.
Next, watch Snatch. It's a good fun rollicking british movie, about a diamond heist. It's wonderfully crafted and for the lady folk, it has a topless Brad Pitt with a funny accent.
Do read Blink, by Malcomm Gladwell. It's a fun and interesting book about subconcious desicion making and will most definitely pique your interest, o discerning reader.
After you're done with this, thank whichever god you pray to that you are back home, and are capable of eating home food. If you are not back home, and eating home food, pray to god that some day you shall be.

Things you should not do

Do not, under any circumstances try to coherently write an email at three in the morning. It's "Not a good idea"
Do not, in expectation of a midterm, have 3 cans of red bull, and two cups of coffee.
Do not buy "Neuticles", for gods sake. What is wrong with people? Why is there a market for these things?
Do not assume I have done any or all of these things.

October The First

It's midterm week for me, at college. Starting monday, I have some hassle or the other all the way up to saturday, my last midterm. Following this, I have a week long break, where I intend to try to do little aside from catch up on movies, computer games, and other normal things you're supposed to bloody be doing in college.

That gripe dealt with, it's The First Of October. Let's all celebrate the start of another month, a new beggining. Well, I hope it will be a new beggining, but only time will tell.

Octopus Porn

In the very distinguished society of debators that I belong to, we bring up several topics of discussion and debate in our sessions, and argue them out in parlimentary style. We are polite, formal and I'm pretty much done lying now. The fact is, every so often we get bored, and need to find a really strange topic to debate on. For Thursday Training, The Motion Before The House was that Animated Child Pornography should be legalised. Suffice to say, it made for interesting argumentation; not often do the words hentai when senior members who shall not be mentioned at this point brought up the matter of Octopus Porn, much to general public's surprise, shock and well...disgust.
Surprise: Why in god's name do you know about octopus porn?
Shock: You KNOW what octopus porn is? What in gods name is that?
Disgust: THAT is octopus porn! My god man, what have you been doing?

This is of course a very sober and family oriented blog, so under no circumstances shall I be elaborating on what the mentioned act entails, although I will say that the Japanese are a bunch of filthy perverts. Certain other writers on this journal might point out to you that there are 233000 google entries for Octopus Porn, but then you'd have to take their word for it. Since they're now on vacation, and have free time on their hands, they might even be as kind as to answer your queries.

Hopefully, regular psychology will work at this point, and you shall all immediately be googling for the same. Suffice to say you're all filthy perverts.
Go away. It's october the first. I think I shall go to Pearl's Hill City Park and step on some frogs.

Culture Shock: Negotiating In Singapore

Singapore has no concept of MRP, that much I think I have mentioned. You can bargain to your hearts content over here, especially if you're in an area like Chinatown, or some of the other less westernised areas of town. However, bargaining comes with it's own set of protocols and local customs, as I discovered about a month ago, when I bought my cellphone. Allow me to elaborate.
If you are bargaining in India, or Thailand (the only other place I've haggled), it's a pretty straightfoward procedure(Unless of course it's with an Autowallah in which case you must abuse him soundly). You bid, keep taking the price down, and ask him for his best price. If it finally pleases you, you purchase, and if it doesn't, or you want to look around you walk off, possibly with a promise to return.
Herein lies the key difference in Singapore, as I found out when I put the question to my entirely singaporean Leadership & Teambuilding class. For this is what happened. I bargained. I brought the price down. I asked the man for the best price he would give, I said I would check around, and the proceeded to attempt to assault me for not purchasing the phone.
Here is why. If you ask for best price in Singapore, you are by honour obliged to purchase the item. Bargain all you like, but once you say those magic words, YOU MUST BUY. This is indeed a strange custom, because one is used to it being an open market, where one is king. One does not, under any circumstances, expect to have a lamp raised to one's head, and be threatened with quick and sudden retaliation.
Luckily, I managed to placate the man, and walked off. I also managed to get a better deal on the phone somewhere else, however I pretty much purchased it immediately, for fear of life. This is not a good way to attract customers.
But local customs differ, and thus I have learnt and will continue to practice the art of negotiating without ever mentioning the words "Best Price". As for the not so nice cellphone salesman, in the words of a wiser man, May Barbarians Invade His Personal Space.

NTU BP IV's

Or How I Fared in My First College Tournament

Getting to NTU:
Getting to NTU is a bit of a process, which kind of reveals how incredibly spoilt I have gotten to the fact that everything is really close by in Singapore. NTU is, pretty much as far as you're going to get in terms of transit in Singapore, it's right out at the eastern edge and takes, yes ladies and gentlemen, an Entire Hour to get to, by public transit. There involves a change of two metro lines, and the taking of one bus, and costs an incredible 2 dollars each way. That's almost Rs 60. In retrospect, that's not that bad at all, but lets face it, 2 dollars a trip is a bit pricy. Enough rants about expeditures.
The campus itself is large, florid and quite pritty. It unfortunately bears resemblance to IIT Kanpur, both in structure and in spirit. The lecture theatres are quite the same, albiet airconditioned, and the building style is well, engineery. I'm glad, very glad I didn't chose to spend my college years doing engineering, it would not have suited me at all.
Enough rants about my college choices.
The tournanment was to start bright and early at nine in the morning, with registration at 8 30. We arrived, a mere five minutes late, to find out most people didn't share our ideals of punctuality. The tournament eventually started at about ten thirty, with the first round of debating, and I did pretty well for myself. As a whip speaker, and with a teammate who started his extension in his sixth minute, I came in 2nd, and earned myself two points.
Diversion: I enjoy doing Opp. Whip, it's got a horribly perverse tone to it, and suits me well.
The next three debates were awful, for completely different reasons. I shall not delve too much into them, and instead get to the meaty bits. The Semifinals, and Finals.
Two SMU Teams broke into the Semifinals, SMU A and SMU B (surprise surprise). SMU A, consisting of Shuvam and Priyam henceforth referred to as The Power Couple, scraped through from what I heard into the Finals, from their draw. SMU B, from what I witnessed and cheered on with, had a pretty clear cut victory through the finals. Things were generally set up for a fun time. Two SMU Teams, two NTU teams, opening house NTU, closing house SMU, it was a recepie for disaster. The motion before the house was "Nations are Rouge only when Confronted", and the opening government, NTU A, decides to squirrel.
A squirrel is when you completely change the spirit of the motion, to suit your needs, because you are a bastard of the first order.
Thus, the entire debate, for some reason, got centered in Myanmar, and discussed how the government side wished to propose sanctions on the country, so as to force them into dialogue, or something which was far far more confusing than that. This effectively made it...a terrible debate, and killed any chance Closing Government had of making sense, as they had a flimsy case to support. Joey and Amira,(SMU B) thus lost out. Big time. But all was well and good, for SMU A Saved The Day(forgive me for rhyming) and came out with a brilliantly done extension to win the house. Adjudication took only five minutes, before results were announced. SMUDS had just won it's first local BP IV. Not bad for a club that's three years old. Not bad at all.

Hopefully, by next year, I'll be breaking and competing in the finals for similiar guts and glory, it's good to be on a winning team, a winning institution, years at RKP have got me really used to it.

..For I Have Sinned...

I seem to be incorporating a number of the deadly sins in my daily life these days. Sloth,sigh, I have given up trying to fight. I am a lazy arse, and Proud of it. But Good God, the depths I sunk to today, its not even funny.

The Sunday dawned bright, and a wallet full of cash. Since certain specimens of the male populace didnt get up on time, I had a day free, and the plan was made to go to NSS. NSS is a whole culture at National Law School. Its where Everyone goes for lunches. Its this nice, quiet, traditional diga restaraunt, good food, its the best place to 'positively interact' with someone, and it gives a discount to lawschoolites.So three of us land up there. We have a LOT of food- but then, that is by My standards, not my company's- and then there was dessert.

Well, to call it dessert would be a misstatement. More like..little drops of heaven.Theres a hot plate, on which is this sexy chocolate brownie. On which there is an incongruously placed slab of vanilla icecream. You start giggling when you see the icecream falling off and making sizzling noises. Then, the guy comes and adds nuts, which get all nice and roasted. And Then, he comes with this lil soup-tureen-type-thingummy and Pours out hot chocolate, till the brownie is Swamped. Theres Chocolate Everywhere! And its Brilliant!it beats Barista's Chocolate excess to bits-the sizzling plate actually burns you. I prefer it to DBC, because DBC kinda overdoes the chocolate(no, it is Not a contradiction in terms, taste it and see). Critics say the Sizzling Brownie is not sweet enough. I have just one word to say to them. Dumbasses!Mmmm....Perfect Meal.Its the 18th today...which would mean,among other things, very little time for preparation. But I shall spend a bit more, contemplating on how Good the SB actually was....

Cultural Mongrels

I live in a hostel with people from all over India, and Asia. I'm in a college with pretty much the same. I interact with people from all over the place, and while I may lay claims to being used to this, coming from DPS R.K Puram, this just takes it to a whole new level. Languages, thus, have become a major major melting pot, especially when one tries their hardest to stick to english, so as to let everyone have some allowance in understanding what is being said.

Let me take up my hostel, first, and particularly the Indian crowd. It's from all over. This is a problem. We're all starting to sound horrible, because we can't seem to stick to one vernacular at all. The guys from Calcutta, (Kolkotta, you bengali supremists, damn you) do not seem to understand the concept of First Person Singular. "Main" (I, in Hindi) seems to have been forcefully removed from their vocabulary, and thus they refer to themselves in plural. Thus, "Humne Nahin Keeya"doesn't mean the whole lot of em didn't do the work, it just means that Vivek's a lazy dog.

Next, there is of course, the Delhi influence. Thus, the Calcutta, and various other crowds have started using the words Banda and Bandi to refer to males and females, aside from many other typical delhi words, some of which shall simply not be mentioned at all. Along with this is my inherent Punjabi influence, which has added such wonderful cultural additions, as the previously mentioned "Swaah", the ever useful "Had Hundi Hai", and the seldom used "Gwaachi di Gaawan"(Lost Cows) to refer to the nefarious dissapearances of the girls of the hostel, at critical cake cutting moments.

Not to be left out is the influnce from the west. From Mumbai and Baroda, we get the ever prevelant "Lukha", to describe pretty much anyone. If you wish to be particularly abusive, the Marathas will use the word "Ghaat" or Ghaati to a remarkable extent. Baju, again, is dropped here and there in regular conversation.

Now, if the remarkable amount of Indian vernacular was not confusing enough, wait orredy. The Singlish is about to start. Orredy, we have started concluding sentences with "lah", for no apparent reason. The verb "Can" makes sense to us all, and it's only a matter of time before we drop all other verb and sentence formations for the single "Can" or the very expressive "Can Can". Expeltives, of course, no good language training can do without. As a general expression, Wah Lao, and Wah Lei Li are quite common. The rest...one should again not mention in the kind spaces of this blog.

But it doesn't end. One encounters Filipinos, and their associated "Parrang"s, things over here are too ex, and one spends to much as a result, and for some reason, thanks to the Tamil Influence down here, even the Chinese people use "Aiyyo".
Something needs to be done, but I for one cannot.

Airborne Time

Weeks fly by here. It's now been three weeks of college, five weeks of being here, and I can hardly tell. Time just buzzes by, because at all times you have something or the other to do. The weekdays race by, in a flurry. They go by in a mess of classes, group meetings, project work, homework, assignment work, debating practice, and...home chores(In the interests of politeness, and the tact I am desperately trying to inculcate, however failing desperately in doing, I shall not further elaborate on the phrase "Home Chores").
Not to sound trite and overdone, but college really opens up a whole new world for you. Everything kinda has to be done on your own, sure there's a lot of people to help you out, but they're not going to offer to until you reach out. There's a whole lot I've learned, and it's sort of been rammed down my throat. Most of it is well, too complex or too boring to share with you mere mortals, hence I'll brief you on the more interesting things I've learnt in an easy to understand, bullet point format.

• Signposting is important. Always signpost. It builds up matter, makes you look important.
• RIN Bar is bad for your hands, don't use too much of it.
• If you turn "Baby One More Time" into a hard rock song, you can actually headbang to it. Serious!
  
• There is no greater incentive to hostel and college life than the word "Free Dinner". There may be no such thing as a free lunch, but free dinners are all over the place
• Do not ever eat Wasabi. Do not ever eat anything with Fish Flakes. Do not even go near "Durian"
• Everything is exchangable in hostel, and everyone needs something. Don't ever throw anything away.
• Chinese people cannot pronounce the syllable "Bh". A B or a P has to suffice. Welcome to the world of Pav/Bav "Rhymes with Love" Kahna.
  
• Signposting is important, you can repeat what you say and make up time doing that.
  
• There are few things as fun as jumping off your seat during a debate and yelling out "Fallacy Sir! Shame!"
  
• College life is a breeze, where work is optional, and you spend most of your time partying.
  
• Fallacy Sir! Shame!

In unrelated news, I've had a great weekend, where I have actually gone shopping and bought myself a pair of brand new Sandals, the Nike ones which are supremely overpriced in India, but decent enough over here. They're exceedingly comfortable.
Oh, that's not all. I've spoilt myself silly, and got myself a haircut, after a period far too long not to have a haircut. I am, now of course broke and need to withdraw money from my account.
Am starting to realise that I can spend a little more, the college has given me a decent amount of money for this term. Accoring to my handy dandy calculator, I can spend 191.66666 dollars a week, with the remainder of my grant money. I am currently spending around 80-90.

However, I am the world's second most thrifty person (How can I ever take the honour away from Prateek Chadha), and will see how things go.

Time Travel, Grammar and The Postal Service

First of all, many thanks to Vrinda for giving the idea for this...babble.

The world today is connected. Exceedingly well. In Victorian times, or a little closer to home, messages would take weeks to get across, with the advent of faster telecommunications, days, and soon enough you could send a telegram, but only if you were packing a lot of wads in yer wallet. Basically, the cheapest, if not fastest, method of communication for a very long time was Postal Mail, hereby reffered to as "snail mail", not in any ways to be confused with the far more elaborate "Snail Mail".
After the internet revolution, the world changed. Whever the hell you were, it had suddenly become affordable (but only just) to send messages across instataneously. There was email, there was ISD that didn't involve booking calls on a trunk line, there was basically a whole lot of change. As we entered a new century, we got VOIP, net conferencing, Mobile Phones, and finally SMS. Prices plummeted, and suddenly, everyone could get the message, quite literally.

Charms of the old fashioned system, as it is with most old fashioned systems, fail to be lost. Thus, the postal system in most countries has not, in fact, become obsolete. They're enough people sending mail here and there to keep it going. In fact, Japan even plans to privatise it, if their Richard Gere-esque Prime Minister can manage to get himself re-elected. The problem is, most information you wish to convey by snail mail has, in all probability, already happened, and with even greater probability already been discussed amongst the parties involved in the whole mailing experience.

Douglas Adams, whom I'm sure you're all familiar with, covered the nasty world of punctuation over time gaps quite well in his book, The Restraunt At the End of the Universe. I offer here the link that covers his views, in the form of Dr. Streetmentioner's Time Travel Handbook Of 1001 Tense Formations. The fact is, that you need these to describe events in a snail mail that will happen in your future, but have already happened by the time the reader has read the mail, and he or she is already aware of the said event's occurance. Tense and Grammar, as certain Violent Panda's and Annoying Short Guy's have pointed out time and time again, are very important.

Seeing how this is the only real way you're going to attempt time travel, you might as well give it a shot. For now, I wioll haven be have cake.

Eighteen

It's been a long time coming, a good eighteen years to be exact. Today, I'm an adult, I'm finally and officially legal and accountable for my own actions. Ironically, I've never felt as young since...since I couldn't remember how young or old I felt. I've always thought myself to have this mature head on my shoulders, to be a bit aged for my years(don't I give myself airs) and after joining college I've really been feeling very young indeed. There's so much to learn, so much to experience and so much my seniors, and indeed my peers have to teach me.

Enough with the serious talk, I'm young, immature and I'm, to use a phrase, Going to Be Eighteen Till I Die.

Book Review: The Great Gatsby

By F Scott. Fitzgerald

Having nothing to do before college started, I used the great large Li Ka Shing Library(in which I am sitting right now) to issue some reading material. Little did I know that this was a college library, and was thus unsympathetic to the cause of light fiction. To be fair, it did contain a Jeeves omnibus, but little else. Oliver Twist isn't exactly my idea of an enjoyable evening's sit down, and the Philosophical fare looked very uninviting. Some day, I shall read Franz Kafka's metamorphosis, but that day's not for another month, at least.

So what I did pick up and read was The Great Gatsby, a story primarily about a man named Gatsby(who'da thunk it) and...well...how he goes about attempting to get a girl. This of course is not blindingly obvious, wherein lies the beauty of the book. The second wonderful thing you will find is that, well, it doesn't really have a hunky dory ending. Unlike most love stories, this neither ends in Tragedy for the pair, nor a happily ever after. Gatsby dies, and well...no one really cares. It really makes you stop and think, about how you should lead your life, how you should prioritize people, and how you shouldn't wait too long.

This wasn't, as I had hoped, a fun read. It was, however, a very good one. One where you feel great sympathy in the end for the characters. One where you end up thinking about what went wrong. And ultimately, the clincher as far as I'm concerned, one where a lot of people die.
You can't really end a story without killing someone off.

College

College

College started last Monday, and classes started again for me, after a gap of over 8 months. Sitting in a classroom again, as a result, was almost a novel experience, though I am disappointed to report that a week on and I’m already jaded, and plan to fall asleep during my next Statistics Class. This is highly advisable, as staying awake and paying attention through three hours of statistics isn’t the best of ideas, you’ll lose your mind and never get any real work done. I also submitted homework to my Financial Accounts professor on Monday, the first time I think I have done and given homework on time in well over four years. Impressive. But how can you not do homework for a man who asks as the first question of his first multiple choice quiz (which counts towards 10% of my grade, the quizzes)
“In Accounts Class
A)Homework must be submitted
B)We don’t need to do homework
C)We have homework, but don’t have to submit it
D) There is no homework”

This, I assure you, is the least of the man’s stunts, and he has thus inspired me to study his course. This is again, a good thing, as accounts isn’t one of those loveable courses you can breeze through even with a bad Prof.

Classes over and done with, I joined up my first two CCA’s (Co Curricular Activities). Fencing classes (which I was made to pay for, the horrors) will start late September, and I have already started my training at SMUDS (or the SMU Debating Society).
SMUDS is full of people who have lost some part of their mind. This makes me feel quite at home. Additionally, the seniors in the society seem to think being evil and mean is a fun way to pass time. This is a skill I felt I had lost, but to meet people ready to inculcate me back into the fold, heartens my soul. Thus, I have taken up being randomly evil again, and I assure you, it’s as fun as ever. Just please look out, if you’ve got a webcam installed, and you’re trying to chat with your boyfriend. You don’t want an evil SoB (School of Business, you filthy minded lot) student coming up behind you to give you a big hug.

Or do you?

Finally!

Introducing Godi Lattu

Pronounced Goh-dee Lat tu

After what seems to have been the better part of enternity, my laptop, a spanking new T 42+1 Thinkpad(yes, it still says IBM on it) presented itself to me today. It's progress to it's ultimate destination was slow, marred by inumerable tragedies, and generally made my life annoying over the last three weeks.

But Godu is here now, and all is well again. With my own computer, I shall now return to regular, and boy do I mean regular, blogging. So, dear readers, or whatever is left of dear readers(one notices a major drop in hits since one left for Singapore) suggest a topic, and it shall be written about.

Alternatively, I'll just ramble on about whatever the hell I feel like.
Which sounds like a half decent idea as well.

Convocation

My college held its convocation today. It was a nice, hot -shot function, what with the CJI and other HC and Sc CJs there, along with various MPs, MLAs etc(dont you just love the acronymns in the last sentence?) There were various advantages. For one, all the departing batch was there. Which , to be frank, wasnt really affecting life in any major way. For two, there was great free food. It wasnt strictly for us, of course. To be fair, it wasnt for us, period. But if you Happened to be in the academic block, and Happened to not have work to do, and Happened to espy that all the seniors were busy unto themselves (as most of us did) it would be criminal to refuse hot GulabJamuns[ you discover the value of nice, good, Hot, GJs once you cross the North south divide. They dont believe in good dessert here. And no, Mysore Pak does not count). Also, we get tomorrow off, which is brilliant. One extra day to postpone the washing of the clothes....

We got all dressed up and were made to get up at the ridiculous hour of 6 on a beeyutiful Sunday morning. Chicks getting ready in saris in a common bathroom without their customary mothers around- it is a sight not to be seen! Thankfully, coupla them knew how to tie saris pretty decently. Even more thankfully, I decided to stick to the more conventional and plainer, but inifnitely more comfortable and better looking salwar kameez. of course, as things are wont to happen, the bus did not leave till 8(*cough*sodding arses*cough*)....

The function itself was rather drab and boring...the highlights being the silver sceptre(there was a silver sceptre! they insisted on calling it a mace, but i know a sceptre when i see one...), a random disruptment and general hungama when a striker entered the hall and started shouting some slogans and was chucked out, and the free food.And the guys looking absolutely adorable and utterly marry-able in formals. And having to correct fifty billion copies of the bleddy speech which had some typos in it, all the while making up ridiculous jokes and games.

All in all, a day well wasted.

First Impressions

I think I have made a point before, on how first impressions work in the world that I inhabit. They're godawful. I don't think I've made a single good one in my life, especially with the people now most important to me. Thus, it is heartening to know that I have continued this trend here at SMU. You see, the last three days, I've had a big grand ol' freshman orientation camp for international students, followed by our official convocation (congratulations, you're in college) ceremony. This has given me the opportunity to meet several new and interesting people, and create a whole variety of first impressions. Let me start with the most common.

I smile. A lot. Strangely. Pretty much all the time. People can't seem to figure this fact out. Added to this, I have a habit of randomly strolling about, and popping into different groups of people at different times. All the while smiling. This has prompted a first impression on several people, who now think I'm on drugs. As I may have mentioned before, I am not.

Well, if this wasn't enough, at the end of camp, one outdid himself. The last thing you should do before a crowd of international freshman at the end of a two day camp is go up with two other guys and sing Wonderwall. Hindsight, as they say is 20/20.

But of course, the cherry on the cake is never added till the very end. Today was convocation, as I have mentioned. Formal affair. White shirt, black pants. As I am a scholar, I was to recieve my Scholarship commendation this day as well, and thus had got myself a very nice Blue SMU Tie, provided to all scholars. Thus, dressed like a perfect gentleman, I marched up on stage and recieved the digs. The ceremony ended, and disaster struck.
They had a rock concert.
They played headbanging songs.
I had company, the same who sang wonderwall, who would headbang along with me.
There were three video cameras on us, broadcasting these images to the entire audience, as we were right up next to the stage.

That is called making a first impression, on the entire bleddy college.
Congratulations, Mr. Khanna, you've done it yet again.

Ties That Bind

The worst part about being in a God Forsaken Gaon, is that they don't celebrate any normal festivals, like the rest of the country. Rakhi is coming up, and the whole funda is missing from the general psyche. Having to remember to go and buy them, and send them, without someone prompting me, was whole new experience. And though I set off enthusiastically, I was greatly disappointed to learn that most shopkeepers had not heard of the concept itself. In one non-descript shop, I esoied a sad little sign saying "Raki. 19th Aug."The guy took out one box of the most garishly coloured monstrosities possible-and coming from me, thats a Strong Statement. There was one with a bright blue plastic bunny rabbit, one with a diameter of atleast 2 inches, and All had a base of bright, shiny Golden threads. Course, the Evil side of me wanted to buy and send -and tie- the most spectacular ones to each of my chaand se bhais.But better sense prevailed-I Do want monetary returns. I actually spotted some thread like rakhis, very sober, very tiny, and looking very pretty. I asked the guy for 4 with a thankful grin. He looked at me positively aghast, and in his Diga Hindi, said "But Madam, yeh to Friendship Band hain". The bugger positively refused to part with them. I mean, I know, friendship bands have special significances *cough* but still......

The sad part is, not only do we not get a day off for Rakhi(we have an examination, thank you very much), there is also the very sad fact that sending Rakhis is absolutely no guarantee of pecuniary recompensation. Gah. Being a girl sucks!

Long weekend soon, and just 2 exams to go. Dude Where's My Car, Top Gun, 9 hours of sleep a day, and iff i can manage it, Bill and Ted's.Woohoo!

Chinatown Adventures

This is my first in my series of my continuing adventures in Singapore, particularly the ones around the area I am staying, Chinatown.

Now, Chinatown in Singapore is actually very nice. The place, contrary to what everyone will lead you to believe, does not smell. The place, contrary to what everyone tells you, is not a hellhole. The place is quite lovely in fact, and as a real bonus to hostel living fellows, is cheap as cheap can be, living in Singapore. Allow me to make a small diversion at this point.

There exists no concept of MRP at all in this City. Walk a hundred meters to a new shop/supermarket, and the same items could cost double the amount, or more. If you want to know how to get stuff cheap, two things are a must. You have to explore your options, and you have to be open to bargaining, because in Singapore, and especially in Chinatown, haggling goes.

My hostel is in this small lane(Pearl's Hill Road) behind a very large apartment complex, and at the base of a smallish but not all that small hill, called, no surprise: Pearl's Hill. The entire hill itself is a very large park, which is amazingly maintained by a local secondary school, under the "Adopt a Park Scheme" of Singapore. The park, being on a hill, is three dimensional, and in the words of Ankit Guglani is "A short walk with a bit of a climb". The place is green and beeyootiful, and has very large trees with great big roots, which come out and extend themselves in multiple directions. A short walk into the park leads you to a small pond, with great benches all around. I have actually never visited this place during the day, and thus have only seen what it looks like at night. This is not a bad thing at all, it's well lit, and looks pritty at night. The wildlife also comes out around that time, and as you walk along, frogs jump out of your way. You can hear them croak all the time, too. A short walk and a bit of a climb later, you're back to hostel, and life is good again.

Look out for more Chinatown Adventures, and indeed Singapore Adventures regularly now, for I have found the library, and have ingratiated myself with books, the nice comfy sofas, and indeed the computer terminals.

Your Daily Dose of (B)Lah!

The wait is over, yer Badshah Returns
And boy has he been aroun'
After a humdrum existence in Delhi
He's settled down in Chinatown
And college's orientations have begun
He soon will be back in action
For now he's navigating his way
Through Chinese, Malay and Tamil factions
Cos' You've read it from De Capital, you've read it from Bangalore
Settle in, ladies and gentlemen, Blah's now live from Singapore

PS: I want news from back home, gimme comments, lah!

The Girls Hostel, part I

For Those Disturbed, By Vrinda

You know whats the worst part about living in the Girls Hostel?The Girls. Now, I know, it seems like a very random, arbit statement to make. But to actualyl realise the profundity of the statement, you have to Live surrounded by a bunch of girls- yes, i do realise its most of you guys' dream come true, but moving on..... Let me elucidate. I have never actually lived with girls before, and most of my friend circle has always been guys. So its a radical new experience for me. Yes, there has been a lot of people roaming around in...very scanty clothing...but thats not what i mean. You learn to live in a totally different way, and learn to somehow survive without losing your point of view or your sanity. I was inititated to this concept about a week into the academic term. Everyone agreed that a respite from the 'gruelling schedule' was needed, and that a movie shall be rented to fill the void. "A good Movie", "Finally something decent" were some of the phrases doing the rounds. The cockles of the heart, so to speak, warmed up to the new found living environs. One sat down with the rest, agog with expectations...to be treated to Princess Diaries, One AND Two. The horror of one, can only be imagined.

Another thing I 've learned? Food is a very very arbit concept. Nothing is Your Food anymore. It is all, Our Food. All the ghar ka khaana, and the chocolates, and the noodles, and the junk food, is communal property. There also arent, as previously postulated, 4 meals to a day. Theres the 1 am Noodles. Everyone returns from their respective work, and plunks down at about 12. 30. By about 1, it is realised that everyone is ravenously hungry. So about 3 packets of Instant Noodles are made, and eaten in a manner befitting not so civilized beings- sinc e there is one fork and one plate between a floor ful of about 12 females;often accompanied by rituals(Not, as is popularly stated amongst the guys, dancing naked in the moonlight) as demandign as jazz dancign for a bite of the above mentioned noodles....'mast mast' videos of the same *might* be provided to storng enough applications....:D

And theres nothing quite like learning about concepts like Community, Sharing, Mutual Trust and all that crap, when youre about 10 minutes late for class,standing outside the loo dressed in pretty much a towel, the five of you staring at the one bucket of hot water available. Cat-fighting seems like such an excellent option at times like these....Of course, you do resort to having baths with the bountiful cold water....word of advice from the experienced?Dunk your head in first, then your legs and arms, and finally your tummy, that way, you only have to shriek out in consternation once.

So many thing college life teaches you....Watch this space for more....

I'm Ready to Go

I'm leaving, as the song goes, on a Jet Plane. I'll be back. Blah! will be back, even sooner.

One chapter closes, and a new one begins. As a few of my friends have pointed out, this is the beggining of my next big adventure, because that's how I've treated life, and that's how I'll continue to. So cheers to you all.

All My Bags Are Packed

This is the Big Fat Suitcase, which got bigger this evening. I'd just like to point out how absolutely neat everything is just perfect. From the top view, I'd like to point out my resident monster, Gengarr, toothbrushes, Bill Bryson's Made in America and A Short History of Neartly Everything, A pack of Cards, Carl Sagan's Cosmos, a Blue T-Shirt, my Insane Tie, The Little Bit Of Pink Which is Part of The Electric Pink Sock, A tennis ball, my swimming trunks(the blue thingummies), and of course, a beige towel. And that's just, if I may use the phrase, the tip of the iceberg. Ninety percent of everything lies beneath.
That's my life in a suitcase. I sure hope the airlines don't lose it.

Butter Me Up

Yesterday, I found the perfect solution to each and every single one of my problems. Butter. White Butter. Lots of It. Allow me to elaborate.

I took a final trip before I leave to The Factory with my father yesterday, and saw the new shed that's coming up, and should be ready and fitted by the time I'm back. There's a great sense of achievement one gets, to be associated with large heavy machinery. It's hard to explain, it's something that's so large and powerful and tangible, and to be able to say "That is Ours", is a feeling quite of it's own. The fact that you can see the product one sells coming out of a very large hydraulic press, the smell of carbon black, the even greater permeading smell of cooked rubber, the sheer enormity of the mixer...it's awe inspiring. Bhaiyya once had a fancy for owning an Earth Mover, and I can understand why. When you've grown up with big powerful machinery, a Heavy Mining Earth Mover just sounds like a great thing to own. (Unfortunately, it costs about 30 Million Dollars)

A trip to the factory is not complete without a trip for lunch to Murthal (a district in Haryana) and it's trucker's Dhaba's, which serve the finest tandoori parantha's availible till you actually hit Punjab. It had been some time since I've indulged in the same, and I was looking foward to it. Once there, I pigged out as I haven't in quite a while.

Gulshan Dhaba, as the place is called, is actually now quite a large place. It's got tables and chairs and fans, additions that have come up over the years that one has been to the place. The prices have gone up accordingly, but are still hardly "restraunt level", and I seriously doubt they come under the perview of your 12.5% VAT. My father and I seated ourselves, and the service was almost instantaneous. It is a thing of wonder that at a Dhaba you can get finer service, friendlier service and far quicker service than any quality restraunt in the city, Including Five Star. This is one of the few places you can be asked "Aur Kuch?", and not feel like you're being badgered.
My meal was substantial. Three paranthas, of Paneer, Pudina and Aalu respectively, a very large cup of Dahi, a plate of Palak Paneer, Bhindi, and a Big Steel Glass of Lassi.
The paranthas(and accompaniments) are served in five minutes flat, quicker service you will get nowhere else. They come with a gigantic Blob of White Butter sitting on top of them, which fast melts on the piping hot bread. The experience is sublime.
The Lassi is incredible, thick, salty and with a lot of ground pudina, dhania and assorted leafy things in it. All this, I may mention, at Rs 70 a head.
At the end of this cornucopia of eating delights, I was stuffed like the proverbial christmas turkey, and had no space for the thandi kheer. I felt amazing, after a very long period of time. A few hours later, I was on a serious high, which had a few interesting effects.
A) I started giggling and laughing at highly random things
B) I compulsively started abusing people, and calling them bastards
C) I had an amazing sleep, and wonderful rest.

Thus, the next time I feel down, sad or generally scared to bits about leaving, I'm going to drown my sorrows in some good ol' Makhan, and throw in a lassi for good measure. It should set me decently right, and might get some weight on my bones. Stomach problems have a habit of taking that away.

By the way, in case any of you is interested, after bloody ages I finished my Story. As Promised, everyone dies, but you'll have to read it to find out how. What you waiting for?
Hit The Link.

Tick Tock

Cliched as it might sound, "I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane". On the night of the Sixth Of August, I scoot out of here, and might dissapear for a decent amount of time. In other words, "I don't know when I'll be back again".

My final days in Delhi are being counted down, and as is usually the case in circumstances such as these, I'm wildly oscillating between being scared, excited and nostaligic. What a wonderful combination. To add to my perfect cocktail of emotions at present moment, my stomach decided to cave in on me a week back, and I'm back on my old routine of medicines and "Why Must I Eat This Horribly Boring Food" diet. As some may recall, about seven or eight months back, it had reached the stage of "More Acid Than A Hippie Convention", whereas right now it's at a more sober "More Acid Than The Chemistry Lab" state. I shall, of course, screw the entire diet plan and indulge in a plate of Gol Gappas before I leave. Can't miss out on those.
Everything I am going to miss about Delhi, strangely enough, relates to how amazingly imperfect this city is. I'm going to miss travelling on DTC buses, I'm going to miss the sweat and loud very bad music they provide. I'm going to miss yelling, outwitting and generally abusing autowallahs who try to take me for a ride(metaphorically, of course). I'm going to miss trips to my Never Took Off local market, a place that hasn't changed in 18 years. Or More.
There are of course, some wonderful things I'm getting nostalgic about too. They're mostly parks and other green surroundings. I am, however, assured that the Brits ensured that Singapore didn't get left out of a fair share of those. This pleases me. God Bless the Brits. They've ensured pockets of urban paradises pretty much everywhere they went.

Keeping all this in mind, and the fact that it's lonely here in Delhi, with everyone off in college, or busy at DU, it's remarkable that I've kept myself decently happy. However, I am thrilled that my Holiday Existence is about to come to an end; I've had about enough of this. There's no stimulation, and it's only by re-reading my Bill Bryson's that I've rekindled any kind of joy of learning I've experienced since School Ended. In other words, I've been thinking. This time, it's a good thing. There's a story that's come out of it. People are going to die in this story, so it's a "Bhavya Classic". It's almost written, so you can check the dormant but not dead Fountain Of Uncouth over the weekend when it shall be brought back to life. May I reiterate the fact that I'm back to a stage where I can appreciate the sheer malicious joy of killing off my characters. Nasty buggers. When did they ever deserve to LIVE! Muahahahahahahaha.

Ashwatthama

This is who/what I am being dumped for. The Frog That Demands Attention. Woe(sic) is me.
Yeah, you can start the sympathy comments now.

Know a Guy?

I used to be an introvert. That is, in fact, an understatement. I used to be, in the mould of my brother, a loner with a couple of friends and no more. Then, of course, four years back DPS R.K. Puram happened. But contary to simple empirical evidence, this wasn't *alone* what changed me. Especially when I see a lot of Newadmin Dipsites who have become if anything more reserved once inside The Factory. What changed me was my section.
See, I pretty much hated my section in the Ninth and Tenth. I got along with about all of five people, and didn't really have much in common with anyone. At a point I said to myself, this is bloody DPS R.K Puram, there's a helluvalotta people in this school, and I've got plenty more to meet. It's obvious I'm not going to find what I'm looking for in here. So in tenth, V 4.0 launched, and I became an out and out extrovert, seeking out new life and new civilization. I was not dissapointed, I found the most remarkable bunch of people I may ever meet in my batch, and some of them have become my greatest friends.
My father once told me the importance of networking, and I took that advice to heart. Over the last two years, I've met and befriended more people than I can mention, but you can't be friends with everyone, so I guess I've made my share of enemies as well. Lets just say that I've discovered people have very strong views when it comes to me, call it a corollary to Bhavya's Law.
Bottom line: I know a guy. Hell, I now know a lot of guys. The problem is, I don't "know a guy who knows a guy", because I'm very particular about my network. It's gotta be a first person basis type thing. No sense knowing someone through someone, till you can get to meet him/her yourself.
You know what? I'm better off for it. Simon and Garfunkel's "I am a Rock" used to be an Anthem for me, I've now realised that I may be a rock, but I'm a rock firmly entrenched in one hell of a mountain; and that's the way things should be.
PS: Kill me if I become a part of the mountain, what?

Pack

Last weekend, exactly three weeks before I leave these fine shores, or plains as the case may be(I am tempted to say "Lo! The Flat Hills of My Homeland" in the manner of one Adrian Allan Mole) I recieved diktat from Mother Dearest. She told me to get the suitcase down, the Very Big One.
Actually, she had been telling me this for close to a week, but I loudly protested, that it was ages before I was to leave and it made no sense to take down, brush up and size out the suitcase at that point. But mother's are, well, mothers and beyond a point argument is next to impossible. Hence, I brought the Very Big Suitcase down, and it was much appreciated. Members of August Clan looked upon in, said, yes it is very big but one knows not if it is Very Big Enough. Seeing as how I had just about exhausted my resistance towards motherly whims, I was now told by elderly matriarch to pack the damn thing, to see if the space was adequete.
Now, let me tell you that when I say "Very Big Suitcase", I mean it. This thing could pretty much fit me in it, with space left over for my linen. Thus I saw this as quite a ridiculous excercise. Sure enough, half an hour later, after the entire contents of my summer wardrobe, two bath towels, socks, electric pink socks, underwear and the Box Set of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy had been packed inside, a third of the space still remained to be filled.
Wonderful, said my mother. "Everything fits just fine. Now, unpack everything and put it back."

At this point, I had had enough. I had just put together all my personal effects minus one, shoved it in a bag, very nicely folded all my clothing and generally done a good job of it. I'd be damned if I was going to put everything right back, considering I'd have to take part in this excercise in another two and a bit weeks anyhow. So I didn't.
I have, thus, been living out of my suitcase for close to a week now, and it's not that bad a thing. Everything is pretty neat and orderly, which is remarkable considering the general chaotic condition my cupboard exists in. I know exactly what clothes I have, which doesn't make much of a difference, because they're all either blue or gray anyways. The best part is, all I have left to pack is a couple of pairs of clothing and shoes, and personal effects. So I can bask in my last few days here by recieving undue attention from members of August Clan without having to worry about having anything to do.Everything, as usual, works out in the end.

Shopping At MG

Going to college is fun. Studying there isn't. Leaving your home, your heart(h),senile family and seniler friends is sad. But if you find some who are equally,if not crazy,its not so bad. I have made some who are well...unique.I got someone to go Shoppinh with me. This is an activity which even my closest gal-pal shirked off, since i was too "unshoppingy". And so, me, the Uninititated, visited the Mecca of shoppers, MG Road, yesterday.I had one of the funest times of my life. I also appaerntly through a space-time-continuum warp and turned into a 4 year old in the span of the shopping trip. I spent all of half an hour at teh baby shop-buying things for myself. The campus is now in terror of The Frog.

The Frog

The Frog is green and yellow, and camoflages with my clothes He croaks, and he squeaks. He is squeezy and cute. He has "positive interaction" with the senior whe we make him, when he is supposed to ask out other senior froggees. He jumps on unsuspecting females studing in the library at 11 in the night, and makes them shriek.And when i say shriek, i mean SHRIEK. He has also been kissed by a hostel-floor-ful of chicks, in the vague and childish hope that He'll turn into a Prince. He has also been emulating various advertisements for Sprite, and certain hair products(a la manav). He is, in short, fast turning into my Best Friend and constant companion. He still has to be named, though. My attempts at calling him Pappu were ungraciously shot down. I am open to suggestions though am leaning towards Ashwaththama.(Vrinda, AJ, and Ashwaththama. I can just about picture it)

I also got a purple belt, a ton of bangles for 20 bucks-which are aking typing this entry on the laptop bloody difficult, a bubble maker which blows unburstable balloons, another pencil whistle, and a stressbuster ball for the kind soul who accompanied me. On the upside, i gave in m eco homewoek via the cybercafe. and was told that i am damn fun person to shop with :D

Bit of a random post, but The Frog demanded Attention.

And for those of you who dont know:Ron Dies.

PS-Just kidding, of course.Its Hermione who dies.

Chocolate Wheel and Trees

I've been on an old time nostalgia trip, of late and I can't say it's been an unpleasant experience. I was reminded of my rubber ducky, which I took to Tenth Tuitions and helped me out with mathematics, and that pretty much got me started off on a whole wealth of stuff.

Driving back from the Railway station last night brought back a lot of memories. On the way back home, one passes through some of the most beautiful places in Delhi, Lutyen's city, the India Gate, the mueseums, the Lodhi Gardens. The streets are wide, and lined with huge trees, and unless I find some great colonial stylings in Singapore(which I'm told I will), I'm really going to miss it.

I traced back my love for Lutyens Delhi to my very early childhood, when times were actually good. Every so often, I would be taken with my brother to a place in Jor Bagh called Chocolate Wheel, which was, in pre and just liberalized India, pretty much the only decent bakery availible. Here, one would eye rich chocolate pastries, tarts doughnuts and wonderful patties that were availible nowhere else, except the cheap imitations in Modern Bazaar. The counter was manned, or womanned by this very cheerful, robust, and fat lady who was also the resident baker. She remembered who you were, and always had a cheerful demeanor. This was bliss, and was my family's big celebration treat, a trip to the Wheel. Additionally, my birthday cake each year, for a good few years was procured from Chocolate Wheel, which they fashioned in whatever form took my fancy. Batman cakes, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Cakes, and I frankly forget the rest. They had 'em all, that's for sure. Times then became a bit tough for family, and trips there ceased for quite a few years. When we returned after a period of many years, when bakeries had sprung up like mushrooms in the rain Chocolate Wheel had sadly not kept up with the rest. I haven't been there in some time now, and don't even know if it's still around, let alone what it's quality is now like.

But my fascination for the place stemmed not only from the inside, but the outside as well. The bakery was in Jor Bagh, which is as close as you can get to Lutyens without being in it. Same colonial architechture, same wide open roads, but what really impressed me was the trees. On the road leading up to the wheel were these wonderful trees on each side, which merged into each other in the middle, forming this wonderful green canopy, that provided shade in a hot summer sun and a sense of dark romance on a winter evening. Chocolate wheel in my mind is interlinked with this green canopy, one doesn't exist in my memories without the other.

Judgement Day

Today, I took care of my final obligation as President of Debating Society of D.P.S R.K Puram. I returned in my passed out state(No, I was not drunk) to Judge the Dhruv Rajgharia Inter Section Debate. In doing so, I also had A Whole Lot of Fun.

First of all, it's really very different being at the other end of a stage. I'm used to being up there, speaking, making a complete fool out of myself, and generally having a blatant disregard for the Right Way of Doing Things. Instead, I was watching on in a nice and sober Shirt and Pant, looking very formal and listening on with immaculate care and interest. Never have so many girls tried to suck up to me, or butter me up; all in the interests of getting a few extra points on a sheet. Never have I so politely refused all their advances... Maybe that's pushing things, but I was really on my very best behaviour. I guess that's what the burden of responsibility does to you(rolls eyes at self). A line of speakers bombards you with the arguments, sometimes clearly formed and witty, most of the time utter and complete crap.

My co-judges were Sonali Punhani and Vrinda Marwah(The Glass Chewing One), and the topic was straightjacketed, albiet interesting. "Discipline should be inculcated, not enfored" was what it was. I am a rationalist and libertarian at the best of times, and firmly believe in the whole inculcation bit. Discipline in my opinion is nothing but the ability to pass off immediate pleasure for greater pleasure later on, and the ability to make that rational choice. How such a personal desicion can be enfored is beyond my simple comprehension. However, both the speakers who won were against the motion, so props to them.

It Moves!

One of the side effects of my months of insanity is that I have a pretty decent stomach, in the sense that it does not spill over, nor has loose folds hanging around it. One of the side effects of that is that it Moves! I can belly dance! Forget shaking one's ass, I can shake my abs. This also seriously freaks a lot of my friends out, and to get that point across, they punch my stomach. Repeatedly. Actually, they punch my stomach repeatedly just for the fun of it, and don't really need any such reason. This disturbs me, greatly. I have become a punching bag for batamweights such as Vidz, heavy weights such as Skaranses, and Oh My God He's Over-Weights like Nisheeth. I do not like being hit in the belly, it's a very personal thing for me.

So if any of you are reading, Cease and Desist!

Random Disconnected Post

So much to write about, so little time...
It's my last few days in Delhi, before I head off to Singapore. It's officially less than a month to go, and boy that makes me feel good. It's about time I became a college boy.

Printers

Printers hate me. I kid you not, they actually have a passionate dislike for me, especially anything that's labelled HP. Put the suffix Deskjet in front of that and I'm in for a fun afternoon of yelling, abusing and general nastiness. Last night I spent a good forty five minutes in Mortal Kombat with my deskjet 640C, to take out all of five printed sheets. Here's how the routine works. I click on the little print button on MS Word, a little printing symbol appears. This bears no relavance to the actual time the printer might decide to start up. A minute later, I heard the monster growl and grumble, and it devouvers paper to take the printout. Except no, it shall not take one, it shall take five in a go. The first printout only just squeezes out. The following four papers are now permanently lodged in the entrails and machinery of the beast.

Diversion::: Speaking of entrails, on one of my nice long walks back from faraway places in this oh so pleasant rainy weather, I spotted of all things, a very large dead frog on the road. There was no nearby pond, or even water source and it seemed very out of place. Poor Frog.
Moral of the story: Look before you leap

Back to the point. I now struggle to inch the paper out of the printer, and unjam the thing. This achieved, I start this process again. With the same result. Repeat Ad Nauseum, till my prints are complete. Gah. I Hate Printers.

Return of the Sasssta

On a recent expidition with friends, including the Afore Mentioned Anurag Sud and the Less Mentioned Akshat Vyas and Abeer Guha one played pool at Priya(I'm really the bomb with alliteration). So here's how things went.

Sud Tries to take very difficult shot, without much look at the cue ball.
Sud: Yaar, Bridge Nahin Ban Raha (I can't make the bridge)

Guha: Isliye Civil lena chaahiye thaa( That's why you should have taken Civil Engineering)

Bhavya: Slaps head and congratulates self on wonderful company, that can match bad puns with him.
Of course, there is little to beat Vyas's candid and brilliant observations. Sample this, while he was discussing the experience of being bitten in the arse.
Vyas: Yaar, mere colony mein German Shepard Thaa. Kutta Thaa, Saala!
Rest of Company: Saale, aur kya hota?

Ah, life, she is good again.

Book Review: The Simoquin Prophecies

By Samit Basu

As the weather over the last few days has taught me, when it rains it pours. So too with my Book Reviews.

The Simoquin Prophecies was a wonderful book, very endearing in fact. It's the first work of Fantasy I've read by an Indian Author since Salman Rushdie's Haroon and the Sea of Stories. This is quite a different read with it's own style and character. Let me expand on that, in a while.
The storyline is an atypical epic, that is a story of heroism and valour and courage and strength, and how it all really doesn't work in the end. It's a fantasy world that seems steeped in realism, or cynicism as some may have it, where the boundaries between good and evil are not only not well defined, but exist only in the media's mind. I'm guessing you've already figured out why I liked it.
The style of writing is brilliant. I would say the author is a Terry Prachett fan, and certainly comes out like him, but then who knows these things. The universe and characters are vivid in thought and description, be they scantily clad centauresses, Bridget Jonesey Spellcasters, Confused Hero's or James-Bond-Gone-Wrong-Assisins, you've got em all. He's got his own flair about him, and manages to maintain a taut storyline, his own universe and some great characters along with several parodies of epics and pop culture thrown in to boot.
What I really liked was the ending, even though a lot of you may find it very abrupt. It's very fitting, it's very real and it leaves you with a sense of goodness about it. You don't feel cheated by the enivitability of things, as you would reading most other Good Vs Evil storylines. But then, as I mentioned, this is not a Good Vs Evil book. It just makes itself out to be one.

I had heard Outlook had hyped up this book a good deal, some time ago, but I don't think it ever took off. I haven't seen this read in the bookstalls too often, and never in a bestseller list. Which is a royal shame, because surely it deserves it's position above the Arundhati Roy's of this world. So let me attempt to give it a second round of hype, and ask you to pick the book up.

Short

As my last post elucidates, the last book I read didn't have much in terms of sense, or content. However, one thing he said did stand out. Beware, and be very afraid of short people.

I am, as is usually and frequently pointed out to me, a short person. At Five foot Seven I don't exactly tower over anyone, except the occasional runt. That's also not a good feeling because not too long ago I was a runt, and only recently graduated to the slightly better off level of being short.

As a short person, you must constantly fight adversity, and if you are even the slightest bit driven, attempt with all your little might to overcome this physical downside with whatever you can. Some try to become damn intelligent, and thus you have the short-smart-fellow stereotype. Others learn deadly marshal arts, these are usually chinese short people. Don't mess with them. Others become computer geeks, don't mess with them either these days, they're usually more dangerous than the Chinese Martial Artists. Basically, us shorties must push ourselves as hard as we can, to prove ourselves in a towering world. It's survival of the fittest, really.
So next time you're nasty to the vertically challenged, be afraid. They're probably plotting and hard at work at vengance of some kind or the other. Think Napoleon. Think Ram Jethmalani. Think Sachin Tendulkar. There are enough Little Master's out there.

Book Review: Sun Tzu Was A Sissy

By Stanley Bing

Before I start on the review, let me expound why it is very pleasant to read books right now. The weather is perfect for it. It's raining outside, so stepping out is difficult, if you're a walker like me. A walk in the rain loses it's charm if you're walking a good 2-5 kilometers to anywhere, and getting splashed with muddy water loses it's charm after the first couple of times. Secondly, the temprature is in the mid twenties for the better part of the day and there's a nice cool breeze blowing. This I shall call "Critical Reading Temprature": the point at which you can curl up on the couch with a realm of written word and flip page after page, stopping only to munch on some nice biscuits, or to take a short nap.
Needless to say, it's been some time since I did all this and I lapped up the experience. The Biscuits, before not present in the house, have now arrived to enhance my reading experience.
To the book.

Sun Tzu Was a Wussy is an amazing read. This is not, however, because it is a good book. It's a terrible book, godawful doesn't even begin to describe it. It's supposed to be self help, and I just kept breaking out into chuckles all through. It's basically Kill Bill Meets Dilbert with Blatant Americanism thrown in. This is the "Bill And Ted's Excellent Adventure" of Management Books, it's so terrible it's actually quite endearing. It also has a total abscence of content, which it makes up for by adding quotes, insane amounts of useless but hilarious graphs, charts and bar diagrams and of course, quotations from Sun Tzu.

In case you are unaware of the man himself, Sun Tzu was the Chanakya of China. His Art of War is the general accepted godbook of managers, generals and anyone who wants to win a fight anywhere. His writings are not in anyway, that of a Sissy and the Art of War is one of the books I had the misfortune of reading before I was old enough for it. This has resulted in my becoming a powerhungry chinese warlord which explains why I'm off to Singapore in a month's time. His basic philosophy in life was strategize and plan and don't enter a fight untill you are assured of victory. Which is why I'm still waiting and planning, so watch out the lot of you who have crossed me. I'm not done yet. But I digress.

The Author, Stanley Bing, makes up for his total lack of sense and intelligence by repeating time and time again that Sun Tzu's time has passed, and we must all be ready to scruff up and get down and dirty for a good fight. His writing style is incredibly aggressive, which makes it all the more funny.

Bottom Line: Worth it for the read, but under no circumstances should you follow the advice. Be a sissy, in my opinion, it'll get you a lot further than the "Real Art of War".

Nothing

The scariest seven letters in the english language. N O T H I N G. I told you I'd find something to scare the beejeebers out of me, now that I'm comfortable with Lasagna, and here it is. Sheer and pure unadulterated boredom. It scares me silly. What's new, people ask. Nothing. What's up, people ask. Nothing. What did I do today, people may ask. Take a wild shot what the answer to that one is going to be.
So these things must change. The Blog itself is becoming dryer than Old Mother Hubbard's Cupboard. Since it is a journal of my life, and my life currently lacks writable things, shit is basically happening. This it is clearly obvious, must stop. Thus there are now things afoot. I have a new mountainload of books to get through, all of which I shall review. I must restart Mathematics and Statistics, because to be quite honest, it's been far too long without having studied anything. There's only so much a Dipsite can take. I need to get out and do new things which do not involve the words Priya, Saket or Barista. Otherwise, I run the very high risk of losing my hyperactive mind.

On the up side, I have half read a book, which I should finish and review tomorrow. I also need to make a kilotonne of questions for a couple of quizzes I must master before I depart these fine shores.

Group Dynamics

Yesterday's SMU Delhi Fresher's meet (organised, in part, by me) offered a great study in group dynamics, especially group formation dynamics. I met up with 12-13 people, of which I knew in person one, and by MSN maybe 2-4 so basically it was a first time group for pretty much everything. As is my grind, I was the first to arrive at the annointed venue, and thus had to sit around for about five minutes before the next chappie arrived. Each chappie was greeted with the questions "SMU?", at which point one started sitting around.
Now, a one to one new person conversation is slow, meandering and difficult. Once the group grew to around five to six, conversation became really very simple, and the dynamics were very fluid, so to speak. Pretty much everyone was involved, and the fun started. But the story didn't end there. There were more to come.

Now, see, difficulties start to present themselves after numbers ten and eleven show up. The group at this point is simply too large for a single conversation track to run, and thus two tracks develop. Now, things may start getting destructive as cross conversation develops. Luckily, and quite strangely, it was quite a non-defective group, and we corrected ourselves whenever something like that started up. We'd do awesome in a GD, is my humble opinion. But then, my opinion is never really very humble.

Once we hit 12-13 simple physical laws ensure that problems are going to arise. There is no realistic way to seat 12-13 people at Barista in a way that everyone can hear and talk to everyone, so at this point, your discussion is by force going to break up into two. Now one can judge how well people have got along as just in this one hour period, smaller subgroups will form, depending on what they have to discuss. So, for instance while three or four of us debated the merits of which laptop to take, a seperate housing discussion group opened up, while others discussed CCA's. From here on, things take a marked turn for the worse so what all good people must do to ensure that this newly formed seemingly effective group does not break up is....

Go For Lunch.

Strapped for Time

Early Sunday Morning, I wake up. After shaking the last remnants of sleep and rubbing out the eye gook from my naina's, I raise my arm, twisting it to turn the watch face towards me and discover to my ultimate shock and extreme panic that it is not there. Instead, a strip of white skin greets me, to remind me exactly how fair I am. For the next minute, panic ensues. The first five seconds, I think I'm in some sort of nightmare, where time itself has been taken from me. This done with, I get to my senses, and search the bed in worried haste for my missing timepiece. A few seconds later, I happen upon it, and tragedy of tragedies, the strap has broken in two at night. Two scenarios are made clear to me. Either my pencil thin wrist has finally decided to keep of with the rest of my weight gain, and expand a bit thus putting undue pressure on my Casio, or my Subconcious is indulging in unseemly and violent nighttime activities. The scary thing is that both these scenarios are equally likely, and I'm starting to lean towards the latter.

See, my watch is an extension of me, it's a part of me. I'm compulsive about the time and check it at least a hundred times in a day. A lot of my activities are taken down to the last second, and I'm paranoid about punctuality. If my watch is taken away from me, I feel very very naked, it's an integral part of my body and I NEVER take it off. This of course means that it has to be a hardy outfit, and nothing fancy, so I go for a Casio Digital with Plastic Straps, waterproof, shockproof, dustproof and with no large pokey buttons that will gouge my wrist while I sleep. And I need it back. And I need it back fast. Me going nuts here.

Down South, Part 1

If you're a true blue, born and bred Delhiite like me, you'll notice two things when you leave. First, you become chauvinistic and start defending your city against the vicious attacks and malignations of other city-wallahs. And second, GAWD, you start missing the autowallas. You cant haggle with someone in Kannada, and can't tell them, with a resolute face, "Nahin Le Chalna, To Mat Le chalo". Theyre no alternative you can rely on, the public transport sucks(in Bangalore), and, the people are just wayyy too honest..its unnerving. They actually dont charge you extra, or take you on circuitous routes across a strange city. It Sucks. I miss my lying, cheating dilli-walli janta...who chaarge me 30 bucks for getting from IIT Gate to Vasant Vihar.
Sigh.

Look out, Mr. Kakkar

You know, I've never really had a clear, or even fuzzy idea of what I'd like to end up doing after college. Well, actually I did but that was years back in my deranged youth where I wanted to be a Neurosurgeon. Since then, I've been in some sort of mindless limbo, jumping from one thing to the other, only knowing that I wanted to write. But writing in itself is not a career, you need to do something for cash in the pocket as well. Besides, you have to first WRITE a novel or general book, before getting paid for it. Basically, I was clueless.
But I've been thinking for a couple of months, especially since I got into SMU and saw the opportunities it might offer me. After ages and ages, I have a rough idea of what I'd like to end up doing post graduation. I'd like to work in an Advertising Agency. Eventually, I'd like to Run an advertising agency.

See, to figure out what you would like to do, you sort of have to figure out what you're good at and capable of. I'm good at coming up with fun ideas, I'm good at creating lines, and I'd like to think I'm great at managing creativity, both mine and otherwise.

So here's the plan for now. I study me arse off at college, major in Marketing or Sales, and hope to hell one of the placements is to some Ad-Agency or Publishing House or the other.

CCA At SMU

I've also been deciding which Co-Curricular Activities I want to take up at college. I've pretty much decided on SMU Ventures, Debating Society and the ubiquitous "Dharma Bums"(of which my long term aim is to become president, so that my near and dear ones can brag about it. Imagine the burgeoning pride father will feel when asked "So what does your son do at College? He is the President of the Dharma Bums"). That leaves two, of which I lean strongly towards Fencing, Kendo and dream wistfully of joining Muay Thai(Thai Kickboxing).
College is a time to learn new and exciting things, and there aren't too many other places, I figure, where Thai Kickboxing can be one of them. Or Kendo, for that matter.

Princess Jasmine and Her Corrupting Influence

I've been gone a while, and that has given me time to think of many things, important things, life shaking things. None of these, however, shall be mentioned right now. For evil and large conspiracies are afoot. Hell, they've been afoot for bloody ages, but no one really cared or payed attention. Until I woke up, and smelled the Coffee.

Disney is turning young impressionable girls into Sluts.

Okay, this isn't as *evil* as you might think, if you are a guy but see it from the young impressionable girl's point of view, and you realise the true horror of the situation.
See, I figured this out recently while flipping channels at a friend's place, and happening along a new phenomemon called Disney Channel, which showed a lot of crappy cartoons from my youth. The decent ones were never made by Disney, the only one I ever liked was Darkwing Duck.
To the point. One observed Alladin's Princess Jasmine and how she, in retrospect, was dressed like quite a slut. I mean, big boobs and low hanging blouse with full navel display isn't exactly your regular princess getup. They're usually quite overdressed. Mind then wandered to all the other disney female characters. Pochahontas: minimally dressed. Little Mermaid: Minimally dressed. Weird Chinese Girl who's name I've forgotten: Minimally dressed, and in the snow most of the time. See a pattern here? All animated disney female characters are scantily clad, and have inordinately large amounts of Cleavage!
What does this mean? It means disney is encouraging impressionable young girls to fit a certain image, which is decidedly slutty. The proof is there in our generation. Look at Britney Spears and Christina Aguili-something-hard-to-pronounce. They came from The Mickey Mouse Show, and today are decidedly the two sluttiest things to hit mordern popular culture.

Something sinister is at work, so all you conservative parents kindly wean your impressionable young girls away from Disney, it is the work of the devil.