Wuthering Heights

By Emily Bronte
(big grin)

The only reason this review is being written is, that most of you will get bored witless by the very Thought of the book, and will never get around to reading it. This will be pretty sad, for various reasons. For one, it is full of Deep Philosophic Truths. For two, it is a Great Love Story. But above of all, it will remind you how truly marvelous your life is, compared to these poor sods.

The setting and locale are supposed to be a reflection on the wilderness and despair in the protagonists’ hearts. But the most endearing part about the book is how it seems to imply that the more the inbreeding, the greater the literary value. Having had to explain this to someone, I realized how truly warped it is. Picture this scene, if you will:

A is B’s sister. (B’s a guy).C is a runaway gypsy, who is adopted by their father. D and E are a neighbouring pair of brother and sister. A and C love each other, passionately. But B hates C. A marries D. For some obscure reason, C marries E. B has a kid, whom C hates, but lives with, called F. A and D have a girl, G. E and C have a boy, H. H and G marry (big surprise). H is a stupid twit, and he dies. Then G marries F. In the middle, A and D die. And C, who loved A more than heaven and earth and everything else combined, kills his own son so that A’s daughter is not happy, so that A’s soul doesn’t rest, so she can haunt him forever.

The beauty of the book is, you actually start believing this nonsensical plot. I mean, when the actions aren’t inexplicable, they are just plain stupid. The only plot stupider than this you are ever likely to find, would be Romeo and Juliet-or maybe Oliver’s Story J. But despite all this, WH is Definitely worth a read…it’ll make you think differently-if you’re patient enough to read through it, that is.

Oh, and by the way, Hey all.

Creation

I've always been a crappier at art, I can't draw a straight line, let alone a masterpiece, and it's a real shame I feel, because I have really fantastic mental images sometimes. I can, at my best, translate them into ideas which I then pen down into stories or essays or the like, but I'll be the first to admit that it's not the same. Some things are best visually represented.

I've been working for the school magazine, you see, and have thus had the opportunity to go to the printers. At the printers, there are professional designers, who are simply fantastic with Photoshop and Corel, and other design tools. They also understand quickly and immediately what it is that you want from them and put it into immediate(okay, not that immediate) action.

I'm in love with this concept, because for the first time in my life, someone exists to convert my mental images into an actual physical projection, and woo boy do they look good. They're almost exactly, and usually better than what I picture them initially to be and as a result, I have, through them created what I believe to be a work of art; the DIPS DIARY front cover.

I'd like to thank Abhijeet and Mukul (the designers) for that, it might sound really over the top, but a little piece of my life that was missing just got filled.

PS: Speaking of Artistic Beauty, do check out my latest linked thingummy, Prateek Rrrrrrrrrrrungta's Photoblog, where he has put up some of the finest displays of photography you'll see around. Screw em flikring dolts, this is the real deal.

Review: State of Fear

By Micheal Crichton

Micheal Crichton is one of those popular literature writers who thrills by going beyond just page turners, and excites us with the content. He's your dividing line between serious science fiction, and best-seller thriller, and he seems to dance across both sides with ease. State of Fear is another such book, which along with a fast paced storyline, and page-turnability also has great content. Consider it the science fan's Da Vinci Code.
So, the book basically deals with Global Warming, and the great sham that it was, and has become. The thriller element is provided by an extremist eco-terrorist group, that's plotting ecological terrorism on a big scale, to prove to the world that Global Warming is doing bad things, which well, it isn't. Consider this book the anti "The Day After Tomorrow", which is incidentally one of the worst movies I have ever seen in a theatre.
The thought provoking element is provided by the stimulating Ayn Randish discussion placed into the book, where theories of Global Warming, which I myself stopped believing in two or three years back, have been systematically debunked in a fun, cruel and vicious way. Along with that is the crux of the novel, that the world is now in a constant "State of Fear", created by the governments and the media of the world, to make it easier to cattle control the mob. Fear about terrorism, the environment, our health, and about the five billion things scientific studies in universities now seem devoted to finding out that can kill us, or take "2-5 years out of our lives". Sounds nuts? It's not. Why the hell else did George W. Bush get a second term back?
Just the way I like it. That's pretty much all the plot I'm going to give away now, though I will reccomend you go pick up the book. It's a great read, and if any of you are those environmental chappies who think the world is going straight to hell, it really might change your view on things.

Read!

Before the evening storm

Take Two

People are crazy, times are strange
Things are generally liable to change
Like a hell froth, boil and bubble
double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and couldron bubble
Eye of newt and toe of frog
Wool of bat and tongue of dog
Adder's fork and blindworm's sting
And yet many more a troubling thing
Oh, just in case you were looking
It's not only pulao that's been cooking
Now, dear lot, do not be unkind
I have not, in fact, lost my mind
This talk of change has warped your mind
And before some begin to grumble
It's to myself that I do mumble
By Toutatis, Mars, Juno or Ra
I swear that this shall still be Blah!
I just wished to take the trouble
To tell you that its daily dose will double

Return of the Squall

Many people will tell me I'm insane, but that is to be expected. The fact remains, I love Delhi summers. They're amazing fun, they're hot, sweaty and throw up strange and unusual behaviour all the time. How could any straight man not like a Delhi Summer?
On the strange and unusual behaviour front is the much mentioned squall. Nice and proper one we had today. Around sixish, the skies became dark, around six-oh-one-ish, a wind started blowing. Around six-oh-two-ish, the wind almost took out all the windows in the house, but as one is used to the intricacies of Delhi weather, when the skies turned dark, I raised the claxon call, for the windows to be shut and boarded up good. The wind lasted for around ten minutes, at which point it started to rain. Lovely rainfall, that made the wind turn into a cool breeze. In the space of fifteen minutes, the entire weather of the city had changed. You have to love squalls, for their sheer power, and ability.

On top of that, my Gulmohar had it's first blossom today. In a few days time, the whole tree will be ablaze in fiery red, putting shame to the scorching summer sun. In storms, the tree holds still, losing maybe a branch or two, during the harsher squalls. It's the best, it's stood almost as long as the house has, through sickness, termites, 1984's riots, horrible monsoons, bitter winters, and year after year it blooms. It's my ultimate symbol of perseverance and beauty, and fuck anyone who's got a problem with me putting up more photos of it soon.

Gol Gappas and Pani Puris

A Comparitive Analysis

During my trip to Mumbai, one among many other "done things"( such as visiting Papa Pancho Da Dhaba) was eating the local chaat. I'm a chaat fan, as has been mentioned before, with a particular interest in Gappas and their variants. It was only obvious that I was to indulge myself with Mumbai's Pani Puris.
Lets go over the two, step by step. First, the Gappa/Puri. In Delhi, these are of aata or suji whereas in Mumbai only the Suji ones seemed to be availible. The gappa is much lighter and crisper in Mumbai, which is one thing I enjoyed. It disintegrates very well in the mouth, and allows the Pani to hit your tongue with full force(I may not know much about the world of fashion, but in the land of the Gappa, I am king).
On to the Pani. The pani in Delhi definitely has more of a zing to it, but that I guess may vary from place to place. Haldiram's pani and the pani you get at that Eatopia Place in habitat is quite simply insipid. Inputs from frequent Mumbai chaat afficionados will be appreciated, I'd like to know if the lack of zing is a general event, or was it just me. Lets just say, it didn't make me hiccup as much I'd like.
Anyhow, on to the deciding factor, the masala. In Delhi, Gappas are stuffed with chana and aalu, which gives them meat and substance inside, and gives you something to work through. In Mumbai, they haven't understood this concept quite as clearly, and Pani Puri is stuffed with of all things, Boondi. Boondi I assure you, is the absolute WRONG thing to put inside. It gets soggy, and spoils the entire experience, I was all happy and comfortable right upto the point that the texture of the boondis hit my tongue.

End analysis: I liked both, each was special in it's own way, but as I didn't like Mumbai as a whole, I'll stick to my local Gappas anyday.

Look Out!

Bewarned!

I'll be landing in Mumbai this morning, so board up yer windows, and keep the virgins safe.

Beauty and the Beast

God I love my new job.

The two least fashion concious people in Lakme India Fashion Week

Interro-Banged!

I conducted my intra-school trainer quiz "Interrobang", along with partner in crime Manav Kapur, and a motley gang of helper children. It was the exact opposite of the now famous and copylefted phrase "an unmitigated disaster". It was in my opinion, incredibly fun and exciting, in as much as it had a close finish, and now I shall brag and say that our questions were really great. They were varied, well researched, and mostly workable, which by the way is exactly the way a quiz should be. The level of arbitness was kept to a distinct minimum. It also put me back on my spiritual homeground, the AVH at DPS R.K Puram. I have a great comfort level with that stage, and it's fun tending to a packed, bored and highly abusive class 11 audience. It's even more fun doing this wearing the loudest tie in the entire world.
About the tie, let me expand. This monstrosity had tulips in four different colors: red, purplish blue, orange and yellow. The tulips were contrasted with squares colored in various combinations of said colors. On top of that, I ensured it did not go with my shirt, and was thus the most jarring thing on stage, taking the stress away from my questions. Have to protect my precious little questions.

Anyhow, the quiz did end up being fun for parts of the audience, all of the teams, and most importantly, me. There's nothing a quizmaster enjoys more than being complimented on his repetoire, and all was much appreciated. Additionally, the school was nice enough to pay me for my efforts, and hard earned efforts those were. All in all, a wonderful experience. My question bank is now open, now that the quiz is over and I don't like repeating questions, so anyone who wishes to have a peek, drop me an email.

FU Fashion: The Phoenix Rises

A long time ago, one of my less successful side blogs was one "FU Fashion", no guesses what the FU stood for. Anyhow, it touted both me and my friend PC's expert views on fashion, and was thus a remarkable failure. People didn't seem to buy the fact that we are in fact, fashion genii. I mean, we're talking about me here, the man who did away with all the problems associated with matching the right clothes by doing away with all but three non-clashing colors in his wardrobe. If that isn't genius, I don't know what is.
Anyhow, everyone told us we were nuts, and thus it died an untimely death.
Why do I bring this up? Well, as you may recall, JAM magazine had asked me to write for them, and I just got my first job, a couple of weeks back. You see, I'm going to be covering the Lakme India Fashion Week for them, the mecca of Indian Fashion. I find this highly ironic. They laughed, oh yes, they laughed, and now the world conspires against them, so I can laugh back.
So sit back, while I have a good bellow, I deserve it.

Semi-nude models and Yana Gupta tomorrow, bey.
Sweetness.

Asimov's Influence

No mention of author's or books that have shaped the way I think and hence act is complete without a mention of science fiction author Isaac Asimov. He has been one of my favourite writers, and my absolute favourite writer for a good many years, before I lost all my lovely childish ideas of absolutes. Don't you just remember with cold dread the days you could have an absolute best friend, and an absolute favourite movie, when the world was in black and white? I much prefer my shades of grey.
But I digress, as usual. You should at this point lean back in your chair and breathe a sigh of relief that this post does not, incredibly, revolve around or introduce food at any time. Back to it, then.

Yes, Isaac Asimov. The first thing I read of his, and my favourites to this day are his short stories. They are also the first things he wrote, starting at what must have been my age for pulp SF magazines. The short stories are works of art, weaving ideas of science with philosophical and societal conundrums with perfection and ease. They, in a short package, explode with creativity of thought and a simplicity of language. His later stories are almost Wodehousian in nature, with their language and style, yet with a content that simply cannot be recreated, sometimes prophetic in nature.
My understanding of what motivates people probably stems from reading Asimov, for in his own way, he conveys the message far greater than any of the classics writers ever could.

My own short stories, of which I will say I am proud, started off modelled on his Robot Stories, the first one even used (with prior creditation) his three laws of Robotics, and was called "he who laughs last". It was not a patch on his, and I suspect the idea for it was a mish mash of a couple of his stories, but I cannot be sure. You never can anymore, about which idea is original and which is not, because everything seems to have been done before. It's a great tragedy.

After the short stories, I read The Foundation Saga in toto and the Robot Novels, both of which were exceptional. If the short stories gave you a brief of human psychology, Foundation gave you the full fledged "Encyclopedea Galactica" entry. (The story was also good, by the way)

But here's the deal. These books, these authors, they can't really influence per se the way you think. To some people, Asimov is just another author, to some people, Fountainhead is just another book. The fact is, works of literature put in concrete form ideas that existed in your mind. They open doors for you, then don't furnish the room.

Review: Hitch

Will Smith in a romantic comedy? Who'da thunk it, he pulled it off quite well, and the best part of this movie is that it worked without any of the now terribly ridiculous hollywood style "Black Guy" cliches, he was a person more than a community that is to say. The story is, as many reviews will have told you, very Bollywoodish, and is thus very good timepass in a nicely timed short package. The humour is good, fast paced, and makes you watch Doug from King of Queens and Will Smith dance. These two people, I assure you, should not be allowed to. It reminds one eerily of my friend Souvik Da, the best part about whose dancing can be said to be energetic.

The movie however did disturb me greatly. It involved Smith and the Female Lead Googling for information about dates, and I found that very disconcerting. But it is a little late to find that disconcerting as I am, by the nature of my blog, ultimately googlable, and should thus just hope never to have a date who googles me. The thought frightens.

All said and done, it was an enjoyable watch, and I reccomend it to anyone who has the time to spare.

F Block Square

The fact that I'm out of school is really starting to sink in now. Each morning is my own, the only schedules that exist for it are my own, and each day I wish to meet people, it requires an effort. There's a meeting ground that has ended permanently, there's no more F Block Square.

The F Block Square, I realised, has never been properly written about. At least, a google of my blog revealed I had never properly written about it, and considering it was the focal point of my life at school, that's a pretty big unwritten chunk.
See, once I entered 11th and 12th, it became the proverbial water hole of us all, our day began there, it ended there. Before security and dramebaazi became a norm at our school, we used to be left undisturbed there towards the end of school, no one would push us out, no one would give us dirty looks for hanging about. It offered peace, it offered new and fresh conversation, and it offered a place where you could get messages across before the lot of us departed for our classes which were spread over the vast yet miniscule expanses of DPS.

The F Block Square always allowed you to meet and mix with people, anyone who showed up was immediately a part of it, all that was required was that you weren't shy, and didn't run off to your class in the morning. Fellow blogger Karan made most of his new friends over there, ditto for Manx, or Sid Sinha, or Shorty, or anyone or everyone that hung around there for those two years.

The surprising thing was that the place was ours for two years. in 11th, our seniors made no claims to us occupying the square, and in 12th, our juniors, who were as it is useless, didn't try to move us off either. One of them claimed it was because they prefered to take peeks at Manx from the third floor, rather than come down, but I believe that a lot of these are merely stories. I don't think the mentality existed in our juniors, to meet and mix, and they prefered staying in their worlds. The F Block Square was not for them.

It also, as I have written about, used to get great eddy currents of winds during the monsoon season, which would enivitably result in the raising of many skirts. Such was it's design. It also almost resulted in the untimely death of a friend, when the windowpane directly above crashed down to where she had been a second earlier. Thank god for larger mercies. It was, in short, an eventful place.

I don't have anything like that right now, and I don't think I will for a while, at least till I join a college. I hope something in it's spirit exists wherever I go. I don't think life would be complete without it, there's certainly something missing now. I'd love to go back and check if this year's 11th has adopted it in a style of their own, if for nothing but a sense of nostalgia. If they haven't, their loss. They've given up a center of RKP Culture.

Philosophy Review: Ayn Rand's Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged

Ayn Rand's two magnum opii(I'm assuming it's the pluras of opus) cannot been seen individually. They're a part of a greater whole, her way of thought and philosophy which finds fluid form and expression in her two great novels. It is a philosophy that has fit with me, and my sensibilities almost completely, there is little I disagree with and that's a lot coming from me.

First, a history. I first read The Fountainhead in Class 11, and immediately fell in love with it. To this day, it remains one of my favourite and defining books, and I've read a lot since then.
However, I did not read Atlas Shrugged till two weeks ago. There was almost a two year gap between reading what should hvae been read together, and I'm very glad. It gave me time to reflect, to compare and come to terms with both in a far easier fashion.

Now, let me start by saying that these are two books not everyone can appreciate. They've got a very stark, arrogant style about them, which time has taught me is not always appreciated. The lead character in The Fountainhead, Howard Roark, is someone who people immediately dislike before even fifty pages of the book are through. He is, however, the Ryndian Character I enjoyed and identified with the most.

The Fountainhead in many ways has been called a philosophical trailer to Atlas Shrugged, where all of Rand's life views are succiently expressed, in the garb of characters, nay individuals the like the world sees lesser and lesser of every generation. But this is something you can get off any Rand site, and I have my view to offer.
The fact is, I liked Fountainhead better. I loved both, true, but to me the philosophy and characters of Fountainhead were far more appealing. I found that the characters in Atlas Shrugged were always fighting for a purpose sometimes greater than themselves. Howard Roark in contrast was always simpler, and had no further motivations than himself. The other thing I found about Atlas Shrugged that made me reach my conclusion was that it always had the feeling of "Us Versus Them", in a sense which almost approached mythological proportions at time. This in itself isn't a bad thing, as I said, I loved the book, but I enjoyed the stark nonchalant individualism of The Fountainhead better, largely due to the fact that it is the kind I myself aspouse to.

Characters in Rand's world a perfect, however, and unflinching in their actions and beliefs. Can I be? How long can I be, seems to be the bigger question. I've managed so far, but I'm told by my friends, my peers, my parents, that life will make me compromise, eventually.
Well, I'm no Roark. I'm me, I'm Bhavya, and whereas Rand's philosophy was her whole world, it isn't mine. As long as I never have a conflict of interests, I still refuse to compromise.

How long can I last? Only time will tell.

Reruns

My subconcious is as boring as I am. They say that a man's subconcious contains a hidden side of him, I think that's quite apparently tosh. Mine is just a non-waking image of myself, it sticks to the tried and tested more often than not, experimenting only with situation.
I refer of course, to it's dreaming and more specifically nightmare habits. I've now had pretty much the same nightmare for two years, and have become grimly aware of the fact for the last six months. This is because, after a point, you start recalling that essentially the same thing keeps happening to you, and much like Agrajag, I am now awoken from the nightmare not so much with a sense of fear and dread, but with the sensation that echoes "Oh no, not again" in a highly bored and frustrated manner.

Here's how it goes. Subconcious will first insert random situation for me to be in. This could be getting up in the morning, being at school, going for a walk, anything. Next, a new person will enter the dream, it's always a different person, thankfully, so it prevents me from complete boredom. Then, the predictable bit happens. My teeth start falling out, very rapidly. I can feel them coming out, and I can taste the blood in my mouth. I can feel the serrated edges biting my tongue as I brush them out of my mouth, as if I was seven years old and having my first few milk teeth leave my mouth.
At this point, the person in the dream starts explaining what is going on, and before I get to hear the explanation, I always wake up, in a start, and check to see if my teeth are all still there.
Thus ends my nightmare, except it's not scary anymore, because it's always the same one. Maybe my subconcious is trying to tell me something, which is likely because I'm dense enough to not get the point even after two years. But then maybe my subconcious should think of a new way to get the message across, because this is getting stale. I'm sick of this nightmare, and don't wish to have it again. Maybe by giving it full reign in the real world of my blog, it will dissapear from my dreams.
Then again, maybe not. I'll never know till I know.

Moshe's Oliva

It's Restraunt Review Time! Woo hoo!

Today, to partake in the holy activity of lunching, in the vain and sad attempt to live up to the traditions established by the editors of the Hithchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I went out for lunch to a place we've been looking to try out. It's Moshe's Oliva, and it's in Munirka's Big Glass Building.
Right, on to the place. It's another one in the recent trend of Mediterranean Restraunts, whose USP is the few Isreali and Turkish dishes you will get here, and not too many other places. It's menu and range is also larger than the other Med places I've tried over Delhi, and their Dessert Selection is, as I will elaborate in detail, decidedly superior.
Right, to the appetizers and soup first. My mother and her friend, whom I went with, spilt a Spinach and Mushroom soup, which I will say was superior. It had a great green color to it, it had raosted garlic flavouring it, and the mushrooms were sauteed just right. Exceedingly well done, comparable only to the tomato soup I've had in The Big Chill.
For the appetizer, I ordered the prawns. These were delicately flavoured, and tasted quite fresh, in contrast to most prawns you will have in the city. This is a good thing. They were, however, not warmed quite enough, and that could be improved upon.
Next, we move to the main course. I ordered a Fish Tangine, which was very very nice. Continuing on the spinach theme one seemed to have chosen, this was a lovely fish in spinach and olives stew, with good rice with peas on the side. The fish was Rawas, which I must pick up from somewhere, for it is the lightest most delicate fish I have had till date.
Ah, but the best came towards the end. No mention of this fine place is complete with a mention of their desserts. Now, I know there are many supporters of a place known as The Big Chill, in the Delhi circle, and I have sampled their selections, and let me tell you, as good as they are they are NOT as good as what I had today. The Walnut Chocolate Tart was simply divine, and the Chocolate Warm Mud Pie was like having a molten brownie. Both were served with a scoop of icecream, saving you the bother of having to ask for one.
The decor was also highly respectable, and the service was as good as anything Goran Ivanisevic ever tossed up. Thus, I give the place a wonderful 8.5 on 10. I will go back, oh yes, I will go back.

Very Fishy

Today, I had my first not satisfactory result in the kitchen. My fish curry lacked zing, it needed more spice. Aside from that, the fish chosen was Rohu, which I will advise everyone in the entire world never to attempt eating. It's not worth it. It's really not. The fish has bones, several several bones, and scales. It does not cook evenly, it doesn't even taste nice, it's generally a waste of time and effort. I was much dissapointed, and next time I even attempt cooking fish, I shall ensure we stick to our usual Catfish(Singhara).
However, all was not lost. I learnt several valuable lessons, such as, how to fry kadi patta, how to prepare masalas for curry, and just how much salt is too much salt. These are all very wise things to know in the long run, and should definitely be taken as positive lessons.
Lets move on.
I've finally settled down with my new keyboard, which was in fact my brother's college computer's keyboard. I had this wonderful Samsung jobbie, which had volume controls and soft touch and everything, which I unfortunately had to give up, because PC came, dropped the bloody thing, and broke the P. One cannot realistically function on a computer with a broken P, so I immediately replaced it with this one.
Now, this is also a samsung, and I'm not CNET, but anyone ever buying a keyboard should definitely go for Samsung. They're the second best keyboards I've ever used, the best being the HCL ones in the Alma Mater's computer lab. One's fingers just flies over those.
On the matter of keyboards, it is interesting to note that Apple Computers, usually the forerunners in design technology, cannot for the life of them design a decent keyboard, or mouse. They're just terrible, they don't hit right, and lock up every so often. You have to be some bloody expert to keep them moving at a decent pace.

Enough about that.
Summer is here, and if I had the energy to step outside with a digital camera, I would give you the defining moment of a Delhi Summer, in a beautiful snapshot moment. It's there everywhere, it's the Mother Dairy or Kwality Walls Ice Cream Cart under the shade of the nearest tree. They're all over the place, with their respective gentlemen sellers enjoying naps on top of the carts. They make getting ice cream exceedingly simple, and ice cream is one of those things you need to exist in a Delhi Summer.
Another one of them is Aam Panna, and that shall come around shortly. How I richly await my Aam Panna.

Thodi si toh Lift Karade

I love my life, I love a lot of things about it. I'm one of them, as many would have noticed. I'm an out and out narsiccist, not about my looks, but the very nature of me. Thus, it pains me greatly to see myself in any light I do not like, and it pains me greatly when I know I can do something about it.

My physical appearance is one of those things. Now, I can't do anything, as I have previously mentioned, about my height. Genetics dealt me a lousy hand there, and there's not much further I can go. My face, again, short of Plastic Surgery cannot be improved upon, gotta live with that again. But it galled me to no end that I had to spend life as a scrawny underweight kid. It galled me that my bones showed everywhere, and it galled me that it didn't have to be this way, that I had payed a cardinal sin of wasting away ages 5-10 without playing enough sports. After that age, it doesn't seem to matter, you're screwed for good.
So I resolved, a long time back, that once I stopped growing vertically, I would ensure I grew the rest of me. There are things that need to be changed, and this was one of them.
That time came this year. I haven't grown in a year and a half, and I've given up hope on that front. I've peaked out, nothing more I can do there. That's the motive taken care of.
I now also had time free, in the mornings, opportunity was there. To finish the triumvrate of action, the Means were availible to me, a decent gym with a good trainer.
So I've been going to the Gym for a while now, and it's starting to pay off. I've gained a decent amount of weight, and the scales which had become permanently stuck in the early fifties, have gone past the sixty mark (after I've rehydrated myself with some water, of course). The weight, a fact that pleases me even more, is all in the right places, no paunch for this little piggy.
I plan to hit my target weight in June, a wonderful month where I plan to hit my target for many things I've set out to achieve. I shall be a cook by June, I shall be able to do my own books by June, I shall be able to drive competently before June.

The rest of the world may or may not give me opportunities, there are no garauntees on that. The only garauntee I have is myself, and I refuse to cheat myself of that.

Here's to me, and here's to about as personal an entry as you'll ever see on this journal.
Don't expect more, there won't be.

How to Do South Delhi on Rs. 13

Statuatory Warning: The events further described were performed by trained professionals at velagiri. Do not attempt them unless under supervision. Hell, do not attempt them at all.


"...and the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
So in her I do confide
And she keeps me satisfied
Gives me all I need"

Wanderlust hit home today, and I felt a need to get out of my house, again. Everyone was busy, and the cricket match was going along swell enough, so I thought I'd hit the road at around 10ish.
I'm currently suffering a liquidity crisis, I have at this point no money in my wallet, and in the morning, I had all of Rs. 13 in assorted small change. With a wallet containing the above mentioned money, my iPod on half charge, and a mind not to get back for a while, I set off down the road, knowning not where I was to go.
Twenty minutes later, I land myself up at Green Park Market, only to realise that it's not really opened yet. After helping out random strangers looking for classical music, but confused as to why the Musicworld hadn't opened yet(I gave the brilliant advice to "wait for ten minutes", as everything would open shortly), I myself took a diversion through Park, and on my way to Aurobindo Market, to Midlands Bookstore.
Now, the Midlands chap knows me well, and was sweet enough to procure for me a glass of water on a hot summer day, while I spent half an hour in his bookstore without buying anything. But he humours me, for he knows me and my family will be back, to buy half his bookstore one day.
But I had the bug to move on, and soon took off for further locales. I took a grand tour of Hauz Khas, and Safdarjung Devolopment Area, walking through one of the nicest, and largest, colony parks I have ever encountered. The thing even had a jogging track, that was almost a kilometer long. I was highly impressed. The track ended, and I got back onto the main road, to end up at IIT Gate, where I promptly went and sat in a Barista, to get another drink of water, catch up with the newspaper, and watch the final ten overs of the Indian Innings. This was highly dissapointing, as they generally made a hash of the whole affair.
As the final overs ended, I decided to move on. It was now scorching hot, and I didn't wish to have another long walk for a while. So I went to the bus stop, and boarded the first thing that came my way, which happened to be a 764, taking me all the way to Vasant Vihar Depot. I didn't particularly want to go all the way to Najafghar. Total Money used till now, Rs. 2. Total distanced covered? Possibly 12 kilometers.
At Vasant Vihar depot, one realises it is a kilometer and a half to Priya, and it's also pretty darn hot, so I stepped to it, and did the journey in record time, to end up at, yes, you guessed it, The Barista.
Barista's are great for people with no money in their wallet, you can sit for hours without anyone really caring, while enjoying a nice airconditioner, and live cricket coverage. The place was full of cheapsters like me, who had just showed up with the intentions of catching a few overs, without paying for anything.
I also saw in the place a table with Two more iPod minis, and the chaps with them were highly shocked to see that I had the third offered color dangling from my shorts. You don't see three iPod Minis in the same place often, unless you're at an Apple Showroom.
But I move on. I watched the first 15 overs of the Pakistani Innings, till the point they were four down, and I said, hell, we can't really lose now. Besides, I was rested again, and it was time to spend time at Fact and Fiction, randomly browsing through books.
Now, there is only so much book browsing you can do in one day, and I needed to get out of the place. I had had my share of cricket, books, Vasant Lok Babes (There was one with a tattoo very low on her back, made visible by her even lower slung jeans). I needed another change, and took off down the road. I had a drink first, a Rs 6 Chotta Coke, which as I recall, Aamir Khan promised should cost Rs 5, and I am thus highly upset with their marketing. If it is not Paanch, what the hell use is it, anyway.

"...and my ties are severed clean
The less I have the more I gain
Off the beaten path I reign"

Rejuvenated, I took off, hoping to catch a bus at Malai mandir, for I no longer had suitable amount of cash to take the bus home from Priya. Besides, I had no intentions of going home just yet, and the blazing sun had probably made me mad as I Walked On(note suspicious U2 pun).
Somewhere around 45 minutes later, I had reached the edge of R. K Puram, and was fast approaching home, a place I still didn't wish to return to. So, for the third time in the day, I took a detour, and headed off to Deer Park, my childhood's fondest place.
I love Deer Park, it's full of trees and birdies, and Geese-Who-Give-You-Threatening-Looks. Oh, it's got some deer too, or at least it used to. I dunno where they've all gone to now. Anyhow, I took a good round walk through the park, with my iPod off, so I could listen to the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the birds, and the loud accusatory noises made by the squatting geese.
Generally the geese are upwardly mobile, and make the loud accusatory noises while rushing at you for half a second, with open wings, but today, they calmly squatted, looking like hens about to give eggs. Perhaps that is exactly what they were attempting to do, but who knows these things.
My sojourn through the park ended, I exited and look for nearest ice cream stand to finish the last five bucks in my wallet, on a well earned and needed Mango Popsicle(Lick Lolly, for those Mother Dairy Inclined). I then finally decided to call it a day, for I was dehydrated, suffering from heat stroke, and had acidity, due to missing lunch. You cannot, I realise, eat lunch out when you have Rs 13 in your wallet at the beggining of a day.

I wouldn't reccomend anyone do this, ever. It's a ruddy foolish idea on a hot April Day, but sometimes, It's a fools life, and a fools' paradise. And sometimes, the road just calls you.

"Rover wanderer
Nomad vagabond
Call me what you will"

All quoted lyrics from Metallica's "Wherever I may Roam"

Review: The Aviator

The Aviator is one of those rare oscar bait movies that are in fact highly entertaining, albiet a tad bit too long. The entertanment comes from the fact that it is the life story of a real character, a Mr. Howard Hughes, and characters are few and far between in this day and age. Howard Hughes was such a character, filled with eccentricities and major and minor madnesses that are so often either missing, or completely put on in this day and age. It's a story of a remarkable life, the early and mid 20th century's Richard Branson, the playboy extraordinary, daredevil extreme. How can you not fall in love with a story like that, it's got everything we want, women, money, power games, it's a seventeen year old male's dream come true. More movies should capitalise on these concepts, it shall help a lot.
But with the good comes the bad. I don't know who they cast for Katherine Hepburn, because I'm currently too lazy to find out, but she looked like a horse, rather than the beauty she was supposed to be. The other galling part of the movie was the ending, one found it ended two scenes too late, and it should ideally have ended with the take off of the Spruce Goose, the Hercules. The last scene seemed highly jarring, and out of place, and yes, you'll have to go see the movie yourself to know what it was.
On the acting front, I think Leonardo deCaprio has done a very good job, and the rest of the expansive cast plays their roles to perfection. Again, I do wish that someone else had been cast for Katherine Hepburn, it all seemed very disturbing to me.
All in all, a four out of five, and well worth the three hours you'll spend in the hall watching it. Just be sure to take full advantage of the interval.

On a Personal Note

The last couple of days has been great fun, I've been wandering around town like the proverbial young man who was about the above mentioned settlement. Wandering from house to house went PC, Manav and I(I've been told this is the correct way to list items, rather than my own "ego-centric" way"), exploring the limits of maternal hospitality, and viewing Maria Sharapova's breasts. Good times.

Evil Flying Death Vermin

I hate mosquitos, I absolutely abhor them. they're nasty flying bloodsucking vermin, and they're by nature eVol. There are other things that are by nature eVol, but I think we shall not mention them on this nice friendly space.

Now, let me get this straight with everyone. I'm all for mother nature, I think all creatures have a divine right to live, except cows. I wouldn't harm a fly, especially since I am Lord of the Flies, and they obey my every whim. This is true, you lot, and even if I may have blogged about this before, I shall retell the great stories of the Lord of the Flies, he who told the flying fiend to bugger off, and made it promptly land up a guy's shorts.
But that is not what this story is about. It is about mosquitos, and whereas I have dominance over the realm of the lesser creatures, mosquitos are my sworn enemies.
Now, as I was saying, I'm all for their right to live. I do not even mind them sucking my blood, I have enough to go around, and as long as they don't carry nasty virii like malaria or Dengue fever, I'm down with it. What I however dislike, in fact hate about the evil creatures, is that they do not wish to suck my blood. They wish to buzz in my ears. They find this hilarious and fun, they say "Look at the nice man having a decent sleep/nap, lets wake him up and bug the hell out of him."
Now, I can't stand for this kind of thing, and once woken, I shall spend the next fifteen minutes clinically destroying every single mosquito in my room, with a Brunch Magazine, or register. The Brunch Magazine is particularly effective. Then I will check and see why my All Out Pluggy is not working, and it's usually because I have forgotten to plug it in.

Additionally, and everyone who had a problem with the Urinal/Underwear post is requested to stop reading right now, the mossies have found a chink in my armour of leg hair. My inner thighs are not as adequetely covered as the rest of me, and since I am in the habit of spending most of my days in boxers, they have easy access. Thus, a new front has opened on this holy and mighty war.
I'm just waiting for May, when it gets too barmy hot for any of them to survive, and they all burn away.
Muhahahahahaha.

Captain Incompetent

Yes, we lost the test. Yes, it's a dissapointment, and was not one we should have lost, especially when there was only one wicket down at lunch.
I remember a few years back when the entire team used to revolve around the wicket of Tendulkar, it now seems to revolve around Sehwag. This is a bad thing. Sehwag getting out should not mean the end of the match.
But I think most of the blame stands on inept and incompetent leadership from Captain Courageous himself, Sourav da.
Here is a man who's average hasn't breached 20 for this series. His time on the wicket can now be measured in balls, rather than minutes, as is customary in tests. The last time he scored a century, India was Still Shining. He's, in short, washed up. The only reason they kept him on, was the team was winning, so I'm secretly glad that the test match was a loss, now selectors will wake up, hopefully, and smell the coffee.
It's quite strange. The only people who still seem to see fit his place in the side are his never say die supporters in Kolkotta, but they're Bengaali, and embrace anything old and outdated. If communism, Satyajit Ray movies, and Rabindra sangeet find a place in their heart, why not Captain Incompetent Sourav da?

New Gol Gappa Fix

After the demise of Evergreen as a decent joint for Chaat, and general Indian Junk food, I've been searching for a place to get my fix of unhygenic and tasty food. Like the holy grail, I have search far and wide(well wide anyhow, because I don't want to have to go too far to find the place) and finally found what I was looking for(Haha, Bono, I did what you couldn't).
The place is Bengali Sweethouse in South Extension, and they've got some killer Gol Gappas. The paani was nicy and spicy, albiet a bit warmer than I would ideally have liked, and the Gol gappas are large and fulfilling. The chap was also quite benevolent when it came to filling it with the chana and aalu, and the saunth was also adequete. They also charge Rs. 15 a plate, which while still expensive for chaat and does not meet with "Woh Purane Zamane" standard, is a darn sight better than paying Rs. 20 for mineral water prepared crap at Evergreen.
So watch out South Extension, for I shall be back. Your midlands and associated haunts shall see me again, the next time the stomach hungers, and I feel like Hiccuping.

Icle PEE-SEA's Happy Birthday

Or How Not to Plan a Suprise 18th Birthday Celebration

Well, first off, Happy birthday, boss. You're officially official now, and we shall expect you to get your ATM card and driving liscence, so we can mooch off you, and use you as a taxi service for the rest of the holidays. With great age comes great responsibility, and other random things that must be said when one crosses the great barrier.
Now, I shall narrate you a great tale, of joy and wonder. I told you I'd be full of them shortly, and boy do I not dissapoint.

PC's cousin sister Nitya had great intentions, she wished to surprise her little? cousin on his 18th, so tried her hardest, along with her mom, to assemble a rag tag group of friends to rendezvous at house at midnight, storm the place, arise him from slumber and wish him happy birthday with chocolate cake in hand.
Problem number one: Assembling group of friends at midnight. Realization that friends living outside of locality cannot be reasonably expected to make it on their own, all the way to GK.
Problem number two: Loudly yelling at above mentioned friends for having no spirit and soul about the whole matter, so that birthday boy in question knows you're up to something.
Solution number one: Get your mother to pick up above mentioned friend at midnight, and convince nearby friends to in fact, reach on time.
Problem number three: Keeping quiet, so that you don't wake up birthday boy, thus ruining the last few elements of surprise left, for he already knows that something is up.
Solution number three: Go ssshhhhhh.... a lot, while climbing stairs to enter abovementioned birthday boy's house.
Problem number four: Idiot cousin Varun Chadha, who absolutely must bang the door really hard, during the whole ssshing episode, thus awakening dog of above mentioned birthday boy, who proceeds to wake up half of Greater Kailash.
Well, that was that. The lad arose, and the only surprise that we had left was that he didn't have a clue who had assembled from far and wide for his midnight cake ceremony. We proceeded to lather his unshaven, disgusting mug with icing, and after making usual prefunctory noises, left to play a game of footie at around one at night. We wrapped up in around 20 mins, after being shooed off by Tai who could not sleep due to our loud ruckus.
So I spend the night, or day as it may be at PC's, and wait for rest of jing bang company to show up the next morning, to continue days celebrations.
However, those are not as interesting as the events I have described above, and we shall skip them, for you have been promised tales of wonder and joy, and not tales of utmost boredom.

In other, completely unrelated news, I made it to Boston University.
The agony of choice.

Ambition

It's incredible. Here I have kept a journal, of my thoughts and activities for quite a prolonged period of time, and I've never got down to expressing my great dream, my desire and drive, my grand plan for life.
It's because it's ridiculous, of course, and most of my closer friends already know about it. But it is a dream, and I've thought it out really well, have expressed verbally several times, but never ever put to keyboard and screen(I like that phrase, it's going to replace pen and paper shortly).

Without further adieu, I present my life's goal, the one thing that drives me foward.

I plan to build a Pyramid. A big one.
No, I don't want a fancy schmancy glass one, in the designs of one I.M Pei, and I don't want one of those nasty jazzy jobs, like the one's in Las Vegas. As I have pointed out several times before, I am an old fashioned chap, and a megalomaniac to boot, and I want my pyramid done the way they used to be. Very Large. Full of Stone. Very Very Large.
Now, you may think all these things are just castles in the sky, but I do have a plan.
First, the construction plan. I shall buy land in Sonepat, for it is cheap, and yet not too far from Delhi, so I can oversee the construction process once I retire. Pyramids take remarkably long to make, especially if you're going to make them the old fashioned way. I shall need twenty years building time, and it shall be a large structure, covering hopefully four acres of land, with two acres on all sides, as holding space. It shall be made of pure limestone blocks, each weighing upwards of ten tonnes. These blocks will be moved into place, by, you guessed it, Slave Labour.

See, if you're going to construct a pyramid, it must be done with slave labour. It lends that touch of authenticity to the whole deal. There's no point building a whole bigass pyramid if you're going to do it with hired contractors, with their big fancy bulldozers and earth movers, and cranes. You've got to do it the old fashioned way, with slave teams hauling huge stones on wooden rollers. The straw must run out. A moses equivalent must cry "Let my People Go", and I must then sqaush him like the slave bug he is. The Mortar must be made from the bones of those who died building it, so to speak. It gives the whole place a sense of glamour and style, a sense of belonging, a sense of connection with the construction team.

Now, the funding plan. See, funding is key, because building a structure for twenty years takes money, and so does the war you have to fight to get the slave labour, because it isn't as freely availible these days as it used to be. Here's the tough bit, basically. I must somehow win the lotto, big time. Either that, or I get married to a girl with a lot of jaayadad, then divorce her, and move on to the next target. Okay, I apologise for borrowing this plan from someone else.
My other plan is a lot tougher. Basically, I must first have seven sons. The seventh of these seven must in turn have seven sons. The seventh son of the seventh son will hopefully have magical powers, which I shall use to conquer France. This solves two problems, I can sell all the wine to fund the pyramid, and use em Frenchies as my slave labour. Feel the lash of whip, Gerard Depardue!

Once all the hurly burly is done, I'll be around 70, and ready to kick the bucket. Upon dying, I shall be embalmed, mummified, and put in a Sarcophagus, which shall then be put in my Pyramid.
Because if you're going out, you should do it in style.

Kiss the Cook

Highly productive day today, got everything I wanted to get done, done. It's been frikkin' ages since I've been able to say that, and I think I've done more actual work today than 3 months of Board Studying combined.

This is the last ever time I'm going to speak of those things on this sacrosanct space.

List of Important Things To Do

1. Find out how to service/replace iPod, which seemed to be leaking battery: Done. The same will be sent to Bangalore, and I will have to spend a wretched week without my moving music. Anyone willing to donate me a mini for a weeks time, please feel free to put your hands up right now.

2. Get egg and movies. See, a certain Mr. Skaran has this lovely sharpner egg, which I have asked him to lend to me for a couple of days, on several occasions. After asking nicely, I have asked not so nicely, but not to any avail. You see, my Friend Skaran is a stubborn arse when it comes to little matters like this, and he refuses to let me have any fun. Furthermore, he saves strange and disturbing comments that have been made on my site, ages back, for posterity.
So I stole the egg, and it now lies in my possession. I've been playing with it most of the day, and I'll be bored with it in a couple of days time(which is what I told him in the first place), and it shall be returned ever so kindly to him. Of course, now he's all upset, but he's Skaran, he's always upset.
3. Pick up books from School Library: Done. Reading material for the next 4 months has been garaunteed, as one has good impression and relationship with head librarian, who has accepted Rs 500 deposit, allowing me to issue pretty much whatever I like.
4. Design a name and poster for my intra-DPS quiz, which I'll be conducting next month. With the help of above mentioned stubborn, yet exceedingly sweet chap, wonderful poster has been designed for quiz.
5. Learn to cook Most Important Thing No. 1: Done. I cooked for entire family, Gaajar Gobi Pulao, and did a pretty darn sight decent job of it. I am the ultimate test to pass, if I will stuff my stomach full of something, it must be good, and as I write this, I am expectantly satiated. I think my addition of the wonderful Star Anise did the trick. Lovely aroma, that spice gives.

If I am bored, I shall write the entire recipe for the production of Pulao, and other rice derivatives. You always read the fancy shmancy recipe books that seem to take from granted that you know how to cook. More importantly, they take for granted that all your INGREDIENTS are ready for you. Not so. The simple instruction "Prepare and Chop Vegetables" is actually the hardest and most time consuming part of the whole operation. I have chopped my own veggies today, I feel good. Once you can handle yer veggies, you are ready to take on cuisine.
Ideally, I feel, someone who is learning how to cook should write the recipe book, so you know exactly what and what not to do. God is in the details.

Freeeeeeeeeeeeedom!

If you can't win, change the rules

Ladies and gentlemen, and the little kids in the corner, hold yer breath all of ye, now exhale politely, and don't emoan, for I am a free man. The Boards, they have finished. The shackles of a exiled existence are over, I am like the good Prince Ram returning from 14 weeks of exile in the Dandaka Van that is your home, plagued by Asuras and other beasts, such as Chemistry, Physics, and The weird fluffy things in between.

Actually, I'm not like him at all, but that's another story. In particular, it's called the Ramayana, and there's an exceedingly good new retelling of it, by Ashok Banker, which I would suggest you all go pick up and read. But then, who's to say what you're going to do, eh?

The last, the very last of the horrors was chemistry, and it turned out to be an anticlimax. The paper finished in 2 hours flat, and the better part of the class was counting down the minutes to freedom. Freedom, we had at 1:30 today, and after the briefest paper discussion in the entire world, we all shot off for our various celebratory occurances. What a nice way to describe it, no?

In the course of the day, I successfully pioneered an incredible new art, which I'm sure all Retrosexual males would love to learn of, and if they wish to, there's always shahjikiadvice@gmail.com. I call it The Hawala Lunch Date, and it is a concept simple, yet sublime.
No, I'm not going to tell you what it is on this blog. Go away, shoo!

Oh, yes, this blog. It became Blah! a year ago, on this very day. Since then, I believe it has transformed, I went through the archives in one of my more bored moments, and I've seen it change, to almost what I want it to be. Almost.

Back to the point. Following the Hawala Lunch, I had possibly the most interesting game of scrabble in my entire life. A whole new range of terrible words were coined, some of which unmentionable on this family friendly site. Usually, when you are stuck with four A's, or five E's, there is little one can do. But, there are the completely unexplored realms of common day words such as "Aaaah!", followed by Gaaaah!", and of course, the eternal "scared of mouse" favourite "Eeeeeks". This is what happens when Barista---diversion--- and I make this complaint loud and clear, in the vain hope that people will stand up and take to arms to ensure that such things do not happen again---end of diversion---refuses to stock pencil and paper, for one to keep score.
I would have won too....

Then, after dropping the girlfriend back home, with a clip of the toes and a spring in my step, I head back home. The skies, they were ominious and grey, in the way you simply love them to be when the weather is warm. A few drops of rain had already started, but as I boarded the 621, I had no idea what I was in for.
I really didn't, because a Bus I thought was going to go my way (it SAID so on the side), decided to take a U, and I ended up at Munirka Enclave. At that point, I got my wits about me, got off, and boarded a 615, which I knew would take me home safe and sound. Lightning now punctuated the sky, driving white streaks across a dark grey canvas that had become the sky. Then, apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The STORM BLAST CAME!, and indeed, it was an allmighty storm. After the initial blast of wind and rain, came the HAIL! Let me inform all you readers, that you have not experienced hail, till you have experienced it from inside a rickety DTC bus. The hailstones pound against the metal, a great sound vibrates the entire bus. From windows yet to be closed, hail stones rush in at odd angles, pelting unsuspecting bus goers. Everything except the rain and hail seems to happen in slow motion, the bus slows, people stare transfixed at the raw power around them, and I wonder how I'm going to get from Mohammedpur Bus Stop to Home, a 2 minute walk through a torrential downpour.
Actually, I wonder how much fun it's going to be, and I must say it was. After deboarding the 615, I stood at the bus stop for five to ten minutes, waiting for a shot to cross the road without being squelched by a bus, or a car. When I got my chance, I darted across, with my shirt ineffectively covering my head, protecting more my eyes from the rain, then my non-existent hair. You have to see where you're going, to get yourself home. A minute and a half later, I reach home, soaked to the bone, with the biggest grin on my face. In the short period of eight hours, life has become perfect.
When you see perfection, you should attempt to capture it, in any possible form. I'll be back, on the 21st of March, 2006, to catch a glimpse of perfection in my life, on my Blah! I changed it a year back, but now it stays the same. Some things are right, some things will stay the same.

The Final Countdown

It's now officially "not too far away from the end of the boards", as I have two to go, and three days to give them in. Tomorrow, I give a board exam for which I have studied, and I kid you not, the exact period of two hours for, and plan to double my study time tomorrow morning. It is economics, so that basically means I'm still going to do just as well, or badly, as I would have with my normal 3 hours of study, that I have done all year.

Ah, what rubbish I fill this post with. It's almost like those of other depressed board bloggers, but no, you are at Blah!, you deserve better. I shall enthrall you with tales of wonder and joy.
Who am I kidding, there's no tales of wonder and joy availible yet. But just you wait. From next week, you damn will get what you have been denied, A Daily Dose of Blah! Co-incidently, the 21st is also the Anniversary of Blah!, the fine day last year when this blog metamorphised to it's present form.

I shall tell you of a great syndrome, sweeping the good lands. As I have previously mentioned, it is soon to be "after the boards", and many people are freaking out, because much they had put off, and planned to do "after the boards" must be done shortly, and are fast discovering that they don't have the balls to go through with it.
Yes, I talk of countless bored, depressed males, and the rare desparate-to- prove-herself- to be-straight-female(yes, they do exist, in RKP, everything exists) who promised to fix themselves up "After the Boards".
Now comes the fun time, doesn't it? Next week, we shall discover what seniors before us have long discovered, it's not that great a plan after all. But I have kept mum all this while, I have inwardly laughed and sniggered at the futility of it all, these great mission statements of "After the Boards", but the time has come, oh yes, the time has come for me to laugh.
But, such is life.

As for me, I too have great plans, fantastic plans up ahead. It shall be a summer of much joy and celebration, and I plan to equip myself in the intervening time with the skills and moves that a young man about town, and about to head off to college needs. I talk of the mother skill, what human beings have spent 10,000 years of evolution and learning to perfect, to experiement, and to pass down from one generation to the next. When man invented fire it was, contrary to beliefs expressed by Coupling's creator Steven Moffat, not meant to put light to otherwise clad-by-the-night female bottoms, it was to cook!
Yes, I shall learn what many a caveman learnt, what many a khansama learnt, and what many a glutton failed to learn, much to his great misfortune. I shall master the art, the science of Cooking.
Now, isn't that a much better plan than a three month fling?

I've also got a few other things planned, but we can talk about those another day, a more sane day, when I am not rambling on like a looney tune.

Priceless

ULIKE CBSE Sample Papers: Rs 140

R.D Sharma's Class 12 Mathematics Part A: Rs. 250

Together with Mathematics, Question bank, and Sample papers: Rs 180

Solved AISSCE Class 12 Board Examination Paper, one day before the exam: Rs. 12,000

Look on the face of the guy when he discovers the paper is fraud?
Priceless.

There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's Mastercard.
Accepted everywhere cheaters are.

The paper, by the way, was excellent, and barring insane board examiners(which is a lot to bar), or the paper suddenly being cancelled, I should max it.
Did I mention WooHoo?

Dandi March

Anniversary celebrations are on this week, over the Dandi March, which heralded Mahatma Gandhi's Satyagrah movement.
Enough with the history lesson. This event is being taken as yet another opportunity for the country's media and youth to take pot shots are Gandhanian belief's, ideologies, and tell us all why they are outdated, and won't fit the times.
Rubbish.
Now, I don't idolise the Mahatma(yes, I realise that the past sentence contains logical fallacies), he was a man, not a saint, and his life wasn't saintly, to say the least, when you read his memoirs. Neither, will I say, were his political views or choices the best and brightest our nation was witness to, any man who chose Jawaharlal Nehru to lead our free nation quite obviously didn't have the smartest viewpoint going around in that respect.
But this is a man who single handedly changed the course of India, and pretty much made our country what it is. He ensured through his way that we did not achieve freedom through a violent struggle, and thus did not end up in the same lot as that of nations in Africa, or even Asia.
Let us take a look at the fate of most nations that attained freedom through a violent struggle. Most of these are in Africa, some, like Pakistan, in Asia, and almost all of them without fail have been involved in tremendous civil war and strife after independance. India, on the other hand, apart from pockets of terror (Read 1984 Riots, Gujarat), has lead a largely peaceful existence. If we are secure today, we have the Mahatma to thank, and if my generation cannot come to terms with such a simple fact, then I must say, something is very wrong.

The second argument put forth by "The New Brigade" is how outdated Gandhanian concepts, such as Ahimsa, and turning the other cheek are in "today's" world. Yes, today's world. A world where we do not fear arrest from a foreign government, a world where violence from the state, from police, from revolutionaries, and from communal rioting does not DAILY affect our lives, this is a world where we claim "Non Violence Will Not Work".
lets grow up. We live in far far more peaceful times than the 1930's, than the 1940's, that saw bloody and bitter wars, that decimated entire populations. Ahimsa worked then, so it seems highly suspect to me when a bunch of young hyper-agressive Gujrati youth, who probably aren't getting laid enough, or at least not jerking off enough, lay claim to how times have changed, and the world today can't take non-violence as an answer.

So criticise someone else. Try the Nehru-Gandhi family for instance, if you're going to get political. Mahatma Gandhi did what he set out to do, and he did it his way. Respect him for that, understand him for that, and forgive his migivings.
And don't ever make a saint out of anyone.

The Case of the Inconsistent Toast

Right, so in the evenings, I enjoy having a little snack, these days. Brittania has just come out, or more likely, we have just noticed that Brittania has very nice mozerrela cheese, and Papa got some excellent pasta tomato sauce from Campbells Co., now availible in local grocery store. These two go quite well together on a grilled toast, and I was just preparing the same, for my evening munching pleasure.
Here's what happened. The thing grills in the oven. After five minutes, I check on it, and one toast is unfortunately minorly overdone, whereas the other is Completely overdone! Not burnt, of course, for I would never let that happen to anything that goes into my belly, but still, overdone is a tragedy in itself. The part that really bothered me was how, two toasts, that had both been in the grill for the same amount of time, had both been rotating around the grill (for that is what the oven does) for the same amount of time, could possibly have gotten done differently.
Now, I'd love to have made a detailed study of the above affair, but there was a slight snag in my plan.

I ate the evidence.

WooHoo! College, bey!

Yet Another Hair Brained Scheme

It's wonderful how many wonderfully scary ideas and concepts begin with the phrase "Me and PC were talking".

So basically, the both of us were talking, and that got us thinking. We both have incredible cred. in DPS, and were respected, and in my case, much loved members of the community. Thus, we plan to leverage that credibility, by offering free advice on all matters, relating to college applications, general life in DPS, how to get things done, and of course, relationship related problems.
We're especially keen on offering advice on the relationship problems, they'll be the most fun.
We enjoy a good laugh.
So if anyone's having some problems, or can't cope with Mamta Sharma, or any of the sort, don't forget to drop an email at shahjikiadvice@gmail.com, and have your favourite, most trusted, most devotedly sincere problem solvers work something out for you.

Yes, this is for real.

AISSCE Physics 2005

Our Physics Board Examination can best be describe as the movie Devdas.
It was overly long, had insignificant, but detailed and stupid content, and was, inevitably, a disaster.

I have nothing further to say.

D-Day

To everyone good luck, and good luck to all
In the eleventh hour comes the time to fall
Today, march the citizens, of DPS F Block
So sharpen yer pencils, and pull up yer socks
For the months have passed, gone is the cold
An experience to leave us a hundred years old
For grown bitter we have, in the month gone by
And now some will rejoice, and some will cry
And the rare odd soul may give up and die
In the land of Board-or, where the shadows lie

Thank You, dear Blog

I wanted to wait about writing about this, because of the whole uncertainity of it, and my dislike for the same. But a few days ago, the uncertainity (hopefully) cleared, and what I am talking about will become apparent very shortly.

Here's how it goes. About two and a half weeks back, I got mailed by the Editor of JAM Magazine, who also has a nice blog which you will see on the blogroll as Youth Curry, telling me she liked my Post on the Republic Day, and asked if I would like to write for JAM.
The above mentioned post, I assume she came across, as someone had liked it, and nominated it at one of the editions of the Bharateeya Blog Mela.
Of course, I replied in the affirmative, you know me, what won't I do to write for anyone/anything. The response was encouraging, I got asked to send a couple of things on a topic of my choice, straight off.
Unfortunately, I was busy with praccis and maths at the time, and didn't do it all that quickly.
I eventually sent off the material, as I wrote it, and more personalized versions of the same have been published on my blog.
To the point, My review of Q and A has been selected for publication, and a piece on the IGI, albiet very edit, is pending acceptance.
If you look at the Job section of my blog, you'll find it's filled.
I'm writing, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm going to get paid for it too. At least I hope so.
All further submissions have, unfortunately, been delayed by a wonderful thing called the AISSCE Class 12 Examinations, which have left me with nothing to write about, and little desire to be creative.
But all this will change.
Thank you, Blah, and thank you Ms. Rashmi Bansal.

Terrible Choices

When you are at home for a prolonged period of time, such as I am right now, there are strange things you look foward to. One of these is the odd day when you don't have plans to step out of the house at all, no revision class, no trip to the local market, no nothing.
Okay, these days aren't all that rare, but one still enjoys them. You know why? Because you don't have to get all fancied up. Translation: I can spend the day in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and not put on underwear. Go commando, as the phrase goes.

Now, this is all very well, right upto the point that you are told towards the end of the day that you're in fact invited to go out for dinner. Now comes the terrible choice, for having to go to dinner means that you must a)Dress Up(Pants and a Shirt), and b)Get underwear on.
The condition b) must be satisfied, for as all people know, you can't leave the house without underwear, it's not a done thing. Don't ask me why it's not a done thing, but it's one of those restrictions engraved in most people's social make up. If I have met any of you socially, and you have actually not had underwear on, then I am much shocked and disgusted, and don't step near me again.

Oh, yeah, the point. I always lose track of that. One now has to make the terrible desicion of going out to a dinner to a nice place or not, for the former choice involves having to get underwear on, when you have had pretty much an understanding with yourself about how the day would be spent Spetsnaz.
Now there are all these issues, I'll have to expend fresh underwear for only two to three hours of the day, and then they won't be fresh no more, but won't exactly be unfresh. So the timit limit expansion for wearing them again is in a state of uncertainity, can I wear them for half a day more, or will they be fine for a whole new day of usage?
The last time I had to make this choice, I just chose to stay at home, and save myself the whole bother of thinking about it, but this time, I guess I gotta go...

The worst thing is nobody feels my pain, instead I'm given cruel and disdainful looks by certain female members of family.

Urinals

Urinals have always been thought do be drab, dull boring things. Well, usually, they are. You go in, do yer stuff, get out, there's no major skill or design that could go into improving something as vastly simple as a men's urinal.
Ah, but you forget, we live in an age of wonder and liberazation, where ideas and technology rush at as faster than the eye can see.
So first came the fancy schmany ones with those infra-red sensor thingummies, the one's that would flush when you moved away from them. These were rare, and far between, and had the whole gimmick value.
But they didn't stop there. Now, public toilets have gone pay, in certain areas, like Khan Market. In the loo, you have loud old hindi music playing, which is kind of disconcerting.

But the king of all urinal distractions must go to the loo in The Marriot Hotel, which had the day's sports columns strategically placed at eye level above the urinal in the loo, so, for the half a minute you are taking a leak, you may be entertained by what Read Madrid did the past week, or the Indian Cricket Team's latest disaster.

Book Review: Q And A

By Vikas Swarup

Owing to the rigours of a board life, I took a week to finish this book, which in itself is a fallacy, as I finished the bulk of it over the last two days, or as the case may be, nights.
Now that I've dispensed with the pleasantries, to the review.

This is an exceptional read. It's, and I do not exxagerate, one of the finest debut novels I have ever read. It is the finest novel from an Indian Author I have ever read, because it doesn't pretend to be anything, it doesn't try to be poetic, or flowery, it doesn't stink of Arundhati Roy. Here's why.
A short background first. Q and A is the story of a life less ordinary, of an orphan named Ram Mohommad Thomas, and how he manages to win Rs. One Billion in a quiz show, by answering 12 questions. The book starts off with his arrest for winning, as a simple waiter living in Dharavi could not possibly have answered quiz questions without having cheated. The book relates his story in first person, and how he explains how he got lucky. The narrative takes us through his life, explaining just how he picked up the knowledge to answer those series of 12 questions.
Now, to the craft itself. The narrative is simple, first person, and very expressive. The story is a wonderful construction, a series of coincidences, of meetings and opportunities won and lost, with Villians, heroes, bad guys, good guys, dacoits, film stars, contract killers, and everything in the world in tow. I've heard the book has already sold movie rights, and I'm not suprised. It would make for an incredible watch. I can hear you saying Forrest Gump already, but this, I assure you, is a lot better. Forrest Gump carries with it an air of complete disbelief, which makes you smile all the way through, whereas Q and A carries with an eerie air of belief, of situations that we've seen or heard of, of a life some of us live, and some choose to ignore. Whereas a Forrest Gump lives through a picture perfect life, Ram Mohammed Thomas has seen joy, suffering, pain and loss. This gives it an Aura of realism, and keeps it from becoming Filmi.
The narrative is brilliantly constructed, and is storytelling at it's finest. Books these days, well, novels, have forgotten what they are supposed to be about, which is to tell a tale, spin a yarn. This book brings that lost art back, it has no moral, it has no fancy characters, with inner turmoil and angst, it's a potboiler of a story, plain and simple.
Now, to the ending. I wish I wrote it. I finished the book, and aside from an appreciative content smile on my face, only one thing came to mind, "Damn, I wish I wrote that". The ending has the kind of twist you expect at the end of a great story, and if I wasn't a writer myself, I couldn't have appreciated the thought and sentiment that goes into coming up with something like that.
What is it?
Read it and find out, you sorry lot. No spoilers on this blog.
Oh, I'll leave you with the last line though.
"Because luck comes from within."

She tells me that people play games, and is know by half a dozen names
Whether Ingrid, Vrinda, Champa or Chameli
For today, All Hail the Lunar Lily

Black

Very few times do I experience something that leaves me silent.
This is the only review that the film can be given, and is exactly what is deserves.
Silence.
Oh, just one more thing.
Go watch it.

It's that time of the year again...

Here's a little something to get all of you in the mood.

Oh, there was also Exun Farewell today, it was wonderful.
Damn these short, rushed posts.
But do check out the link, it's really worth the while.

Blah!

The Last Hurrah

Yesterday was the culmination of plans. Plans to break the shackles of monotony and boredom that had overtaken my life, plans to do four hours of integration in the morning, so I wouldn't have to feel guilty about breaking the shackles of monotony and boredom that had overtaken my life, and plans to go to Delhi College of Engineering for one last final quiz before I head off to college, where I probably won't ever get the chance again.

Where was I? Yes, the plans culminated, but not without their own individual disasters. A team, I was short off, so I gave the kid, Ishaan Chugh a ring, and he in his youthful exhuberance agreed, unlike the rest of the lot who said no. So, with a free car, desire to get out, and a quizzing partner, I set off to a faraway land, where few living in South Delhi will step foot: Rohini.
Now, North Delhi is a whole new world, from the south, or even East. It's large, first of all, really really large. There are vast amounts of space, great expanses of unused land, waiting to be built into megamalls(because that's what all the signs say). There is not a movie theatre in sight, a seeming abscence of a major market, and nobody in the whole place seems to know directions, either that or they just don't want to tell you. What these people do for fun, one wonders.
Anyhow, after searching through the vast cow eaten fields and long nalas of the north, we finally arrived at DCE, where negotiations started with the organiser, Kunal, over getting us a third team mate. These negotiations eventually failed, and we entered a three person quiz short one. Such is how it was meant to be.
The quiz started, punctually, only an hour and a half late, and one must congratulate them in this regard. Now, the quiz "Spectrum" itself was really nice. It is the only quiz I have ever been too that has combined spectator fun, showmanship and good questions. Normally the above two just simply don't go together. But the prelims started off with a cool fireworks display, as would the finals, and the final result. There was a laser light show running all the time, and there was constant music, which we forced them to shut off, because the showy nature was starting to interfere with ze thought process.
Anyhow, prelims get over. We do very well for ourselves, scoring 14 on a possible 23. We're confident we're through. So they announce the finalists. We're not one of them. We raise all hell with organisers, only to find out ....they've lost our SHEET!
Well, the matter eventually, and thankfully got resolved, and we got to go up on stage, edging out a fresh from UC Faculty of Law, Delhi Univ.
Joining us on stage were a fresh from winning University Challenge NSIT, a very stud St. Stephens outfit, a bunch of Budddha quizzers from beyond, DCE, and a North Campus South Campus superteam. The stage was set for a great showdown, especially after the QM kept reffering to us as "school ke bachche".
We started off a bit slowly, and quickly settled into third place. Midway through the quiz, on the back of a couple of great answers from Chugh, we worked our way up to joint first. Then, the subject round sealed it for us. We took F1, and between us answered nine of ten questions, and that was the final nail on the head.
Y'know what that means? We won! Us, along with a motley crew of ex-dipsite DCE chaps who were rooting for us were pleased as punch. We won, we beat the UC winners, we beat the Jhola waalas, we beat the home team, nyah nyah to em all.
Ah, now to the spoils of war. A crystal set(please don't ask me why), a few books, a CD with the soundtrack of Sapnay.
Oh, I forgot to mention. Rs 2500 as well.
So guess what? I'm going to be spending quite a bit once these boards are over.

You'd think I'd forget to mention it, wouldn't you? Well, I haven't.
Maria continues her unbroken winning streak, never has RKP even come second under her reign. Hail Maria.

Arabic Southpaws

I'm a southpaw, a lefty, and other such euphamisms for those naturally inclined towards the right side of the brain. Now, while life is more or less the same for us folk, it does pose a few problems, where handedness can be a disadvantage. For instance, when I was growing up, it was next to impossible to get musical instruments designed for the left hand, and even tougher to find a teacher willling to teach you the wrong way around.
One of the lesser, played down hassles of being a lefty is writing the roman anglo saxon, or even devnagiri script. You see, it's just not designed for lefty's, it's written from left to right, which is something which got me thinking.
See, there exists an entire script subset that writes from right to left. Aramic, Arabic, and Hebrew and their derivatives, which all must share a common background are all written the opposite way around. This lead me to think, why such a thing would have happened, and I also thought about what people would have been writing with in those days, rudimentary ink pens prone to much blottage.

Taking all these factors into account, I came up with a theory of language. Now, when someone is coming up with a script, or pretty much anything in human society, it's more or less an individual effort, or a maximum of two or three. The whole world did not get together to decide how to invent a lightbulb, Edison took care of that quite nicely. All original ideas basically come from a select number of people, and all advancements to those ideas are done by the masses.
Therefore, even the scripts we use to write with, and how we choose to write them would have devoloped from a few ancient smartareses, and not the medivial lexicological committee of the fifth Ataturk.
To simply for both myself, and dear readers, let us consider that two bright chaps, one we shall call Huhn, and the other Torr, living in two sepate localities realised that it would be a mighty bright idea to invent a way to save all the fascinating things that were being said all over the place. A couple of them might even have wanted to write magnificent histories of times immemorial, and we shall call these two the "Early Bloggers".
Now, here's the clincher, one was left handed, and the other right handed. The Lefty, lets say Huhn, picks up crude writing instrument, dips it in ink, and starts writing from the right side, so that his hand won't smudge the text he's already finished. After he's done, he shows everyone, "See! Arabic/Hebrew!", and everyone goes, damn, that's not a bad idea. So they all try to copy him, and most are right handed, and have a jolly stupid time doing so, because they keep smudging the text, and thus calligraphy was invented.
A similiar sort of story happened with Torr, who was clearly right handed, and started writing the other way around. Everyone again decided to follow in the way of this divine genius, and all was well. Thus my theory safely concludes that Arabic scholars were left handed, and Roman ones were right handed. That's just the way things go.
This is why I love the keyboard, it does away with the whole lefty righty problem of text, on the otherhand, my fountain pen thourorly messes everything I write up. Which is already messed up as it is, for to see what I am writing, I must hold my pen at an odd angle, starting somewhere at 180 degrees to the paper.
Take Da Vinci, for instance, and his "secret" mirror handwriting. Now, a man who had to write so much, and with them horrible blotty ink pens, would cleary want to write from right to left, him being left handed, and thus the only reason he wrote in mirror was for pure convinience sake, not to keep his ideas a mystery for the world at large.

In conclusion, as I have said before, thank god for the keyboard, and other detro-leavo neutral devices. Thank god for two shift keys, and thank god for a mouse that's not ergonomically designed not to fit into my left hand.

Arrival Lounge

Yesterday,and what extended into what is commonly known as today, I went to Indira Gandhi International's arrival lounge, for the umpteenth time in my life, to pick up my NRI Cousin returning from foren.

See, I visit the airport quite a lot. My father is a frequent business traveler, and of late, my Bua has become quite jet-bound too. Added to this is the fact that our house is the ubiquitous "family house", and thus still serves as a semi focal point for a now far and disbanded joint family, when it decides to return from the four corners of India and the globe. The arrival lounge, thus, is quite a familiar place for me, and I've seen in not change (because the IGI is a disastrously badly managed airport) for the past god knows how many years. The only change I saw this time was a new Cafe Coffee Day counter, which was actually seeing business, unlike all the other shoddy, terrible quality kiosks.

The Arrival Lounge has by necessity, had to provide many options for entertainment, as my father holds records for spending time in baggage check and customs, records which he consistently breaks every so often. Thus, I've usually had a lot of waiting around to do, and in the absence of any real entertainment, you have to make your own. So I stroll about the lounge, and watch things. Arrival lounges are strangely enough, remarkably interesting places for people with a keen eye for interest, and unless you're stuck in one place, you'll miss a lot.

The first thing that you can do, if you are male that is, is check out females. Airports are quite a high density zone for babes, both desi and vilayati. Somehow, though, I only ever see them for the first half hour of waiting, and then all I get is fat ones, but you can't have everything, can you. Now, this may sound like an incredibly perverse, "female objectifying" thing to do, and well, it is, but quite frankly, I don't give a stuff. It's fun entertainment for anyone with as many y chormosomes as me. Anyhow, at last visit, I was not disappointed, no not at all. Most noted was PYT attempting to explain to lost dad how to operate cellphone. Now, this is not to say age of dad has anything to do with him being lost, I would have been just as lost as the poor man, but a far more receptive student, I would say.

Anyhow, we move on. Next come the Tibetan Buddhists. Now, if you frequent the airport, you will see a remarkable amount of Tibetan Buddhists arriving from all over the world, pretty much all the time. They're even more jet set than Sardars, and that is saying a lot. They come in droves, traveling in groups of ten and over, and you always see them with their nice jolly smiles, and shaven heads.

Next, we move to the people you think you know, but can't say for sure, so you eye them every once in a while, till they think you're a little bit nuts. You of course, don't really know them, otherwise they themselves would have said hi, but such is the nature of things in arrival lounge dynamics.

Then, every so often, there are people you actually do know(Or pretend you know, at any rate) and run into in an Arrival Lounge, and this actually happened yesterday. You know the incredibly stupid way of starting conversations with someone you bump into at the movies "So what are you doing here?", well that was topped by conversation starter at arrival lounge.
Sample this. I run into, or rather 11thie-broad-who's-name-I-forgot-but-by-description-V-assures me-is-Anandita runs into me at the Airport.

11thie Broad: "Hi! So are you waiting for someone"
How is one supposed to respond to this? Sarcasm inevitably takes over.
Me: "No, I'm here for the enjoyable night time experience"
I then proceed on in my walk, expecting her to walk alongside, because well, I do expect these kind of things, when she come up with another gem.
11thie Broad: "Slow down, I can't keep up with you, my butt is hurting, man."

Yeah, that was about it for me. Conversation was just bound to go downhill from there.
But anyhow, it just objectifies the point of how Arrival Lounges are fun an interesting places, where one can in fact while away time while waiting for baggage to arrive. And if absolutely nothing else strikes your fancy, you can always watch the many happy reunions of families reunited with long gone relatives, or cute kids sitting on their luggage trolleys, or other wonderful sights and sounds of the Indira Gandhi International, possibly the only thing with her name that can bring joy to anyone.

Tears of Joy?

Have you ever laughed till tears came out? Till recently, I had not done so very often, but off late, even smaller level laughing has triggered it off. Two incidents make recall in my head today, which objectify this.
The first, I have already elaborated on, in a previous post, the incident of the tenthie who made his father his neighbour. When I told my parents the story on the dinner table, that got me to laugh to tears.
Short Diversion: I think one of the foundations of healthy families is dinner table conversation. There are a lot of people I know who simply will avoid sitting down on the dinner table at night, and let me tell you, they're all screwed up. So chuck the TV dinner, or the "Lets eat individually, and not together", because if you want a healthy family dynamic, you're simply going to have to eat together, and have a polite dinner time conversation as well.

The second time was a bit stranger, because it wasn't even one of those uproariously funny moments. I was watching the other day, one of my favourite movies, Finding Forrester, which for information, stars Sean Connery and and Rob Brown. It's about writing, which is something I really love, and thus the movie, which itself is good, pretty much hooks me.
Anyhow, it had reached the bit where the lead character, Rob Brown, is bajaoing the mean ol' proffesor, in a very non-obviously funny way, and I found it very amusing. I laughed again, and as I said, tears welled out.
Now, I always thought this was a very strange concept, tears while laughing, it seemed a bit off. Out of place, one would say. Tears are normally meant for sadder times, or when you get up in the morning(I have a lot of morning tears). But as with many things, my opinions are reforming themselves. Here's the way I now see it, tears are some sort of emotional trigger, and most of the time, we have terrible lives, where the majority of our stronger emotions are those of sadness, rather than joy. Hence, we cry. However, if you can have as powerful happy emotions as your sad ones, while laughing for instance, you will again be motivated to shed tears. How it works in general, I still know not. People react in different ways. When I'm angry, it can be spotted a mile away, as my ears go crimson red. But the tears thing seems to be a very common emotional trigger.
Here's the observable difference between happy tears and sad ones. When you cry at times of distress, one observes that you will also sniffle, and make other rude and disgusting noises, which prove to the world that being sad is just a simple waste of time. On the other hand, tears of happiness sort of come in a rush, and then dissapear just as fast, and the only noise you shall be observed to make is of course your laugh, which may or may not be a good thing.
I hope it is.

Next time I feel like writing, it might be about the judgement of beauty, which the abscence of anything material in life, abstract posts seem to take over.

Practi Kal

As the title suggests, I have my first (of two) board practical tomorrow, the subject being physics.
As the title doesn't suggest, I'm decently prepared, and have stopped worrying about the possible consequences, for in the words of another "These things are rigged".

Wonderful perspective it puts on life, doesn't it?

As the last...brief...post might suggest, I've been in a good mood. If I wanted to tell you why, I would have written about it already. But I haven't. So guess what?I'm not going to tell, nyah nyah.
Here's the thing with getting back in a good mood, it sets off a chain reaction. You work better when you're happy, and you start getting things done. When you get things done, this gets you into a better mood. The days pass nicer, and you've got a silly inexplicable smile on your face instead of Board Related Maudlinity(Even if it's not a word, I don't give a pair of dingo's kidneys). Contrary to a previous comment, I'm not in fact, in a Happy Happy Joy Joy mood, though not merely elated either. Searching far and beyond for an apt word to describe current emotion, one recalled the feelings of a matress named Zem (well, it would be hard for it not to be named Zem), who was quite Floopy. Thus, I globber on floopily, in this post.

Ah, here's everyone's favourite question these days: "What else?"
It has a terrible answer too. Nothing! It's the beggining of the month, and there's literally not much to do. I'll while away the next fifty days in seemingly large amounts of nothingness, till a whole lot of doing nothing is finally over.

Unfortunately, I have no fresh Sasta For the Day, but I'm sure that will make enough of you deleriously happy. Which you should be. Because it's a beautiful world, P.K Purvis.
Or whoever you are.