DEAR FRIEND

Dear friend,

Once upon a time there was her, who promised with fancy. She beheld wistful glimpses into the future resplendent with gaiety and promise. Yet, she rued her failing friendships from the past and nodded solemnly.

‘One day we will leave. And you will be here and I will be there. It won’t be the same you know, and I cannot bear to think about that. I don’t know what I would do without you.’

‘Why? You will be here and I will be there. Once you are used to the difference, the distance won’t matter.’

‘It hasn’t worked in the past. Why would it work now?’

But it would. If only you had remembered me there, flung from a social extravaganza into a life less lively. Adapting to the old family that reared its brand new façade and grunted to enliven conversation. I didn’t laugh the same way, or cry the same way. I didn’t grant the same way, the way I did when you were my family.
What good really is nostalgia? What good, when you have chosen your life. Sometimes you curl up in your bed struggling under the heavy darkness alive with a strange kingdom, and you think of me. Your hand reaches to me amidst doubts and self-pity, but the blackness prevents you from seeing straight and you retract. I call the next day and you half sob. But my heart has become impervious and I strain it. But my heart has become impervious.

What good are these words that will never reach you? Dear friend, I remember you with a touch of mirth. But the pending has assumed the past. It would not work now.

Love,

Dear friend.

STRANGER THAN FRICTION

Meeting a stranger for the first time can be quite the daunting task. You might hope for stranger person to hold on tightly to a bright conspicuous sunflower, but stranger person might announce a dull, pedestrian sweater for tracking intentions. You might scan the ambient area for one black sweater and wave at quite a few black lovers. Oh, yes there are quite a few of them. Now you know.

Your accent might become more polished and purrry, your intonation deep and purposeful. Yet at the exact moment of ejaculating the purrrr-fect 'Hellooooo...', irritating cab driver might bombard you with calls and castigations because you forgot to inform him that you didn't require his services. Never mind that four other cab drivers called before him. Yes, there are quite a few cab drivers as well. Now you know that too.

You might bare your teeth a lot, with a desire to model your flashing 32. But conversation might dwindle as pearly whitened orifice might scare more than share. Inebriation might evade your tight purse strings, loose cigarettes might evade your very premises, knowledge might evade Ralph Waldo Emerson's transcendentalist works. Conversation threatens to burn an indelible improper impression.

And then you discover that investing in windmills might save you a whole lot of tax, that Bengaluru was crazier than you imagined, and that there are scarier things than two drunk souls driving a car without a license, getting caught by cops in the middle of the night.

Meeting someone for the very first time can be stranger than friction. Because sometimes there just isn't any.

WHEN PEOPLE CAN SUPERSONIC-SPEAK

My GRE date is looming large and without much largess unfortunately, and therefore I have little time and inclination to blog comprehensively.
Oh but something very interesting happened yesterday. I heard some mutual funds advertisement over the radio. And co-incidentally watched a mutual funds advertisement on the television the same day. Has anyone noticed the crazed speed at which the guy is speaking at the end of the advertisement, relating the perfunctory precautions? No, seriously. That speed is worth a blog entry!
And then I settled down in bed with some sumptuous viand (yessss!!! Actually a synonym for food. Help!) to get my diurnal (don't ask) dose of Seinfeld. And master Jerry speaks at the same loony speed to tell his mom off over the phone because he is expecting an important call! Talented guys these...
And here I thought I was a fast speaker. So much for divine delusions.

Oh and just as an afterthought, I stumbled upon Christophe Beck recently. The songs have been on repeat ever since. Remembering Jenny and Drink me I strongly recommend. I have not been able to listen to a very versatile collection. For that matter, I am not even sure if Beck is versatile, but it's lovely nonetheless; mellow, mellifluous instrumental (mostly piano) and I quote 'it makes you feel like you are in Europe'. Very OST-ish, the piano has a habit of doing that. Start searching :)

Also discovered The Dandy Warhols. Woo hoo hoo! Fast, frivolous and funnnnnn. I recommend the overplayed Bohemian like you, the Good Will Hunting OST track 12 Boys better and the funky We used to be friends. Thank you Suraj.

And that's all folks! Wish me luck!

BUSES AND BOYS IN BANGALORE

I walked into ‘the boys’ house and proceeded to aim some carefully oriented blows at Suri boy’s posterior. ‘Wake him up with a KI-ss not a KI-ck!’ exclaimed Suri boy’s roommate. Minutes later Suri boy groggily theorized that as long as I did not wake him up with a KI-ll, he would live to tell the story [that punster boy him!]

I was anticipating an adventurous day in Bangalore. I was scheduled to meet my external project guide at Mindtree Consultancy, the company I am currently interning in. The office was in Global Village, some 25 km from ‘the boys’ house. After semi-frantic calls to my guide and my project partner, a hurried ablutions conduct, repossessing Suri boy’s ATM and [very expensive] cell phone, dropping him off at his workplace and a forty five minute solitary wait [which included going through ALL 800 of Suri boy’s messages without the imperative imprimatur of course, a random foray into a city-village and vociferous whining to Ara and the group] I was on the bus headed to Global Village. I also managed to sneak in a call to Suri boy wondering [with apparent concern] about his state minus the money and the telecommunication. “Naked.” pat came the repartee. I grinned.

The meeting with my guide was uneventful, save one minor scare where my guide insisted I give a demonstration as to what I understood about my project. I deftly [if I say so myself] digressed to more earthly [and non-academic] concerns of long hours of travel, three year old babies and the beautiful, beautiful Mindtree office. It really was. Colourful and wildly original.
The journey back [this time after an hour long wait during which I had no more messages to read :-(] was tiring, yet I felt a little proud. I have been in Delhi all my life and public transport was deemed unsafe by my parents, which means I either drove or was driven to everywhere. [and no, I ain’t some spoilt brat] I have never really traveled by public transport all by myself, and this was a first. Do NOT take away my lil’ pleasures. Hmph.
On my way back I stopped by Landmark [I incidentally hold a record of ALWAYS coming out with at least one book from there], and picked up Knut Hamsun’s Victoria and a collection of short stories by Wilde which is a happy parrot green colour. Happiness.
Headed back to ‘the boys’ house where I [finally] met B boy’s girl. I liked her instantly and persevered to impress upon B boy that he was tremendously lucky. He balked.
The next two days [yes, it IS becoming an incredibly long post] were spent in gay marathons around the city [and on its very dangerous roads]; a couple of hours in Purple Haze with some Audioslave, David Gilmour, Fool’s Garden and Draught beer; lots of cheese; meeting the respective girls of the respective boys [yes there were more] and swift swoons on being gifted The Last Mughal [by Dalrymple]. It is the most gorgeous book I have laid eyes on in a while.
And of course lending a patient ear to Suri boy’s girlfriend woes. I might have even made things better! Ha! You owe me Suri boy.

Now I am back. Blah.

BOMBAY TO GO-AAAAAAAAAAAAH

Currently I am revelling in an inconveniently blah mood. I am busting my ass over the software requirement specifications of a tracerouter [project bluuuuuuuues], and it is entirely disconcerting to imagine the degree of blahness at this early a stage.
The reason I must do this by myself is because my project partner is headed out of town tomorrow for the Surathkal fest. And by the time she gets back, I will be en-route to Bombay. Yeah baby!
I am adequately excited. I will be travelling with my Roger Waters-free-pass-provider friend [yeah yippeee yeah!] who is also striving to get us free entry into some of the city's hot nightclubs. Aaaaaaaaah happiness.

Ok fine. I lied. I do not care so much about the partying. I do care about the Waters concert though. I have grown up on Floyd, which is why it was sufficiently easy to convince my Floyd-philic folks to finance my Bombay trip. And I will be meeting up with some old friends in a city that I have always enjoyed visiting. Yes, yes. I AM adequately excited.

Now that my project beckons, I must take your leave. But once the blah-o-meter gets red hot, I shall return. Oh yes, I shall.
Maybe the Satriani in the background will help....NOT.
[heeeeeeeeeee........Borat influences.]

FROGGONE IT!

16 hours of 24 have been borne with fortitude and fortune. And things are happening. I have started listening to CCR while being attacked by a green, gay frog. Right now it is hiding behind the mirror and I am hiding behind the computer. I would return the poor, frightened thing back to the home it comes from, I really would. But you see strong-legged amphibians are really not the easiest to negotiate with.
I was reading this article today about how ‘tinkering with nature is a bad idea’. More than fifty years ago around a hundred cane toads from Central and South America were released in Australia to check cane crop pests. The toads quickly proliferated to reach mammoth numbers (around 200 million) and is deemed today as one of Australia’s worst environmental debacles, having become unpleasant pests themselves. This ‘assisted migration’ has far-reaching effects on territorial integrity and the food chain argued the author, while the counter view stressed strongly upon massive environmental changes, due to deforestation and global warming, that render species shelter-less and without adequate nutritional sources.
I personally feel no problem can be solved completely unless it is nipped in the bud. And the solution here seems to be to concentrate on reversing, else preventing the damaging after-effects of global warming. And deforestation can easily be checked. Or maybe I am talking out of my hat. Whatever it is, the thousands of species on the endangered list need fast theoretical and faster practical attention.
And right now that tiny frog crouching behind the mirror needs to be helped back before it starves (or attacks me again! Whichever comes first…*praying praying*).
Here froggie, froggie….here froggie…

DAZED AND DAZZLED

Has anyone acknowledged the smart economics behind series such as Lost, Heroes or 24??
A most heady cocktail of attractive people, intense acting, stunning visuals, strong scripts, better screenplays and the culmination of every episode at exactly the point where you are chewing the nail of your little finger after the nails of the other more unfortunate fingers have been consumed over forty fast minutes. So you keep watching, and you keep watching.

And you keep watching.

I should know. I have been addicted to all three at various points of time over the past couple of months. Currently Sujatha and I am at our nail-biting best with season 4 of 24. We have been sprawled across the bed, ordering in, taking 5 minutes breaks every 5 hours to take a breather. One of the reasons why I haven't been blogging too much.

But I shall be back. After another 18 episodes. And 24 hours of recuperation.
;-)

GOODBYES AND BADBYES

'and has it ever been that love has known its own depth until the hour of separation.'
- Khalil Gibran

Truer words were seldom spoken.

So much is taken for granted. Sharing cheery banter, toothy smiles. Sharing toothpaste. Exchanging ideas and colours. Chasing beautiful dreams and beautiful men. Ruffling each others feathers. Ruffling bed sheets. Imposing opinions. And imposing ‘funereal music’.

And perhaps the moment of clarity is truly a timeline of bygone moments, some so real and overwhelming. Others so banal. And so overwhelming.

Because it will never be the same again. ‘My life as I knew it, is gone.’

Yes, we will meet sometimes to grab at the diminishing moments to relive a different age and culture. And we will indulge in colourful nostalgia, rife with exaggeration to make the outsider believe in our colourful lives. Then you or I will extend a dismissive wave and a flippant ‘you should have been there.’

You really should have been there.

Here is to looking ahead. And glancing behind.

KALMAN AND ADDICTIONS

Is it not delectable?? *smirk smirk*
I am absolutely obsessed with colour these days. Colour and hasty, vivid strokes and deviation. And I'm always obsessing with big, giant, COLOSSAL words.
My stand on Nietzsche remains undeclared. I have his works at home. I have not read them yet. My dad described the 'superhuman' theory to me once. I started reading the Sin-city graphic novels consequently [and if YOU have not then please squat and lay two eggs for me].
As for the ever-controversial mustache I will reserve my opinion.
Which brings us to 'we go to paris instead'.
I wanted to edit that and make that Goa, where incidentally I should be headed tomorrow night if the stars shine bright and they shine right. Goa has been jinxed so far. But I have vowed. I WILL go. And I WILL return with some nice-goa-sand-which-probably-is-a-banned-substance-as-well to prove the same. Hah!
Oh the above painting is by Maira Kalman. Her work is happy and crazy and I just know she has danced to 'The Psycho' OST with a rose dangling from her mouth. I KNOW IT.
I will leave you with a brilliant observation by Jhelum. Look carefully at Nietzsche's arms...two strong strokes starting from the shoulders and dropping to his chest. He has crossed his arms. Aaaaaah...simple and sweeeeeeeeeet.
By the by, my current favourite word is Dichotomy. Does it not bring to mind biology?? Hahahahahaha....apologies.

BAAH BAAH BLAH-CK SHEEP

What an absolutely tremendous day. My best friend informed me that he had some bad news for me. He had some attendance issues, along the very tremendous lines of 28-30% and therefore had been most ceremoniously detained. I think that is when it struck him that it might be bad news for him as well...he did hmmmm, in his defense.

Baah. I am being tremendously unfair. I was being a complete and wholesome she-dog to him this past one month. What with mini project submissions and reports and sessionals and vivas and exams. BAAH. I was a very stressed out individual. And everytime my poor friend decided to commit the courageous feat of actually calling me up I would rave and rant and scream and pant. So he waited till the my examinations were over to inform me of his tremendous acheivement. Awww...cho chweet *blush blush*.


You might have noticed that I have developed a tremendous soft corner for tremendous.

Also I am on my way to becoming a full-fledged-half-wit-engineer. Joy. Gave my final written examination today. Feels like, well...erm...BLAH.
Downed some alcohol to get the edge off. Laughed with friends some. Worried about my pending internship viva tomorrow. Met up with Gagan and had some good ol' kulfi *giggle giggle*.

Still working on that bloody internship report [it's almost 5!!] about optimisation of databases. Well, at least I learnt what an OLE DB is. At least.

Current life saver: I am the walrus.

OF LOVE, LIFE AND LITTLE ONES.

1. An overworked Xerox machine.
2. Scattered paper, rough notebooks, blue pens, mismatched stapler and pin sizes.
3. Cigarettes.
4. Coffee.
5. Cigarette ash in coffee cups.
6. A filthy room *gasp! shudderrrr....DIE*
7. Inflicted Insomnia.
8. Expected Inflections *winkie winkie*
9. Unsolicited advice on love, life and little ones.

EXAMINATION SCHEXAMINTAION.

See you after the 6th of December.
Au-revoir!

DEAR DIARY

I am petulant and irascible after sadly outlandish supplications for attendance. 75% is preposterous. No, really.
I attempted some tried and tested techniques of de-stressing.
a) Bumped into Gagan and Prashanth at the canteen who combined forces with Ara to create a sufficiently jocular atmosphere. The subject was me. I laughed. For a bit.
Grrr…
b) Tried writing about relevant topics and significant themes. You know how writing helps you unwind.
Grrrrrrrr….
c) Started listening to a lot of classical music. Can’t wait to tell my dad that I love Catch-22 and appreciate Figaro’s Wedding and The Moonlight Sonata. Maybe it will be easier to get that expensive phone now…
Grrrrrrrr….woof!

But the actual purpose of this inadequate post is to mention what I have been listening to lately.

a) Beethoven’s 5th Symphony – sunny, tiptoeing, climactic and overplayed.
b) Schubert’s Symphony 5 – twilight, the hills, the horizon, dancing in white...the sound of music…hmmmm…
c) Mozart’s Figaro’s Wedding – abandon.
d) Maria Callas’ Figaro’s Wedding – free.
e) Bach’s Brandenburg Concert no. 3 – people, pace, suspenders and top hats ;-)
f) Beethoven’s/Mozart’s Moonlight Sonata – moody. My personal favourite, comes highly recommended.
g) Ravel Bolero is excellent. Most excellent.
h) Oh and Oasis’ Don’t look back in anger is on repeat [spot the odd man out!!]

They call it association, or something esoterically technical like that. This is a ridiculous post. Too personal.
I am petulant and irascible.
You had been forewarned.
Goodbye.

....................................

I went to collect my original documents from college day before yesterday.
It was a five minute affair and culminated in generous spells of uproarious laughter, after a thorough examination of an old snap of mine and a discourse on how much I had changed since my first year. The perpetrator was this mostly amiable and harmless man whose neck I wanted to snap in two [I grew my hair…DUH!!]
My mood was poetically distant and withdrawn. Mingled with a weighty awareness of nostalgia.
And so it begins…

Sigh…


Meanwhile enjoy the new and look feel of my blog.
Yours warmly.

'I WANT TO DO IT ON MY OWN'

“I want to do it on my own (steam).”
This in reply to why my friend chose to stick to Bangalore when he could have run off to Hong Kong [!!] for his final semester internship. And the wheels in my brain started turning with a screech here and a squeak there, and accelerating with a resounding intent.
Superficially it all seemed very incongruous to me. In this day and age where status whispers, money talks and power screams, such idealistic impulses are lost in the clamour of “ME! ME!” But the conversation ended with me feeling a little nice and plenty warm…
And it was so simple! The very fact that idealism seems like a summit unattainable is because we, as a species, have degraded so far down in our moral make-up that distances have grown longer and any effort has waned into a lingering half-attempt. Our lives have been made so simple by our evolving capabilities that we have devolved into these pampered beings that whip out their credit cards, push some buttons or call poppy up to keep that (in)famous silver spoon balanced!
And sometimes, somewhere, someone will claim that he will do it on his own, in his own way and perhaps in his own sweet time, and you will realize that those are the only kinds who refuse to acknowledge mediocrity, who try to elevate their dreams to loftier planes all the while doing it on their own terms…
…and even if they cannot quite succeed they can still look back and exclaim, ‘I did something that was pretty mediocre once, but it felt pretty damn good to me!’
And that makes me feel a little nice and plenty warm…


**with special thanks to Adam Hummel and my friend in question ;-)

120 MINUTES TO PUBLISH

This is a humble haranguing of our insufficient education system. Being a final year Engineering student directly translates my limited privileges to uninterrupted and undisputed bunking [unless it is network security which I really should NOT bunk anymore!!] for moments of luxurious rapid eye movement. Therefore when such an anticipated session is relegated most unceremoniously to the back-lanes, and is replaced by a highly disconcerting assembly of two mortals, none of who can quite comprehend the other...I have every right to vent my frustrations in this one-act writing!

Scene 1: I have recently procured the cable required to FINALLY connect to the internet. However such banalities [IP addresses, port numbers et al] are beyond my scope of registry. So I am left fiddling with my desktop trying very desperately to catch any word that might make an iota of sense to us academically-deficient individuals. And incidentally I happen to be a final year I.T. student!! I run to the matron to track down the elusive internet fellows, who with much urgency in their voice inform me that they are in the net-tracker room. Eh? 'Fourth floor!', they insist and point. 'Fourth floor?', I desist and sprint.

Scene 2: I reach the net-tracker room, which is a 30x20 feet cubicle and has this massive contraption with a voluminous mess of cables which instantly silences me into forced seriousness. i mumble something more about the inefficiency of Mission-connect-XIII-block, and less about my affected ineptitude. I am asked to enter the IP address and port number[!!] and report back with any progress.

Scene 3: I report back with no such thing.

Scene 4: I am asked to check whether or not the DHCP has been activated automatically. I stare at the fellow's face as I am transported back to 5th semester. With razor-sharp precision however, bugs bunny imposes on my reverie and I decide to trudge back to my room without making some necessary clarifications!

Scene 5: After going click-happy for a decidedly wasteful amount of time, I make some rudimentary calls to my Comp gurus. I talk at an excited pace about TCP/IP, lan settings...[when in doubt talk fast, few will bother deciphering, and fewer will realise you know S-Q-U-A-T]. I am asked to perform a ping operation. 'Destination host unreachable' flashes at a rate of twice a second, and my computer goes A-W-O-L. I start screaming ‘Virus!’ at a spanking frequency that puts any previous records to shame.

Scene 6: I enter screaming into the net-tracker room. The fellow agrees to escort me back to my room.

Scene 7: My friend is in retreated stages of undress behind the door. I warn her about the imminent arrival of our friend who for some inexplicable reason assumes an air of chaste dementia and refuses to step into the room. We communicate at a reasonable distance of 20 feet from each other, while my friend stands, fully clothed now with a vacuous expression on her face. After a five minute exchange and no headway, my friend wonders aloud at this apparent insanity and retires to watch Munna-bhai MBBS. The fellow shakes his head and assures me that he shall return in half an hour.

Scene 8: It's been two hours now and there is no sign of the fellow. But five minutes back my computer was connected to the World Wide Web.



Maybe the guy did something, maybe he did not. Maybe lady luck decided to be kind. Or maybe just maybe, what transpired in the last 3 hours was a very accurate mapping of our educational system. I study, I mug, I regurgitate, a semester down I have no idea what DHCP even is! But funnily enough it all just works out fine ;-)