Epilogue

Somebody once said the longest journey is the one inwards. The truth of this statement unfailingly asserts itself to me with the passage of each day. The past few months have been a period of violent emotional agitation and painful self discovery. I failed a test of the strength of my character and lost something very dear. The realization of my inadequacies was equally agonizing.
I need to withdraw for a while and make peace with myself. I need to keep my eyes open and not flinch on facing uncomfortable facts. I need to pick up the pieces and see if they can be fixed back again. Whichever way this goes, I will be changed forever; and if I kept up the same tone and tenor of this blog, I would be guilty of gross affectation. Thanks, people, for the visits and the kind words. Rome burns no more. This blog is closed.

Lessons in Aggression

One of my more recent addictions after I joined the Government College is Manga. The storylines are well scripted, the odd bit of haiku at the start lends a quaint samurai-like touch to the whole episode, the characters are absolutely stylish, and *ahem* the girls are particularly well drawn. (I'd say the last is enough reason to become addicted. The rest are just perks.)

Inspiration comes at times when one is least looking for it. I found it on a lazy Saturday afternoon while reading Bleach, which is one of the better Manga in existence. The protagonist is being trained in swordsmanship by his master, and is fighting a losing sparring session against him.

I'm really, really disappointed, Kurosaki. In your sword, all I see is 'fear'. When you're dodging, you're 'afraid of getting hit'. When you're attacking, you're 'afraid of hitting me'. When you're protecting someone, you're 'afraid of them dying'. Your sword is filled with fear!

It's pathetic! You can't give in to fear in a fight. It won't help you at all. When you're dodging, think "I won't let you hit me!". When you're protecting someone, think "I won't let you die!". When you're attacking, think "I'm going to cut you!".

See? See this? In my sword... Do you see my determination? Do you see "I'm
going to cut you in half"?

Dial D for Dosa

i eat dosas in the morning
i eat dosas at night
i eat dosas in the afternoon
and then i feel all right

i eat dosas with chutney
and i eat them with sambar
i eat a dosa 'fore i eat a dosa
and then i eat two more

The most heart rending, gut wrenching scream in the world, i recently discovered, is that of a well made dosa begging to be eaten. Leave alone blood, it is capable of curdling even the culinary abomination served as rasam in the mess at the Government College where I pretend to study these days. The only thing worse than an uneaten dosa is hearing people mangle its name, the most common variant being 'Dhosaa' - with the beginning 'Dho' pronounced like 'Dhokla' and the ending 'saa' stretching to infinity. 'Vadaa' is another regular victim to these infidels.
If ever there is a South Indian uprising, I know exactly who will be the first to be sacrificed to the Lord Rajnikanth and cooked in huge iron pots with spices for consumption. With 'Boori', 'Barota' and 'Rotti'.

for lack of a suitable topic - 01

Though I'm not a person prone to bouts of introspection and soul searching, there is sometimes the odd idle thought that surfaces and incessantly demands an explanation.

There are those who live for fame, independence and glory. Not necessarily on a grand scale of events, but in their daily lives. For being recognized for the people they are, the work they do and their self-reliance.

But fame, glory and adulation being largely a function of how others perceive and treat one, does it mean the seekers are letting others decide how happy / contented they will be? Does it not kill the independence the seeker wishes to possess?

Quarter-Life Crisis

I hardly ever post forwards, but this one was too good (not to mention true) to resist.

It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are many things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now.

You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe, those friends that you thought you were so close to aren't exactly the greatest people you have ever met, and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones. What you don't recognize is that they are realizing that too, and aren't really cold, catty, mean or insincere, but that they are as confused as you.

You look at your job; and it is not even close to what you thought you would be doing, or maybe you are looking for a job and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and that scares you.

Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and are constantly adding things to your list of what is acceptable and what isn't. One minute, you are insecure and then the next, secure.

You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly, change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life, but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away, and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.

You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you. Or you lie in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better. Or maybe you love someone but love someone else too and cannot figure out why you're doing this because you know that you aren't a bad person. One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap. Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over, and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for yourself... and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender.

We call it the "Quarter-life Crisis."

To the Yak

So you think you're the only one who can have an exclusive login and password protected blog is it? Wait and watch, I'll get one too. And I'll not let you in. In fact, I've started posting on it already. All secret stuff I'm sure you'd be dying to hear. But you'll never get to see it, because you'll be locked out. My blog will be sooo exclusive, I'll not even publish the posts on it. I'll just keep them in draft form. Lets see how you read them then. Guahahaha!

Contemporary Cave-Art #23

A day in the life of a software engineer on the bench. The results of a hard day's work by Froggie and Me.

Evil Yak

The Evil Yak blogs too!! Yay!

Contemporary Cave-Art #22

Lina Inverse is a powerful sorceress who is famous for killing bandits (to take their loot) and slaying dragons (accidentally destroying the occasional city in the process). She is quite adept at shooting fireballs at her enemies, and has also mastered more powerful spells like the Dragon Slave and the Laguna Blade. Concerned primarily with acquiring gold and powerful weapons, Lina fights for the sentinel in exchange for a promised reward should she help destroy the Frozen Throne.

We're talking about a place where Warcraft is more than a game. A place where adrenalin rushes come from pulling off six consecutive assassinations, a place where an aura of smug satisfaction surrounds one who has despatched the enemy to kingdom come over and over again and watched him take longer and longer to respawn. Dinner time conversations revolve around whether one should have chosen the Buriza-Do-Kyanon over the Butterfly, or how one's Sniper hunted the other's Demon Witch down right in front of his gates. Gold is collected, weapons bought, levels increased, new tricks learnt, alliances formed, and magic used indiscriminately to be the one who is declared 'Godlike!', an affirmation of his being the supreme lord of the battlefield. Today Azeroth, Tomorrow the World!

Trivia : the lady is 5'6" tall, took four hours to draw, and is constructed entirely out of wax crayon on the Northern wall of my hostel room. Luna Moonglade comes next.

exam time analogizing

I have recently discovered my writing is like wine. The older the better. One look at the archives and it is conclusively established that even those pieces are better than the abject trash I try to pass off as posts these days.

So much for the second part of the title. Coming to exams, midterms are in progress and the marketing exam is tomorrow. Open book exams have a way of leveling the field for everyone. That is, everyone who is able to sustain his interest and his writing hand for two hours of uninterrupted boredom, each developing his own theory on why Mountain Dew should have used a better ad than the Cheetah one. Closed book exams on the other hand, have a way of producing highly strung up wrecks who have lost the most basic of human traits - the ability to laugh. Case in point : There was a group speculating on why a classmate had the habit of raising his hand in class, but asking the accompanying question five minutes later. Yours truly attempted to explain the phenomenon by stating that light travels faster than sound. Yours truly was nearly lynched.

Philistines!

Third Page

"who you think is hottest couple in Bollywood Sir?"
"couldn't really say.."
"according to you Sir, only according to you"
"maybe Abhishek and Aishwarya"
"Sir, how many girlfriends you have?"
"seven, at last count"

Group : Tee Hee. Titter.
(pens gleefully work on scratchpads. Complimentary pens, complimentary scratchpads)

"Ermm... Journalist Lady, Mr. K has a talk scheduled now"
"Abhi ruko, jaldi kya hai, thodi der baat karke hum chhod denge."
"But Ma'am..."

frameless glasses slide down a hooked nose, and a cold stare pierces the impertinent timekeeper.

scratch scratch. click click.

Prahlad Kakkar, one of the more popular ad film makers was in campus a while ago. This was the three-est that page-three news ever got at the town where the Government College is located, and the journos lost no time in lapping it all up. Regardless of the fact that this was not an awards function, and the talk in question was one on Recent Trends in Indian Advertising. Damn the paparazzi.

Back in business

Mwahahahahaha!!

untitled

I'm getting the feeling that keeping one's place in the Government College is far tougher than getting here. Am preparing for what is by far the toughest battle of my life against academics, and by the end of one month beginning now, I'll either be a third term student or a dropout. Till then, Goodbye blog.

The Creation of Adam

How I wish I could come up with a profound statement that would be etched on readers' memories the rest of their lives... I can't, so I'll just let the pictures do the talking.

More info on the painting [here]

Earthquake

News flash : Earthquake hits government college in Uttar Pradesh, or so the owner of the room featured in below photograph says. How its effects remain confined to a single room in the hostel still remains a mystery. Our source, who wished to remain unnamed, declared that the squalor was a cleverly maintained ruse to obfuscate the nefarious activities transpiring within the confines of the room. The owner of the room declined to comment, partly because he did not understand half of the previous sentence.

Contemporary Cave-Art #21

Yo! And may the Gods shower their blessings this year on the inmates of Hostel 11, who could really use some divine intervention in their academics.



Trivia: Institute culture, inter hostel Rangoli competition during Deepavali. This one was eight feet in diameter and took exactly 90 minutes to make. The A+ on the report card indicated in the diagram is a figment of collective imagination, and any resemblance to the sort of grades people around here get will be emphatically denied.

P.S. And all of a sudden I realise its been just over a year since this blog started. How time flies!

Of pretty ladies and spanners...

Have been busy over the past few days with a branding exercise on campus sponsored by TATA. Designing posters, making videos, hanging danglers till 530 in the morning, social loafing, et al. The posters have been particularly well received, and I can't stop ogling at my creations. heh heh.

Drunk on Rasam

The third week of living at a corner of the country almost diametrically opposite the place I was born and brought up saw me eagerly waiting for Sunday to come. We have rasam in the mess on Sundays. It is odd to see how something to which I was largely indifferent became such a significant part of my life. Maybe regard for the small things in life surfaces only when you're stranded in an alien culture.

Its been a long time. I want to watch a Rajnikanth movie in the theatre. I want to dappankoothu to a Deva song. I want to eat at Saravana Bhavan. I want to speak to a shopkeeper in tamil. I want to walk around Kapaleeswarar Kovil. I want to sit on a kutti chevuru with my echa friends and arattai adichify all night. I want to ogle at a girl in a half-saree. I want to have molaga bajji at Besant Nagar beach.

Another thing I have discovered after coming here is the beauty of Ilayaraja's songs.

"Sorgamae enralum athu nammoora pola varuma..."

Someday I'll be back.

Picture : A six year old orphan from Austria ecstatically embraces a brand new pair of shoes just given to him by the Red Cross. One of the more touching World War photos.

To Do

Things to do this year:

1.   Cross sixty kilos
2.   Do leg splits
3.   Learn to write with the left hand
4.   Turn a somersault
5.   Get atleast one A+
6.   Kick every single bugger in my little black diary 
     on his birthday
7.   Learn to draw five-minute caricatures
8.   Start a comic strip
9.   Read the entire fiction section of the library
10.  Read a tamil novel

Contemporary Cave-Art #20

Grasshopper


And sometimes the would be managers pass notes in class...

Fractal Insanity

No posts for a long time now. Partly because I pulled muscles in both hands trying to benchpress fifty kilos and movement at the elbows is currently restricted to thirty degrees; and mostly because I am still coming to terms with the atmosphere at this place.
Imagine a place where people use words like 'torpid', 'incestuous', 'hiatus' and 'crystallized' in the course of everyday conversation. A place where the word 'diversity' means five people from five different IITs. A place where dreaming of joining anything other than an investment bank is blasphemy. You get the drift.
A typical day begins with the Law professor coming in and cracking a joke about how only the mother in law and father in law are above the law. Some titter. Most wince. Then there's the Operations guy who categorically refuses to enter the managerial ranks, preferring to be called an industrial engineer instead and taking potshots at MBAs at every available opportunity.
Accounting is traumatic. Its the one subject that is capable of eating a person from within, destroying everything he stood for, stifling his creativity, and sapping his will to live. It takes the scarred vocabulary close to a week to heal after exams. Till then, conversation flows as follows.
"Charan sits on my debit side, Kavin on the credit side"
(Charan sits on my left, Kavin on the right)
Institute parties are excuses to get sloshed and reflect on the decadence in contemporary Indian society (because the other guy's dancing with the prettiest girl in the batch). Committee selection procedures give the senior batch ample opportunity to perform the traditional handing down of misery which they received a year ago from their seniors. Rape sessions cleverly disguised as task reviews are conducted every alternate day, and the most enthusiastic participants are the reviewers.
Oddly, though everybody who's managed to reach this place has fantastic analytical skills, speaks near flawless english, is incisively intellectual and the like, the cross section of people is fractal, the same types of people you'd meet probably anywhere in the world. The same percentage of geniuses, jokers, snobs, dreamers, the sporty types and the studious.
The two years here look pretty promising.

Contemporary Cave-Art #19

Drawn on a sleepy sunday afternoon when the Communication professor was waxing eloquent on Proxemics, Kinesics, Haptics, Semiotics, Paralinguistics, Asterics, Obelics, Getafics, Geriatrics, Fulliautomatics, Unhygenics, Vitalstatistics and Cacofonics.

Contemporary Cave-Art #18

Drew this one during a phenomenally boring one and half hour session on Communication for Management. The lady looks a bit grumpy, but guess anyone would after that sort of lecture.

What's in a name?

~Warning : Heavy use of Tamil. Odds are that you won't understand a word if you don't know the language.~

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet."

~Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Thus spake Shakespeare. I guess the famous 'stiff upper lip' attitude never allowed him to have a nickname to remind him of some particularly memorable episode in his life, you know, the kind that gives less famous mortals the pleasure (conversely torment, which is almost always the case) of being called names like Pazham, Ajack or Othai Kottai.

Marvels of linguistic contortion, outwardly lacking meaning but holding a special place in our memories, names that remind us of times when Sornakka pulled up Yaettu and Without for 'disrespecting' the college prayer, when 2to2 pulled all-nighters from two in the afternoon till late in the night, when the people in the hostel used to run for cover when Torture was around, when Ajack used to shout in the corridors, when Sappa Jana used to tell us his (fabricated) tales of rowdyism over tea, our satisfaction as teachers and mentors when the Vellakaran from Jamaica used to utter the occasional swear word in Tamil, our plans to try make Manguni part with some of his dough, when Porikki used to get the whole class into trouble, when Maakan used to polambify about his many crushes, when an unsuspecting hostelite used to be the target of a podhumathu (thrashing) and many more such incidents.

These things seemed trivial everyday occurences then, but took on a totally new significance a couple of years after passing out. Alma Mater was jail, and we shared the cameraderie of jailbirds. Not just that, we also shared toothpaste, matter books, answer sheets, bit notes, the occasionally leaked question paper, gilma CDs, a common hatred for anything official, but the line was drawn when it came to underwear.

~Cross posted from an even lesser known previous blog of mine, because I've lost the ability to think~

Contemporary Cave-Art #17

This one's been waiting in the wings for close to six months. My first attempt at sketching a profile, and I'm especially proud of it. Wisecracks will be ignored.