Party Poop

Music in my head: Simon and Garfunkel - Scarborough Fair Canticle
Today's weather: Dustbowl

Yesterday, I had to go to a party. Not the cool kind, like the once we used to have back in the day. Yeah, I can use the expression 'back in the day' now. I just got my final CGPA. But I digress. I had to go to a party, with my folks, at an Army mess, dressed up in ironed clothes and polished shoes. The bane of the existence of every self-respecting Army brat. Yes, you get as many (soft) drinks as you want, and you can eat as many pieces of Chicken-65 as you want, but that's not the end of the story.

This is what usually happens at such an occasion- I enter the Drawing room with my folks. Everyone exchanges pleasantries. They ask me which class I was in. I smile a big fake smile and explain to them that I have, in fact, completed my B.Tech. They proceed to explain to me how I don't look my age, and sometimes add an anecdote which proves that looks can be deceptive. This is all acceptable. Yes, I have a very high tolerance level for extremely irritating, mind-numbingly boring conversation.

Next, they beam at me and tell me- "Accha, bete, bacche log TV room mein baithe hain. Tum vahi jaake baith jao. Hum pepsi udhar bhijwa denge. (Ok son, the kids are in the TV room. You can go join them. We'll send you some pepsi.)" I look at them with a quizzical expression. I just told you that I am twenty one years old, you age-ist old person. Isn't that clever? That's like discrimination based on age, like racist is discrimination based on race. In that awkward silence, I think up clever things like that. And then, of course, the big grown ups get their grown-up drinks and form their little grown up conversation circles. And that's freedom.

The window of opportunity to escape from the Drawing Room without having to be escorted to the TV room is very small. So I usually just get the hell out at the first chance. I go hang around at the garden or something. This time, when I walked out, I saw a metallic staircase. It was as if a spotlight from heaven had lit it up. I walked up these stairs, very slowly, immersing myself in the anticipation. It led up to the roof. There was some construction work in progress. I had found my spot.

It was magic. I was transported back to Trichy. There was this ugly structure coming up right in front of the main gate. For months we couldn't even figure out what it was. Then we realised that it was a flyover. We figured out a way to get on top of it. And then after braving a mercilessly sweltering Trichy day, we would go up there at night. We would sit there, listen to music and watch the headlamps of the cars, buses and trucks flicker as they passed by in the distance. And we would talk about the EPL, the sucky Profs, how the Project was a pain in the rear, how the lights look like they're dancing to the music that's playing, of cabbages and kings. And the cool breeze would refresh us, and the guards would give us suspicious looks. But at that moment we hadn't a care in the world.

And two months later and two thousand kilometers away, I felt like I was back. I felt the buzz of passing traffic. I played the music in my head. Headlamps of speeding cars danced in the distance. I narrowed my eyes to slits until the lights were a blur. I could hear stuff in the background- "Dude, Torres is God", "Dude that Prof can't even spell redundant", "Dude I've left my lip-marks on my Prof's rear. I hope I get an A", "Dude Steven Wilson is genius".

Then suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As my eyes came back into focus, I half expected myself to be greeted by the Guard anna. "Bhaiyya, khana lag gaya", he said. I was back from my sojourn in time. I went to the dining room, picked up some dinner, pretended to be interested in the dinner conversation. They could've been talking about cabbages and kings, for all I care.

The next time I'm caught in a tedious conversation, I'll just excuse myself, find the roof and sit there, looking at traffic, in my happy place, with my friends.

"Did you ever imagine the last thing you'd hear as you're fading out was a song?....
... Arriving somewhere, not here..."

Randomness in Rhyme

Music in my head: Agalloch - Not Unlike the Waves
Today's weather: Dilli ki Garmi.

In this sweltering, sweaty, summer season,
Delhi's deadly dry.
A chicken stranded on Chandni Chowk
Turns into chicken fry.

You'd think that tricksy tripsy Trichy
Had a trident up your rear.
But damned Delhi, apart from being smelly,
Has the trident trembling in fear.

I'm stuck in a small little stupidity rut,
Chewing chicken from Chandni Chowk,
To muscle up and move what's on my head-
A great big writers' block.

P.S. I promise that the forthcoming entries will make more sense. I just had to get the ball rolling somehow.

Voyage 35

Music in my head: Bear McCreary- A Good Lighter
Today's weather: Meltdown.



When your eyes close and your mind dreams, you are taken to wonderland and your every desire is played out. But sometimes, reality can become more than just an illusion. It can fool you into trusting it, and when it calls, you just might not be ready for it.
Voyage35 is the story of a dreamer, who can do amazing things in his fantastic visions. Call it what you will- Lucid dreaming, Astral Projection, these dreams become his solace from mundane, sometimes unpleasant reality, so much that he starts believing in them. The dreams turn into his reality and reality becomes a fickle illusion, until he is pulled back down to earth by a harsh reality check.
The movie revolves around the protagonist Laxman Sivaramadasan, your archetypal nerd, who in his dreams turns into LSD, a comic superhero. His purpose is to bring down his arch nemesis Baldix, who is a persistent bully in reality. Does he succeed? Watch the movie to find out.


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I Live on the Moon

Music in my head: Kwoon- I lived on the Moon
Today's weather: Hell frozen over.

Yesterday, an age ago,
We left the earth way down below.
Lost in deep watery space,
We floated in a state of grace.
Ethereal music filling our heads,
We flew onward on astral threads.
Everything we touched was gold,
Sounds distinct, letters bold.
The lights that flashed before our eyes-
A ménage of joy and surprise,
A stitched on smile upon our face,
Beady eyes, distant gaze.
Moondust blurs our mortal vision,
Moondust bestows ambition.
Once we were all full of sorrow,
But now, like there’s no tomorrow,
We roll around in a dusty glen,
We shape curious sand snowmen.
Lo, Behold the burning snow!
We remember now, an age ago
We burnt all that’s green and good,
A little stub is all that stood
In a blue apparition, far away-
Nothing’s left of it today
‘cept memories that won’t fade away soon.
For now, though, we live on the moon.



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Constant Change

Music in my head: The Necks- The Boys I
Today's weather: Pretty cool for hell.

And I'm back to Trichy, for the last time. It seems like I (and my friend, who wishes to remain anonymous) was almost beaten up by the 'creative' tenth only yesterday(for those who don't get it, e-mail me- I've another six months left to spend ensconced within these walls). A lot of crazy stuff has happened to me over the years, and Mr. Bhagat, you don't get any credit for it. What had remained constant, though, was this beast that is NITT- swallowing up scared, often fat, newbies and spitting out uncouth bags of bones. Of course, our high-flying, smooth-talking, hotshot director has made a lot of cosmetic changes to our campus, none of it seems to affect the nature of the beast. He tried, he failed. Some of his latest attempts that catch one's attention are listed as follows:

1. Generators installed in Garnet hostel. They work only in the presence of external power supply.
2. The Second Gate (the one near Thuvakudi) is now a brick wall. This is to ensure that Opal can be attacked only from the inside.
3. The main gate is inaccessible by car, bus, truck, auto or foot, because of a humongous concrete structure that has been placed in front of it. Some say it will become a fly-over, others argue that it is a monument in honour of the director, yet others think that it's the Stairway to Heaven.
4. The new gate had an ominous sign in front of it that read "No Entry for Way Out". Now, "No Entry" has been scratched out. It reads "#### Way Out".

Other, equally notable, changes:

1. Motal Bambos (more commonly known as The Dhaba) now sells Chiken Role, Egg Role and Veg Role. They now serve their delicacies in fancy pink and blue plates, as opposed to leaves earlier.
2. Good Old 'Azzez Briyani' has now become "Selvam Multi-Hussain Restaurant". They sell Pappey Corn soup and Grab Masala.

I'll keep updating the list as more changes come our way.
It is, after all, the only constant (apart from crap at the mess).

Buzz Off

Music in my head: Harmonium - Vert
Today's weather: Like the vicinity of yesterday's sambar in a dumpster.

They buzz around, the flying fiends,
And, oh! But you can’t hear them.
They stalk you now, as you read,
Even as you condemn them.
They probe and sense and size you up,
Mandibles they slowly unsheathe,
And wide-mouthed and starry-eyed,
Into your neck, they sink their teeth.
You feel the sting, you see the thing
Chewing up your sensitive skin.
You swat away, you flail away,
You squish the life right out of him.
But, oh! His work’s already done,
A little red spot- his prize.
And the next morning you open your eyes,
Look in the mirror- surprise, surprise!
A little world map burnt into your side,
Ah! Look, here’s good old Trichy.
The Doc tells you- “It’s insect pee,
You’ve sensitive skin? That’s a pity.”
Now every time you turn your head,
There’s searing pain, and one thought,
That little David felled the giant
With nothing more than a slingshot.

Nursery Cryme

Music in my head: Opeth - The Grand Conjuration
Today's weather: Sweatbox day.

Little beads of perspiration;
Going drip drip drip.
When there's no water all around
That I could sip sip sip.
And there's no electricity so that
The fan could spin spin spin.
And I'd be burned to ash outside
So I stay in in in.
A special Sunday with seven hours
Of power cut cut cut.
Take your sadistic smile and shove it
Up your butt butt butt.
Write a cheque for at least a grand
Send it to me me me.
A battery-inverter set from
The visions I see see see...
Would finally spring to vigorous life
And end this triplicate refrain.
And all the King's horses and all the King's men
Would never ever be the same again.

But Brutus is an honourable man

Music in my head: The Mayfield Four - Eden
Today's weather: Slushy

My friend next door became an Indian Oil Baabu yesterday. A year from now he'll chewing paan and pushing papers, just like the esteemed administration at our own institute.
Although, of course, I'm very happy for my friend (whose butt in about twice its original size from a veritable artillery barrage of myriad shoe sizes), my lack of a really firmly fixed future leaves me, like the rest of us, a hardened cynic. Thus, now, I will bitch about our administration and their impressive inefficiency.
Starting with the Academic Department. I wanted to have my transcript and grade cards printed out. I went to bear man.
1 pm, July 23, Bear Man: Come at 2:30.
2:30 pm, July 23, Bear Man : Come at 4:30.
4:30 pm, July 23, Bear Man : Come tomorrow.
9 am, July 24, Bear Man : What, you did not inform me yesterday. Come at 2:30.
Pattern of July 23 repeats.
Pattern of July 23 repeats again on July 26.
I get my grade cards at 4:30 on July 26.
Pattern of July 23 repeats again on July 27, for the transcript.
In my frustration, I decided not go go again for two days. I'll go tomorrow, and you can guess what's going to happen.

Moving on to the computer support group. I was trying to access the Xilinx website, and I got a huge red flashing warning which informed me that I was being a naughty boy and trying to watch download pornography. I half expected a hand to magically spring out of the computer and spank me.
Au Contraire, the following was proudly splashed along with other notices at the most happening place in college, the juice shop (go ahead, laugh at us).
That is, of course, 'educational', but Brutus is an honourable man.

And while I was stranded at the juice stall, in the pouring rain, this is what I saw.
A T-shirt that says 'Hard and Dirty, Extremely Furny'. Furny brownies to anyone who can tell me what it means. A walking testament of the lack of real pornography, and the abundance of 'hot mallu aunties in red sari' on youtube, which, of course, is again a testament to our Brutus' honour.

Another furny guy lost his pen drive. This is how he appeals to the masses for help.
And one more year to go. It is certainly not 'a great pleasure to me'.
But then again...

Desert Haiku

Music in my head: Sigur Rós - Milanó
Today's weather: Dusty, Windy, Trichy

(This is a set of Haikus. Notice that the syllable count is 3-5-3 in the first one, 5-7-5 in the second one and 7-9-7 in the third one, all just for fun. I call it a progressive haiku.)

Matted hair,
Dust winds are blowing,
Dandruff born.

My back is sweaty,
Sunshine burning my skin up,
As I walk around.

Was caught in sticky red tape,
When I tried to pay the fees today,
I look beautiful waxed.