Pochemuchka

#ChangeTheWorld, yaar

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Thu, 15 Jan 2015 06:40:00 +0000

Model United Nation

Oh I see you my friend,

Where are you headed, all fancy and dressed?

"I'm off to the Model United Nations, baba!

Can't you see, from my suit and vest?"

Model United Nations, I see. And which models are being United?

I heard Heidi Klum is back in business, and so is Adriana Lima.

"Arre, Buddhu, This is MUN, like a copy of the UNO

Pappu, Toni and Golu are going, and so are Geeta and Neema."

Acha, nice, hanging out with friends? Is this a party of some sort?

Who's the host and what's the theme, bolo?

"Fool, this is a serious deal, we have debates and discussions and stuff.

It's important stuff, actually. Do you follow?"

Hmm. I think... So what kind of topics do you debate about?

The best dhaba nearby? Or the cheesiest Shahrukh movie?

"What nonsense, you are testing my nerve! We talk about international policy

And international relations and stuff. Not any Pizza Hut or David Bowie.

Wah! That's impressive yaar. But I'm confused as to one thing,

What exactly is the mission about? What is your primary purpose?

"Umm... We want to create change in society! We will use interpersonal diatribes

And discursive dialogue and interlocutory communication to make a societal ruckus!"

Bhai, let me tell you this. a simple person like me,

who is from the same society that you mentioned,

If he is approached with men in suits talking about "interlocutory communication"

Well, just to understand the language will take him ages reaching pension!

I may be a seedha man but i am genuinely concerned for my society too.

Tell me the truth, would you have given it a notice

if it hadn't been for the DSLR pictures on Facebook of prizes for delegations?

"Of course I would have! do you think I do it just because it is COOL? What is this?!"

I don't know man, because I haven't been in your shoes,

But I do know that "creating change in society" is done by DOING, not SPEAKING.

If you really want to create change, get your suit off,

put on shorts and then start your CREATING!

Listen, I'm all for debates and research and all that you say you get from MUN,

It is just the "we are doing social change" part that gets me off ticking.

To be honest, all you do is debate, discuss, collect prizes and go home.

While the streetside vagabond goes towards garbage, sifting and picking.

So enjoy your 5 mins of fame, and debating and pompous speech!

I understand it takes a lot of hardwork and pain.

Just don't tarnish the names of those who actually "create change"

By using those words in vain.

Kintsukuroi

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Mon, 10 Nov 2014 21:57:00 +0000

It is not the pain of rejection
But the sting of looking into the question
"What could have been?
In the world, what we could have seen?"
That brings your day to a halt.

You ask yourself, what was true, and what was not
Because in the confusing labyrinth of your heart you sought -
Clarity, brevity, a joy in knowing "this is not wrong"
An ode to eternal happiness, a Myna's love song.
And then, one day, it comes crashing down, tumbling apart.

It is then that you question the actions you took

Search for a REASON in every cranny and nook

And find that there are no answers in the at the end of the day

Nothing to bring back that stability, no price you could pay.

And there you are, stuck in a limbo between past and present.

You sit there, shattered amongst a million pieces of your conscious,
Losing all faith and youthful time (that you don't realize is precious),
Looking up into the Empyrean, asking the Almighty, why me?
Blinded by the pain, and melancholy all you see.
It leaves you to ponder, where do I go from here?

With a weakness that is stagnant, you one day, see glimmering hope.
There comes that vessel, that rescuing ship of life that helps you cope.
It stops by, looks at you and says, "Do you need a hand?"
With immeasurable support, you take its help, and finally stand.
Maybe there is a way out after all. Maybe there is light in this shrouding darkness.

And here you stand today, rebuilding the strength you long lost;

Maybe it's possible to go to the past, but at what cost?

You remind yourself to look only at what lies ahead,

Focus on people who value YOU instead.

Today you are closer to the best version of yourself.

8 days.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sun, 03 Aug 2014 17:36:00 +0000

25/7/2014 - 1/8/2014

'Saata hai?'

'Haan ji, saata hai.'

I have been so accustomed to those words over the past few weeks that my response to the question has become almost sub-conscious. 'Saata hai' roughly means 'Are you feeling okay?' in Marwadi and the reason people asked me that was because I went on a fast for 8 days - an "Athai" in Jain terms. For the fast, I was to drink only boiled water from sunrise to sunset. No food, no juice, no nothing. I lost eight kilos during the event and also some of my already scarce strength.

Those 8 days were a period of self-reflection, introspection and a lot of sleep. Along with testing my body's endurance, I found that the biggest challenge for me was to gain control of my mind. My mind which kept wandering towards the smell of food from the kitchen, the view of pastries from the bakery next door and to images of exotic dishes shown in cookbooks at home.

The fast also allowed me to think about my life in a way that only an extended fast can make you. From a very primeval perspective, the first and foremost task of any living creature is to nourish itself, to survive. To voluntarily curb that particular, heavily-ingrained instinct felt like a monumental task. But on its accomplishment, I had feelings I didn't anticipate.

I felt free. I felt victorious.

The most important aspect of Jainism is saiiyam, or self-restraint. It is said by restricting the self, the impurities of the soul reduce and the individual is closer to moksha, or eternal salvation. I certainly didn't feel that I was closer to any sort of salvation, but a certain kind of peace did engulf me in the last few days of the fast. I felt vibrant and positive. I seemed to liberate myself from emotions that caused me pain. Honestly, it felt so weird, but it also felt really, really amazing.

So to you, the reader, I challenge you to do this. Restrict yourself from food for a day and tell me if you feel the same way. Perhaps it's all just my over-thinking brain addled with a loss of nutrients that made me experience all this. But perhaps it's not. And that is exciting!

"Choosing between what is right, and what is easy"

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Wed, 11 Dec 2013 22:34:00 +0000

While I agree that India has taken a step backwards when it comes to the issue of homosexuality, I don't think it is right of us to consider detaching ourselves from our homeland just because of a pertinent problem that needs to be solved. Its irksome to know that our collective mentality is not to actually take action against the rampant plague of ignorance in our nation but to raise our hands and say "nothing can be done". Every struggle against inequality throughout the world was overcome only by the proactive protest of people who knew better and had the necessary knowledge to save those who drown in the pool of their own ignorance. Let's not take the easy route of giving up hope in our progress as a nation. It takes small steps to reach the ideal dream of equality; Let's raise our feet to take the first.

What would have happened if the few white South Africans during the dark period of Apartheid who chose to support the black population had raised their hands and said "this can't be done"? What would have happened if the Britishers who helped India during independence had chosen to say "this is hopeless?" Things might have not been the same.

You may point a finger at me and ask me what I am doing to be proactive; you have every right to. I am presently thousands of kilometers away from India and the only exposure I have to the situation back home is through online media.

However, it pains me to know that I still am not entirely vaccinated from the disease of ignorance about homosexuality. I think I can start to make a change by just gaining more knowledge and banishing some the myths regarding this issue.

SUPPORT LOVE.

Friendship and Dinner Plates

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 15:30:00 +0000

I don't know what's so scary about being emotionally attached to anyone. What if I consider you to be my best friend, and you don't? Poof. I immediately feel like one of those drag along friends you brag about to people you wanna impress :

"Oh, him? Nah, he's not my best friend. Poor guy, he's so delusional. To even think he's MY best friend is a joke. Haha.."

I had this sickness of opening up to people about things I wouldn't normally talk about. Just to get their approval. To let them know that I trust them that much. To leverage my openness for them to do as well, whether they like it or not; whether they're ready or not.

So today, I am as closed as Bartemius Crouch Jr.'s box used to jail his Polyjuice Potion victims. I just cannot accept being close to anyone. I'm too scared that my investing in them emotionally wouldn't be reciprocated. I have friends, of course yeah. But no,

I don't have any best friends.

I do not even get the definition! How can you be so close to a person and get that feeling back? That feeling of knowing that he/she is as dependant on me as I am on him/her - I never got that. And now, me sheilding myself from MAKING any best friends probably is hindering any CHANCE of that as well. Paradox, eh?

Of course, there are a few people who manage to trickle in through my mental wall. Dumbledore DID know the right way to open Crouch's prisoner box, didn't he? But they're such a precious few. And me, being the idiot I am, don't even realise or appreciate the reciprocation. I mean, how screwed up am I?

I know this guy with whom I used to be great friends in my childhood. He's a coupla years older, in college right now. It's funny to think about how much we spent our times together. Now, He comes for what, a few days in an year, we meet, we have the his and hellos, and then we have that 'dinner-in-same-plate' wala thing. Then he goes home, I go home and gone. No chit-chat, no keeping in touch. Is this the friendship version of "No strings attached"? I'm not complaining, honestly. I'm glad I get company to eat food with. But what does that make me? A guy who can't value himself to be more than just a 'use-throw' friend? Maybe I think too much.

Well, I guess I'm doomed to be a dinner-plate-sharing wala friend. But, I've learnt to compromise. What compromise, you ask?

Ever had that rasmalai on your plate at a social function that gets mixed up with your panner butter masala, ruining its taste effectively? You still end up compromising and eating it because hey, atleast you get to eat a rasmalai!

^That compromise.

What am I but confusion?

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 14:53:00 +0000

What am I but confusion?
I do not know what I love
I do not know what I detest.
I find prettiness in the alpine coves,
But I happily destroy them for my joy-fests.

What am I but confusion?
I say I am different because I love
I say I am unique because I care.
But it I who at the slightest whim, picks up the bow.
But it is I who destroys my self, just for the bigger share.

What am I but confusion?
That I say one thing
And do another
I just pretend to care for
This land given to me by my father.

What am I but confusion?
I say I know better.
But do I really do?
Am I not blinded by my greed?

The Retxed Way.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 15:25:00 +0000

Dreams don't fade me away, neither does
Energy, life, or enthusiasm. I find space in your little
Xanadu. And funnily enough, I stay.
Try edging me out all you want,
Even scream out in desperation.
Reach out to anyone, but remember this, I will stay.

Here I am, your Dark Passenger, waiting to be fed.

My presence will be felt. Even in the closest of spaces will I be
Open, gaping, living only for Death.
Reproachful you are, relentless you are, respondent you are.
Goodness, with me around, it ain't possible.
And the sad thing is, I am your only friend.
Now smile, you've got a whole world to deceive.

_________________________________________________

First attempt at an Acrostic. :)

The Quota Question.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 05:28:00 +0000

Aarakshan was terrible. I can't believe that the same guy who brought us Raajneeti made this movie. The movie does raise some touchy issues. Quotas and reservations are a BIG question-mark.

Should the BC/OBCs recieve special support from such a strongly secular and democratic nation?
The Backward Caste people today argue that for hundreds of years they've been shunned by the Forward Castes and were not even given an equal opportunity. So today when it's their turn to do so, why are we whining?
Should mere history and past-events serve as a medium of justification in today's highly competitive world?
Today, it's the supposedly 'backward' people who live in palatial houses and own a number of cars and it's the 'forward' people who end up on the streets. Who really is the oppresed here?

I feel that yes, the backward people must be brought forward, and reservations for such people should be done. HOWEVER, the people who are actually backward, those who cannot afford proper educational facilites, people who struggle to make ends meet, such people should be given reservation, not reservation on basis of birth and community. Only then would Reservations and Quotas be justified.
___________

Speaking of which, a very happy Independance day to all. 65 years FTW.

Street-lamp.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 13:51:00 +0000

The street was littered with empty soda-cans and dry leaves; it was Fall. As he walked down the pavement, a slight chill passed through his body that had nothing to do with the fiercely cold wind blowing at his face.

It was like he was pushing a boulder, every step he took against the wind only wearied him down, and the only fear adrift in his mind was of falling back; and never ever reaching home. But languidly, deliberately, he sauntered on.

It was pitch-dark and the only illumination on the street was of the street-lamp ahead; flickering haphazardly, yet with a strange regularity that was slightly unnerving. As he moved forward, pushing away the veils of tenebrosity and silence that shrouded him, he sniffed. And the sniff was something so unnatural, something so abnormal that he felt the ambience around him change; it was no longer this indistinct alley anymore.

He stopped. His sight caught hold of the bruise he had gotten earlier that day.It seemed so much older, so much more parched. He had aged a hundred years that day. Suddenly, from nowhere, came this overwhelming wave of guilt and melancholy that threatened to engulf him, and he was scared. And then, a voice inside his head said, " Keep walking, and it will all go away."

And so he did. A river of tears trickled down his bare cheek as he did so. He stopped again and looked up to see a single ray of sunshine piercing through the valleys that lay in front of him. It was then he said,

"I'm sorry."

And he walked on.

93.6....

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 13:36:00 +0000

.....is now stamped on my forehead. Honestly, I never expected such grades from my tenth, and I'm really surprised.

Tenth has been, by far, the MOST eventful year of my academic life. New friends, new enemies and much more quizzing. :) I'll remember:

Winning Aqua Regia. When our names were called upon stage, the feeling of exuberation and pure fricking crazy joy. I don't think I'll get that feeling again, even if my future achievements were even bigger.
All the countless exams I'd attended. Looking back now, I feel stupid thinking how meticulously I wrote them.
Centum in Maths. I'd NEVER gotten close to even a 98 in Maths in all the many exams I'd previously written. Got it when it really mattered.
The "District-level" competitions. (note quotations :P)The first time I'd ever got a first prize for drumming, that too when competing with all the other categories of instruments.
Turning up at infinite number of quizzes. Winning a few.
Watching a humongous number of movies.
The world cup. The jersey I wore whenever India played. The madness. The semi-final. I actually sent my tutor back home so that I could watch it.
Getting high on The Beatles and Porcupine Tree tracks. :)
Getting my FIRST article published in the papers. And yes, unedited. ^_^
The Chennai trip for the AR regionals. That's a story to be told some other day.
Phineas and Ferb, Dexter, HIMYM, Castle, Bones, Californication and Modern Family.
The many scrabble games with Dad. Winning a few, mind you.
The FIFA world cup. I still remember watching the cracker of a match that was Ghana vs. Uruguay till 4 AM. I hate Luis Suarez.

Sigh. Memories. :)

Rocky.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 13:58:00 +0000

Rocky smells something. It is good. Very Good. Rocky follows the smell. It comes from a fat man. Rocky follows Fat Man. Fat Man enters a hole. Rocky barks and wags his tail. Good dog, Rocky is. Good dog.

Fat Man looks at Rocky. Good. Rocky wags his tail harder. Fat Man touches Rocky. Good. Rocky licks his hand. Good dog. Fat Man catches his collar and takes him to small men. Small Men look at Rocky. Rocky wags his tail. Smell is strong. Rocky barks. Small Men rub Rocky's head. Good. They give him bread. Good. Very Good. Rocky eats. Rocky is happy. Small Men tie Rocky to a rope and tie him to a pipe. Bad. Rocky barks. Small Men leave. Rocky barks. Rocky is tired. Rocky sleeps.

Rocky wakes. Rocky sees a big man walking to the hole. Bad smell. Bad. Rocky barks. Rocky pulls at his chain. Rocky pulls. Pulls. Big Man is followed by two Tall Men. Big Man and Tall Men walk to hole. Bad. Rocky barks.

Big Man sees Rocky. Big Man comes to Rocky. Bad. Rocky puts his tail between his legs. Big Man takes Rod and hits Rocky. Rocky is hurt. It pains. Rocky barks harder. Big Man hits. Pain. Pain. Rocky is in more Pain. Rocky pulls at rope hard. Hard. Rocky escapes. Rocky leaps at Big Man. Rocky bites Big Man's nose. Yes. Big Man is bad. Rocky bites and bites. Tall Man takes thick rod from his pocket. Points it at Rocky.

Rocky is very hurt. Rocky barks. Rocky loses his strength. Rocky barks and barks. Rocky is in pain. Rocky barks. Fat Man comes. Rocky barks. Fat Man runs inside. Rocky lies down. Rocky is in pain. Rocky cannot see anything. Rocky barks. Rocky sees Brown Men coming. Rocky barks. Rocky is in pain. Pain.

Rocky dies.

Hair-rape.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 07:04:00 +0000

He tightly twisted the long cloth around my neck. I couldn't breath. He took a shining blade in his hand, raised it up with malice, and asked,

"Sir, unglakku short-a venuma, medium-a venuma?"

The reason I go to 'hair-styling salons' is my little ray of hope that the dudes there would understand a bit of English, and/or get atleast a vague idea of what I want my hair to be like; I do not have the same hair-texture as that of general South Indians. The above tamil quote just shattered my little ray of hope. I used my cracked, rusty Tamil and somehow got the guy to know that I wanted a 'change of style', or rather, 'change of shtyle'.

"Oh wokay sir. You want spikes aah?"

"No, I want it to be short in the front, long in the back....."(I doubt if he understood what I said)

" Sir It won't look nice on you."

Oh okay, so now I've to take advice from a Tamil macha whose idea of good hair-styling is 'funky-aah spikes'.

"Sir you know Simbu?"

Is that some sorta lion? Did he mean Simba? I hope he didn't want my hair to be a mane.

"Sir Simbu...you know, tamil movie hero?"

I silently prayed to god that he wouldn't style my hair like some random 30 year old tamil hero. No, I said.

"I will put spikes like that sir. It will be funky."

James Brown's "Papa's Got a New Bag" suddenly played in my head. I pictured myself in tight pants and an Afro.

"No! No funky hair. Put normal hair." I said, exasperated and scared.

He began. Removed my spectacles nonetheless. It was better that I couldn't see what he was about to do to my hair.

At the end of the 'procedure', I ended up looking like a Beetle with upright antennae on my head.

"Sir super-a irukudu sir!"

I was petrified. I wasn't able to say something comprehensible for a while. Regaining my composure, I tried some damage control. I asked the 'stylist' to trim my ridiculously upright fringe. He did so and I go his oh-so-intelligent comment yet again.

"Sir you are looking Japanese."

Apparently I suddenly had slating eyes and wore a kimono. Trying my best not to throw the comb lying on his head, I went to the billing area, where I received numorous goggles, nonetheless.

To think I paid a hundred bucks for this.

Death-stick.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 15:19:00 +0000

A chunk of your life

Goes with every smoke;

A single puff; is equal to a knife

Killing you, poke by poke.

Every single thin shaft

Is quite the same as a nicotine mace;

Distances you from the life-raft,

Enclosing you in a tar-ridden case.

When was the last time your house-folk

Were able to talk to you without a cough?

Were able to love you without a choke?

Were able to embrace you without a held-in breath?

You can't be more wrong,

When you think it's 'cool';

You're singing your own death-song,

Drowning in your own pool.

Save your life while you can,

(Or the bit that's still left of it).

Stop tossing yourself around on the pan,

You'll get burned when you least expected it.

Get Ready To Face(book) The Music.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 13:07:00 +0000

It's heated. It's steamy. You're having a lot of fun. And then, this happens:

"*INSERT NAME*, what are you doing? Come here."

A dilemma you're in, now. Should you just type in "brb", or make excuses and close the browser?

Worry, no more. I present to you

"THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO GET BACK TO IMing WHEN PARENTS ASK YOU TO STOP"

Never, ever, tell them that you're Facebooking. If you do, then enjoy being Internet-less for atleast a week. It's quite obvious, if your son is Bookfacing, then obviously he's watching porn and flirting with immoral girls. Parents shall never, ever understand 'Facebook' is not synonymous with 'Wasting time pressing buttons on the kompooter box'.

Instead follow these easy to follow steps:

1. Respond by a simple, sober "Coming!". Don't actually go.

2. Type in 'brb' and quickly go to them. Open TV, and find old movie channel. Now that they are mesmerised with Dev Anand prancing on the screen, just 'go for a drink of water', i.e, run for your life.

3. "what? I can't hear you."

4. If #1,2 and 3 don't work, you're doomed. But there IS a way. Tell them about this hilarious scene you saw about something that interests them on YouTube. Show it to them. When they're well distracted, Log back in and continue.

5. Respond back with ANOTHER question : You: " Where's my iPod, ma?" She: " I don't know. Check the drawers." Say OK, and continue.

P.S: Still in process of finding more. ;)

Seclusion Of The Erinyes.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 09:45:00 +0000

I - Delirium.

I am chaste,
A virgin, unmoved
By the vagaries of
Humankind or
Of the atrocious
Satan of the underworld.

Vivacity and vitality
Is my essence;
The sun is my father,
Nature, my mother.

Malevolence can
Do me no harm,
Debauchery is something
Unknown to my self.

I am energy.
I am spirit.
I am purity.

II - Trepidation and Abhorrence.

Oh, what is this obscurity
That has destructed
My own self,
My sense of being?

T'has destroyed my
Naiveity, butchered
My innocence.
I am lifeless,
Or am I dead?

'Tis this darkness,
It has made the
Empyrean, devoid
Of the moon and stars,
Has only blankness
And the void,
Shrouding me
With an emptiness
Very irreplaceable.

III - Debarkation of the Deliverer.

I need guidance,
For I can not see.
I need help,
For I cannot feel.
I need nourishment,
For I am starved.
I need support,
For I cannot stand.

But wait, Oh wait,
I see an effulgence,
Piercing through
This impenetrable veil.
Is this my savior?
Is this my hero?

IV - Convalescence.

Relief, I feel it,

For Memphistopheles,

Had eaten me alive.

I yet not feel,
For I am still numb.

My flesh still replivates;

I am still timorous,

I need to recover,

I need revival.

V - Manumission And Probation.

Freedom is my wife,

And I adore her.

That twilight of darkness

Has given way to

This joyful aurora.

I feel again,

I am revived,

I see again,

I have survived.

I am salvation,

I am redemption,

I am liberty,

I am me.

Hamlet - The Clown Prince

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 10:45:00 +0000

When Hamlet pulls down Gertrude's skirt to let go of his anger, you know it's going to be a ball of a time.

There as thousands of reasons to absolutely adore this delightful interpretation of Shakespeare's epic tragedy. One, it has clowns. Two, it has amazing actors who play the clowns. Three, It's so darn funny!

From Figo going "HAPPY NEW YEAR" to Laetres and Hamlet comically slipping in the duel, this play has it all. Lighting, absolutely impeccable. Props, a bare minimum. The little minutia in the background, the impressive use of stage space, and the audience interactions are the USPs of this immaculate comedy. There are a few places where one can uncomfortably squirm in his chair (especially if he's watching with his parents) but all the frenzy just adds to the fun! The audience was in splits the entire time!

Profanity aside, Hamlet - The Clown Prince is really well written, and it utterly deserves its numerous accolades. It was Ninety minutes to adore and cherish for all Coimbatoreans.

Amazingly spectacular would be an understatement.

______________________

Unedited review published in MetroPlus :)

A prayer.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 13:42:00 +0000

Give me hope,

To brace myself for adversity,

To give me the tenacity,

To find the best in the worst.

Give me modesty,

To keep my audacity at bay,

To thank them for what they say,

To never embrace arrogance.

Give me life,

To care with infatuation,

To relish with liberation,

To foster imagination.

Give me the dignity,

To have pride in myself,

To be in my right mind,

To never be suppressed, by body or by mind.

Give me courage,

To stand for what's right,

To never give up my attempts,

To fight with all my might.

HNO3 + HCl

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sun, 28 Nov 2010 11:47:00 +0000

Sleeping for the next day's big gig is a PAIN. I lied down at 10, after an hour or so of packing and unpacking. Slept at 1.

November is awesome. Especially when you cuddle in inch-thick blankets with the windows open :) Woke up by 8. Bruv had just returned from one of his LONG pan-India Yatras. He returned from Chennai, I was going to Chennai. Irony,eh? Got ready by 9:15. Dropped at school by 9:30. Wandering inside the school without worrying about Exams or classes is a BLISS. Met PT sir. I was standing with a rucksack heavy with clothes and stuff and ogling stupidly at him sitting there with a TINY bag. What could possibly fit into that thing?

Had to wait for PR. Ass, he is. Told me to come by 9.30, came himself at 10.15. And also forgot his tiffen. Why, I ask."I'm a Hypochondriac", he says.We stupidly hoped for the Principal to drop us by his Innova. After all, *We* paid for it. Indirectly.
________________________________________________________
The bus journey was long. It became warm, and I wondered why I wore my jacket. I still think that a bus-ride is the cheapest roller-coaster you could ride. You know, with the bumps and the rickety suspensions and all? Finally a few seats freed up before we reached the station. PR wanted to know why I love Harry Potter so much. "Convert me from a non-believer to a believer", He said. I love explaining complex Harry Potter plotlines. It was SO much fun.

At the station bus stop, Sir went to charge his phone, and then wandered off someplace. We called him asked him where he was. " I'm over here. Come." the Genius says, and cuts the line. But we found him and hence, went to Platform 3.

The woman who announces the train arrivals. I always imagined her to be some sorta middle-aged woman. Kinda sweet voice.

I love Tinkle. I still read it. It's right up there with The Deathly Hallows and The Bourne Supremacy. But we refrained from buying it at the stall. Good thing, as we were about to realise.

PT Sir is overreactive. The train stopped for a whole five minutes. But for unknown reasons, we were running like madmen to reach B1.

The train journey was long and quite uneventful, except perhaps when PR prank-called me. He got down at some station.I had just bought some vadas, and was eating them when his Cell rang:

"Dei Banthia, We've caught the wrong train."

Yeah right. I swear, we must have read the whole ticket atleast some 10 times.

"Oh right. Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I could hear the train moving behind him.

What should I do? Get down at the next station? Meh, I'll just finish my vadas.

Then came PR smiling like a prat, with PT Sir following suit.

____________________________________________________

Chennai is fricking HOT . And Humid. It was raining cows and buffalos and yet I was sweating.

I so wanted to eat at Saravana's. So I dragged them to the upstairs restaurant. 3 Chappatis, 2 biryanis and a curd rice later, the bill came to 250 bucks. That's when I realised we were short on Money. Uh Oh. And to top it all, the Auto fellow charge a hundred bucks to get us to the hotel.

Palm Grove is a sucky hotel. It's atleast some 80 years old. I'm not talking heritage-style, ancient-design old, I mean OLD old. The room was tacky, to say the least. And bell-boys came every hour to ask for tips.
This time, it was easy to sleep. We were so damn tired.
________________________________________________________

8 AM. Humid. What kind of a cruel joke is Chennai? But Devvarman kept us entertained. Yes, the room had a TV. Thankfully. We dragged ourselves to the in-hotel restaurant for the 'complimentary breakfast'. Now here I was, wearing a jersey and shorts, and in comes the Bangalore team uniform-dressed. With the fancy school blazer and all. I could almost see the scorn on their faces. Nevertheless, I wanted to keep it cordial, so I talked to them:

" We're the team from Bangalore. We were the national runners-up last year. We're gonna kick your asses over here."

Okay, they didnt actually say the last line, but they as well might have. Stupid tactics, as PR says.
___________________________________

Finally went to the venue. 8 teams for the City finals (:O) and the competition was damn close. Some team with green shirts made it through. And the Regionals started.

I'm not going in detail about the fiasco at the quiz, as I can only remember the Bangalore team prancing in their seats to tell the answers. But from nowhere, the Vizag team won. Woah.

At first, yes, it was disappointing. But then, hey, Fourth place isn't so bad. We still have loads to look forward to.
__________________________
Returning home. Cash in pocket: 300 bucks. But we still went to the Cybercafe in the station, to do some *ahem* life-changing online work. But apparently, the cafe was hacked, and everytime we tried to log in, it redirected us to some other site asking for the password again. So we gave it up and just went to the TIME website to gleefully look up our names.

The train was a nightmare. COCKROACHES! Ohkay, I'm not much of a manly man, and I cant bear watching those creepy little nightmares crawl upto my food, or to my sleeping body. *shudder* But I miraculously went to sleep, somehow.
What else, woke up, went home.

An uneventful end to an eventful little trip, eh?

PS: Hope you get the title of the post. It's an inside joke.

The secret quiz.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 15:15:00 +0000

1. Sitter. Willem de X (6 May 1872 – 20 November 1934) was a Dutch mathematician, physicist and astronomer. He came up with the concept of the de X space and de X universe, a solution for Einstein's general relativity. Gimme X.

2. Identify, put fundae.

3. An anecdote has it that when Philip II sent a message to Sparta saying "If I enter Laconia, I will raze Sparta to the ground", the Spartans responded with the single, terse reply: "X".

David Ginola-1997

Beckham, Ginola, Lassiter, Moller, Raul -1998

Dennis Bergkamp-1999

Eddie Pope-2000

Paul Scholes-2001

Thierry Henry-2002

Ryan Giggs, Roberto Carlos, Edgar Davis-2003

Theiry Henry, Alessandro Del Peiro, Ronaldinho-2004

Patrick Viera, Andriy Shevchenko and Fernando Morientes-2005

Rooney, Ronaldinho- 2006 to 2009

Theo Walcott, Rooney, Lampard-2010

____ and Rooney-2011

List is exhaustive. Connect and FITB.

X made his debut as Commander Abhimanyu Rai in the Doordarshan Series 'Fauji' in 1988. X?

6. ____ __ __ ______ is a famous catch phrase from a famous science fiction TV series. Though it has numerous pop culture references, it is never actually spoken verbatim in the series. FITB.

7. 'We love Hollywood. We just have a funny way of showing it.' Tagline of?

X is a project still in development. It calls itself 'the privacy aware, personally controlled, do-it-all, open source social network.'

The word X literally means 'to scatter about, to disperse'.

X also denotes the scattering of the Jews to countries outside of Palestine after the Babylonian captivity.FInd X.

"Okay, should we get some coffee?" Fundae please.

10. Galena is the natural mineral form of lead sulfide. How is it better known as?

Unintentionally Funny: Hindi Soaps.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 10:05:00 +0000

Hindi Soaps. Aren't they the awesomest? To tell thee what i'm talking about, here is So-not-stereotypical Soap on Famous Hindi Channel.
Butter-Run

Now, before you go all, 'how come YOU see so much of this show? You're just a hypocritical freak who doesn't have a life! *more trolling*', lemme tell you this: I might not a have a life, but I SO don't watch this crap voluntarily. It so happens that this show happens to clash with ~~Phineas And Ferb~~ National Geographic, at times.

Butter-run is a so-very-original story of Jealousy, Bitchfighting, and Shiny Jewelery. Like, no other Hindi Soap ever has these elements in it. Ever.

Enter Rich Man.

Rich Man: I'm rich and I wear a Pearl necklace round my neck. Because all rich men have to show their richness at all times. I'm also virtuous. I'm so virtous that, when I accidentally killed my maid's Husband, I'm taking care of her daughter. The maid has no problem with it. I mean, so what if I killed her husband? I can totally take care of her daughter without ever harming her!

Rich Man has a Daughter as well. She, so non-expectantly, is a Spoilt Princess.

Spoilt Princess: Hi, I'm Spoilt Princess. I rule the whole world and I want my Dad's undivided attention. But that stupid maid-daughter takes away all the attention! I must get rid of her! *scheme scheme devious devious*

The maid-daughter is apparently an Angel who can NEVER see that Spoilt princess wants her outta the way.

Angel: I'm an angel. I'm so very Pious and Virtuous. I can never see any one get hurt.*halo halo*

Now, after about a hundred episodes of Nonsense, they grow up.

Rich Man: My daughters are grown up! Must.Get.Them.Married.

Angel: I like Loser Guy. Can I marry him? Pweeease?

Rich Man: Sure. Looks like you two are in love. Go on!
_____________________________________________

Spoilt Princess: Hey wait! I wanna marry Loser Guy!!

Angel: But you already saw him and said that you didn't wanna get married to him!?!

Spoilt Princess: I do now. Now gimme your Wedding dress.

Angel: Wokay.

Spoilt Princess: Really? You don't care about the hundreds of people outside waiting outside for you to get married to the love of your life?

Angel: Nooope.

Spoilt Princess: .............

Angel: Look, Shiny Jewelery!

____________________________

So Spoilt Princess gets married to loser guy. Only after about ten episodes, he discovers that he married the wrong girl. Gasp!

Loser Guy: ZOMG! You ain't my wife!!

Spoilt Princess: I am now. *devious smile*

But you can't escape coz' the wedding vows are life-binding! And your family has already accepted me!! BWAHAHAH!

Loser Guy: Aww man. Alright then. But I ain't gonna love you or anything.

Spoilt Princess: Really? You're not gonna sue me or divorce me for forcefully marrying you without your permission?

Loser Guy: Nooooope.

Spolit princess: ..........

Loser Guy: Look, Shiny Jewelery!

_________________________

Now Loser Guy has an elder brother whose in Rehab 'coz he's a druggie. Now Druggie, wonder of wonders, falls for Angel.

Druggie: Ooooh. Shiny! Marry me gurl.

Angel: Wokay.

Druggie:Really? Eventhough I don't know that you're my bro's Ex? And bro would be devastated to see me score with you, whom he still has feelings for?

Angel: Yuuuup.

Druggie:........

Angel: Look, Shiny Jewelery!

________________________________

So Druggie marries Angel. But again, wonder of wonders, he finds out that she was his brother's ex.

Druggie: WTF! you're my bro's ex?

Angel: Uhm. Sweets?

Druggie: Dayum! Now I'm gonna so-not-inappropriately poke fun at your relationship with my bro! *poke poke*
_________________________________

So Druggie starts getting more depressed.Finally it somehow lands up here:

Druggie: *points gun* Spoilt Princess, YOU'RE the reason Angel is not mine!!!! I keel you!!!

Spoilt Princess: LOL. I'm not the reason you're such a loser. YOU are, you drug infested, rehab freak!

Druggie: OMFG. Yer right!! *points gun at himself and shoots*

Spoilt Princess: Oh shit.
________________________________

So Druggie dies. After another fifty episodes, everyone else realize that Spoilt Princess was the reason Druggie was dead.

Rich Man: ZOMG! You killed druggie? Get outta my house, Biatch!!!

Spoilt Princess: Hey I'm a Princess. You can't do that!!

Rich Man: I'm doing it now!! *kick kick*

__________________________________

So Spoilt Princess has to bear the harsh outside world. Where cars, manicures, and hotels don't come to you at your command. Choo Sad.

Meanwhile, Angel becomes a widow and follows the widow lifestyle. Which apparently means that you can wear mascara along with the white sarees. And you have to eat boiled rice.

Angel: I'm a widow and I have to suffer because that's what widows do. *eats nothing for two days*

Loser Guy: Dayum! Eat somethin'. You'll fall sick, otherwise!!

Angel: GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU PERV!!! I'M YOUR SIS-IN-LAW!!! RESPECT THE RELATIONSHIP!!!

Loser Guy: What the bhen!?!?!

Angel: I actually have feelings for you but I can't show them 'coz like, I'm a widow...or somethin'.....

So I'm going to an ashram where I can ponder freely!

Loser Guy: Whatever. I'll get married again, then.

Angel: No wait!! *sets fire to ashram*

_______________________________

(This katha is still going on, so......)

The FacePhases.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 16:41:00 +0000

Facebook. You know it. It's THE social network.

One fine day, sitting at home and ignoring that Chemistry textbook on my table, the Aristotle in me took over.

If you observe idly (which is my favorite pastime), an average dude's social nework life can be classified into four broad phases:

FacePhase 1:

You create a facebook profile with no profile picture, a fake year of birth and zero friends. It was either your friends pressuring you, or you wanted to give it a shot ("What IS it with this bookface, anyway?"). It's extremely boring, and poking is completely alien. Now, there are two ways this could wind up: 1. you end up bored and log in so rarely that you forget your password (thisisfacebook) OR 2. you keep going at it, and watch your life being taken over.

FacePhase 2:

Change profile picture to Justin Beiber/ Justin Timberlake/ Rob Pattinson/ INSERT GAY HOLLYWOOD STAR as you think it's 'kool'.You receive friend requests from other misguided 'kool dudes'. (All the America THEY know are the stereoypical Americans from local movies, or AXN.) Feel encouraged, start sending more friend requests. Get accepted into the gay hollywooders community.

Now come the status updates. You start up by copying some dude's emo status, and posting it as your own: Life is nothing without your love/ I don't wanna love, because it hurts/ (INSERT RANDOM STATUS CONTAINING THE WORDS 'PAIN, LOVE AND HURTS' IN VARYING COMBINATIONS). Then you pester every online dude to comment on it. ('Dei, please comment on my status da!'). Recieve comments like 'correct da machi', 'you say the truth in life', etc,etc. Feel more gloated, more emo statuses.

By this stage you would probably have sent a thousand friend requests to all the girls you could possibly could. One or two get accepted. More gloat. More emo.

FacePhase 3:

Now the mania REALLY kicks in (read 4-5 hours on facebook per day). Your Farmville farm is fertile, Mafia is growing and the Cafe brings in customers. Your wall is filled with " ____ needs you to help him fertilize his farm", "____'s Mafia needs more men", etc.

By this time, you gather up the courage to upload a personal picture. It's probably a crop of some group photo you chanced upon, or some picture taken manually through a cell phone.

Notes. You see X gaining popularity through that Note he wrote about some exaggerated incident. You try writing you own. Tag all your friends in it. Pester them online dudes again. "Hey check out my Note! :link:"

BTW, till this time, pronunciation marks and capital letters are completely alien to you, and an excess of exclamatory marks is absolutely necessary to stress the importance of the sentence.

FacePhase 4:

FacePhase 3 may last from anything between 6 months to one and a half years. After those months of comment-pestering, girl-befriending, etc, etc, you finally get some sense knocked into you. You realise the importance of punctuations after that embarrassing incident (whore you?).

Zynga fades away, online time reduces, you realize how much time you're wasting.

But you still have to ABSOLUTELY update that you won 5K in a science quiz.

What was that?

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 17:11:00 +0000

Was it a bird twittering through the woods?

Or was it the shacked-hut stove-stop crackling?

Was it the sigh of misery amongst the hood?

Maybe it was my heart beating.

Was it a flash of blinding light?

Or was it more than that?

Maybe it was a heated fight,

Or just a roadside cat.

Was it a bullet through the wind?

Or a rat scurrying?

Was it a horse kicking its hind?

Or just a desk-jockey hurrying.

Was that a falling soldier?

Or just a dropped mannequin?

Maybe it was a locking bolster,

Or the neighbor on his Mandolin.

Was it a sign of war?

Or a fight in the locality?

Was it a crashing car?

What happened to all the sanity?

Guns And Roses.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 15:49:00 +0000

Lt. Farooq Mahmood was running for his life. The cold Ladhaki wind, usually a hindrance to stamina in usual situations, was strangely acting as a much-needed boost.

The eerie silence of the valley was pierced only by the wails of the few-numbered soldiers, surprised by the sudden atack.

"It's a bomb-shell! RUN!"

And he did run. He ran faster than the bullets pouring in numbers amongst his peers. Panic is the best caffeine, his Squadron Leader told him. And how true it was.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a black-clothed, masked demon, malice in his eyes, and guns in his hands. He wasn't human. Mahmood was looking at the Shaitan himself.

Seven bullets pierced mercilessly through Farooq's unarmored chest. Machines show no mercy. He was falling.

_________________________________________

Lt.Farooq Mahmood woke up. It was 3 am. Inspite of temperatures reaching the negatives, he was sweating. Profusely. Just another nightmare. Ever since that incident, he never had a moment of peace.

That incident.How he came out alive, still seemed a mystery more confusing than the origin of the universe or the existence of God. The fact he was alive amongst twelve other dead peers had only increased his faith in Allah.

Lost in thoughts, he looked above. His Squadron Leader was gazing at him.

"Don't go to sleep again. We're going to launch a surprise attack on them at 3:47 AM. Get Ready."

"Yes Sir."

Thoughts whirred in his head at an intensity that almost sickened him. He had to do it. Who knows, it might just be his last mission, Alive. Crawling to his bag with some difficulty, he extracted a small piece of paper, and began to pen down those feelings whose existence he had denied for a long time.
_____________________________________________

My dearest Amina,

I miss you. I know you must be doing well. I hope little Sukhaya and Rehman are fine.

-He stopped. Where do I START? Trying to gather his thoughts, he continued.

I am about to continue my mission in a few minutes, and I do not know if I'll come back alive. If I don't, I want you to know, that-
He stopped again. The dam of strict Army discipline he had built over his river of emotions had cracked. He took a deep breath and continued.

that I will always, and I repeat, ALWAYS be with you. You will be unharmed, I will always protect you. Oh, just a small house with you, me and our children seems the sweetest paradise anyone could ever hope to get. I wish, and HOW I wish, that I return back to you! Every day I had ever spent in your presence seems like a second, every month, a year. Those twinkling eyes of yours, that sweet smile was the only thread keeping me from running away from this madness! And oh, our children! How I laugh at the little antics Sukhaya used to do! And I still remember Rehman's mischievousness. Have you found out the watch he hid yet?
It's been a year, Amina. A whole year. The only thought of having to wait for an unknown period to return back is a torture worse than swords and bullets. And I will, I WILL return back alive. Until then, I only hope that I stay sane at this hellhole.

With you always,

Farooq.

Farooq quickly folded the paper and kept it for posting; he didn't want his tears to blotch on the paper.

Just then, a messenger from the base camp came gasping in; breathing air from the highest plateau in the world wasn't easy.

He wispered something into the Squadron Leader's ears, and the latter stood up.

"Jawans, the Indo-Pak war has officially been declared over. Return to base-camp in fifteen minutes."

Emotions played havoc with Farooq's heart.

He was going home.

Crappy Independence Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 10:39:00 +0000

Happy Independence day? I don’t think so. For me, Independence Day has been nothing but a holiday where they have a bunch of TV shows lined up for Entertainment-Hungry people. Patriotism? Pah. Desh premi? Meh. Now, don’t get all “you don’t have the ‘Indian’ spirit. Aaj kal ke bachhe in Amreeki logon se bigad gaye hain.” You know what, I don’t give a damn.

YOU aren’t the best compatriot either. What shirt are you wearing? Polo? Nice. You’re SO Indian K So much for ‘swadeshipan’.

Yes, India has got corruption and the like, but I’m not going to rip another cliché of how corruption has afflicted our lives. You already know that.

What I’m trying to tell is, you know you’re not the best ‘Indian’. Don’t pretend that you actually care for this darned country. Oh, are you saying that you DO? Then shut the hell up and DO something!

What happened? Why so silent? Ha. All we know to do is to give this large lecture of how we want India in 2020.Alright, fine. But I don’t think that’s gonna happen if you drop another chocolate wrapper on the ground. Rhapsodize all you want, but the truth is, that wrapper is still lying on the ground. To quote Obama,”Change We Need”.

I’m no flag-waver. Atleast I’m accepting that. All I want is a place to live in, and India happens to be that place. If you think you are, e-mail me. I’ll prove you wrong.

Break Free.

noreply@blogger.com (Sourabh) — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 05:07:00 +0000

Feeling gloomy won't get you awards;

Feeling sad won't get you prizes;

Being vain has absolutely no rewards

Failure is Ominous; it'll come in all sizes.

Striving forward, you have to forget

All that shit in the past, everything you haven't done,

All those blames, those faults, those errors,

Gather everything together now, think as One.

Get fired up, get inspired;

Go crazy, go hay-wire,

Look for role-models, people you admire

Have that urge in you, get that desire.

Push forward! Those obstacles

Aren't enough for you to go down;

Break those chains of guilt, shatter those manacles;

Finally, you WILL do it, and how!

.