Wisps Of Imagination

No. 4, St. James' Street

2014-03-05T17:31:00.001+05:30

(Continued from Mr. Miller and the Mysterious Mistress)

It was ~~23 to 3~~ ~~37 past 2~~ nearly 3 AM when I heard the faint crash in the distance. I was lying on the floor, still half-conscious. As I laboriously made my way towards the window, something else caught my eye.

I could barely make out the silhouette of a hooded figure in the darkness. It was hard to tell whether it was walking towards or away from me, but I could see that it had a weapon in its hand. All of a sudden, lightning struck in the distance, revealing that it was the Batman action figure I kept near my bed every night.

As I tried to collect my thoughts leading up to this point, I realized that I was really hungry again, and went downstairs to get something to eat. On the way to the elevator, I glanced at my phone to check if I had missed any important calls or messages. There was nothing new -- the last message was from Jessica telling me that something was wrong, which I’d already replied to 3 days ago. So I tossed it into my pocket and began looking for a burger joint that would be open at this time of the night.

A couple blocks’ worth of directionless wander brought me to back to the hotel I was staying at. By now I was really tired of walking around on an empty stomach, so I got back to my room and proceeded to take a quick nap.

By the time I woke up again it was around 5 PM. I lazily got dressed, grabbed a sandwich ‘to-go’ and took a cab to Jessica’s. It was a fairly short drive, but the rush hour traffic slowed us down, and it was almost sundown by the time I finally reached. I rang the doorbell, and was soon greeted by Jessica’s patent half-smile.

“It’s nice to see you! Where’ve you been all these days?,” she said, as she leaned forward to give me a hug.

“Er. I was at my room all along. Why do you ask?,” I said, sidestepping gracefully.

“You never called! I thought you ran away or something,” she huffed as she tried to pick herself up and dust off her dress.

“Why would I run away?” I questioned, following her into the house.

“I’m not sure you know this, but they found your prints on the murder weapon,” she said after a while, taking a sip of the coffee she’d just made for both of us.

“What? That’s strange -- maybe the killer looks like me, then, huh?” I mumbled. My mouth was filled with the cookies I found at the back of the house.

“Uhh. I’m not sure that’s how fingerprints work. Maybe you touched it when we were inspecting the scene? Anyway, there’s another set of prints on the gun – probably belonging to the real killer. Unfortunately, they haven’t been able to find a match in the system.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s a dead end, then. How about we check out this Travis dude’s apartment?”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

And so we decided to drive to Travis’s place in my car. Good thing I’d already parked it behind Jessica’s house a couple of weeks ago.

It took us about an hour to reach the address. Mainly because it took me a large chunk of time figuring out whether St. James’ St. stood for Saint James’ Street or Street James’ Street.

Once we got there, though, we found his place pretty quickly. There weren't too many buildings in the neighbourhood. And amongst the Burger Kings and the Subways, it stood out like an apartment in a sea of fast-food chains.

I sneaked in from the fire exit. I nearly tripped and fell over a couple of times, but eventually made my way up the eight long flights of stairs. Then it was just a simple matter of picking the lock -- a trivial task that took my expert fingers no more than 45 minutes.

From the inside, the apartment was a completely different story. Rows of neatly-lined books on shelves. Expensive-looking clothes in the wardrobe. ~~Luxury sanitary ware in the toilet~~ And a swanky large screen TV on the wall.

I made my way towards the living room, only to be met by Jessica's gaping eyes.

"Hey, how did you reach here? Was there another elevator or something?", she asked, looking puzzled.

"Nope. Back door. Came in through the fire escape."

"Huh? Why would come through the back when the front door was open?"

"Why would you come through the front when the back door was closed?"

"What?! That doesn't even--"

At this point I could barely make out the muffled sounds in the distance, as I was already in the kitchen. There was a pizza that looked at least 3 days old, but I was starving, and I'd eat anything to fill my stomach. Except for the stupid muffins that were in the fridge. Heck, I hated muffins so much, I wouldn't even eat them if I were full.

With that out of the way, I proceeded to inspect the living room a little more closely. There was nothing of interest -- no finger prints, no blood stains, and no wine glasses with smudged lipstick (which somehow lead to the killer by looking at what shade it is).

It was when I was heading back towards the bedroom when I really stumbled upon something big -- the dining table. I didn't notice it and ended up tripping over it and falling down. As I got up, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a discarded folder laying nearby. I skimmed through the pages -- it looked like a report of some sort. I stowed it in my jacket and began surveying the bedroom.

Nothing really stood out -- except Jessica -- who was now standing outside. ~~I locked the door so that it remained that way~~ I checked the drawers, and most of them were empty. However, one of them had what looked like a secret compartment. Opening it revealed a smallish-looking flash drive.

"What's that?," Jessica said, stepping back into the room. "Oh. Looks like you finally found a clue! You know what? Let me make a copy of the files so that I can take a look as well. You know, speed up the investigation and stuff."

"Cool," I said, fingering through other stuff in case any of them prove to be relevant to the case. Nothing else turned up, though. By now, Jessica had made a copy and returned the flash drive. After scanning through Travis' personal belongings for a little while longer, we decided it was time to call it a day. By the time I dropped Jessica off and reached my apartment, it was nearly 11 PM.

I plugged the flash drive into my laptop and did a cursory check of the files. It looked like a bunch of worthless junk, mainly consisting of autobiographies and documentaries about famous politicians -- yet another dead end.

Then I remembered about the folder tucked away in my jacket. I took it out and tried to make sense of the documents inside. It looked like some form of research on the local drug cartels. Some one had spent countless hours understanding and documenting each and every aspect of their operation -- complete with photos, locations, and most importantly -- names. And one of them stood out like a familiar name in a list of unfamiliar ones --

Joe Finch.

Finally, we were getting somewhere.

---

Will any of this ever make sense? How close are we to finding out who the real killer is? And will I have any indigestion problems due to the stale pizza?

There's only one way to find out.

Stay tuned, for the next episode ~~of Dragon Ball Z~~

Mr. Miller and the Mysterious Mistress

2013-03-06T19:36:00.002+05:30

(Continued from Jessica)

I had no idea what I was getting into.

The recent turn of events had a very unsettling effect. The house seemed to have a creepy, dark undertone. The sun was setting in the distance, and the clouds cast a gloomy shadow on the sky.

Jessica went to the bathroom to freshen herself up. In the meantime, I sat there admiring the posters in the room. There weren’t any, so I finished quite fast.

When she came back, her hair was tied loosely in a bunch, and she looked less distraught. She was also wearing a white shirt underneath a leather jacket, and blue jeans, which I did not mention in the previous post as it was not relevant.

It is not relevant in this post either.

‘Aren’t you even going to check who he is?,’ she asked, looking exasperated, as I tried to finish my lunch. ‘Never mind, I’ll do it. Let's see. He’s roughly 5 foot 11. Well-built. No signs of struggle -- Looks like he was taken by surprise.’

She proceeded to check his pockets for more clues.

‘Expensive-looking leather wallet. Driver’s license states his name as Travis Miller. All the cash is intact. No cellphone. Single gunshot wound on the chest.’

She then started looking for things around the room that might help reconstruct the crime. There was an empty shell casing on the rug. And a handgun. On closer inspection, it looked like there were 2 sets of prints on the gun.

‘I’ll check with my friends over at forensics and see if I can get them to analyze this,’ she said. In the meantime, see if you can dig up anything on Travis.

‘Wait, what’s your interest in Travis?,’ I asked, curious.

‘Part of an undercover job. Can’t talk about it,’ she said, looking uncomfortable.

‘But aren’t you off the force?,’ I said. She flinched, trying to suppress her memory of that incident.

Then there was an awkward silence. Tension slowly built up in the air, as neither knew what to say next. Suddenly, my phone rang. But I left it at home, so I didn’t know this yet.

‘So maybe I had some unfinished business to take care of,’ she finally said, ‘What’s your motive, anyway?’

‘Doing a favor for a friend. Can’t talk about it.’

‘Fair enough. Do keep me posted. This case means a lot to me,’ she said, parting with a half-smile. I nodded in acknowledgement.

After she left, I started snooping around the house for a little while longer. Something didn’t seem right. Why wouldn't the killer hide the body? Why would the gun be left at the crime scene? I made a note of everything that seemed useful, and left, taking a cab back to my hotel room.

By the time I got there, I was really hungry, so I made a stop at the bar and ordered some snacks and a drink. Oddly enough, I spotted Sam at one of the tables.

He looked different from when I last saw him. His face was narrower and skin a little darker. He was in a grey hoodie, loose black jeans, and worn-out canvas shoes. I went up to him to let him know of the latest developments.

‘What’s up, Sam?’ I said, as I thumped my hand on his shoulder.

‘My name’s Joe,’ he said, in a voice that sounded like a cross between a whimper and a grunt. ‘Joe Finch. And I have a job for you.’

I had a strange feeling I'd heard the name before.

‘Huh. How do you know who I am?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘That’s not important. What's important is that I know about the body in the shack and that you are working on it.’

‘Go on,’ I said, now that he had my complete attention, ‘how are you involved? And why do you need me?’

‘My wife thinks that I killed him. I knew that the two of them were having an affair, so I set up a private-eye on him. Somehow, she came to know of this, and now she thinks that I killed him in jealousy, and wants a divorce.’

This just got more interesting.

‘Personally, I don’t care about the divorce. Heck, I’d probably be happier. But I want to get this murder allegation off my head. If you can prove my innocence, I’ll pay you twenty grand in cash.’

‘I guess I can’t really say no to that. I’ll let you know if we narrow down on any suspects. How do I contact you?’

‘You don’t. I’ll get in touch with you when you have the details,’ he said, and disappeared as quickly as he appeared.

‘I guess I've had one drink too many,’ I thought to myself. I paid the bartender and went back to my room.

Once there, I saw my cellphone lying on the bed and picked it up. I’d missed a call from an unknown number. And there was text message from Jessica. The forensics report was back, but something was not right, and she wanted to meet up as soon as possible.

---

What exactly was Jessica worried about? Where the hell did Joe Finch come from? And can I come up with a third question for the outro? Only time will tell. Stay tuned!

Update - Click here for the sequel!

Jessica

2013-02-07T23:54:00.001+05:30

I remember it like it were yesterday.

It began like any other Tuesday morning. Mild in temperature, sunny in climate, and slightly windy in wind. I was taking a stroll in the backyard, ~~looking at what my neighbours were doing~~ minding my own business, when I heard the slow tinkling of music, which meant that the mailman had arrived.

No, wait. I guess it was an ice-cream truck. Also, maybe it was a Saturday. I don’t remember clearly.

Irrelevant little detail.

What was relevant was that I found an unusual looking letter in the ~~male~~ mail. It was from an old friend. It seemed to be an emergency, and he wanted to meet me immediately. ~~I don’t know why he sent a letter if it was really that urgent.~~ It must have been really important, I reasoned, so I quickly got dressed and headed downtown.

He mentioned that he wanted to meet up at Johnny’s. It was a shady local bar. Not like the ones in movies, though. This one was under a tree, and so it blocked most of the sunlight.

His name was Jack. One of those generic names that are usually made fun of a lot. Jack of all trades. The thing-that-is-used-when-changing-tyres-jack. Jack-knife. Jack of hearts. Butter-knife. Yeah, I remember he was the butt of all jokes in school, the poor guy.

He was already there when I reached. He looked stupid. And worried. But mainly stupid. He was wearing a crisp printed cotton shirt underneath a cardigan-like-thing that only someone named Jack would wear.

‘What’s up, Jack?,’ I asked.

‘My name is Sam,’ he said, rather huffily. I guess it was the taunting at school that made him so grumpy.

‘So what’s the problem?,’ I asked, as I signaled to the barkeep to get me a beer, whilst admiring the woodwork and stools and such.

I don’t know why Sam thought I was disinterested. He was a weird guy. He spake of his tale in a slow, grim tone.

'You look as sad as Joe Finch in the middle of a divorce,' I said, as I lit a cigarette with a lighter I found at the back of the bar.

'Who the hell is Joe Finch?'

'I dunno. But I'm sure as hell he would look just like you'

'But why would he be sad during a divorce?'

'Did I say sad? I meant happy. Typing mistake'

'What??,' he asked, with a dumbfounded look. ‘Never mind. It’s the Smiths again. I don’t know what they are up to this time, but I reckon it's something terrible. I heard gunshots coming from their apartment the other night. So I thought I’d give you a heads up’

‘You what?! And you decided to send me a letter?? Wow, sometimes your intelligence scares me. Lucky for you, I came right away, huh?’

‘Actually, it’s been 9 days,’ he said.

At this point I just freaked out and left. I don’t remember some of the events that followed, but somehow I ended up in a rusty looking shack. It reeked of something noxious. It also leaked of something dihydrogen-oxious.

Good thing I packed enough food for 3 people.

The place looked like it had recently been refurbished. Some knick-knacks were out of place, and most of the furniture looked chewn-up in places, but overall, it had a pretty homely feel.

I rummaged through the things in various rooms, looking for clues as to why I was there, but to no avail. I almost gave up hope as I made my way into the last room, where I was shocked to see someone already there -– Jessica. She saw me too, but didn't say a word. This was strange.

Jessica was not usually this silent. This was probably due to the duct tape plastered onto her mouth. I asked her why she didn’t do something about it.

‘My hands are tied,’ she said. And indeed they were. Literally.

Also, she didn’t really say this, as her mouth was taped. Pay attention.

It was a pity, really. Whoever did this to her was either keeping her hostage, trying to extort some information, or simply felt that she talked a lot. That reminds me – I did. She did talk a lot.

I undid the tape, in spite of myself. Fidgeting with the curtains was beginning to bore me.

‘This is a setup!’ she cried, ‘I’ve been framed!’

‘Framed for what?,’ I asked, rather indifferently.

‘For this!’ she sobbed, pointing in the general direction of a dead body lying nearby.

‘Oh, I never noticed. Hmm. Well, this complicate things a bit. What are we going to do with all the extra food??’

---

Will Jessica be able to prove her innocence? And what of our mysterious hero? Will he be able to recount all the gruesome tales of that day? Or will an unknown third party ruin everything?

Stay tuned to find out.

Update - Click here for the sequel!

7 More Tips For Success

2012-10-11T11:40:00.002+05:30

As I was taking a walk down memory lane, someone approached me from the medulla oblongata region. He asked me what I was doing there. I said that I forgot. He didn't get the joke and chucked me out. That's when I decided to write another brilliant article.

After weeks of extensive research and countless hours of labour, I was ~~still undecided among a, an, and the~~ finally managed to finish it. But my dog ate it. So ~~you'll just have to make do with this instead~~ I painstakingly tried to recreate it from memory, and this is what I managed to end up with.

These are some of the most vital things to keep in mind if you dream of success in any field of your choice. Even if you’re not used to dozing off in the field, they’re still pretty helpful.

1) Higher education

The need for higher studies cannot be over-emphasized. It's really important to get a feel for/understanding of higher education. Make it a point to always study on your terrace. Keep changing buildings and floors, going higher each day. It helps somehow. I guess. Also, try to get a few awards under your belt. The bigger trophies may make your stomach bulge a bit, but that's alright, as long as the belt buckle matches.

Oh, and I almost forgot, multiple degrees look great on your résumé. Not too many though. Less than 90 degrees if you're worried about your skin getting tanned ('coz tan 90 -> infinity).

2) Sleep cycle

You must have come across various self-help books that have told you to adjust your sleep cycle for productivity. But none of them have helped, have they? The reason is that people don't really explain what it is. Sleep cycle is defined as the cycle that you ride when you're asleep, duh. (See also- awake cycle) Now, how do you adjust it? Simple, just follow the following 3 easy-to-remember steps—

Step one - Make sure the wheels don't squeak.

Uh, that's all I can remember for now. (*yawn*) Too sleepy to think.

3) Grooming

You may have noticed that a well groomed person is well groomed. But how? You might think that it's due to his sharp haircut. Or the smooth hair gel he uses. Wrong. It's his beard. If you want to be anything like him, you must grow a beard asap. And then shave it. Why, you ask? Because it's in the four commandments of life—

i) Thou shalt not questioneth any of the commandments.

ii) Thou shalt not asketh what happened to the 3rd commandment-eth.

iv) Thou shalt shaveth your beard.

See? Told ya.

(Note- If you're a girl, then I understand that it may not be practical to do this. In that case, follow only the 4th commandment)

4) Value your values

No matter what level of success you reach, you should never forget your roots. Or branches and leaves, for that matter. Anyway, do not forget to place high importance to virtues and values that shaped your very being. Integrity, honesty, generosity, and electricity, among others. You might have ~~faked~~ faced many hardships along the way. Never forget what your struggle to the top was like. Try to give back to the society whenever you get the opportunity to. Sometimes it's easy to get carried away, though, like so—

1st person - "Hey, you know that guy? Very nice person. He donated one of his kidneys to me!"

2nd person - "That's cool, man! He donated one of his kidneys to me, too!"

5) Punctuality

//TODO: Finish this before publish date.

6) Don't take advice

Free advice? Plenty. Gullible fools just like you? Plenty-er. When someone gives you some advice, it's easy to get persuaded and mindlessly start following it. But have you ever stopped to think for yourself? Ok, maybe you did it now, but that's only because I told you to. If you want success, then don't take any advice from others. It makes you a blind follower of their ideologies, which will, in all probability, be wrong.

Consider this one, for example. If you took the advice, then you're not following it (you were not supposed to take advice in the first place). So what do you do? Don't take it, of course. But now if you don't take it, you're following the advice, and therefore taking it. See the gaping flaw in the theory? Exactly.

So that's why, take my advice— don't take it.

8) Socialize

Once you're in the high society, you need to juggle work and play very often. Over time, this can be very hectic as well as tiring. The trick to managing things effectively is to selectively do some of the work. Try to save energy. Use CFLs instead. Some people may be allergic to chloro-fluoro-carbon bonds. But that's ok, as there are no such bonds in it anyway.

Do note, however, that the ones who really move ahead in life, are the ones who know the right kind of people. Having contacts is really, really important. But do keep an expensive brand of spectacles handy just in case.

9) Team management

With great power comes great current squared times resistance. You need to handle more responsibilities, manage a bigger team, do the dishes, etc. So try to ensure that the team is up to the mark. An important aspect involved in the process of team-management is building character with the help of games.

One of the games used to teach trust involves trekking to the top of a mountain and then sky-diving off the plane without a parachute, hoping that your teammate will catch you using only a bowl of noodles. Or a chopstick. Another variation of the same game is to try it with your hands and legs tied to an anvil, while your teammate attempts to play blind-folded.

A great game to play with your in-laws, your dog or your neighbour’s dog’s in-laws.

(Actually, you don't need to do this much work, either. If you look carefully, you'll find a shortcut to success nearly everywhere. Double click to open any one of them. You should instantly become successful)

[For the original 7 tips for success, click here]

Friday

2012-03-08T23:36:00.000+05:30

I looked at my watch. It was 10:30. Twenty more minutes left for the class to end. An eternity, more like. I tried to strain my eyes on the board, barely able to make out half the words. I had absolutely no idea what class was going on. I wasn’t sure whether anyone else in the classroom did, either.

Unable to concentrate any further, I drowsily turned to look outside the window. Through the corner of my eye I caught a faint glimpse of a handful of bees buzzing around in circles. A little further off into the distance, there seemed to be some construction work going on. There always was.

And then I looked down at the sheet of paper lying in front of me.

Blank.

No, wait. There was small circle drawn somewhere in the corner, with the letters ‘MC’ scrawled untidily in it. I was supposed to hand in my article for 19a by the end of the day. This was the plot, and all I’d come up with so far was that it would have a ‘main character’ in it. Brilliant.

Suddenly, Neha turned to tell me something. “Oye-lucky-lucky-oye is a palindrome.”

“What?!,” I asked, taken aback. And everyone around us burst into muffled laughter. I smiled, too. A much needed break from the monotony.

Rajiv glanced at the piece of paper, too. “Wassup, homie?,” he said, “Still no luck with the plot, eh? You know what? You should go out, man. Get some inseparation,” he said.

“Inspiration,” I corrected him.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Technical mistake,” he quickly replied.

Seeing as I desperately needed to get away from the class anyway, the moment the period ended, I walked out with the two of them in tow.

Once outside, I noticed that the place wasn’t bustling with much activity, for some reason. A friend of mine was deeply engrossed in a copy of Moscow Vector. And another handed me some notes. 'Kulla' (shorty), she called out to Rajiv. They spoke for a bit as I looked around the place. That was about it.

I suddenly remembered that I had to meet someone in the post office regarding a cash transaction.

“Is his name Mani?” Rajiv asked, “Coz then you can just do Mani-transfer. Get it? Money transfer?” He winked at me and both of them started giggling. I dropped my pencil and face-palmed myself in frustration, but gave in to the laughter eventually.

“Or, if his name is Deepu, we could ask him to Deepu-sit the money. Get it? Deposit?” I said, as my face lit up.

“You’re stupid, or what? If you want to deposit something then why do you need another guy? You can do it yourself,” Rajiv countered. And then he and Neha broke off into boisterous peals of laughter. I smiled slowly, accepting defeat.

As we walked further, we saw a mangled heap of metal that was the remains of a BMW-sedan and a REVA. The irony. I could hear the sirens of a cop-car echoing far away. In the adjacent lane, a few people were painting the sidewalk, and Neha went over to help them. I wanted to lend a hand, too, but couldn’t, as I had a bunch of things to do.

Upon reaching the post office, I received a text message. I frowned as soon as I finished reading it. I had to get back to college urgently. Rats. I frantically looked around for the man in question, finished off the work, and hastily bid Rajiv goodbye. He had some business of his own to take care of.

“Come online at 5,” he said while leaving.

“Sure,” I smiled, and turned to leave. The walk back was largely uneventful, save for an airplane momentarily screaming overhead. As I entered college, I was lost in thought about the article when—

*Thud*

Something hard hit my head from behind. I turned around in irritation to see what had caused it. But the moment I saw what it was, my anger evaporated, along with the sharp pain.

“What’s up?,” a voice spoke, cheerfully. It was Shalini. She had hit me with a book to catch my attention. “I thought you were in the post office? Then how did you come back so fas—”

“Speed post,” I interrupted.

“Oh, right,” she said, trying to suppress a snigger, “Should have expected that from a nerd like you.”

“Hey! Don’t call me that!”, I snapped.

“Nerd.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Although, don’t actually try that, by the way. I’m really afraid of stones.”

“Really?! How come?” she inquired.

“Well, I had this dream once. It was a dark and stormy night. I was stealthily shooting some guards from a distance, when suddenly, alarms started going off everywhere. I ran up the stairs as quickly as I could to get cover, but on the top floor, there was a huge evil-robot that seemed to be bent on killing me. So I ran down again. On my way down, I slipped and fell, because my shoelaces were untied. So I threw them away, and bought a pair of chappals from a nearby shop. Just then, I saw a friend who had a bike, and we tried to get away, but his bike wouldn’t start. The next moment, I was at the top of the Malaysian twin towers, and I lost my footing and plunged downwards. When I woke up, my pillow was gone,” I rattled off effortlessly.

Shalini was at a loss for words for a few seconds. Finally, she spoke. “But you didn’t mention stones even once,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s because I’m claustrophobic,” I explained.

“What?!?! B-But that’s not even—” and then she stopped. “Ok, you win. By the way, sometimes I think that people live in their dreams for too long. Wake up.”

And just like that, I began wondering how life was all about dreams. Some people dream of being great writers, musicians, actors, among others, but how many of those dreams really get fulfilled? How many live in their dreams as a means of getting away from despair, and how many change their dreams into reality. About how much talent goes unnoticed. And then I remembered a verse from a poem by Thomas Gray—

‘Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air’

“Wake up,” she said again. Although this time her voice seemed different.

“Huh?” I mumbled.

“Class over. Let’s go, sleepyhead,” the new voice spoke again.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. I was back in the classroom again. Evidently, I had dozed off. As I slowly tried to regain consciousness, the events that had recently unfolded played back in my head.

And then I looked down at the sheet of paper lying in front of me. There was small circle drawn somewhere in the corner, with the letters ‘MC’ scrawled untidily in it.

Sigh. Time to make a start...

Blog Swap!

2011-08-18T08:26:00.001+05:30

Howdy! Well, the good folks over at 20SomethingBloggers have hosted something called a Blog Swap. It's where bloggers are randomly chosen to post on each other's blog. I've been paired up with Lauren, who has a delightful blog that's a blend of food, life and photography. So, I get to guest post on her blog, and this is her post on mine. Pretty cool, huh? The theme was summer, and this is her post on 'The Perfect Summer Snack'. You can find mine over here.

The Perfect Summer Snack

Summer is here, and suddenly everyone seems to be hosting barbeques or going to the beach. Eating copious amounts of ice cream is suddenly justified, because, well, it’s summer and everyone knows that it’ll be over in a flash. Here in Massachusetts it’s true that summer is short. Three months maximum and then back to the crisp fall and bitterly cold winter. So people like to take advantage of their summer and eat accordingly. My father grills outdoors whenever possible, my mother uses fresh blueberries and raspberries to make homemade jam and delicious summer pies. But what is the perfect summer snack? To be honest I couldn’t quite decide. I’ve narrowed it down to my top 5 American summer favorites. Do you agree?

Cold and juicy watermelon: There is nothing better that this sweet and fresh fruit on a hot summer day. I like it plain, but also in fresh juices, salads, and the occasional martini!

Dad’s homemade burgers: I’ve never been a big burger eater, but this year something just changed. When made with very fresh ground meat and topped with local onions and tomatoes it’s not quite your McDonald’s burger. Served on top of a fresh baked roll and I’m happy to be home.

Crispy fisherman’s platter: When eating at the beach there is nothing better than stopping by a snack shack and ordering a plate of fried seafood. Simple but good. Shrimp, haddock, scallops, and clams are the usual fare in New England, with a few lemon slices on the side.

Italian Ice: Forget about ice cream. This snack is found primarily in the state of New Jersey (although other places claim to sell it but it is NOT the same) and it is amazing. Cold and refreshing without all of the heaviness (and fat) of ice cream. I wish I could have it all year long!

Key Lime Pie: Yes, another dessert, but for me it is summer in one bite. This pie is made with the small lime varietals that grow in the Florida Keys and creamy condensed milk. It’s both sweet and tart, and best with a homemade graham cracker crust.

Just thinking about all this food has made me hungry! What are your favorite summer snacks?

Lauren is a 24 year old Massachusetts girl currently living with her husband in Spain and trying to find an outlet for her food fascination (that hopefully materializes as a fun and highly paid job!)

How To Win Arguments. With Math.

2011-07-20T22:32:00.000+05:30

Ever wondered why nights feel longer than days?

Yeah, I know...you have. That was a rhetorical question. Like-- 'Can pigs fly?' Or... 'Am I straight?'

Don't answer that.

So anyways, I set out to use my vast mathematical prowess (which happens to be more than simple stuff like 6+3=4) to find the answer. And after a long and calculated journey, I was able to obtain the following proof--

The Balance of Nature (a.k.a. The LHS = RHS Method)

Possible values for 'Day' = Yesterday, Today, Sunday, Monday...Saturday
(Total of 9)

Possible values for 'Night' = Tonight, Last night
(Total of 2. And no, midnight does not count because it comes somewhere in between)

But in a week, the days and nights are equal.
So 9 days = 2 nights.

Which, evidently, brings us to the obvious conclusion-- that days are shorter than nights.

(Corollary: Nights are longer than days, for which I leave out the proof. Oh, by the way, it requires advanced imaginary calculus and operations on partial numbers, so you wouldn't understand it anyway)

But there was some part of me that was not convinced. No, not that one. I mean, if the ratio of night:day = 2:9 - then why should we pay taxes?

Seriously, any idiot could figure out that 2/9 is...umm...twice of whatever 1/9 is. But that is irrelevant. What I'm trying to say is-- if the government does use our tax money wisely, shouldn't they provide us with a free bottle of orange soda every time we make a call?

Hell yeah, they should..and I'm gonna explain to you why. It's because, uh, because..

...

You probably find yourself stuck in a similar situation often, don't you? Of course you do. Don't be silly. *Points gun* Yeah, thought so. Notice what went wrong in that argument? Yes, the taxes. Ok, maybe the orange soda, too. But mainly, the taxes. I mean, seriously?

Hmm..to put this stuff into better perspective, maybe we need to take a look at some of the subtle things that actually went right up until that point. In case you noticed, it was the clever use of math. But you didn't, did you? *Pokes gun hard* Thought so. The idea is to sprinkle it around lightly, not throw everything you've got.

If you're not good at debate, you can use this handy guide to help you out. What's that you say? You're terrible at math? Brilliant! Then this guide is just for you. But if you're good at math already, don't worry. You'll soon unlearn everything you've learnt since school in about 10 minutes. Actually, half of that. That's right, in 6 minutes. Let's get started.

Transitions (a.k.a. A>B and C>B, so A=C, right?)

Sometimes, the topic of discussion is so vague, that you can slightly change the subject without anyone realising what you're talking about. Works well when the target does not know much about the subject. Works even better when even you don't--

Me : "One of the most sublime works in literature, Don Quixote is a must-read"

X : "Er, it's not pronounced 'Quick-sote'. It's pronounced 'Kee-ho-te'"

Me : "Dude, it doesn't matter. I typed it"

X : "Oh, yeah. Sorry, my bad"

I don't know what I'm getting at here. But it's something cool.

The Discrete Maths Method (a.k.a 1+1=2, so Pizza must be from Thailand)

I really don't have much more to say about this right now.

The what-did-you-just-say method (a.k.a. e=mc^2*pi^3/1.000123y, depending on if x)

There are multiple ways to pull this one off. If you're one of those people who can remember long-ish words and spew them out at will, without consideration for what they mean, then this is for you--

Me : "Even though this technology has harmful side effects, we have developed ways to reduce its impact by 9.3%"

X : "So, that's like saying sorry after killing somebody"

Me : "Not at all. In fact, if you consider the fact that most cellular degeneration occurs at the lateral genome position, you'll realise that this is the inter-planar receptor facility provided for in the most clandestine of all olfactory inhibitions.

So that's like saving a life and then saying thank you"

X : "Oh, yeah. I didn't think of it that way"

You see, people have ego problems. They'd rather agree than admit that they didn't understand. But that didn't really sound too convincing. Plus, most people are put off by large clumps of text. So here's a better, more effective method-- use clichés. Loads and loads of them. Order/relevance do not matter at all--

X : "I think my girlfriend is preventing me from concentrating on work"

Me : "Work smarter, not harder. Loneliness didn't a better writer make"

X : "But then it will look like I'm slacking off"

Me : "Many a brave soul hath fought the same battle, and lost. You wouldn't want to be the boy who cried wolf, would you?"

X : "Oh, no no. Of course not. I don't know what I was thinking"

Side Switches (a.k.a x>y, but p looks cute, so y>x)

Ok, so this one requires a bit of practice. The idea is to put forth your ideas in pairs. This way, if one of them turns out to be wrong, you can either try to hold on to the other, or, better still, turn the debate on its head, and quickly switch over to the winning side. Like so--

Me : "Hmm, so I heard that they're planning to split us up into clubs based on our interests. There's about fifty to choose from. I'm torn between Cookie Monsters and the Purple Puppies"

X : "Why the hell would you want to go into any of those groups? Do you really wanna be a part of something like Cookie Monsters?"

Me : "Umm, no..but do you really wanna be a part of Purple Puppies? That's so retarded"

X : "Jeez, hell no. Of course not. Cookie Monsters it is, bro"

You could also try a more direct approach-- by attacking a modified version of your opponent's argument. As long as it bears even the slightest of resemblance to the original, your work is done. Consider--

X : "There's this new ice-cream place across the block, you should really try their butterscotch flavour"

Me : "Do you know that some ice-creams contain egg? Must be really satisfying for you to feast upon helpless little unborn kids, huh? You monster!"

X : "Omg, I'm so sorry. I vow never to eat ice-cream again" (*shudders/sobs*)

Me : *Ting* "Ah, looks like my omelette is ready in the oven"

If that doesn't work out, there's another tool you can use -- ~~Guns~~ Pathos. Attempting to persuade through the power of emotion. If done correctly, you can play with the target's emotions at will. But be warned-- this is actually quite deceptive. You may be tempted to use it every single time, but don't fall into that trap. People can have feelings, just like you. Emotions are not something meant to be played with. How would you like it if someone did that to you?

Nah, I'm just bullshitting. You can use it whenever you please. Almost gotcha, though, didn't I? Haha. Sucker.

Now share this with a dozen people in the next hour, or you will die. That's right, 15 different people.

You don't believe that? Well, let's just say that I have a gun. And you don't. Do the math.

The Dark Night

2011-06-02T11:49:00.000+05:30

Sorry for the hiatus. Was ~~a li'l busy giving away autographed copies of my best-seller~~ *still* looking for my underwear. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I managed to misplace them in a freak accident. All my attempts at locating them were pretty much futile until two days ago. But ever since then, some really strange things seem to be happening.

It all began on a dark and stormy night (apparently nights can be bright, too). Clouds floated ominously. Thunder crackled thunderously. And normally, it would be accompanied by lightning, but on this particular night, it was not free. (Plus, it was a dark and stormy night, remember? Jeez.)

There was something very eerie about the night. I was trying to read a book but the creepiness of the atmosphere had an unsettling effect. Suddenly, the sound of wood creaking pierced the hallway. I quickly turned to look back. The door was now ajar.

"That's strange," I thought, "how did the door become a jar?"

My contemplations were interrupted shortly by what seemed to be a shadowy figure standing in the pathway leading up to my house. Barely visible against the moonlit lawn, I strained my eyes to get a closer look. Before I could discern what it was, the doorbell rang.

I slowly approached the door, and my fingers trembled as I turned the knob that controlled the volume of my music player.

Then, I opened the door by unlatching it.

It took my eyes a few moments to take in what I saw.

I was in the kitchen now. I quickly realised that this was the wrong door, and proceeded to open the front door. There was someone standing on the porch. It was me. There was also someone standing about a foot away from where I stood. I beckoned her to come in.

So what happened was that some chick had randomly come over. ~~She was holding my hand in her package~~. ~~She was holding her package in my hand~~. She was holding my package in her hand. She seemed vaguely familiar, and yet, I didn't seem to know her at all.

I was like, "Do I know you?"

And she was like, Penelope Cruz. More like Scarlett Johansson, maybe. But I digress.

She said, "Maybe this will ring a bell." And then she pressed a button on the wall which did, indeed, ring the bell. She then handed me the package, and re-united me with my long lost inner-wear.

I was so overjoyed by this development that I felt I should make it up to her for taking the trouble to come all the way in the rain just for this. I offered to prepare some tea, but she preferred a hot cup of coffee. I said that it wouldn't possible as all my cups were made of ceramic. I'm not funny. I know.

Moving on, she was really curious when she saw my music player and began fiddling with the controls a bit. We ended up making small-talk largely pertaining to music, among other things.

Turns out she's a pretty talented Carnatic singer. Now, I had no clue what that meant, so I did what any normal person would do-- I asked.

"Hmm, so is that like a thing that you do in the car?"

"What? No, it's a form in Indian classical music."

"Oh, like the whole tribal rain dance thing?"

"No, you dumbass. Indian as in people from India, the country."

"Oh, so it's like country music then?"

"Umm, it's more like folk"

"Fork? Oh that reminds me, those cookies you're eating are poopsicle flavored. And no, that's not a spelling mistake."

She spat a mouthful of coffee on my face, and left.

I have no clue why.

Hoping to figure it out, I tried looking up stuff about music in general on the Internet. As I was surfing through Wikipedia, I was shocked to realise that although music speaks to people, it's not always telling the truth. More specifically, not all sarangis are honest--

A lying sarangi

I know, I was devastated, too. As I delved deeper into the depths of the ~~paedo~~ 'pedia, I realised that a lot of things in the world aren't what they seem.

For example, inflammable is flammable.

A craps table is not a place where you can defecate. (Now they tell me)

And a blackjacking is *definitely* not what you think it is.

Wow...who knew?

How to Lose Friends and Annoy People

2011-04-30T23:55:00.000+05:30

(Disclaimer- This may be my worst post till date. But I figured that after reading this, all other posts will seem like gems, so I'm leaving it as it is :D)

(Disclaimer 2- Mutual fund investments are subject to market risks. Please read the offer document carefully before investing)

(Disclaimer 3- The author does not know what the word 'disclaimer' means)

April Fool's. Hmm. Quite frankly, I've never really understood the concept. So this time around, I decided that to investigate what all the fuss was about. Turns out, it's not as easy as pulling off a prank on someone you know. It requires planning, timing, as well as factoring in unforeseen elements.

It was depressing to see how everyone wanted to try it but no one seemed to know how. So I thought I'll post the results of my analysis, as well as add in a few handy tips which you can use for best results, so that others don't get to know that you're a moron.

You're welcome.

Now, before all of you storm to torch my house with your pitchforks and knives, let me tell you that I'm not late. In fact, I'm writing this post about 11 months in advance. Ha.

(*Breaks into hysterical sobs*)

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm about a month overdue. But that's only because I've had a pretty stressful thirty days. My girlfriend dumped me. I burnt the noodles. In the fridge. And now even my dog hates me. I'm a loser. I'm going to die a very slow and painful death.

...Ram said to Shyam.

Now that one sucks. In fact, it's not even a prank. [But is a useful way to annoy people nonetheless- Just append 'Ram said to Shyam' at the end of any statement]. So that's tip #1 for you. Don't try clichés. Ever. And don't think that you can tell a joke and pass it off as prank. It doesn't qualify. You can try dirty jokes, though, *if* the occasion seems appropriate (and only if you really have to). But remember, no clichés.

(If you don't like dirty jokes, skip the next line)

A white horse fell into the mud.

.

See the point I made right there? No, the other one. Yeah, good.

Getting back, what did happen, though, was that my dog pee'd on the couch, and my girlfriend chewed up her leash. Or maybe it was the other way around. I forget.

Anyway, it was a long story, so I'm not going to narrate the entire thing, but I will point out that it involved a sandwich, 6 beers, ~~2 girls~~ 1 cup, 17 gloves and lip balm. (And that's when the aliens started shooting and we used our plasma torches and all that blah but you wouldn't want to hear about the boring stuff, so I edited it out. You're welcome. Again)

When I tried to tell this story with a few 'fabricated' facts to a few friends with the intention of fooling them, I realised that it greatly vexed them to listen to it in its entirety. Almost to the point where I had to untie their hands and feet before I could finish telling the story. But I didn't.

So, anyway, you'll notice that there's a pattern here. What doesn't fool people, works towards annoying them. Perfect.

You'll also notice that this point is in line with the previous one I made.

   .
   /
  /
/
.

(y = mx + c)

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We were discussing the results of my analysis of different ways to fool people. Here's the list. It was getting huge so I removed a few points.

1. Tell everyone that you're pregnant

This one seems to be pretty straight-forward. Pretend to have a bulging stomach by inserting a small pillow or cushion near the tummy region. (Instead of a pillow, you could also use a dining table...for added effect.) Then blissfully give them the good news. Like so-

(The direct method)

You - "I'm pregnant!"

They - "Oh, that's wonderful!"

You might wanna consider the reason behind this being the best method. You see, people's brains are designed to process less stuff; take the obvious information and move on. Do not try to complicate things to the point that they have to pause for a brief moment and think about what you are saying. This will make them get suspicious and they'll start asking awkward questions. Like-

(The what-the-hell-did-you-just-say method)

You - "We're expecting a new member in the family!"

They - "Hey...where's the dining table?"

Expert tip - The most important thing to look out for is ensuring that you keep a straight face when saying the entire thing, so as to seem as convincing as possible. Try it in front of a mirror. And turn off the lights. It helps. Although sometimes, even this may not be enough, so be warned.

(Case in point? My attempt at the selfsame thing. I made sure I kept a straight face every time I said it, but hardly anyone seemed to believe me. I guess it must've been something to do with my voice. Or maybe the fact that I'm male.

Nahhh. Definitely the voice)

Like I said, I removed a few points as the list was getting really, really long. So...this is the end. Although there might be another incident worth sharing.

I'd gone to the post office, and it was really boring waiting in line for the rest of the customers to finish. So I decided- 'Let's do something interesting.' So, instead of taking a cab or a bus home, I decided to ~~male~~ mail myself home. But the problem was that I had to go in one package, whereas my underwear was made to go in another (heavy machinery or something it was called).

Now, I've reached home, but the other package hasn't. I'm guessing it had something to do with me exchanging the labels of my, uh, package with someone else's. It was a girl, for God's sake. Sheesh. In any case, I'll keep you posted on any updates in the future.

Alright, then. Am off to the super-market. Got a new couch to ~~bye~~ ~~bai~~ buy. (Hmm. I wonder where the dining table's at)

Tweetzilla

2011-03-10T23:04:00.002+05:30

(Continued from Tales From The Yeast. First post in series- On Electricity)

Harry hit the wall so hard, it had a strange effect on his brain. He started ~~saying illogical things that were incoherent and out of place~~ speaking like a retard. It was not entirely obvious at first, but it didn't take long for Ron and Hermione to put two and two make a tutu.

"Are you alright?", asked Hermione, now wearing said tutu.

"Who names their phoenix Fawkes?", replied Harry.

"Erm. I guess that's a yes. Why did you run into the wall anyway?", asked Ron.

"~~Your mom told me to~~ I thought he was Wall-Demort. (Teehee)", Harry tittered.

"Riiight. Well, anyway, we lost the IP that we were tracking. What do we do now?", said Ron.

"Purple?", Harry replied, half-confidently.

"I think something must've happened to him. He's acting strange. It's upto the two of us now. What do you suggest?", mumbled a frustrated Hermione.

"He's gone bonkers, really. But seriously, who does name their phoenix Fawkes?", Ron asked with a perplexed look.

"Focus!", Hermione shot out.

"Hmm. This Focus guy must be quite the retard then", Ron averred.

"Arrgh. You're of no use either. Why do -- Wait. We're in the matrix, right? And it's a perfect square (2x2). So we should be using its adjoint! Of course! What's ~~Diagon Alley~~ diagonally opposite to the station?", inquired Hermione, as her face suddenly lit up.

"The ice-cream parlor?", said a doubtful Ron.

"Exactly!", shrieked Hermione, switching off the light on her face, "That's what the IP was -- Ice-cream Parlor! Hurry, we must rush to it now! That's where the hacker is"

Ron, not really in the mood to question her extremely bizarre logic, wearily followed Hermione to the ice-cream place. Upon entering the place, they were greeted by the essence of some sort of a caramel-butterscotch blend. As they glanced around, they spotted him almost immediately -- huddled in the corner, packing up his laptop and finishing off the last bit of his ice cream -- the Death Eater.

"Where do you think you're going?", Ron huffed, blocking his path.

"Why should it concern you?", the man questioned, flustered.

"Aren't you the guy who just hacked into the Matrix?", Hermione said, her eyebrows a little askew.

"M-Me? No. I'm Sthar'Ur. I was j-just updating my Twitter", he stuttered, incorrectly.

"Oh, so it's your Twitter now, is it? Well then, what's your latest scoop?", said Ron, always pretty random with his puns. At the same time, he kept thinking to himself what the deal with all the weird names was.

The man reluctantly showed them his Twitter feed.

This is what his last tweet looked like:

...and ate it, too.

Just as Ron was about to let him go, Hermione noticed the second-last tweet in his feed:

..and while you're at it...make me a sandwitch

After much interrogation, the man revealed that he had never been contacted by Voldemort before that, and was completely surprised to see the tweet himself. Ron and Hermione then conducted a cross-reference analysis, until they stumbled upon this:

FAIL.

"So then this guy's story checks out", Ron surmised.

"Pretty much. The other thing is that Voldemort still uses the old T8 dictionary. That's why he mistyped Sugar_87 as Sthar'ur" revealed Hermione, showing Ron her T8-to-T9 converter.

Just as they started their attempt to search for Sugar_87, everything began to dissolve. The walls and the people seem to fade into a blur, and suddenly they found themselves in some sort of a lab.

"Hey, what happened?", gasped Squidward.

"Uhrhh?", is all that Spongebob managed to utter.

Their questions were answered when they finally came to, and heard a lady's crisp voice incessantly echoing -- "SIMULATION TERMINATED. SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE LAUNCHED"

"Oh, no! Patrick! What did you do? We were *this* close to catching the real hacker", Squidward said.

"Well, since I was of no use, I just started photocopying all my shoes in case somebody ever stole them", Patrick replied.

"Habakawa-what? How is that even--? Are you out of your--? Ah, forget it", Squidward gave up.

"Hmm. If he's not the one responsible for this, then wh--?"

Spongebob was interrupted by a loud crashing sound that reverberated through the lab. And then a thud. Then the ground started to tremble as well.

"Oh no! I think it's got something to do with that huge creature outside. What do we do now?', said Spongebob, panicking.

What IS that thing, you ask? Well, I suppose that would require a...

[Flashback]

"I guess the red pill seems safe", said one of the bacteria, and took it from Voldemort's proffered hand. Little did he realise that he had been tricked, and he slowly transformed into a ginormous dinosaur.

But Voldemort soon had to pay for his sins in full, as the bacteria's pseudopodia seemed to have a deleterious effect on him, and suddenly made him very frail. He could sense that he was dying.

So one of his henchmen tried to inform his family of the emergency, but he ran out of balance, and had already exceeded his quota of 100 messages for that day, so he proceeded to the nearest pre-paid shop, recharged his phone, made the call, and directly told them that Voldemort was dead.

Seizing the opportunity, Pikachu grabbed the blue pill and quickly ingested it. As his body assimilated it, he turned into one of the worst beasts ever to set foot on the planet -- Man.

While this was happening, the dinosaur (let's call him Rudy) was ravaging the city. He chanced upon the lab which our trio of heroes were in, and began to attack mindlessly.

Pikachu, on the other hand realised that the dinosaur was up to no good. So he soon formulated some sort of advanced chemical, called the Buckyball (Buck, for short) and hurled it directly at Rudy.

This triggered some sort of a fierce reaction, that generated a HUGE amount of heat, and thus generated a lot of infrared waves. But it was so hot, that due to thermal expansion, their wavelength increased and they turned red.

And that's why the entire planet was soon rendered lifeless, and completely red. This incident kind of marred the situation a bit, and that's why the planet is now called 'Mars'.

the end

[Update: Thanks to Tejus and Mohit for their help with the plot!]

Communication (s)Kills

2011-02-23T13:01:00.002+05:30

I recently realised that communicating your ideas to others is harder than it looks (er..allow me to rephrase that). Because ~~it is a dying art that tends to be under-estimated~~ I suck at it. It wasn't like some sudden big flash, though. In fact, this realization actually happened in parts. It all started with...

Sentence formation

Someone on the road randomly asked me what the 3 areas I'm most weak at, were. (Hmm..that doesn't sound right)

Someone on the road randomly asked me what were the 3 areas I'm most weak in. (No)

Someone, randomly, on the road, asked me if I could list areas of my weakness, choosing the top 3. (Dude?)

Someone on the road asked me why I was in the top 3 weaklings every week. (Really? Wtf?!)

The moment I wrote the first among those sentences, I wondered - "Did I frame that sentence correctly?". The answer was a much debatable no. As you can see, it took me many attempts to realise what I was doing wrong. Know what it is? That's right-- indirect speech. Indirect speech always makes the sentence complicated to understand, said I. (Oh, crap. ~~That was passive voice~~ Passive voice, that was) But anyway, you got the point I was making, right?

Consider its direct counter-part, direct speech (Omg a pun). I'd suggest always preferring this. It's much simpler to comprehend. Consider the same sentence in direct speech--

Someone on the road: "Wazza?"
(Direct speech pwns indirect speech)

Much better. As I sauntered across the streets all puffed up by my new found secret to idea conveying-ness, something happened. Something I wasn't prepared for. Something that made me so conscious of what I said, that I lost control over my...

Brain-to-mouth Filter

Often, you'll find yourself in a situation wherein you need to weigh your words before letting them out. In other words, you need to make wise use of your so called brain-mouth filter. Consider incidents wherein what you were about to say and what you actually said were completely different things, and eventually ended up landing you into trouble. More often than not, what happens is that while you're considering what to say, the listener has nothing to do but to stare at your blank face. And he/she perceives you to some sort of an advanced species of moron. Case in point?

Exhibit A:

(Friend on the street, surprised to see me approaching college from the side opposite the usual one)
"Hi! How come this side?"

(Me)
~~"Well, actually I was late and was running so fast that I overshot the main gate, and by the time I could slow down, I had already travelled an extra 200 meters, and now I'm going back"~~ (No, dude, say something more feasible. Anything. Atleast she won't think you're some weirdo)

~~"Um. Just buying some..stuff.."~~ (No. Too vague. Be a little more precise)

"0.6"

(Friend)
"Oh, ok then... (Weirdo)"

So I decided to just go with the flow. Apparently, Unrestrained talk + Negative IQ = Bad combination. Who knew? In short, I realised that sometimes, the opposite happens. You need to be able to back up whatever rubbish you utter, just in case. Coz some people can give you a run for your money. I present to you:

Exhibit B:

(Bro)
"Hey! That neon lamp is so cool"

(Me)
"Yeah. It actually works on a super-collider nano particle technology. They use the negative free energy of plasma-neurotic electrons to achieve nearly five times the amplification of light intensity"

(Bro)
"But then it would consume about 1000 watts of power, right? Considering the bipolar nature of the mid-west region..."

At this juncture, it is wise to just shut up, as the listener has clearly shown that he can match you in intellectual bullshit. But, nooo. You have to try to go one up and dig your own grave, don't you?

(Me, ideally)
"Yeah, I thought you wouldn't realise"

(Me, actually)
"No, dude. It actually uses the quasi-inter-stellar rays from dwarf stars and black holes. So in the alternate dimension, it would consume only about 0.3 kilo joules per nano second"

(Bro)
"But that's actually more, right?"

(Me)
"Er.."

This was too much. So I resigned myself to failure. (Does that even make sense?) Anyways, I quickly realised that what I was doing wrong was choosing the wrong medium for communication. Face-to-face? Not for me. Text-based? Now, there's a thought.

Enter, Text messaging.
[Text messaging enters]

Text message - m here..ssup! hwz thngz n al (w8..iz dis my lyn?)
Me - Dude, I can't understand you at all.

Txt - its k..cuz ul gt used 2 it..
Me - Eh? I don't want to learn a new language. And how am I supposed to know if 'bt' means bat, bet, bit, bot or but?

Txt - z..u wnt t old englsh lang? thr s sme thng cald dxnry..
Me - There is? Oh this is pretty cool. It can even predict what I want to say! Neat!

Text - Does this dress make me look fat?
[Curtain falls]

So, apparently, some guy was nice enough to solve two problems at once -- illegible text and poor speed. Nifty, I thought. But this joy was also short lived, as I soon came to know about the perils of using the predictive text mode. Or, what I like to call...

T-Pain

T-Pain, short for T9 Pain, is what you get when you grow accustomed to the T9 mode, and slowly realise its many quirks. There's a reason it's called Predictive Text, and not Text Prediction. It only works about forty percent of the time. The other sixty could either annoy you to death, or send the reader into coma, or both, depending on who reads the message first. Although most of the time the message is garbled rubbish, some words could alter the meaning drastically.

(Original)
There's nothing more I want. I have you...

(T9 version)
There's noughog nope I want. I hate you...

The news will tell you that most breakups happen via text messages. What the news won't tell you is why. Now you know. But that was just a tame example. Sometimes, even the phrase 'unforeseen consequences' seems to merely pale in comparison.

(Original)
Hey..what's up? :)

(T9 version)
*Censored*

See? Told ya. So what next? Logically, I thought that I ought to take advantage of the medium a little. Think. Proof-read. Don't jump the gun, look before you leap types. So I plan, cross-discuss, weigh the pros against the cons, and only then send a message. That was until the day of..

The Delayed Compliment

[At 11 am]
(To self)
Hey, she's wearing a nice top. Maybe I should let her know. Girls like compliments. Er..it might be pretty awkward though. Ok, let's chuck the idea.

[At 3 pm]
Maybe I should tell her. What's the worst thing that could happen? Hmm..then again, even if I don't, what's the worst thing that could happen? Atleast I can avoid an awkward moment. Best to steer clear.

[At 9 pm]
Oh, what the heck. I'll just text her.

[Message delivered at 1 am]
hey...nice top :) :)

[Reply at 1:01]
er..i'm not wearing one (Weirdo)

Just great. Now I had a few seconds to think of a good recovery line. Anything to ameliorate the situation. But I really suck at those. All my previous attempts have been sorely disastrous. And that's an understatement. That's when I stumbled upon..

The Funny Joke

Yes, not just any joke. A funny joke. The explicit use of the adjective emphasizes that you can't just say anything and pass it off as a wisecrack. Free messages have spawned millions of horrid 'forwards'. Ranging from lame to downright annoying. Some of them come with much fanfare, but always have a standard closing section. A typical 'joke' would read like this:

JoKe Of ThE YeAr!! (Opening section)
.        (Formatting)
.
.
.
Man before interview : "May I come in, sir?"         (The "joke")

Interviewer : "Wait, plz"

Man : "75 kg, sir!"
.
.
.
.                (More formatting, so that it looks like the best part is yet to come)
Gud nit! :P                 (Standard conclusion)

So with everyone's head muddled by things like that, it's really hard to come up with a genuinely good joke. And if you're under pressure? Well, God save you. But here's a helpful hint - Do NOT try to get inspired by them. EVER. The best you could probably come up with would be something like:

[Reply at 1:03]

lolz j/k
.
.
me 2..v shd ttly hng out 2gthr..w8..nt hng out as in hng out 2 dry..cuz thts whr i hng my clths..cz m nt wearng thm ryt nw..i bt u do tht 2..dnt u?
.
ps-w8 as in wait..nt weight..coz tht wud b 75..nd ttly lyk nt mk ny snse..ryt? lol
.
.
.
.
.
gud n8 :P

(Holy %@#&)

I'd say that there is simply no good way to communicate, more or less. (Hmm..that doesn't sound right)

There's probably no good way to communicate, I'd guess. (No)

I'd surmise, more or less, that an effective way of communication is unfounded, as of the present scenario. (Dude?)

I'm surprised that more is effectively less, for I have found in many a contemplation -D' Adairo. (Really? Wtf?!)

I rest my case.

Tales From The Yeast

2011-02-08T18:12:00.003+05:30

(Continued from Genesis. First post in series- On Electricity)

As Ovi and Mushy slowly got accustomed to life underwater, they decided that it was time to start a family. They soon had a baby boy, and they named him Pikachu (don't ask). They had other kids, too, who were named Spongebob, Patrick and Squidward (their life was soon made into a TV show). But Pikachu was the most mischievous of the lot. Like the other day, when he put the bathtub in the freezer, making a gigantic ice-cube, and then sliced off a huge chunk using his brother's hacksaw blade, shaped it using a lathe machine, and released it to the surface, where a ship accidentally hit the 'iceberg' and then sank to the bottom. (It's called the Titanic or something, I'll look it up later)

In those days, people were highly superstitious. As the Dark Ages began, people thought that it was some Black Magic, and began to get scared. But one wise man soon told them that it was just another major oil spill by the good folks over at BP. In any case, the conditions had become inhabitable (not to mention Pikachu was still randomly electrocuting people in the water once in a while 'by mistake') So Ovi and Mushy made a decision to travel East, chiefly because they'd heard of the rich cultural heritage of that region.

As they swam to the surface, they saw an old witch sitting with a few occult paraphernalia. Before their eyes could adjust to the sun, the witch spoke shrilly.

"I know why you have come here. And I also know the solution to your problem. I have with me two pills, (now also available as vials) of different potions. Take the blue pill, and you will feel anew, entering into a world like never before. Take the red pill, and your old world will be restored, like nothing happened. The choice is yours."

As they were pondering upon which form of medication to take, one of them had a genuine doubt.

"That's okay, but who are you?", he inquired sincerely.

"Me? I am Lord Voldemort", he thundered. And lightninged.

~~Which~~ ~~witch~~ which was weird for 2 reasons.

Firstly, if Voldemort was a witch, then she should have been Queen Voldemort or something. But if he was Lord Voldemort, then he should have been a wizard. But even if he were one, he wouldn't be very good at it. And why is that, you ask? That's simply because (and this is the second point) --

Voldemort was a moron.

Yes, there are many reason as to why he turned evil, but he was still a moronic Dark Lord (there, I inadvertently put rest to his doubtful gender). Well, to begin with, his childhood was riddled with negativity. He used to fail miserably at pretty much everything he did. Especially spelling. Heck, he couldn't even spell his own name right. (see also - Tom Marvolo Riddle)

Then he saw all these people around him performing miraculous spells, and he really wanted to try it too. So on his eleventh birthday, his mother got him the gift he'd always dreamed of -- P. C. Sorcar's 101 Magic Tricks (Now with 3 new tricks!)

He practised religiously for months, and finally mustered enough courage to perform his first magic show in public. His first trick was the classic (he himself tried to do it) 'pull the rabbit out of the hat' trick. He took out his hat, wand at the ready, and nervously uttered the magic words --

[baby voice] "Abba-kadabby"
Nothing happened. So he tried again.

"Abbra-kabaddi"
The rabbit, still inside the hat, took it as an insult and refused to come out.

"Aadha-kadabra"
By now the rabbit was really annoyed. He came out, slapped him, and went back in. (Or maybe he used "Doofus Slap-acus". I'm really not too sure)

"Avada-kedavra"
This was too much for the rabbit, who committed suicide.

But everyone thought that the magic trick was intended to kill the rabbit, so they were under the impression that Voldemort had just invented the Killing Curse. Eventually he became so famous for it, that people urged him to take part in the annual May-Tricks event. On the day he decided to give in, his life took an abrupt turn. For, on that very day, the administrators of the event discovered something shocking.

[Somewhere in the 2x2 Matrix]

"Someone has hacked into the Matrix!", Ron exclaimed.

"I know! Mutating algorithms, Brute force, Chanel-5 force, nothing seems to be working. I think he has used some advanced sorting technique", Hermione shuddered.

"I really dunno what we can do. We need someone to help us. But who?", Harry wondered.

Just as he finished his sentence, Fox the faux Fawkes (who was actually a phoenix) swooped in (sporting coolers and a bandana) and dropped a ragged black object.

"The Sorting Hat! The only known sorting algorithm in O(1)!", Hermione screamed in joy, using the Hat to sort out the mess. "Now all we have to do is crack the password. It seems to have been encrypted with RSA or something." But that didn't prove to be much of a hurdle as she successfully managed to unlock it using ALoHoMoRa v1.3.

They tried to track the IP of the intruder, and soon traced it back to a laptop somewhere in the London station.

"He is planning to leave the city by train. We have to catch him before he escapes!", moaned a concerned Hermione.

"But there are 39 platforms, and only 4 of us. How can we possibly find him by ourselves?", Ron asked, puzzled.

"That's ok. We'll split up. Each of you take one-fourth of the platforms and begin searching", said Harry, in a decisive tone.

So each one was allotted 39/4 platforms. Or 9 and 3/4 in mixed fraction form. Harry saw that there was a wall in the middle of platforms 9 and 10. So he began sprinting towards it. As he approached the wall at high speed, instead of smashing directly into it, something magical happened--

He smashed directly into it.

He fell down, still reeling from the sharp pain in his head. He felt his forehead and sensed that it had started bleeding. So he started crying copiously at his boo-boo. At the same time, Fox the faux Fawkes (who was actually a phoenix) swooped in and started crying too, the tears falling on Harry's cut. And the wound started healing due to its healing powers. But because he was a fake phoenix, the wound didn't heal properly, and left a lightning-shaped scar.

While this scene was unfolding, somewhere in a remote ice-cream parlour, there was a hooded figure eating a Death By Chocolate. What was this Death-Eater plotting? What could Harry and the others do now? Stay tuned, as the saga continues...

[Actually, I'm all out of ideas and have no clue on how to take this story further. Please post your ideas (no matter how wacky or crazy) and I will try to incorporate all of them and carry this forward along those lines (AND give you due credit, too. Yay!)]

(Oh, and a big thank you to Tejus and Kanan, whose blogs have given me a ton of inspiration for my posts. Do check their's out as well, they're both better than mine :O)

Update: Click here to read the next post!

Christie

2011-02-04T18:43:00.002+05:30

There I was, standing in the middle of the road, when it hit me. The bike, that is. The next few seconds were a blur. Although I vaguely remember watching a pale blue object as it flew across the sky in a graceful arc, landing with a dull thud on the freshly paved street. Oh, and the bike lay sprawled on the sidewalk about fifty feet from where the aforementioned girl-in-blue fell.

I had been knocked off my footing, and was lying with my face splat on the ground. Through the corner of my eye I could see her make an unsuccessful attempt to scramble herself onto her feet. I made an earnest effort to get up as well, but it was much too tedious for my aching limbs, and I collapsed to the ground almost instantly.

It was surprising to note that none of the onlookers even bothered to help. But I soon managed to ascribe the elementary lack of a Good Samaritan spirit to the fact that there wasn’t a single soul around, save for an old man in poor clothing. Technically, though, he couldn’t really be called an onlooker. Why? Well, I suppose that it’d help if I retraced my steps first.

...

It all started this morning. The moment I woke up to the mellifluous twittering of the birds, and the warmth of the sun’s rays gently caressing my face, I knew that something would go terribly wrong. Clairvoyance. ESP, if you will. I got dressed and left for the mall, an outing that was brought about following a chance encounter with an old friend the previous week. As I proceeded to hail a cab, I felt a strange tingling sensation in my ribs. Moments later, all the cabs seem to be plying from top to bottom, a very queer phenomenon. That’s when my IQ-riddled brain helped me sense that I had fallen to the ground.

I dusted myself off, and noticed that I was not the sole observer of the vertical taxi syndrome. A petite lass lay motionless on the floor, wondering what forces of nature could have conspired to cause such a mystical occurrence. Evidently, she happened to bump into me. As I leaned over to help her up, the glint of her hazel eyes told me that something greatly distressed her.

“Are you alright?”, I asked.

“Oh it’s nothing, really. This kind of thing happens to me all the time”, she giggled.

“Haha, ok. I thought you seemed pretty upset. Anything I can help you with?”

“Well now that you mention it, I do have to pick up my dad’s body from the hospital. And I could really use a helping hand. Would you come with me? Pretty please?”

At first, I found it fairly strange that a girl whose father had passed away could remain so calm about it. At the same time, I really didn’t want another errand on my hands. Plus, I was already getting late for the mall. But it would be grossly immoral of me to desert her in her exigency. Which meant that I really couldn’t say ‘no’ either. So I did what I felt would be best, even though I knew I was going to regret it. I lied. Through my teeth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I really wouldn’t mind accompanying you. In fact, I was on my way to the hospital myself. I have this fever, you see--”

“You have a beaver?! That’s so cute!”

“No, actually I said that I have a fever--”

“It’s ok, you can show me your beaver later. First, we have to go the hospital”

And she yanked me along before I could explain myself. On our hasty way towards the hospital, I nearly got run over by a truck. Thrice. Once we got inside, she feverishly heckled one of the nurses. The poor nurse seemed to be more than eager to divulge information about the location of the morgue at the prospect of being free from her clutches. And we stormed off towards the morgue.

Sitting by the entrance to the room was an old man, probably in his sixties, in patchy threads and sporting a pair of shades. We inquired about the body.

“Er, I’m looking for the body of Mr. Carl Evans”, said the girl. Her name was Christie, as I’d learnt en route. “Can you help us?”

“Only if you help me, too” he demanded.

“What do you mean?”, I interjected.

“I mean to say that, in return, it would be really nice if you could help me get back home. It’s just a couple of blocks away, right across the street. You see, a blind man can only travel so far by himself”

“If that’s the case, then how, pray, would you be able to help us?”, I asked, skeptically.

“Well, I have the keys to the register. Nicked ‘em”, he said, brandishing his teeth whilst clutching the key-ring.

“Seems fair”, I thought aloud, grabbing the keys from his hand, and unlocking the desk right beside him. I rummaged through the papers, and soon realized that it was a bunch of worthless junk. “You tricked us! There is no name-register in here”, I grumbled.

“Oh, I see”, he said, which I, for one, found pretty annoying – given that he couldn’t see. “Maybe they moved it someplace else. Did you try the patient-display system? I hear they’ve installed it on almost all corridors”

And sure enough, there was a large colour screen gleaming right in front of us. I face-palmed myself and searched the database. “Cool, they’ve even arranged it in an alphabetical order. What was your dad’s name again?”

“Carl. Carl Evans”, she replied.

“Oh, I ‘C’” the old man grinned. I clenched my teeth in exasperation, and then proceeded to skim through the names of people beginning with a C.

“303-A”, I announced. And we skipped over to the allotted cabinet. I held my breath and slid out the cold body, still in its bag, and Christie helped me lug it outside.

“I’m sorry, but how did he die?”, I asked.

“I dunno. Probably drunk-drove off into the lake or something”

“Oh, I sea”, the old man smirked. I stopped short at the point of giving him a fistful, flush in the groins.

As we heaved the body out, some sort of sensor on the door beeped. And alarms started ringing all over. None of us had expected this. I had to think quickly, and we decided to make a run for it. As we turned round the corner, we crashed into a stretcher trolley, and careened off towards the ledge, and into the glass pane.

Now picture a scene from an action movie, wherein an old man and a young girl are saved by a suave hero with an understated air of calm, and the trio come crashing down from the second floor of a hospital, stacked on a bed-on-wheels, miraculously landing with fullest poise neatly in the midst of a dozen awestruck bystanders on the road.

And that’s exactly what didn’t happen. Numerous shards of glass hurtled downwards, shimmering in the light and tinkling onto the ground. Amidst the chaos that ensued, Christie and I were tossed into an alley, as the body bag bounced and came to a halt nearby, while the bed veered off into the distance, carrying the old man with it.

As I tried to recover from the shock, Christie received a text message that seemed to greatly relieve her.

“It’s my mom. She asked whether I’ve picked up my dad’s toddy from the Lofty Skull yet. I guess I probably didn’t hear her right. Can you believe that?”, she tittered, pleasantly amused. “But thanks for your help anyways. Bye!” And she tottered off happily, leaving me still gaping in bewilderment.

I began to trudge slowly, reflecting on the day’s surreal occurrences, when my eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of the bed from the hospital, toppled over sideways, and the old man trying to cross the road without much luck. Too shocked to speak, I helped him without uttering a word. And it was in the middle of this road that the bike smashed into me.

…

And that’s why he couldn’t technically be called an onlooker. Because he couldn’t look! Come to think of it, I have no idea how he managed to dodge the accident and escape unscathed anyway. I looked up to the spot where I last saw him. He was gone. When I came to, I hobbled over to help the girl, visibly in pain, get back up. As she turned over, I was taken aback to see her face. It was Christie.

“Oh, hi. Are you alright? Look I’m really, really sorry--”, I stammered.

“Lorry? No, silly. I came in a bike. That one, over there, see?”, she said, quizzically, pointing to where the mangled remains of her bike lay.

“Umm. Ok. I really wish I could do something to make up for what I’ve done. At the very least, allow me pay for your medical expenses—“

“You noticed my lenses? Cool! Don’t they make me look pretty?”, she asked, gazing at me intently.

“Yes, you really do have pretty eyes”, I fumbled, digging into my pockets to take out my wallet. But I was unable to find it. After conducting a second thorough examination, I managed to pull out a crumpled up piece of paper from one of them. As I turned it over, I saw that it had three words hastily scrawled upon it. I was equally amused and appalled as I read what they said – Optical Implants Corporation. Or, acronymically --

O.I.C.

Genesis

2011-01-22T22:39:00.011+05:30

As I mentioned in another post (link), when the world was still in nascency, a large galactic war was fought. But the war slowly subsided, and a sort of passive calm took over the inhabitants of the Universe (which, by the way, is supposedly the poem to read). So anyway, there was a limited set of options for those who wanted to de-stress in space. The first one was listening to music. And the second, drinking. So as you'd have deduced by now, concerts were the ideal place to hang out -- given that you could do both.

But on one fateful day, flush in the middle of a spacey groove, the robe of the singer got entangled in the microphone. He quickly tried to undo his mistake, but it was too late. He had done the unthinkable -- he gave birth to mic-robes. Tiny organisms that were virtually undetectable, and thus scampered away playfully. These microbes caused the great financial slump, causing many people to lose jobs in the process. Eventually all jobs were taken over by the microbes. They started being called staph members.

Due to the catastrophical outcome of that day, all concerts were banned indefinitely. So all the cool bacteria now had a new favorite place to hang out - the 'Space Bar'. It was a queer place in every sense of the word. (And I mean every sense. Oh, except that one) It attracted customers from far and wide and tall and deep. More pertinently, though, the world changed when a lonesome mushroom decided to venture into the sacred land of the bacteria. As he parked his spaceship (the NUM-3000, or Nitric Unaldehyde Moped) on the NUM-pad with utmost dexterity, he was met with disgruntled glares all around. He silently plodded his way towards a sign that said 'Enter', accompanied by an L-shaped arrow that pointed downwards and to the left.

So he took the elevator and went to the floor immediately below. As he took a right (his right is your left, stupid) he felt both awe-struck and let down at what he saw. The place was filled with some of the coolest celebrities (including Joe Bacteriani, lead guitarist and frontman of the band Yo!Gurt). And it was resplendent with neon lights and holographic displays. But something was missing -- Happiness.

Nah, she was actually sitting on the far right corner, with her husband Loch-ness.

So anyway, he proceeded to the bartender, and ordered a Buck RD. Through the corner of his eye, he noticed 3 bacteria sitting on the table, and began to get a little agitated. His concern could slimly be ascribed to the fact that bacteria were physically more intimidating than fungi. They approached him and decided to rough him up a bit, just for laughs.

(This is the conversation that ensued)

One of the bacteria - Hey, Twinkie. My name is Rod. And these are my friends Spiro and Ovi. (ref)

Him - Erm. Hi. My name is Mushy.

Rod - Mushy? What a wimpy name. Your mommy give that to you? (nudges Spiro and sniggers)

Mushy - (eyes cast down) Uh...

Spiro - Aww. Too bad. Mushy felt offended. You know what? I think he's a good guy. (in a mocking voice) Whooza gud mushy? Whooza gud mushy-wushy?

Rod - Hahahaha.

Ovi - (visibly upset) Oh, leave the poor boy alone. He didn't do anything to you.

Rod - Well, whaddaya know? Our little girl Ovi has a soft spot for the even more wittle Mushy-Wushy.

(Mushy to himself - Ovi is a chick?? )

Rod - Go on then..why don't you two run along and get married and make babies if you like each other so much. (winks)

Spiro - Yeah..and maybe you can play with your nanobots or something. Seeing as you are the fun-guy and what not. No, wait. That's Megatron for you, right? (high-fives Rod)

Rod - Hahahaha. Good one.

Ovi - Hmph. Fine. You know what? I will. [takes hold of Mushy's arm] Let's go, Mushy. And leave these two numbskulls to themselves.

Spiro - But we don't even have skulls! That just shows how stupid you are, dimwit!

(Rod and Spiro are seen laughing boisterously while Ovi and Mushy make their way towards the read end of the bar, nick-named the BackSpace. Mushy is dumbfounded, and is visibly deep in thought. But his thoughts can roughly be approximated to -- "Ovi is a chick??")

As the two got to know more about each other, they began to fall in love. But the place was much too hostile for a bacteria and a fungus to commingle. So they decided to leave for Earth. (coz its the only planet that's known to be capable of sustaining life, duh)

But it wasn't easy, as the other bacteria vehemently opposed this, and Mushy had the Herculean task of outrunning his pursuers.

Nope, he didn't.

He was in a spaceship, remember? So, technically, he had to outsail them. Ha.

Now, Mushy happened to be a genius. Prophetic, more like. For he knew that this day would come. And he quickly converted his moped into a submarine, which gave him more traction control.

(Why a submarine in space, you ask? It's simple. He had to gain speed. Which means he had to reduce drag. And how do you reduce drag? By sub-traction, of course. Do I have to explain everything??)

They soon managed to outfly outsail everyone, and after a long journey in the sub-space (Get it?), they managed to enter the Earth's atmosphere. As they quickly gained momentum (and weight), they could feel that the Force was getting stronger. (Force α Rate of change of momentum. Newton's Second Frickin' Law, man)

So they used the Force to control objects through Telekinesis. To ensure a safe landing, Mushy rotated the Earth a bit so as to correctly align the water bodies. (Due to some residual Force, the Earth is rotating till today). They splashed on the water surface, but continued to plunge until they reached the bottom. As they alighted upon the ocean floor, Ovi & Mushy became the first inhabitants of Earth. So they celebrated with a little bonfire, and they roasted marshmallows, too.

(Note - I'm getting tired of typing Ovi & Mushy all the time. So I'm just gonna shorten it to 'OM'. Oh btw, some people believe that OM was the first sound that resonated throughout the Universe during its inception. But now you know what it really stands for)

..and they lived happily ever after.

(Actually, they didn't. They were forced to travel Yeast East. What unforetold dangers awaited them there? Wait for the next post to find out. You know you want to...)

Update: Click here for the sequel.

Thanks, R

2010-12-30T23:04:00.004+05:30

Learn. Grow. Smile. Even in your lowest lows. Someone's always with you. Laugh at yourself. Appreciate being foolish. Wise up. Smile. Cry. Pride. Humility. Hope. The Bright side. Pessimism. Put others before yourself. Feel hurt. Keep at it. Celebrate. Share. Learn. Teach. It's never too late. Explore the new. Yet, never forget the old. Make new friends. Regain lost ones. Win. Lose. Music. Books. Movies. Fear. Anxiety. Success. Failure. Poetry. Lend a hand. Touch. Feel. Reach out. Fall back. Fight. Fall. Get up. Start over.

Tag

2010-12-30T23:04:00.003+05:30

Design Patterns Explained

2010-12-24T17:43:00.010+05:30

History

(3000 B.C.) When people first started wearing clothes, they realised that it was not really comfortable. So they tried various designers until one of them (Armani or Versace. I forgot) came up with the idea of using softer fabrics. He decided to call the stuff soft-wear. But due to copyright issues, he had to change the name to software. (Another theory is that people could not figure out which part of the fabric was soft. So they normally said, "Soft? Where?". But question mark was an illegal character, and DOS accepted only 8-letters. So the name 'software' stuck on).

There was fierce competition in the market as more and more 'designs' came out with every fashion week. Soon people realised that they could take whatever was common from other designers' creations, and 'patterns' began to emerge. It was easy to see that this development was seminal for all future work in the field of Software Design Patterns, as we use it till today.

In an effort to create much needed awareness in this field, I have created a condensed list of common patterns in the software world, complete with how to avoid common mistakes, a look at the class diagram, the type of pattern, and a brief description of each pattern. Expert tips and relevant links for further reading have also been included.

Adapter

Not to be confused with - Adopter

Class diagram -

Type - AC-to-DC

Description - In those days, the concept of electricity was not taught very well in school. So there were a lot of voltage fluctuations. In a spark of genius, one of the interns came up with the idea of using an adapter to partially stabilize the current. The designer resisted a lot, but finally gave in. This led to electrifying results. And it shocked nearly everyone in the audience. A great pattern for any occasion.

(See also - Angelina Jolie)

Bridge

Not to be confused with - Fridge

Class diagram -
Type - Suspension

Description - It was one of those times when looming deadlines decided what came into vogue. The designer was already knee-deep in trouble. Having only 4 days to come up with something big, he decided to bridge the gap between modern and contemporary. (At that time, the two were different, duh). As fate would have it, it turned out swimmingly. In fact, he achieved mouth-watering results. A great pattern to have in any designer's toolkit.

(See also - River)

Command

Not to be confused with - Commode

Class diagram -
Type - Hygienic

Description - There was a change in management, and the new boss was unfamiliar with GUI. (In fact, he was quite noob with the command line as well, but still..) In any case, he wanted to obtain a commanding position in the market. So he called his employees and told them to be extra-efficient and also ensured that no one was slacking off. The result -- inch-prefect cuts and immaculate stitches. But as everyone was over-efficient, they displayed the creations 3 days before the actual fashion event. And nobody showed up. So they had to change management again. (Note- this pattern is actually a misnomer. Just telling)

(See also - Control, Alt, Delete)

(Abstract) Factory

Not to be confused with - An actual factory

Class diagram -
Type - Expensive

Description - 'Twas the age of getting artistic with everything. A mini-renaissance was in place, as people began to diversify into those who truly appreciated art, and those who were not fatheads. Obviously, though, the former group took over managerial posts. And tried to explain in vague terms to the designers how the designs should be 'abstractly ephemeral' but not 'amorphously evanescent'. (Whatever that meant). In the mean time, a smart programmer wrote a piece of code that used random numbers to mass-produce weird shapes and print them. The managers were impressed, for apparently, that was exactly what they had in mind. This method has ever since been known as the abstract factory. A must-have if you find yourself being managed by people with an IQ of zero (or less).

(See also - M. F. Hussain)

Flyweight

Not to be confused with - Mosquito-weight

Class diagram -
Type - Insectoid

Description - It was one of those bad days for the fashion industry. A model was walking on the ramp when a fly happened to land on her shoulder. Now mathematically, weight_of_fly >> weight_of_model. (Hope you understand the gravity of the situation) The result? Wardrobe malfunction. Since then, it has been made mandatory to make clothes that can withstand a minimum amount of weight, also known as flyweight. This had the masses protest, but it was a necessary thing to do. A great pattern for the whole family.

(See also - Fly wait)

Observer

Not to be confused with - Webserver

Class diagram -

Type - Class II Evil

Description - When you have competitors in the market, it is imperative to keep a watch on every aspect of the industry. Even a small thing unnoticed can cost the company. Especially spies. The famous spy, Chloro-fluoro-carbon Bond, was hired by a fashion label to spy on the market leader. In 3 days' time, he came back with full details on the next batch of designs. Having spent very little on R&D, the company rolled out the same designs with exquisitely crafted fabric. Thus, managing to wipe out all competition. Since then nearly all companies have started planting 'observers' in their rivals' company. A crucial pattern. Don't stay home without it.

(See also - Observant, Obmaid)

Proxy

Not to be confused with - Frock-C

Class diagram -
Type - Representative

Description - Since most of his time was spent in the studio, it was very difficult for him to maintain attendance in class. So this designer did what any student in his place would do. He asked his friends to 'give proxy'. The perfect blend of smart students and dumb professors ensured that he never had to go to college again. What's more, he could focus solely on fashion design. And produced the best of his work in that period. At present, this is one of those patterns that you just cannot afford to miss out on.

(See also - Prox A, Prox B)

State

Not to be confused with - Union Territory

Class diagram -
Type - Geographic

Description - When faced with the equivalent of a writers' block, one of the designers decided to travel the country in search of inspiration. He travelled many places, trying to imbibe the characteristic qualities of each region. When he got back, he was in a woozy state of mind. In a press statement, he said that he would do something that was never done before. So he categorized all the places he had visited into various states. And made a design on each one of them. Lucky for him, it clicked. Moral of the story? None at all. Still, you just have to have this pattern.

(See also - City, Country)

Template

Not to be confused with - Temspoon

Class diagram -
Type - Culinary

Description - No matter how hard you try, you just always end up arriving a few minutes late. This was the story of an intern who's only problem was just that. But he tried to make up for it by putting in extra effort in everything he did. On the verge of losing his job, he decided to create something that would be so unbelievably good, that he would get instant promotion. Hard-work and diligence paid off. And he got just what he expected -- the Lead Designer's post. Since then, this has been a timeless classic. A pattern that could come in handy in the most untimely moments.

(See also - Temp-ontime, Regular-late)

(Note - If you didn't get the last line for each pattern's description, try to get hold of a copy of Café Coffee Day's gift brochure)

On Electricity

2010-12-23T23:28:00.022+05:30

In the very beginning, the Earth was a great ball of fire. It used to be very hot back in the days. So nearly all inhabitants used to go to the beach. Then one day, the Earth got frustrated of the routine and wanted out. Although it used to relax by listening to music or by taking a walk, it just got too passé, and downright annoying.

So it decided to chill out. Literally. The Earth's temperature kept dropping till it approached room temperature. But there were very few rooms in those days, so the concept of room temperature was hazy at best. In effect, the temperatures were actually lower than you'd expect. As the temperature approached 0 ºC, the Earth tried to stop cooling further. But due to inertia (yes, Newton's First Law), the temperature kept dropping much below that. This extra cooling had some adverse effects. For example, it led to a war between USA and the Soviet Union, better known today as the Cold War.

Somewhere in the caves, there lived a wise sage. (All sages in history were wise, apparently). So, anyway, this sage predicted this phenomenon, thousands of years after it actually occurred. And people believed that he was great. Even though his predictions should have logically been before things occurred. But no-one ever noticed. He released his predictions in electronic versions. The most important one being about the climate, pompously called the iSage. (Some people mis-spell this till today). And everyone bought newer versions of it even if they were heavily flawed.

One fine day, people realised that our wise sage (let's call him Steve), was only fooling them. They started to question the very fundamental facts based on which other theories were formed. The most important one being -- why do people keep buying iSage? So in all the commotion, one of the people decided to catch everyone's attention. He did this by striking a gong with a stick, thereby creating a loud sound. Today, we know this incident as the Big Bang.

There have been certain controversies surrounding the Big Bang. So I have created this self-explanatory combo-image to help clear the confusion --

(The Big Bang)

See? Good. Now that I've cleared that up, let's continue. So, anyway, one of the people at the scene had brought a cat. The cat got terrified by the sound and jumped up in fear, knocking down its bowl of milk in the process. The owner of the cat was about to feel bad for it, but at the same moment remembered that there was no point crying over spilt milk. So she didn't.

Seeing this, all the Gods were pleased. Even time stood still for a moment. (Normally, Newtonian laws of motion would apply, and time would slow down before coming to a halt. But there was no inertia at that time. Because Newton wasn't born yet. Jeez. Try to keep up.)

As time continued to remain in standing position, said milk was still suspended in the air. And the shape that it formed kind of looked like it was leading to somewhere. So people started calling it the Milky Way.

By now the other planets also got to hear about what was happening on Earth (courtesy- WikiLeaks), and so they all started coming near it, but there was this spoilt son of a rich dad (let's call him Sun), who told everyone to back-off, and stay a few light-years away. Now, at that time, the SI unit system was still under development, so everyone had a different value of 'light-year' in their scientific calculators (later on, this was rectified by Cosmologically Adjusted Singularities & Interplanetary Obfuscations, CASIO for short).

Tired of the lack of organisation in all their affairs, they decided to form a set of rules. They thought about it for a few months, and soon came up with a system that consisted that consisted of sixteen R's. (Ruthlessness, Rice-cakes, Ramifications, something like that). But instead of calling it 16R's, they decided it would be more punk (Punk music was all the rage in those days) to name it in a foreign language. They chose Hindi for its awesomeness, and finally agreed upon the sollah-R system (yet another mis-spelled term till date).

But some people were against the idea of using a non-standard language to define a set of standards as it kinda defeated the purpose a bit. So a few groups were formed that tried to oppose this. This battle slowly escalated into a full-scale inter-galactic war. People formed three major factions based on their purpose for entering the war. There were those who wanted to live (as opposed to die, so seems logical). Another group were neutral to the war, mainly coz they were wimps. And the third, more aggressive faction, consisted of those who had a hormonal imbalance due to a Large Hadron Collider-esque experiment gone wrong, which caused weird genetic mutations. So they all had some kind of ear-like things sticking out of their bodies. They were nicknamed ear-things.

The war lasted for several eons, but no one truly gained the upper hand, so they all had to remain content with the lower one. Eventually, they realised that this was only causing pointless deaths, and decided to call a truce. But someone decided that the least we can do is pay tribute to these brave warriors. And that is why we have live, neutral and earthing in all our wirings even today.

(PS- I might have missed out some minor details about how dinosaurs evolved from bacteria, and human beings evolved from Pikachu, but I'll save it for another post).

[Update- Although vastly unplanned, that post has been published. Click here to read]

Breathing

2010-12-22T13:21:00.004+05:30

Was trying to listen to myself speak.
She decided to stop talking.

Was trying to listen to the echoes in the distance.
The silence was deafening.

Was trying to look for the light.
The darkness was blinding.

Was trying to count the stars.
The skies were filled with emptiness.

Was trying to laugh with the rest of the crowd.
The loneliness was killing.

Was trying to run away from it all.
Walked right back into it.

Was trying to dream.
The nightmares kept haunting.

Was trying to look for answers.
The questions were overwhelming.

Was trying to look through the haze.
It was all a blur.

Was trying to bear the summer heat.
It was my life's coldest December.

Was trying to live for the moment.
Got lost in the eternity.

Was trying to run in the fields.
The water was too deep.

Was trying to breathe anew.
Watched myself drown to the bottom.

Was trying to go with the flow.
The stillness of the water was rushing.

Was trying to fly away.
The wings were too heavy.

Was trying to clear the dust.
Slowly became one with it.

Pun Unintended

2010-12-18T20:34:00.010+05:30

There are people who are simply obsessed with puns. Real lame ones, at that. Annoying at times, but we all love a good pun. Write?

So here's some instances of me in conversation with professionals in various fields. I was running short on time so mentioned only a few. In the meantime, feel free to add your own in the comments section. (Optional- vote for your favorite ones)

1) Lead Guitarist

(at a shopping mall)

LG - I can't decide which one to buy.
Me - They're both good. Pick any. *grins*

LG - Er..right. I was thinking I'll decide based on which color suits me better. What do you think?
Me - The black. Makes you look sharp. (Hehe)

LG - Will you stop? Please be serious for a minute.
Me - Oh, a little high-strung today, are we?

LG - Now you're overdoing it.
Me - Oh, don't be so picky.

LG - Ok, that was lame.
Me - I know. Not to blow my trumpet or anything, but I'm normally better.

LG - But equally stupid, nonetheless.
Me - I'd pitch in with a suggestion, but now I've lost the mood.

LG - Maybe people would consider you seriously if you were serious once in a while.
Me - I'll make a note of that. *sniggers*

LG - Dude, stop. NOW.
Me - Fine, no matter what I say, my words fall flat anyways.

LG - You are the most annoying person I've met.
Me - On what bass-is do you say that? I'm actually a very warm and chord-ial person.

LG - Now you're REALLY starting to piss me off.
Me - Now, now. Don't fret.

LG - ARRGH...

2) Cricketer

(at a bar)

C - Dude, see that girl in red? Boy, is she hot. I want to ask her out. But I think I'll screw it up.
Me - Oh, so you got bowled over by that maiden, eh? (Sorry for the trite remark. I just had to get it out of my system)

C - Well, so to speak. What do I do?
Me - Dude, you're the playa. Go for it. I'll field for you if something goes wrong.

C - But how do I start? What do I talk about?
Me - I dunno. Pick anything vague. Like comic books. See what super-hero she likes. Steer the conversation from there. Maybe she'll talk about Bat-man. (*sneers*) Then show off your batting skills or something.

C - But what if she doesn't like comics? I need to have a backup.
Me - Mm...maybe you can talk about music. Or crack the joke about how you once got drunk and managed to sing at such a 'high' pitch.

C - *gives the how-dumb-do-you-think-i-am look*
Me - Ok, that was a very silly point to make. But dude, she's got fine legs. Don't miss this opportunity.

C - I know, but I'm not going without preparation.
Me - Maybe you could play some fun games with her. Spin the bottle or something.

(This is when I recall that he happens to be a half-decent cook)

Me - Or tell about how awesome a chef you are. Cook up some story. But don't get too saucy. (For someone like me, this was the equivalent of a burst-fire from an M14. Or a 550D)

C - That's like duh.
Me - (on second thoughts) But there's a catch.

C - What?
Me - It could swing either way. Be a little prudent.

C - Yeah, yeah. I know.
Me - I'm thinking I'll stay here. You know, just in case. Plus, there's no need for a third man anyway.

(By now our friend had 'mustard' enough courage)

C - Yeah, I was thinking the same, too. Let's see how it goes. Wish me luck!
Me - Go for it!

(I watch as he diligently obeys my advice)

C - (To girl) Hi, I'm C. (gives brief intro) Do you like comics?
G - Yes, I do! My favorite super-hero is Flash!

C - Cool! Me too! Wait, I'll show you.

(At this point, the bouncer had to step in and take him away. Oh, the irony)

3) Banker

(by the river)

Me - You know, the concept of life has always interest-ed me.
B - Yeah, sometimes I begin to wonder about its intricacies, too.

Me - If you can truly appreciate the tiny things in life, it's really simple, actually.
B - No. I would disagree with you on that one. Nothing can be simplified without compromising the bigger picture.

Me - Life always hangs in the balance. When we begin to question it, I think we make the picture bigger, and disturb it.
B - Actually, the picture was always big. You just never looked.

(By now, B is visibly annoyed)

Me - At this rate, we'll get nowhere. We are both saying the same stuff in circles.
B - Sit alone and contemplate someday. You'll understand what I mean.

Me - I feel loan-ly at times, too. Reminds me -- remember that girl I was talking about the other day?
B - Which one?

Me - The one who lives in the same compound as me. But there's no chemistry. Can you say why? (Double-damage)
B - You know the answer. It lies in what you just said. Look for it and you'll find it. Did she reply to your message?

Me - Wait, lemme cheque. *winks*
B - (infuriated) Oh, shut up.

Me - Ok. You're not in the mood. How about I tell you a joke?
B - How about you don't?

Me - Ok, how did the gummy bears rob the bank, even though they faced a lot of unexpected problems?
B - I dunno. How?

Me - They stuck to the plan. LOL.
B - Jeez. That was lame. Even by your standards.

Me - Well, atleast I cheered you up a bit. You've gotta give me credit for that.
B - Sure.

Me - OMG. I just realised. We are sitting on the bank of the river. Hahahaha.
B - ARRGH...

4) Programmer

(walking on the streets)

Me - Did you close the windows before leaving?
P - Very funny.

Me - Hey! I was serious. Anyways, I compiled a list of jokes just so that you don't get bored.
P - (sarcastically) How can I resist?

Me - What do you call an Indian who likes puns and works for an e-commerce website?
P - Gee. I dunno. 'Sid'?

Me - No. A pun-job-e!
P - Gosh. How creative.

Me - Wait, it gets better. How does Steve Jobs' cat confess to ripping the sofa?
P - Meow?

Me - No. It says- iPaw'd. Get it? iPod? Pawed.
P - Yeah, I get it. Just wasn't funny enough.

Me - Ok this one is MADE for you. How does a humor-blogger format his posts?
P - That's easy. A WYSIWYG editor.

Me - Nah. Using pun-ctuation marks. Haha.
P - Is this the part where I jump off a cliff?

Me - No no. Wait. Maybe you'll like this one. How did the mouse outwit the cat?
P - Is this some kind of tech-thing? Ok I say he used a Mac.

Me - Wrong. He thought of a plan. He kept thinking, and then it finally clicked. LOL.
P - Ok, pretty innovative...NOT!

Me - Ok why didn't my (kannadiga) friend let me use his numpad?
P - Who in their right mind would let you?

Me - Everyone, that's who. But this guy said -- "Nin talle. It's 'num-pad'. Not 'nim-pad'" Hahahaha.
P - I don't get it.

Me - You don't have to. Most of my other readers will. Ok this is totally your level -- In a courtroom, the defendant's lawyer says- "The murder was done with class". To which the other guy says- "I object, your honour"

P - Lame.
Me - That's not even the best part. The judge then gives the murderer a death penalty, and then says- "Oops". ROFL.

P - That doesn't even make any sense.
Me - Ok wait. This guy is standing in a queue, quite listlessly. The man in front says- "Life is like a stack. Don't push it." LMAO.

P - Ok smarty-pants, tell me this -- If life is really an abstract virtual stack. Shouldn't everything be reduced to boolean?
Me - (*smirks*) True.

P - ARRGH..

2010-12-13T00:07:00.000+05:30

Stop answering the questions.
Start questioning the answers.

7 Tips For Success

2010-11-28T20:54:00.009+05:30

Several people have been hounding me. And several hounds have been asking me for the secrets to my success. And I have finally decided to give in. To the dogs, that is. These are serious tips that you'll notice me using more often than not (more specifically, on all weekends of prime number leap years, barring 1982).

1) Don't Procrastinate

Trees

2010-10-25T00:26:00.000+05:30

Strolling through the woods, in the cool, pleasant breeze,

She reached for the apples, up on the trees,

She tried assiduously, from the morn' to the nigh',

But her legs were too small; the branches too high.

They were happy, she knew, for she watched them chat,

Alone in the corner, by her books, she sat,

Whenever their eyes met; she'd blush, he'd smile,

And then she'd be lost in her dreams for a while.

She sat on the bench, alone, by the creek,

Day after day, week after week,

Waiting for the day he'd notice she cared,

All the time hopeful, all the time scared.

Maybe he'd never see, maybe he knew,

Problems, she had many; friends, but a few,

In her crazy world she was lost, hoping for a guide,

On his shoulders she'd rest, in him she'd confide.

Like a free bird, in the springtime, once she flew,

What happened to her since, nobody knew,

She was being held back; to many a restraint, she was tied,

When asked what was wrong, "I'm fine", she lied.

She controlled her feelings, and hardly spake,

But spent countless nights in bed, awake,

She wouldn't eat anymore, she'd lost her appetite,

She tried to stay strong, "Dont let go, just fight."

But it was never enough, hard as she tried,

So she locked up her room, and endlessly cried,

Alone, she thought, stroking her hair,

Just maybe (perhaps), life isn't fair.

Walking by the sidewalk, as if under a spell,

Her foot missed a step, and acutely she fell,

She writhed in pain, a leg she broke,

She'd stumbled upon something, 'twas a tree- an oak.

Someone came over, and gave her a hand,

He helped her up, as she managed to stand,

She was about to thank him, and gave him a glance,

And at once, she knew- there's always a second chance.

The Lost Key - Part IV

2010-10-25T00:22:00.004+05:30

I rushed to the spot where she lay.

"Lily? LILY?", I asked, shaking her frantically.

But she seemed too frail. Chris came over and helped carry her outside. Once we got into the safety of the car, I tried to wake Lily up again, refusing to believe my eyes.

As I sat beside her, holding her hands, I was lost in her memories. The day we first met. They way she smiled even though she didn't want to. Her laugh. There was something about the way she got angry, too. And the way she cried. But those moments were gone forever. Nothing could bring them back.

And then the millions of things I wished I'd told her when I still had the chance began rushing to my head.

In the meantime, the leader of the team in black tried to help our understanding of the situation. He introduced himself as Mike. He was an undercover agent who worked for Area 51. He went on to explain how Luke had hacked into the database of Project Sandstorm, thus giving him access to highly classified information about the Lost Key, as well as on me. And that was how he was able to trace my every move.

But I had lost interest by now. Nothing seemed to matter anymore --

And then Chris put his hand on my shoulder. The three of us had been through all of life's up's and down's. And he understood me well. Better than me, and almost as well as her.

As I drew myself away, my hands felt something in Lily's pocket. I took it out. It was the package. It was badly crumpled up now. On it, were written just two words, in Lily's handwriting-

For you.

I turned it over to see what was inside. The moment I opened it, I could see that it was a powdery substance. But due to my carelessness, it slipped from my hand, and the entire contents were spilt- upon Lily. I quickly tried to collect some of it back, but it was too late.

For, suddenly, all of it had disappeared magically. And the place where it was became aglow with fluorescence. Something was happening. Chris looked at me and I saw that we were equally clueless about the unnatural phenomenon taking place.

And then, unbelievably, Lily's hand twitched. I rubbed my eyes. I must have been hallucinating. And then it happened again. It was subtle yet noticeable. And slowly, Lily rose. Then she hugged me, and started crying. And for the first time in many years, so did I.

As she wiped a tear off her cheek, she managed a smile-

"So, what did I miss?", she asked jokingly.

"Nothing out of the ordinary", Chris grinned.

And she hugged him too, still sniffing.

"So what was in the package?", I asked.

"Well, it was a gift from my mother. It contains nothing. But has the ability to transform to whatever the bearer really wants, as long as he doesn't want to use it."

Mike and the others came over to witness the miracle, but at the exact same moment, Chris had a flash of insight-

"The riddle -- it's supposed to mean something. Mark as equal each and every sine. Of course! The Trinity Dunes. The angle each dune makes to the normal is equal. Now it seems so obvious."

"Yeah, except, not for 'normal' people like us", Lily said jokingly.

I chuckled too, but quickly tried to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

Apparently, it was not too distant, and our only hope was too head straight towards the place.

"Just a minute", Chris said. And he went back into the caves for some reason. When he came back, he had a flaskful of the red liquid with him. "This ought to come in handy for my experiments", he said.

Upon reaching the place, we realised that it was quite, um, deserted. We did a bit of digging around, and stumbled upon an ancient sundial. It bore Mayan characteristics, but seemed too advanced for its time (pun unintended).

"Do you notice anything special about it?", I asked.

"Nope. It seems pretty ordinary to me", Chris replied.

"Then it must have something to do with sundials in general"

"Thats it! The sundial reaches its peak at noon. And then it starts decreasing -- running out of sands of time. It makes sense now", Lily said.

And it did. So we ripped off the attachment on its 12 o' clock position, and saw a metallic disc underneath.

Having no clue as to how we were supposed to proceed, I looked at Chris, hoping he knew something I didn't. Apparently, he did. He opened his flask, and began gently pouring its contents on it. I watched as it effervesced. But that was it. Nothing happened after that.

"Hmm, that's strange. The Elixir is supposed to dissolve all metals. I guess its missing something", Chris said, perplexed.

Lily and I looked at him in silence. And then --

"What's with the grin?", he asked.

"By any chance, is it supposed to contain porcelain?", I asked.

"Let me check."

And he flipped open his PDA, looking for information on the web.

"By golly, it does! How did you know??", he exclaimed.

I just reached into my pockets. And there it was- the missing piece of the puzzle- the cup. I put a piece of it in the concoction, and watched as it turned from red to vermillion, and then to a beautiful crimson.

I decanted the liquid once again. And this time, the metal quickly vaporised.

"Nature's true form- sublime", Lily smiled.

And the ground beneath us split apart to reveal a staircase. We made our way slowly into its depths. Once we reached the bottom, we saw a chamber. And there it was -- adroitly crafted, ornately studded, and safely hidden among the rubble for centuries --

The Lost Key.

the end

The Lost Key - Part III

2010-10-18T19:41:00.006+05:30

As the plane screeched to a halt on the runway, I was still lost in thought. Looking back at all that had happened- The dream. The signs. The shootouts. All the time fighting the adrenaline rush. Excited. And scared. It was beginning to get overwhelming now.

"Sid? SID?", said Lily, waving her hand in front of my eyes in an attempt to grab my attention, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine", I lied.
She wanted to say something, but chose to have her feelings heard by simply giving me the look through the corner of her eyes.

We were interrupted by Chris, who by now had nearly finished unloading the luggage, calling out to us.

As we entered the city, the first thing I noticed was that it was among the best places I'd ever seen. Every aspect of the city reflected their rich culture in one way or the other. The buildings, the streetlamps, and most importantly- the people. Bustling about on the dusty streets, there were people of all occupations, and personalities. Some looked busy. Others cordial. Some dressed in plain white. Others in vibrant splendor. Some laughing. And some sitting quietly in the corner.

Chris managed to spark off a conversation with one of the men, someone who was hooded in black, and glanced suspiciously towards my general direction once in a while. Chris knew roughly where the place was situated, and was inquiring about how to get there. The man recommended that we travel by car, as the roads were pretty rough for a traveler. It was accompanied with a warning to stay away from the place, as legend foretold of grave dangers for those seeking the treasure. Chris then thanked him for the information, and they shook hands as we parted. The hooded figure hurried off into the crowd.

We began our journey towards the Lost Point. As we reached closer, the skies seemed to get murkier, but maybe it was just me.

Upon reaching the place, we were amazed to see the majestic works of art carved on the ornate doors of the structure. I was astounded. And speechless.

I was still gaping at the architectural wonder, when both Lily and Chris indicated that it was time we entered the caverns. As we made our way through the winding maze, it was apparent that numerous attempts had been made to look for the lost treasure. There were marks on the walls and a few of the structural trinkets looked damaged.

As we got deeper into the cave, it became more difficult to breath. We noticed a few arcane symbols and runic figures on the walls in a few places. It seemed like words written in an ancient language in an attempt to convey a message- a warning, perhaps. And suddenly, we reached a dead end.

"This is it", Chris remarked "The place that all adventurers have come to and failed to find any treasure for centuries"
"Let's hope we have better luck than them", I said, breathing deeply.

We started looking around for anything that could hint us towards what to do next. After what seemed like hours of futile effort, Lily stumbled upon something.

"Look at this", she said, pointing towards something drawn on one of the walls.

Among the many symbols that we came across, this one was different- it was exactly the same as the one on the Key. Suddenly, I felt a surge of excitement flow through me. I hurriedly took out the key, and confirmed that the symbols matched.

But we had no idea how to proceed from there. We tried pressing on the symbol, tapping the wall for a secret brick, and even made the Key and the wall coincide exactly, but to no avail. Just as I was about to give up, Lily made another astonishing discovery. Most of the symbols seemed to be facing towards the east, north or south. This was the only one that faced west.

"Brilliant! But what could that signify?", Chris asked.
"I don't know. Maybe we should see what it's looking at", she replied.

And we tried to look for any aberrant feature on the wall directly opposite to it. There was nothing except a few simple shapes etched on it- squares, circles, and the like. We tried to make something happen with the new set of symbols, but it seemed hopeless.

And then, in a spark of genius, Lily said, "The riddle!"

"What about it?", I asked.
"The first line- it translates to- when you need to cross the line"
"Well, haven't we already?"
"No, you silly. The line! The one on the wall. Cross it out. Do it now!"

And we rummaged for a sharp object, and made a cut across the line, crossing it out. In a few seconds, the adjacent wall caved in, revealing a secret passage.

"Lily, you're a genius!", Chris exclaimed.
She looked at me and we just exchanged a brief smile.

And then we proceeded towards the secret passage.

"Very clever, but I'm afraid this is as far as you'll get", a sharp, cutting voice spoke.

We turned around, and were shocked to see who the voice belonged to- Luke. I wondered how he managed to track us down, but my question was answered immediately, as I saw the man in the hood who gave us directions to the place, standing in the background.

"Now be good kids, and hand over the Key to me", he said, coolly.
"No way!", Lily said, eyes bloodshot with anger.
"How sweet, but unfortunately, I get to decide what you can or cannot do", he said, forcefully grabbing the Key from my hands.

We watched helplessly as he approached the massive gates of the chamber, and began unlocking it with the Key. But he couldn't.

"Is this some kind of a joke?", he raged. "This is not the right Key. Tell me where you are hiding the real one"
"Honestly, this is the Key. The one I saw in the Dream", I said, shaken aback.
"Do you think I'm a fool?"
"Well, you definitely look like one", I wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, I gave him a cold stare.

He ripped something from the wall and flung it in disgust. It bounced off the wall, and landed into what seemed like a pail of reddish potion. It then started bubbling, and within seconds, it had dissolved completely.

"That must be the Elixir of Quathemuc", Chris whispered into my ear, "it can dissolve any metal known to man, and has many other magical properties"

"The boy lies. Lock them up until he decides to tell the truth", Luke hollered.

His henchmen tugged at us forcefully, and began dragging us towards the exit. As they reached the end, we saw a group of people clad in black overalls making their way in. Before anyone could react, they opened fire on the thugs, and we crouched for cover. Luke and his men took out their guns as well, and there was an exchange of bullets.

"Go. We'll cover you", said one of the men.

And we dashed towards the exit. I looked back to see what was going on in the melée. I heard a muffled gunshot. And watched as a body gracefully fell towards the floor in slow-motion.

Lily was dead.

to be continued

Wisps Of Imagination

No. 4, St. James' Street

Mr. Miller and the Mysterious Mistress

Jessica

7 *More* Tips For Success

Friday

Blog Swap!

How To Win Arguments. With Math.

The Dark Night

How to Lose Friends and Annoy People

Tweetzilla

Communication (s)Kills

Tales From The Yeast

Christie

Genesis

Thanks, R

Tag

Design Patterns Explained

On Electricity

Breathing

Pun Unintended

7 Tips For Success

Trees

The Lost Key - Part IV

The Lost Key - Part III

7 More Tips For Success