Hey... who's this?

The guy who is playing the guitar so wonderfully in the video above, who is he? Is he Michael Scofield, a bald Liam Gallagher, perhap's a musical Ronaldo? Guess again folks. Yours truly can also play, as you might have inferred from the videos in the sidebar (although that's only fooling around). And yours truly has also shaved his head.
Well, I think I'll post more videos of me playing the guitar. It may seem a touch Narcissistic, but, hey, I'm allowed that much of vanity.
Feel free to request any song you like. Maybe this blog can become a jukebox of sorts:-)(if i can't play the song, I'll post a video from YouTube in consolation;D).

Another Postcard

Well, talk about awesome, hilarious songs. I was listening to LastFM, don't remember the station, but suddenly, this song is played. Some lyrics, man! And with complicated strumming, the song becomes a masterpiece. Barenaked Ladies are, like the name suggests, awesome. Watch on....

The tape's not so red any more...

Well, we all blame the tight red tape wound around any government office, but I had it untied at some places to get my learners’ license made today.
The guy I know, or rather my mum does, came beaming towards me as soon as I got to the place. He took care of all the discrepancies in my application form, and gave me a few dry runs at the ‘test’ you have to take to get the license. After doing it about three times, the questions started repeating themselves; in seven tries I told him that I was ready for the real thing.
Two minutes and a whopping Rs410 later, I had my license. But 400 bucks is a lot. Inflation, they say these days. What the hell are the economists and politicians and stuff doing? We engineers are doing our jobs pretty well. At least, I am. Or at least I think I am after starting that project. Hell I feel proud of myself. I found a path. It is, I admit, long and winding, but a road is a road.
This has never happened to me before. I mean I never wrote arbit stuff like this. Maybe I’m catching the blogging fever. Or whatever the hell they call it. It’s sort of addictive. But hey, I can brag about being an addict now and make that an excuse to stay shabby. ‘Cos baby, shabby is the way to be… uh huh…

When in train do as train-people do...

Let’s get the facts right, here. I’m sitting in a train bound to Trivandrum. I boarded at Trichy. Seat number 4 in compartment B1. I get into the train. Reach my seat. And a minute later a lady arrives with two kids. They have a huge, huge suitcase. They smile at me, a very sly smile. Very funny creatures, human beings. A smile can mean so many things. I can think of a few right now:
The Genuinely amused smile.
The Sympathising-at-a-weak-joke smile.
The wicked smile.
The Understanding-nod-of-the-head smile.
The Pleased-to-meet-you-not-really-smile.
The hi-I-could-use-some-help-here-smile.
The I-don’t-understand-but-can’t-look stupid-smile.
The… well that’s all I can think of right now.
Where was I? Yes, the lady gave me a sly smile. It was category 6. Glorious Indian tradition left me duty bound to help those who seek my help. And good natured at heart, I naturally oblige. Unfortunately the suitcase wouldn’t fit under the seat, and it had to stand where in natural conditions someone would place their legs. And ironically, that someone turned out to be me. So it was settled. I would have to have a suitcase testing me for knee jerk reflex each time the train jolted. At least they’d get off at Madurai, a three hour journey.
So I resigned myself to ‘The Godfather’.
Amerigo Bonasera’s daughter was beaten to pulp when,

Lady: “Thambi, per enna?” (What’s your name?)
Me: “er… Krishna, but sorry, tamil theriyadu” (er… Krishna, but sorry, I don’t speak
Tamil)
Lady: “oh… ok.”

It’s Connie Corleone’s wedding, and her brother Sonny is checking out the bridesmaid, and suddenly,

Lady: “where… studying?”
Me: “REC, Trichy.”
Lady: “And where going?”
Me: “Trivandrum.”
Lady: “ok,ok…”

Luca Brasi is giving the Godfather his gift,

Lady: “we live in Singapore.”
Me: “oh, you came here for a holiday?”
Lady: “No, no. kids are having vacations, so we come.”
Me: (smile 4) “ok…”

So, many pages of brilliant description, powerful character sketches, intricate plot, inquisitive queries and monosyllabic replies later, Madurai arrived. Oh yes, and so did the smile 6 that I anticipated. I half pushed and half fell over the suitcase and got it to the door. They got off.

Lady: “Thank you so much.”
Me: “oh, you’re welcome, no problem.”
Lady: (to kids) “say thank you to anna.”
Kids: “Thank you anna.” (anna means elder brother).
Me: “You’re welcome.”

At last the train leaves. And I resign myself to my book again. It’s funny, though, that now they’ve left, I slowly lose interest in the book (no offence, Mr Puzo, you’re one heck of a man). I mean it’s no longer a challenge. The plot is progressing very smoothly, no breaks, no interruptions (by the way, the people who took their places were gems. Just gave me a smile 5 and kept to themselves), so strangely I lost the will to read. I gave up the fight after 220 pages and took out my laptop.

I observed that now the number of people staring at me increased by a factor of ten. Annas selling coffee paused to have a peek. Kids travelled from places as far as seat 59 to look at the modern wonder. Passers by stopped to look. Some even smiled. The guy in the bunk above is, as I type, sticking his head out and oscillating his frame of vision between the laptop and my guitar.

I’m feeling very insecure now, with all this staring.
Have-to-stop-turn off-laptop…

But first, think about this. If I were in some place other than Tamil Nadu or other rural regions of our beautiful country, I would still be typing away at leisure. Why is this?

Well, as someone very correctly put it, “We are like this only…”

An early sunrise, and one big download later...

Time: 6:30 am.
Location: I-lab.


Feeling terribly bored. Waiting for a download to finish. Surprisingly, it's my first non-non-educational download, and I have to wake up at this unearthly hour for it. It is the latest edition of altera's nios II prcessor development tool. But, chuck, what do you know?

And as I sit alone here in the peace, solitude and stuffiness, I think about a lot of things.

Like finally going home today. Yup. That's right. twenty two friggin days I spent here, in this hole of a place, killing time watching friends and movies( some info withheld here, hey! It's my private life), writing abstract poetry (The extravagant adventures of a hopeless middle aged romantic- three episodes, Check out the previous posts), taking stupid tests(the previous post), and lying in bed and planning the future(not April first yet, but thought I'd try!).
And now I'm going home. Home to Delhi. Home to non-insect-infested food. Home to a soft mattress and fluffy pillows. Home to... well, all the good things in life.
But as I plan out the next twenty odd days- dividing my time equally between KFC, Dominoes and McDonalds, and, yes, my favourite kebab and tandoori place, Al-qusar or something it's called- I am overcome by a very strange feeling. In case you were wondering how the Oracle felt when Smith poked two fingers into her arm(and arm does not, I repeat does not mean anything else in Trichy slang) call me now. I feel very infinitesimally sorry to leave this place. There, I said it. Yes, yes, I know. Call me a wuss or something. I don't care. I'll miss here, so what?
I'll miss the stench in my room, the meticulously created mess on my table. I'll miss sitting up through the night playing WoW( after they banned the I-lab after hours, I activated GPRS...Hah), downloading shit at the I-lab for free, after the long wait for the rapidshare link to get activated, making fun of matkas, eating at bamboos and azeez every night, watching scores of movies just for the sake of it, getting fried in the tronics lab, hey, I take that back. I'll miss having a maa from the bru at two in the morning and waking up at two in the afternoon.
But most of all, I'll miss my friends. Yup. Go on. I am a wuss. But the fact is, I'll miss being with all these people, their Chandler-inspired punchlines, their equally stinky and messy rooms, their company in CS and WoW and their idiosyncrasies that make them who they are.

Well, i've told you all about my thoughts and feelings, and now my download is done. Hey thanks for keeping me company at this ungodly hour. Claim your reward on 6th January at 12:30 am, I'll be at Bru.

And fyi, I wasn't bluffing about the educational nature of this download, after all, okcupid says I'm a nerd...

Hello...Hello.. Testing please...Check...Check...

I've been feeling quite depressed lately. And very agitated. I get provoked at the most trivial things.

I was browsing around aimlessly, when I found the link to a test on www.okcupid.com. 

It's called the 'How you would commit murder test'.

I took it.

Turns out, you guys should stay away from me....

Here's the result:

You are a victim to your animal instincts. When you get angry, you lose control. If you were to murder someone, it would probably be after a heated confrontation. You'd get so furious that your only aim would be to cause the other person pain. And how would you do that? You'd reach out your arms and strangle them to death. Slow, painful and ugly.

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 24% on Composure

You scored higher than 19% on Style

You scored higher than 10% on Intelligence

 

So, whaddaya say? Friends for life??:-p

And while I was at the testing thing.... I took one more....

The 'Who you would be in 1400'  test...

Surprisingly... I'm the Cardinal... Result:

The Who Would You Be in 1400 AD Test

Your Score: The Cardinal

You scored 71% Cardinal, 30% Monk, 20% Lady, and 32% Knight!

You are the real power behind the throne. No one dares dispute or refuse you. Which is good because that's how you get things done. You are also, however, completely corrupt and highly immoral. This doesn't bother you in the least as you lounge around your rich comfortable surroundings, reveling in wealth and authority.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on Cardinal

You scored higher than 99% on Monk

You scored higher than 99% on Lady

You scored higher than 99% on Knight

You know you've been Trichy-fied when...

1. You give a flower sporting, saree-clad specimen another look.

2. You concentrate hard on the conversation two fat guys in lungis are having in the seat behind you.

3. Your eyes search for a sambar-rasam-sadam combination on any menu card.

4. You experience the urge to communicate in a strange new language.(Research has shown that this is a unique combination of Tamil, English, Hindi, Malayalam and also Japanese. Research has also shown that NITT grads have inadvertently mastered the language).

5. You think 'da' means 'full-stop' daaa

6.You eat a 'pizza' at icy.

7. You listen to 'Nethu Rathiri' blaring out of 'Bose' Speakers in the local bus. And enjoy.

8. You travel to chennai more often than you take a bath.

9. Body parts other than your mouth and your eyes start watering after a sumtuous pongal-vada breakfast.

10.Your resume reads bovinology as an area of special interest.

11. you can name 25 types of chutneys. And tell with proper reasons which tastes best with dosas.

12. You think that the world is divided into 'annas' and 'akkas' with the ocassional 'thambi' in between.

13.You pulverize anyone who refers to 'ettukal poochi manidhan as spiderman.

14 All your friends are called GMC, BBC, VH1, VH2, DVD and WTC.

15. You think that Baskin Robbins is a living person.

-Perv and Ulti Khopdi.

The Extravagant Adventures of a Hopeless Middle Aged Romantic, The Finale:

He came back down to earth, at last,

To get a little rest.

A long siesta, undisturbed,

For he'd lost all that zest.

He reposed like that for many an hour,

Neither good dream, nor bad.

In his mind life had lost all its meaning.

His needles were all that he had.

Syringes and needles and bottles and packets

Of stuff that dreams were made of.

Everyday injected right into his soul,

Sorrow and pain it would ward off.

All his adventures were dreams and fancies,

Each one a narcotic trick;

And that brings to an end the poignant tale of

The hopeless, middle aged romantic.

The Extravagant Adventures of a Hopeless Middle Aged Romantic, Episode 3:

But as he walked away it seemed

The light was coming nearer.

Beads of sweat ran down his face,

The night was getting clearer.

Soon the fire touched his skin,

He waited for the pain.

But all he felt was a little pin-prick;

And then pleasure insane.

He was soaring in the starry sky,

Far, far away from earth.

He felt like he was one with heaven,

A new beginning, rebirth.

For hours and hours he flew like he had

Never known sorrow.

The end, dear friend, it has to wait

Until it is tomorrow. 

The Extravagant Adventures of a Hopeless Middle aged Romantic, Episode 2:

(Try reading between the lines, understand the symbolism.)

He walked and walked until he saw

A bright and shining light,

That lightened up the darkened path,

And painted up the night.

Then he saw a little bird perched

Upon a tall oak tree.

She sang a melancholy dirge,

And was sad as sad could be.

"Why do you weep, O little bird?",

He asked in sympathy.

"My son, he died, burned in the fire, 

All alone he left me."

He walked away from the murderous light,

Afraid that he might die.

"What happens next", you ask of me,

"Patience, my friend!", say I.  

The Extravagant Adventures of a hopeless middle aged romantic, Episode 1.

"Ah! Sunrise, beatiful dawn!",
Said he as he awoke.
He brushed and bathed and broke his fast,
And then he solemnly spoke-

"Today is such a wonderful Day,
let me live life again,
Bask in the warmth of the morning sun,
Get drenched in the heavenly rain."

So dressed up in his holiday suit,
And sporting his holiday smile,
"My holiday boots are waiting",said he,
"And I'll walk many-a-mile!"

He walked on and on in light and dark,
Not stopping in his way.
The story hence, my dear friends,
I save for another day.

The Myth of the Elements.

(The script for our department's prize winning show, 'Elements', at an inter department cultural fest in our college. Excuse us if some lines remind you of Galadriel.)

Prelude

The world has changed, I feel it in the water,I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air.

Much that once was is lost for few live now who remember it. But the myth has lived through the ages, the myth of the elements.

God created the 4 elements-fire, water, wind, earth, and bestowed upon them the power to control the world, but only if they worked together, in harmony. Even man, with all his technological advancements, depends on the elements for his sustenance. For God knew, the creature man would try with his insatiable thirst, and talent for technology to take over these elements.

Everything God created, yin/yang, black/white, life/death, all were meant to have perfect crystal symmetry, perfect balance, sweet harmony.

That was the way it was, with the elements...

_________________

Harmony

Water

Man has, and always will, revere the purity and sanctity of sacred water, that has ebbed and flown along with civilization, forever keeping man afloat.

Wind

Fickle wind, now sweet and mellow, then gusty and powerful, and back again, but forever will remain a symbol of strength and power.

Earth

The circle of life of man begins from and ends with mother earth. We are born from it, and we shall die into it. Mother earth, ever a symbol of support and sustenance, caters to the needs of humankind.

Fire

Dancing flames, ever a symbol of warmth and protection, yet hiding unspeakable power, was, still is, and would be worshipped for generations.

_________________

Anomaly

It is but a dream that this harmony would exist forever. But as fate would have it, an anomaly presents itself to disturb this magical symmetry, in the form of a steadfast, but stubbornly misdirected soul. He takes it upon himself to bring the 4 elements under his control. He knew, it at all there was a way, the only way to do that was through vigorous penance.

_________________

Thou shalt bow to me

Slowly but surely, fire and water surrendered their powers to his irresistible will, for such was the power of his penance.

He was powerful by now, with the elements fire and water by his side.

But he was still thirsty, and it was a only a matter of time before earth and wind succumbed.

_________________

Ode to Destruction

Volcano

Blazing fire, igniting the skies,
The dormant beast awakened,
Burning, uprooting, leaving all,
In a wreath of fire emblazoned.

Earthquake

The earth beneath cleaved in half,
A wave of fear, a tremor,
Destruction, despair, no soul is spared,
From the wrath of this seismic terror.

Tsunami

From the depths of Poseidon's watery stronghold,
A spear of death was hurled,
Hissing, spitting, tidal fangs,
Sorrow on millions unfurled.

Tornado

Murderous monster, spitefully swirling,
A whirlwind of venomous vice,
Gripping, twisting, turning at will,
No stopping this devilish device.

Walk to their death?

Realizing their helplessness, the elements desperately try one by one to win back their lost freedom. But even the powerful elements had to bow down to his superior will. Try as they might the elements could do nothing to penetrate his black aura.

Fire..

Water..

Wind..

Earth.. they all fall..

The revolution (final fight)

And then there was a light in the sky, a sign from the heavens for the elements to unite and bring down the tyrant in one final fight for their forsaken freedoms.

The sound of a thunderbolt reverberated through the universe, the flash of lightning blinded all, and it was done. The mighty tormentor had fallen, drained of all his powers, he lay on the ground, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A Few Figments of an Idle Mind with Communist Tendencies

(What my friend and I cooked up for a creative writing contest at college... Believe it or not, we won!)

Scene: Medium sized padded cell with a television in the southwest corner, an aquarium in the northeast corner and a moving strait-jacket dead center.

Narrator: In this fickle, materialistic world plagued by unyielding capitalism rearing its unclipped talons on the helpless masses, who are disillusioned by plastic promises of freedom, truth, peace, perhaps love, held like a caged bird in a vice-like grip, there is a room.

Inside this room, is our protagonist whose emotions have bound him to the confines of his cellulose prison, and there is also a television.

Our hero (who we'll refer to henceforth as the Voice (Victim Of Intense Capitalistic Erosion)) has just arisen from sweet sub-conscious ignorance, to a whirlwind of cryptic emotions, trips and falls on the remote control and the television blares into life.

The Voice- What are these emotions I feel? From where doth these feelings spring?

Television- Thine emotions are thine own. Thou art only now realising them. Thou art nought more than a baby, filled with a plethora of emotions thou canst feel but not comprehend.

The Voice- Hark! I change the channel.

Channel -Tele switches to a scene when the voice is but an adolescent.

Scene: The voice, and his better half, seen facing the crimson sunset, the autumn leaves gently caressing the landscape, an air of serenity wrapping itself around the 2 souls, uniting them.

Narrator- The world that the voice finds himself today, wasn’t always so. There was a time when the birds would sing in the sky, and night sky would sparkle with the light of a million hopes, dreams. There was a time when the ‘voice’ was still heard.

Our hero remembers that he wasn’t always deprived of love, the strait jacket just made him forget.

Narrator: The Voice appears awoken from his pensive demeanor, with an air of self realization.

The voice: All this while the unending channel of emotions running through my mind doth deceive me, hast imprisoned me to my own prison. Now I realize I have imposed this strait jacket of sorrows, on my own consciousness . My freedom doth lie in my realization of this truth.

Narrator: At this moment, the stars shed new light on the Voice, removing the shackles that bound him to the skeletons in his cupboard. The strait jacket falls to the ground, and the Voice that once echoed through the valleys, rang in the hills again.

Another little something...

Insomniac.

Heavy eyes, drooping shoulders, shabbily clad, I pass the morning hours like a ghost. Counting each hour as it passes by, I wait impatiently for the night, every minute hoping that tonight would be ‘the’ night that I finally realise that wondrous moment when I finally fall into the blissful state of complete relaxation and ignorance, of heavenly joy, of sleep.

I am an insomniac. Every night for as many as I can remember, I have been teetering on the edge of euphoric semi-consciousness only to be prematurely awakened from the dream by a cold sweat. Every night I squirm around in my bed trying to shake off the skeletons in my head, disturbing my peace. But before all this, this evil kaleidoscope of misery, there was a time, like the little ray of hope in Pandora’s Box, when I could rest, sleep when I was tired, and wake up when I was refreshed. Those days are long gone, but the light in them percolates through the dark cobwebs of my consciousness, showering a little joy and hope into an otherwise futile existence.

We all take sleep for granted. The clichéd “nights before the exams”, the inevitable nights wasted away trying to copy down the multitudes of pages of an assignment that helps “develop interest” in the subject, have all made humungous contributions towards making me and a lot of other people living dead that we are now. And the future does not hold a lot of promise for our lot.

There is absolutely no escaping it. Let’s face it, assignments have to be submitted, tests have to be written. We cannot revolt against the system, which many believe to be very sound. All we can do is wait for the messiah to come and sing an irresistible lullaby to us and put us to a long awaited and extremely well deserved repose.

Till then I remain a figment of Enrique Iglesias’s imagination. I remain an insomniac.

Losing my Festiginity

(The cumulative effort of the lowly second years of Writers' Circle of NIT, Trichy. This may have been our big break!)

I wake up. I brush. I eat. I sleep. Then i go home during Festember. I was just some arbit frustoo who went to Bamboos once a month and had five square parathas and a PBM. But everything changed this time. The darn train reservation wasn't confirment and i was stuck here, just me and the other frustoos without rail reservations. Ofcourse, we found a better way to describe our position. We thought we're really smarter ones since staying here was rebelling against the fickle minded flock that flew north every winter, autmn rather. So we called ourselves the pirates. We went to Chatram to get eye patches but they'd run out of them, so we grew our hair long enough to cover our eyes. We rented an air conditioned old vessel where we took an oath of secrecy through the ip messenger and called ourselves the Writers Circle/ Media Team. And so I lost my Festiginity.

So here it was, Festember '07. Now you'd imagine what mood has been associated with that statement. Do i sound excited? Or nonchalant? Well i haven't the faintest idea, partly because i read last year's newsletter brought out by the WC. That's what this society (read: evil brotherhood) does to you, it takes all the fun out of life. Reading artciles like wake me after Festember ends' don't exactly gear you up for the Fest you're supposed to remember. Frankly speaking, this Festember wasn't very different from the image portrayed by those who had the courage to brave it to the last time around. Definitely, a few events like Power Cut and ChoreoNite were worth watching, but a large portion of the crowd was rather interested in the food stalls. So was I. When i was not devouring the pizzas, i was locked up in Cad lad preparing reports and articles for pirate radio.

I gained a lot, mind you. Three days of fun, frolic, festivity and Iced Eskimos. And it was fulfilling. Am i getting obsessed with the F? But in its varied meanings and diverse views, the F met the K, not one mind you, but two. And that really enthralled the enraptured audience. Yup, the memories of Festember will remain ingrained in my mind forever, or atleast as long as the flavors of the Triple Bar Sundae and the Cool Blue of CCD do. As i look back down the road of drifting memories, conflicting emotions and suppressed nausea, the vivid images of my screaming, red and grey coloured hair, my white painted face, the voices of the radio- jockey- from -Bangaluru- who- assures- that- radio- is no- match- for- TV (which ofcourse is no match to print), the magic of the creative fire lit by the arts exhibition, the lits events which got our rusting grey cells working, our never- quenching thirst for more and more of DT numbers, stays on. Phew! And thus i move on experiencing over and over again the epitome of joy, entwined in a swirl of creativity... and waiting for the next fest to arrive...


By- The Triumphant Perv with an Ulti Khopdi who has a Beautiful Mind that spurts Lava.

Now Walk the Walk…

(A little something I wrote for the college magazine.)

“Dude, this sem I’m going to study regularly and become a nine pointer”, proclaims our hero, all of a sudden, on a warm night, up on the hostel roof. “What’s up with you, man? You aren’t even high! All of a sudden, this?” Our hero has a little smile on his lips and an enlightened illumination in his eyes. “No dude, I’m serious. I’m perfectly capable of getting even a ten if I study hard enough. Speaking of which, I’ve got to go and study for next week’s cycle tests now. Catch up later.”
Ten minutes later, the friend finds our hero in his room, all lights out except for a table lamp, Floyd playing out loud, asleep peacefully, dribbling all over his textbook. This classic ambience inspires the friend, and he suddenly walks out of the room as if struck by lightning, with a brilliant idea in his foggy, alcohol soaked brain.

Now the friend, our new hero, can strum a few chords on his guitar. So he goes to his room, grabs his guitar and sets off to find another of his friends who has a beautiful singing voice (self proclaimed, of course). He finds him lying face down on the floor of his room, which was reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap vodka. He wakes him up. “Dude, dude, get up. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Wha..”
“I can play six Floyd songs, a Metallica solo, and two Green Day songs. That’s nine songs. You can sing along. We can start a two man band; make videos, even concerts on the roof…”
The high friend, wide awake by now, laps it all up.
“Great idea dude, we can post the videos on YouTube… dude, we’ll become famous.”
“I’ll make all the arrangements and we’ll meet up tomorrow to practice. Later.”

Our high friend wakes up the next morning with a hangover and a very empty stomach. He finds his way to the mess, only to find that it had run out of food. He grabs a cup of tea and finds an empty seat next to a guy whom he vaguely recognised from somewhere.
“Hi”, says the vaguely familiar guy.
“Hey…”
“So, don’t see you in class too often.”
“Yeah.”
“You know you’re low on attendance, right?”
“Yeah.”
They go on like this through till his cup of tea runs dry, with our alcoholic friend replying in monosyllables. Then just before they part ways, the vaguely familiar guy says, “Hey, you heard about the totally cool techfest that’s happening next month? I’m planning to make a robot for it. It’s tough, but I’ll manage it. See you later.”
As soon as our man hears ‘Robot’, his brain does a backflip. If that nerd guy could make a robot so could he. It’d be really awesome, him and his robot, winning, and more importantly, becoming famous.
So he picks up his pen drive, goes to the internet lab and downloads a dozen e-books on making robots. He’s about to leave when someone suggests a few quick rounds of counter-strike.
Twelve hours later, its terrorists-541, counter-terrorists-540, with enough intensity in the game to last for twelve more. So much for the robot…

This cycle, of planning great things and achieving close to nothing, repeats itself. It has been clichéd that nothing turns out the way it was planned. Whatever groundbreaking feats we dream of realising, we remain nothing more than fickle minded college students, acting on pure instinct. If things don’t work out, always remember Pink Floyd-
“The grass was greener,
The light was brighter…”

Episode 2

Well, moving on with the story- after a year in Hyderabad, we moved to the hill station Ooty. I remember a lot of relatives coming to visit, riding ponies, boating in the lake, learning to tie my shoelaces and playing some weird game which involved rolling down a small hillside.

We came back to Trivandrum when I was six and stayed on for a year, when I tried my hand at a lot of stuff- singing, break-dance, painting ,etcetera, etcetera. All in all it was a pretty uneventful year, the only lasting mark left was a scar on my knee from a nasty fall, which I don't remember that well.

After Trivandrum came Delhi, where I spent three very eventful years of my life. But that in itself is a different story.

I blame the broadband rates in India for my very short posts. Next time I'll type them offline. My attention span has nothing to do with this.

And the laptop I wrote about yesterday- I got it. Dumped all my music into it, and navigated around it for about three hours before I finally got a hang of Vista. It's pretty, but I'm used to XP. Maybe I'll type the next 'long' post in my new laptop...

Food for thought?

I'll break my biography with little snippets like this from time to time. This is an attempt at thought provoking poetry for the monthly magazine we bring out at our college.

REQUIEM

Life's light's a flickering candle,
Burning off and on.
Now it shines with all it's strength,
Now it's dead and gone.
Onward it shines through ups and downs,
This flickering ray still glows,
Traipsing through troubles, piercing darkness,
Serenity it silently shows.
Through long years this light persists,
This candle in the rain.
Riding roughshod over hill and valley,
Enduring all the pain,
'Til the hour of death and darkness,
When the light no longer glows,
The soul transcends to heaven and the body lies
In rest, requiem, repose.

The Beginnings

Woke up today morning thinking about what to put in from my yesterdays, and finally decided to begin from the beginning. I was born on 26th September 1989 at Trivandrum, then travelled to Leh, Ladhak when i was about a year and a half old. I have very faint memories of a donkey outside my house and scrambled eggs! We returned to trivandrum when I was about three, and I went to nursery school there. I remember getting nervous and throwing up during my first stage performance.

My brother Anish was born when I was three. He was the cutest.

I was four when we moved to Hyderabad(if you've been wondering about all the movement, dad's in the army). I remember a cake resembling shere khan of 'The Jungle book' on my fourth birthday.

I'll save the rest of the stories for later episodes. And as for today, I'm in tight anticipation. My new laptop's due to be delivered today- a Dell Latitude D630 with An Intel Cor2Duo processor, 1 GB of ram and 80 GBs of Hard drive space.

And I'm listening to the Goo Goo Dolls, trying to find a way to get a song to play in the background of this blog. Well, let's see how far I succeed.

And I'm feeling sleepy. You always sleep a lot when you're home. Making up for the sleep lost at the college over CS and AOE. The bed beckons now... I go.

Random thoughts

Well… life does go on, and pretty fast too, for all that matters.
Right now, I’m sitting at home, in New Delhi, typing away aimlessly into the idiot box in front of me. I had always envisioned a blog to be a channel for my thoughts, but as I try channeling them they elude me one by one. Either I have too many thoughts or too few, but the point is, I can’t think of any now. I’m not trying to be funny or anything, but I want my first post to be whole truth.

I had planned, initially; to make this blog an autobiography of sorts. But I don’t know how far back my memories run, and for how long my patience withstands. So ultimately, this going to be a medley of my yester-years, the present age, and my plans for the future.

To cut a long story short this blog will be a very random collage of the relatively colourful experiences of my life.