I closed my eyes. The lights were off, and my body was relaxed. Now and then a car rushed by on the highway outside my window. I heard them approaching, getting louder, and finally fading away. When each had passed, a silence was left behind. Not even my breath pierced it. As each came and went, I began to notice something curious. I could hear them move, and I was aware of how long it took them to pass by. It was the stillness between cars that didn't make sense. More cars passed by, and slowly, I began to see what it was.
Right then, another car sped by. When the sound faded away, everything just stopped. Nothing moved, and then time stood still. Perfectly still. There had been no past, and there was no future, and I could have lived right then, Forever. Until the moment another car passed by, and I was aware of how long it took to pass by.
Wednesday, May 18
Sunday, July 19
Yes, we are strangers. Two years have passed, and I feel that nothing has changed. Yet it is not so, for the Universe is expanding, and we have been growing steadily apart. Even since the Dawn of Time, when we were toegether for an instant. An explosion of feeling has now set us on this course.
Like galaxies we drift along, immense yet isolated, till someday when there will be nothing but light-years in between.
Like galaxies we drift along, immense yet isolated, till someday when there will be nothing but light-years in between.
Tuesday, July 7
Some nights, I go to sleep thinking of the compromises I have made that day. Moments of weakness: of fear and of laziness. I burn in a kind of shame. Out of the ashes comes a resolute Man with his eye on a Future. In the morning the ashes have cooled. The rules and cares drilled into him strip him of his will, his guts. The bright lights and moving images distract his vision from the horizon.
I go to bed, just another man.
Each time the fire burns, the flames grow dimmer. Some nights, the Man does not come, but I merely stare at the embers, wondering if they'll survive another day.
I go to bed, just another man.
Each time the fire burns, the flames grow dimmer. Some nights, the Man does not come, but I merely stare at the embers, wondering if they'll survive another day.
Thursday, September 18
We talk about our classes, making jokes and laughing. Big Smiles. Warm eyes, half closed.
He removes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a trouser pocket. He cups his hands and stares down his nose. Eyes narrowed in concentration, and lips set. The flame is the centre of the Universe.
He turns the lighter off, inhaling deeply. His eyes flick back towards me. Ice cold through thin slits. He looks away and exhales.
We resume our conversation, breaking into laughter now and then.
He removes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a trouser pocket. He cups his hands and stares down his nose. Eyes narrowed in concentration, and lips set. The flame is the centre of the Universe.
He turns the lighter off, inhaling deeply. His eyes flick back towards me. Ice cold through thin slits. He looks away and exhales.
We resume our conversation, breaking into laughter now and then.
Saturday, October 20
"When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."
--Wendell Berry
taken from here.
--Wendell Berry
taken from here.
Almost uncool
"The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we're uncool."
- Lester Bangs, in Almost Famous
I was working late at night in my lab, when my mood switched and I decided to watch something. It was 1 am, and I was done with tea. So I brought out my laptop and watched a bit of Space Odyssey, then decided I'd better work, out of guilt, then my mood switched again and I began watching Almost Famous.
It's an enjoyable movie, and it always reminds me that there's a GREAT deal of music I haven't heard yet, and that most of it is old and there's very little new music to look forward to.
And as usual, there are a few really good scenes in the movie, like the one in which the line I quoted above appears. Kate Hudson if fabulous, as is Patrick Fugit. But they still aren't as good as the music.
- Lester Bangs, in Almost Famous
I was working late at night in my lab, when my mood switched and I decided to watch something. It was 1 am, and I was done with tea. So I brought out my laptop and watched a bit of Space Odyssey, then decided I'd better work, out of guilt, then my mood switched again and I began watching Almost Famous.
It's an enjoyable movie, and it always reminds me that there's a GREAT deal of music I haven't heard yet, and that most of it is old and there's very little new music to look forward to.
And as usual, there are a few really good scenes in the movie, like the one in which the line I quoted above appears. Kate Hudson if fabulous, as is Patrick Fugit. But they still aren't as good as the music.
Saturday, September 1
Smoke up
The smell of pleasurable chemicals permeated the air. Dim lighting cast shadows on our eyes and beneath our lips. Occasionally a face would light up, and then disappear, replaced by freshly exhaled smoke. Laughter.
We talked about nothing and everything. Spewing memories and insults with equal ease. Anything was permissible. We even smile at jokes that aren't that funny. We roar at the ones that are.
A hookah arrives. At first, I get nothing out of it. A half-hearted effort, an empty pair of lungs. And then, she tells me how. I let go, and 'pull'. I fight my lungs, trying to keep them from collapsing. I realize I'm going to lose, soon, and exhale slowly. The rush isn't that patient with me. The hookah hooks me.
Pockets of silence. We sip our beers meditatively, gazing into space. I glance at the others, they glance back, our faces blank. Our eyes mirrors. I wait for them to say something. Or something-to-say to strike me. Nothing does, and so we smile and resume our meditations, or sing along with whatever is playing. Something hit''s one of us, and the conversation rolls on. Shock. Laughter.
I glance at her. She looks back. Her eyes are different. They have changed from mirrors... to windows. I can see deep into them, hidden things. But in doing so, my eyes must change too. As we look into each other, two worlds are exposed, connected. We try to learn this new world. What is it we see? Tiredness, mischief, longing... judgment?
We look away, distracted by conversation. We look back, in hope of a confirmation of what just passed. We just smile, and lose ourselves in the rest of us.
We talked about nothing and everything. Spewing memories and insults with equal ease. Anything was permissible. We even smile at jokes that aren't that funny. We roar at the ones that are.
A hookah arrives. At first, I get nothing out of it. A half-hearted effort, an empty pair of lungs. And then, she tells me how. I let go, and 'pull'. I fight my lungs, trying to keep them from collapsing. I realize I'm going to lose, soon, and exhale slowly. The rush isn't that patient with me. The hookah hooks me.
Pockets of silence. We sip our beers meditatively, gazing into space. I glance at the others, they glance back, our faces blank. Our eyes mirrors. I wait for them to say something. Or something-to-say to strike me. Nothing does, and so we smile and resume our meditations, or sing along with whatever is playing. Something hit''s one of us, and the conversation rolls on. Shock. Laughter.
I glance at her. She looks back. Her eyes are different. They have changed from mirrors... to windows. I can see deep into them, hidden things. But in doing so, my eyes must change too. As we look into each other, two worlds are exposed, connected. We try to learn this new world. What is it we see? Tiredness, mischief, longing... judgment?
We look away, distracted by conversation. We look back, in hope of a confirmation of what just passed. We just smile, and lose ourselves in the rest of us.
Friday, August 31
The Boy
The boy's sudden arrival made him glad. That little bundle of joy. Always smiling, dancing, laughing. Eyes closed, oblivious to the world. It soothed his heart to see the little boy thus, softened it a little. He smiled as he realized how happy he was to see the child's happiness.
A sense of relief washed over him. All those cold days seemed gone forever. They became blurred, a distant memory. An imagination. He stopped shutting off tomorrow, instead looking it in the eye, defiantly. He could go through a lot more now, but nothing seemed like it would need going through again. His eyes shone brighter, his gaze farther, as he thought these words. He breathed in, content, while the little boy walked by his side, talking to himself, lost in his joyous thoughts.
They were on a hill, covered in grass. The hills rolled on, on all sides, with purple mountains in the distance. The sun shone low, yet full. They walked for some distance. He clutched the boy's hand, never wanting to lose this feeling.
Suddenly, the boy stopped his dancing, his bobbing head didn't move from side to side anymore. Clouds began to fill the sky, muting the Sun.
He was alarmed, he sank to his knees, and turned the boy to face him, a worried, searching look on his face. He held the boy's head in his hands, and stared questioningly into the boy's eyes. The boy didn't blink, allowing him to see the pain. Tears ran down the boy's cheeks, but the boy left them there. There was no accusation in the boy's eyes. No questions. The boy understood, and seeing this, so did he. It began to rain.
He pulled the boy towards him, embracing him. He ran a hand through the boy's hair, and three waters mixed. He began to sob, engulfed by grief. By the by, he stopped. He had begun to understand, and accept, like the boy. He smiled... and so did the boy. It was then that it hit him. His eyes were wide, his body still, as he stared at nothing. He knew what was next. The boy was calm, and looked at him, tugging his sleeves. He couldn't look at the boy, but the tugging wouldn't stop, and so he finally did. The boy's eyes were comforting. Kind. Encouraging.
He began to cry again... he bit his lip, looked away. He looked back at the boy, his face contorted in sadness, streaked with tears and rain. He breathed in, letting the air out slowly, trying to control the emotion. The boy was still calm, waiting. He looked away again. He stood up, and paced, running a hand through his hair, wondering what to do, knowing what the answer was.
It had been long since the last time.
He went back to the boy, and pressed him to his stomach. It rained hard and loud. The boy hugged him tight, eyes closed, waiting. He took out his only possession. The steel rim sent a momentary chill down the boy's spine, but the boy was instantly still again. His eyes grew hard, cold. Angry. Hateful. The anger helped him do the deed. The boy screamed, eyes shut tight in pain. The boy disappeared, not a single coloured drop was shed. He fell on his knees, head in his hands, hands in his hair, clothes stuck to his body. His senses were numbed. A deep groan rumbled inside him, and rushed to his throat. As it escaped his lips he raised his head, the hands still clutching his hair, and the cry went up to the sky.
He woke up in the same place the next day. The day was cold and dry, dimly lit. Like his eyes.
A sense of relief washed over him. All those cold days seemed gone forever. They became blurred, a distant memory. An imagination. He stopped shutting off tomorrow, instead looking it in the eye, defiantly. He could go through a lot more now, but nothing seemed like it would need going through again. His eyes shone brighter, his gaze farther, as he thought these words. He breathed in, content, while the little boy walked by his side, talking to himself, lost in his joyous thoughts.
They were on a hill, covered in grass. The hills rolled on, on all sides, with purple mountains in the distance. The sun shone low, yet full. They walked for some distance. He clutched the boy's hand, never wanting to lose this feeling.
Suddenly, the boy stopped his dancing, his bobbing head didn't move from side to side anymore. Clouds began to fill the sky, muting the Sun.
He was alarmed, he sank to his knees, and turned the boy to face him, a worried, searching look on his face. He held the boy's head in his hands, and stared questioningly into the boy's eyes. The boy didn't blink, allowing him to see the pain. Tears ran down the boy's cheeks, but the boy left them there. There was no accusation in the boy's eyes. No questions. The boy understood, and seeing this, so did he. It began to rain.
He pulled the boy towards him, embracing him. He ran a hand through the boy's hair, and three waters mixed. He began to sob, engulfed by grief. By the by, he stopped. He had begun to understand, and accept, like the boy. He smiled... and so did the boy. It was then that it hit him. His eyes were wide, his body still, as he stared at nothing. He knew what was next. The boy was calm, and looked at him, tugging his sleeves. He couldn't look at the boy, but the tugging wouldn't stop, and so he finally did. The boy's eyes were comforting. Kind. Encouraging.
He began to cry again... he bit his lip, looked away. He looked back at the boy, his face contorted in sadness, streaked with tears and rain. He breathed in, letting the air out slowly, trying to control the emotion. The boy was still calm, waiting. He looked away again. He stood up, and paced, running a hand through his hair, wondering what to do, knowing what the answer was.
It had been long since the last time.
He went back to the boy, and pressed him to his stomach. It rained hard and loud. The boy hugged him tight, eyes closed, waiting. He took out his only possession. The steel rim sent a momentary chill down the boy's spine, but the boy was instantly still again. His eyes grew hard, cold. Angry. Hateful. The anger helped him do the deed. The boy screamed, eyes shut tight in pain. The boy disappeared, not a single coloured drop was shed. He fell on his knees, head in his hands, hands in his hair, clothes stuck to his body. His senses were numbed. A deep groan rumbled inside him, and rushed to his throat. As it escaped his lips he raised his head, the hands still clutching his hair, and the cry went up to the sky.
He woke up in the same place the next day. The day was cold and dry, dimly lit. Like his eyes.
Tuesday, August 21
"The intent of the lyricist, obviously, was to so coarsen the feelings of males who sang the song that the singers could never believe again what most of us believed with all our hearts back then: that women were more spiritual, more sacred than men.
... I have loved only four women in my life... Let it be said now, though, that all four seemed more virtuous, braver about life and closer to the secrets of the universe than I could ever be."
- In 'Jailbird', by Kurt Vonnegut
... I have loved only four women in my life... Let it be said now, though, that all four seemed more virtuous, braver about life and closer to the secrets of the universe than I could ever be."
- In 'Jailbird', by Kurt Vonnegut
Monday, August 13
It weaves in and out of the flower bed. Sometimes in the sun, sometimes in the shadow. It flies swiftly, buzzing in an instant from one flower to the next, slowing down in no time. It hovers for a second, it's dark eyes impervious, seemingly brooding. It moves on.
After zig-zagging through the bed for a few minutes, it stops in front of a flower, and seems to approve. It swoops down towards it, and just before it appears it would crash into the flower, it stops, millimetres above it.
It slows its flapping, it's legs reach for the flower. With one final downward flap of its wings, it touches down on a petal. It's legs bend, wings droop and head bows. If it had eyelids, they would have been closed. Instead, it refuses to see. Because in that one instant, the weight of the universe came crashing down on it. A life dedicated to obeying nature and survival. A tired life. It resumes seeing, head bent, and for a moment it looks at the world, a defiant stare, and dares to dream. A new world reflected on its compound eye.
The moment passes. It lifts it's head, and begins its work, a mere insect, caught in the web of life.
After zig-zagging through the bed for a few minutes, it stops in front of a flower, and seems to approve. It swoops down towards it, and just before it appears it would crash into the flower, it stops, millimetres above it.
It slows its flapping, it's legs reach for the flower. With one final downward flap of its wings, it touches down on a petal. It's legs bend, wings droop and head bows. If it had eyelids, they would have been closed. Instead, it refuses to see. Because in that one instant, the weight of the universe came crashing down on it. A life dedicated to obeying nature and survival. A tired life. It resumes seeing, head bent, and for a moment it looks at the world, a defiant stare, and dares to dream. A new world reflected on its compound eye.
The moment passes. It lifts it's head, and begins its work, a mere insect, caught in the web of life.
Friday, August 10
Monday, August 6
Tuesday, July 31
Grey sky, Dark green trees. Spacious government property. Black, wet tar. Fading yellow lines. Miles of metal. Rain drops all around.
It's very quiet. All of us lost in thought, finding 'space' in a traffic jam near Raj Bhavan. Some grumble, some fret, some dream... some remember.
I'm hunched on my kiney. One hand resting on my knee, the other clutches the right brake. I stare at the floor of my kiney's leg space. head hangs down, my visor lifted a little, so that I can breathe freely.
Two drops run down the right edge of the visor. I imagine them, gleefully squealing, eyes shut, teeth showing, hanging tight to the edge. The rush of speed.
Suddenly they reach the tip, and are launched adrift. In an instant gravity claims them. They stare back up, at me, bewildered. They realize, and their face begins to bear that classic reaction to betrayal... 'Why?'
They hit the floor, disintegrating. I imagine them, closing their eyes just before impact, trying to block out the pain. How did they know, without looking? Their eyes shoot open, and they're gone.
A distant rumble. Movement begins. The engines begin to roar, one by one. I smile as the wave passes me, my engine throbbing to life with the press of a button.
It's very quiet. All of us lost in thought, finding 'space' in a traffic jam near Raj Bhavan. Some grumble, some fret, some dream... some remember.
I'm hunched on my kiney. One hand resting on my knee, the other clutches the right brake. I stare at the floor of my kiney's leg space. head hangs down, my visor lifted a little, so that I can breathe freely.
Two drops run down the right edge of the visor. I imagine them, gleefully squealing, eyes shut, teeth showing, hanging tight to the edge. The rush of speed.
Suddenly they reach the tip, and are launched adrift. In an instant gravity claims them. They stare back up, at me, bewildered. They realize, and their face begins to bear that classic reaction to betrayal... 'Why?'
They hit the floor, disintegrating. I imagine them, closing their eyes just before impact, trying to block out the pain. How did they know, without looking? Their eyes shoot open, and they're gone.
A distant rumble. Movement begins. The engines begin to roar, one by one. I smile as the wave passes me, my engine throbbing to life with the press of a button.
Monday, July 23
Look at me!
Whenever I'm walking randomly on weekends around town, I come across many women I find attractive. I stare at them, almost brazenly.
I receive a variety of reactions. Some genuinely don't even register my presence. Heck, most. Some are aware I'm there, but not too concerned. Some fastidiously avoid my gaze. Some of them catch my gaze, put on an annoyed expression, and promptly turn away. I'm fine with all that, I shouldn't be bothering them with unwanted attention anyway.
Now, some of them look away, then look back to see if I'm still checking them out. I guess they want to know if they're attractive. That's quite normal too. The part I hate is that they refuse to acknowledge whats going on. I mean, they act like they aren't looking at you, but they look at you just to know whether you're looking at them.
It's happened so many times, it's quite annoying. I understand most women would call me a letch or something. And argue that I should keep my eyes of the women. Hmmm. Well, that's all fine when you consider gentlemanly behaviour, and I can take a hint. The trouble is I'm looking for that one amazing moment that can really make my day once in a while. When an attractive person responds to your gaze, when both of us acknowledge each other's presence, and the hint of a spark forms between us, for an instant. I can safely assume I'd never see the person again. Yeah naturally, I don't expect such a thing to lead anywhere. That would be childish. It's just the simple rush of that very powerful moment.
A was saying that that's too much to expect from Indian women. Bollocks. I've had enough and more experience to know that it isn't Indianness, it's just something that makes us all take the safe and predictable path of avoiding confrontation. Fair enough, I guess. I'm not perfect either.
A bit of background: I've been single for quite some time now. Ah yes. So you've realised these are the rantings of a desperate fellow. Bloody loser. #&%@!*& MCP.
It's beyond that. I'm hoping for that one woman with the awareness and the zest for life that would enable such a thing. To connect with someone brave enough and interested enough to find pleasure in the most random of intersections. That's the day I'll raise a toast to a special kind of something.
I receive a variety of reactions. Some genuinely don't even register my presence. Heck, most. Some are aware I'm there, but not too concerned. Some fastidiously avoid my gaze. Some of them catch my gaze, put on an annoyed expression, and promptly turn away. I'm fine with all that, I shouldn't be bothering them with unwanted attention anyway.
Now, some of them look away, then look back to see if I'm still checking them out. I guess they want to know if they're attractive. That's quite normal too. The part I hate is that they refuse to acknowledge whats going on. I mean, they act like they aren't looking at you, but they look at you just to know whether you're looking at them.
It's happened so many times, it's quite annoying. I understand most women would call me a letch or something. And argue that I should keep my eyes of the women. Hmmm. Well, that's all fine when you consider gentlemanly behaviour, and I can take a hint. The trouble is I'm looking for that one amazing moment that can really make my day once in a while. When an attractive person responds to your gaze, when both of us acknowledge each other's presence, and the hint of a spark forms between us, for an instant. I can safely assume I'd never see the person again. Yeah naturally, I don't expect such a thing to lead anywhere. That would be childish. It's just the simple rush of that very powerful moment.
A was saying that that's too much to expect from Indian women. Bollocks. I've had enough and more experience to know that it isn't Indianness, it's just something that makes us all take the safe and predictable path of avoiding confrontation. Fair enough, I guess. I'm not perfect either.
A bit of background: I've been single for quite some time now. Ah yes. So you've realised these are the rantings of a desperate fellow. Bloody loser. #&%@!*& MCP.
It's beyond that. I'm hoping for that one woman with the awareness and the zest for life that would enable such a thing. To connect with someone brave enough and interested enough to find pleasure in the most random of intersections. That's the day I'll raise a toast to a special kind of something.
Saturday, July 21
Dawn
The bed shakes. He wakes up slowly. His brow lifts up, then down. 'Huh?' His face is a million dollar question, with his eyes closed. The eyelids open ever so slightly, and his face now bears a puzzled look. He half sits up. Suddenly it hits him. He groans and falls back on the bed. He lies there motionless for a whole minute, and then rubs his eyes, with an annoyed expression. Then he pulls on his eyelids, feeling inaudible pops as the air rushes back in.
He turns to where she's sleeping. Her back faces him, she's in the foetal position. She seemed quite peaceful. He was amazed at how long she slept. Things were always simple for her. It was he who had to go and live a grinding life. Annoyance crept back on his face. How he wished he'd been born a woman. He sells his peace of mind and she hoards it in bed. He gets out of bed, the covers are tossed aside in a quick motion that doesn't ease his irritation. He stomps off to the bathroom.
***************************************
Suddenly her eyes fly open. Her face looks alarmed for a fraction of a second. She relaxes. A hard, dreamy look washes over her face. She turns over to where he's sleeping, the bed creaks. Still asleep, and still snoring. She resumes her earlier position, only this time she's hugging her knees. He begins to wake. She tries to enjoy the few moments of silence, that short peaceful waking period. The rest of the morning begins to play in her head. His crisp words. No eye contact. The criticism. A thump sounds behind her.
Her face darkens. She wonders how to change things. How to go back to happier times. In a few instants she dreams possibilities, her face calm. But his nature ruins every dream. Her face is of despair. He gets out of bed. She grimaces as she feels part of the tossed sheets hit her. The moment passes. His footsteps sound the beginning of another routine day. Her face turns bitter. She gets up, already the tiredness running through her body. She follows meekly.
He turns to where she's sleeping. Her back faces him, she's in the foetal position. She seemed quite peaceful. He was amazed at how long she slept. Things were always simple for her. It was he who had to go and live a grinding life. Annoyance crept back on his face. How he wished he'd been born a woman. He sells his peace of mind and she hoards it in bed. He gets out of bed, the covers are tossed aside in a quick motion that doesn't ease his irritation. He stomps off to the bathroom.
***************************************
Suddenly her eyes fly open. Her face looks alarmed for a fraction of a second. She relaxes. A hard, dreamy look washes over her face. She turns over to where he's sleeping, the bed creaks. Still asleep, and still snoring. She resumes her earlier position, only this time she's hugging her knees. He begins to wake. She tries to enjoy the few moments of silence, that short peaceful waking period. The rest of the morning begins to play in her head. His crisp words. No eye contact. The criticism. A thump sounds behind her.
Her face darkens. She wonders how to change things. How to go back to happier times. In a few instants she dreams possibilities, her face calm. But his nature ruins every dream. Her face is of despair. He gets out of bed. She grimaces as she feels part of the tossed sheets hit her. The moment passes. His footsteps sound the beginning of another routine day. Her face turns bitter. She gets up, already the tiredness running through her body. She follows meekly.
The Law of Averages
Hmmmm well so today I went to work because the PhD student K in charge of the lab I work in and I had to go shopping for stuff we needed. Unfortunately, we weren't buying 5K shoes and cool threads in upmarket malls, we were buying bearings and teeny ICs from low, way low, Market. SP Road actually.
The catch was A had called us all home for lunch and her place was nearby the last stop on our route. So I thought I'd take the bike with K and go, but somewhere in Sheshadripuram life decided to even the odds and my tyre went flat.
So anyway, I abandon my bike and we head of by rick to do all the shopping. I will someday write about the wonder that is SP Road. For now, there are other things happening. Shopping takes us a good three hours. We had a long list.
After the last stop I head off to A's place and a whole load of people are there, generally chatting. S is leaving for Arizona tomorrow and that was kind of the reason we were meeting up anyway. Oh wtf, so that was Sunaad. Shruthi had also come down for two days all the way from Jhansi. Yeah, Jhansi. Even I was surprised.
I left pretty soon after lunch, because I had to go rescue my poor little bike who'd been left all alone in a crowded noisy spot. I finally had to travel by BMTC bus to sheshadripuram. Luckily got a direct bus, which wasn't crowded. Somehow I find my way back to the bike, and have to lug it all the way to the nearest mechanic, and that wasn't too near.
Now, Goodyear was a genius who made life SO much better when he put that little hose on his kide's bike. Cos it's a royal pain to lug a bike with a flat tyre. The last time I had a flat I asked for it, cos I went and said 'You know, I've never had to suffer a flat tyre,' two days before it happened. While this guy is fixing the tube, some joker bumps into my bike and sends it crashing on its side. The result of that was a smashed right rearview mirror. Sigh. Well anyway, after much trials and tribulations I'm back in IISc running simulations and writing this stuff.
Yeah so now I'm wondering why anyone would actually still be reading till this line.
Ah yes, picked up Rosemary's Baby from A's place. Err, that's the name of a book.
I'm off to enjoy the weekend, hopefully, bbye.
The catch was A had called us all home for lunch and her place was nearby the last stop on our route. So I thought I'd take the bike with K and go, but somewhere in Sheshadripuram life decided to even the odds and my tyre went flat.
So anyway, I abandon my bike and we head of by rick to do all the shopping. I will someday write about the wonder that is SP Road. For now, there are other things happening. Shopping takes us a good three hours. We had a long list.
After the last stop I head off to A's place and a whole load of people are there, generally chatting. S is leaving for Arizona tomorrow and that was kind of the reason we were meeting up anyway. Oh wtf, so that was Sunaad. Shruthi had also come down for two days all the way from Jhansi. Yeah, Jhansi. Even I was surprised.
I left pretty soon after lunch, because I had to go rescue my poor little bike who'd been left all alone in a crowded noisy spot. I finally had to travel by BMTC bus to sheshadripuram. Luckily got a direct bus, which wasn't crowded. Somehow I find my way back to the bike, and have to lug it all the way to the nearest mechanic, and that wasn't too near.
Now, Goodyear was a genius who made life SO much better when he put that little hose on his kide's bike. Cos it's a royal pain to lug a bike with a flat tyre. The last time I had a flat I asked for it, cos I went and said 'You know, I've never had to suffer a flat tyre,' two days before it happened. While this guy is fixing the tube, some joker bumps into my bike and sends it crashing on its side. The result of that was a smashed right rearview mirror. Sigh. Well anyway, after much trials and tribulations I'm back in IISc running simulations and writing this stuff.
Yeah so now I'm wondering why anyone would actually still be reading till this line.
Ah yes, picked up Rosemary's Baby from A's place. Err, that's the name of a book.
I'm off to enjoy the weekend, hopefully, bbye.
Friday, July 20
Today was quite a sweet day. A PhD student had returned form presenting a paper at the American Control Conference, held in New York. Name dropping aside, why I mentioned all that was because he brought a nice load of chocolates with him, with the added bonus that there was dark chocolate amongst the hoard. Yum! Later in the day I found the stash of chocolates another PhD student had brought on his recent trip to the UK. So it just got better :).
Meanwhile I was chatting with D. We spoke about how bugging it was when the latest fad happens to be one of our long-time personal taste or preference. So what we generally enjoyed doing, in a highly individual way, soon becomes a cliche. Sad.
In the middle of that conversation, I was trying to get my aerial robot built. There are many more names to call this little gizmo, but this one is the coolest :D. Anyway, we were building a test stand that would allow the thing to rotate along all axes, but not move, because if it didn't work things could get messy. It was awesome to see it all put together finally.
Went for a walk in Sankey Tank. Bumped into S and A, quite a surprise. Anyway it was fun chatting. Quite a peaceful place.
In the end I went home, strummed the guitar a bit. It's nice to play yourself some arbitrary tune. So after quite a good day, just slept dreamlessly. :)
Meanwhile I was chatting with D. We spoke about how bugging it was when the latest fad happens to be one of our long-time personal taste or preference. So what we generally enjoyed doing, in a highly individual way, soon becomes a cliche. Sad.
In the middle of that conversation, I was trying to get my aerial robot built. There are many more names to call this little gizmo, but this one is the coolest :D. Anyway, we were building a test stand that would allow the thing to rotate along all axes, but not move, because if it didn't work things could get messy. It was awesome to see it all put together finally.
Went for a walk in Sankey Tank. Bumped into S and A, quite a surprise. Anyway it was fun chatting. Quite a peaceful place.
In the end I went home, strummed the guitar a bit. It's nice to play yourself some arbitrary tune. So after quite a good day, just slept dreamlessly. :)
Sunday, May 27
Playing Along
'Playing Along' is supposed to be a comedy, rather, a satire on plays as such. It consists of two parts, one being a series of 'sketches' and the other being a complicated story of love, betrayal and murder.
The five sketches are almost completely borrowed from Rowan Atkinson. The director later admits, quite rightly, that they weren't even 10% as good as Atkinson. I hope he didn't think he was being modest.
The love story is really terrible. A married woman is having an affair, and gets caught when the husband comes home, with a detective he kept handy for the occasion. So the treacherous couple plan to bump off the husband, but some back-stabbing happens and we see various combinations of the four players claiming to be a couple (yes, there's a gay one even. As if to say using the G word makes something funny. Bloody kids). The acting was atrocious. Long silences, drawn out jokes, gut-wrenching expressions, pathetic dialogue delivery. 'I DHON'T think so!' 'Are YHOU Mmaaad?' '.... THE TRuT.' Egads.
Ironically somewhere in the middle the devil shows up, and claims to decide to make the play interesting (Ultimately, he lets me down) by forcing the 'actors' to screw up. Screw up they do, and how! I think he did this to cover up the lack of talent and professionalism the crew displayed. Come to think of it, maybe the bad script and action was a part of the intended satire. How very deep! I have misunderstood this play.
Still, the guy who played the devil was decent. Good acting and all. Yet no one was laughing at the jokes he kept belting out. Some wise souls left in the middle of the play. I would have too, except my friend had a friend who was a member of the cast. So I stuck around. Actually, at some points I was laughing uncontrollably at the play. So in the end I did land up doing what I went there for.
The play supposedly originated in NIT Trichy. Now, beside me was this couple from NITT, whom I know from the cul fest circuit, specifically word games. The girl was quite peeved at my reaction. Apparently even she was part of the drama club there, and was around when this play was written. I couldn't quite understand why of all the plays NITT decided to export it was this one, as it casts a very poor light on the drama there. This was an award-winning play too!
The best part is, I paid a 100 bucks for this shit! Some guys in my coll had put up a play, which I was part of, which was way more entertaining than this. The three main actors were terrific together (this obviously excludes me). So we could have put up the play and milked everyone for a couple of thousands together and had a gala weekend after. Sheesh.
These plays are beginning to be quite disappointing, and quite a rip-off. Hope something better pops up soon.
The five sketches are almost completely borrowed from Rowan Atkinson. The director later admits, quite rightly, that they weren't even 10% as good as Atkinson. I hope he didn't think he was being modest.
The love story is really terrible. A married woman is having an affair, and gets caught when the husband comes home, with a detective he kept handy for the occasion. So the treacherous couple plan to bump off the husband, but some back-stabbing happens and we see various combinations of the four players claiming to be a couple (yes, there's a gay one even. As if to say using the G word makes something funny. Bloody kids). The acting was atrocious. Long silences, drawn out jokes, gut-wrenching expressions, pathetic dialogue delivery. 'I DHON'T think so!' 'Are YHOU Mmaaad?' '.... THE TRuT.' Egads.
Ironically somewhere in the middle the devil shows up, and claims to decide to make the play interesting (Ultimately, he lets me down) by forcing the 'actors' to screw up. Screw up they do, and how! I think he did this to cover up the lack of talent and professionalism the crew displayed. Come to think of it, maybe the bad script and action was a part of the intended satire. How very deep! I have misunderstood this play.
Still, the guy who played the devil was decent. Good acting and all. Yet no one was laughing at the jokes he kept belting out. Some wise souls left in the middle of the play. I would have too, except my friend had a friend who was a member of the cast. So I stuck around. Actually, at some points I was laughing uncontrollably at the play. So in the end I did land up doing what I went there for.
The play supposedly originated in NIT Trichy. Now, beside me was this couple from NITT, whom I know from the cul fest circuit, specifically word games. The girl was quite peeved at my reaction. Apparently even she was part of the drama club there, and was around when this play was written. I couldn't quite understand why of all the plays NITT decided to export it was this one, as it casts a very poor light on the drama there. This was an award-winning play too!
The best part is, I paid a 100 bucks for this shit! Some guys in my coll had put up a play, which I was part of, which was way more entertaining than this. The three main actors were terrific together (this obviously excludes me). So we could have put up the play and milked everyone for a couple of thousands together and had a gala weekend after. Sheesh.
These plays are beginning to be quite disappointing, and quite a rip-off. Hope something better pops up soon.
Thursday, May 17
Adieu NITK
An entire chapter of my life has ended. Four years is an unbelievably long time, especially at my age.
Well, lots of people say it's been the best four years of their lives. Unfortunately I don't share that sentiment. I've had a lot of great times, met a lot of fine people, done a lot of interesting stuff. But on the whole, I didn't achieve what I went to NITK for. So I'll always look back upon it with a bit of disappointment.
Still, whats done is done, and with this short note, I move on from this moment, forever.
Well, lots of people say it's been the best four years of their lives. Unfortunately I don't share that sentiment. I've had a lot of great times, met a lot of fine people, done a lot of interesting stuff. But on the whole, I didn't achieve what I went to NITK for. So I'll always look back upon it with a bit of disappointment.
Still, whats done is done, and with this short note, I move on from this moment, forever.
Friday, April 13
I've been having a bad time with my project work. It's all about numerical methods and some dumb error keeps creeping in. Have no idea why.
In any case, Pigs (three different ones) is playing in the background, so my project isn't an issue right now. There's something very lovely about just listening to music. Not doing something and listening, just listening. Sadly, never have the time for that. Always something to do.
I haven't blogged in a while, and anyway whats been put up is more or less stuff no one is the least bit interested in. Oh well...
My friends have created a 'yo' scale. Apparently I score 0.04 Kanhe. 0 Kanhe is ultra-yo, and 1 Kanhe is non-yo. Kanhe is a the inventor of this scale. Or maybe they just named the unit after him. Whatever. Wonder how to increase my rating. I don't think working on my project is helping any. Sigh.
In any case, Pigs (three different ones) is playing in the background, so my project isn't an issue right now. There's something very lovely about just listening to music. Not doing something and listening, just listening. Sadly, never have the time for that. Always something to do.
I haven't blogged in a while, and anyway whats been put up is more or less stuff no one is the least bit interested in. Oh well...
My friends have created a 'yo' scale. Apparently I score 0.04 Kanhe. 0 Kanhe is ultra-yo, and 1 Kanhe is non-yo. Kanhe is a the inventor of this scale. Or maybe they just named the unit after him. Whatever. Wonder how to increase my rating. I don't think working on my project is helping any. Sigh.
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