Strange Encounters

I'm in Tif right now, typing this thing out. The place is unusually deserted. Not many people around. It is ideal time to pen. I'll narrate a few encounters I've had in recent times.

I was waiting at the GC for a lift. There was this nice red car going past which I was absolutely sure won't stop. So I waved madly wanting to just say Hi! You know one of those times, you like to let go of the sophesticated person you are and just jump around crazily in a stupid attempt to do something whakhy, consoling yourself that your spectators are total strangers? Well, that's waht I did. Yep. And the strange little red car? It screeched and halted. I think it took about 84 nanoseconds for it to stop. My reflexes are reserved for adverseries. So I continued to splash mud around when my PH101 prof waved back from inside the car. Oopsie!


The other day I was in Tif gulping down my food so I won't be late for a certain class scheduled about 8 minutes from then. I was gobbling up my food, when I saw my prof (who was supposed to take class in 8 minutes) peacefully eating. Yay! So I finished my last bite and hurried over to get a coffee. I wanted to finish it off and run; but I saw this prof get up, and get his coffee. He did not seem to be in a hurry at all. I guessed he must have a 2 wheeler while I had to run to class. And I HAD to win the race. So I ran all the way to MSB. As I entered MSB, I saw him park the 2 wheeler. Woo hoo!! I'd won! I took the lift and reached my class with a smirk that spoke of youthful pride only to see the class in session, with half the board filled. Baffled? Completely.

The other day I was sitting at CCD, sipping coffee, when I decided to take a break and have a chit chat upstairs. Tata Book House is a small area of space above CCD. (Nobody really notices it in the huge mess and darkness of birthday parties celebrated on CCD rooftop) There I found a book titled Reflections by IItians. I scanned through those pages to find this very interesting thing said by my fac-ad.

You cannot measure society with a slide-rule, compute culture with a calculator, and you cannot redress grievances by writing reports.

Apart from the alliteration, what I noticed is the rich and wide areas of interests the profs here have. They are not the nerds we label them for our convinience nor do they lead the boring lives we imagine they do. They bring with them, a vast range of experiences and expertise, from which we can only gain by interacting with these men-of-the-mind. They are all mostly nice, friendly and desperate to see some fraction of their enthusiasm in us. It is sad that we don't interact with profs as much as we should. That probably comes from the fact that we are mostly intimidated by their genius. But this should change. And it will.

Ok I'm heading back to room. Thanks for hopping by.

Oh. Wait. Hey!

I forgot the best encounter of all.

So I was talking to a prof the other day and he presented with me with an astonishing fact: The Insti admin keeps track of student blogs! They sort of want to know what the students feel.

Creepy? Very.

PS: When in doubt, praise the lord who gives food, appetite and grades.

Madam Tussauds

As I entered Madam Tussauds, I read the board that said :

ALL THAT STANDS STILL IS NOT A STATUE

A shiver ran down my spine. The moment I stepped inside, I knew that I had made a mistake.

I saw the wax models all around, and not in a manner I had expected (or wanted) them displayed. The public had access to everything! I thought longingly of the museums I had seen everywhere else, with anything on display inside glass boxes with a Don't touch! sign put inside the glass.

I looked around with the awe and attitude of a child yet to discover the significance of the greatness that it had the privilege to witness. I watched, in silence, as women my age hurried to take pictures of themselves with Brad Pitt, without Angelina Jolie who happened to stand on his other side a few nanometres away. Their faces seemed to be filled with happiness that I could not understand and pride that I could not bow to; but I admired, nevertheless, the precision of their photography and the brilliance of their smiles which conveyed genuine delight.

I smiled.

Shrek returned my smile. I gazed at the green figure, surprised that I hadn't noticed him in spite of the fact that he had been looking at me for quite some time now. I think if anyone had cared to look at me then, they would have noticed my cheeks turning pink. I tried to push my way through the crowd, remembering never to lose sight of him. A kid, who had no business to be six months old, came in my way and I almost tripped. As I regained my footing, I looked up to see -

I could not believe what I witnessed. People were taking pictures with him as though he was one of those ugly models- lifeless, cold and extremely boring! As though he was one of those spineless creatures that they worshiped! Couldn't they see him wink at me? Couldn't they see the love that transcends through the - well, stinking, swarming crowd? Were they blind that they did not see it? I hurried in his direction.

I took my place next to him, unable to hide the pride in my glance at all those people begging to be photographed with him. But as I stood next to Shrek, I could feel the warmth of his gaze - on the girl who was standing in the place I had been a few minutes ago! He was winking at her as I stared in horror and indignation.

And there were women my age, taking pictures with him, leaving me carefully out of the frame as I stood nanometers away from him. I hurried away in anger and proceeded towards the exit, where I stopped still, stood staring. I might have stopped breathing, for all I know.

"Hey! I want a pic with her" some fool yelled. I couldn't believe that this was actually happening. He wanted to hug me and take pictures with me as he had with all those lifeless models. Yuck! This person - whom I didn't even grant the happiness of looking at him - came close to me, put his freaking fat hands on my shoulders and stood posing to his mom, who faithfully clicked. Can you believe that? I wanted to run, I wanted to remove his filthy hands. I wanted to yell.

But my legs wouldn't budge. I couldn't speak. In fact I couldn't move any muscle. My waxy eyes stared up lifelessly at the board near the exit that said:

WAX-WORKS WALK!!

Everyday from 8:30 - 9:00 pm, watch one wax model come alive.

Today we present : LADY FIONA

Caution: Never take a picture when they are moving.

The last thing I heard was the clock striking 9.

The Blogging spirit

Blogs come in different shapes and sizes. And what you realize at the end of the day is that you dont need a reason to blog. There are carefully edited humorously written witty pieces of shit, Wisely phrased careful words of wisdom just when you absolutely don't need it and absolute brilliance wasted away in blogs.
So here's the deal. You have a witty creative pen. (It's a usage :| ) You have ideas. You have time. Infinite. Unemployed creative is the worst kind of creative. You start blogging. It's like drugs. Feels so good everytime you never realize how addicted to it you are. It gives you a feeling of high for no good reason. You begin to see sense in writing about ants and blackadders (thats a reptile) which, in real life were unworthy of mention or touch. Er.

And every iitian has at least one post pertaining to how life at iit is. This, knowing that in nine cases out of ten his blog's viewers are only other jobless iitians who helped him with his typing.

Bloggers, going the Anne Frank way, get senti all the time. There is always this pain and this agony and all that sort of feeling that finds way into blogs instead of journals or diaries. I won't go so far as to calling it pathetic but gimme a break! I know life is sad and it is devastating to be in love. But you don't need to take to poetry so soon. Those blissfully romantic poems in search of a beautiful noble intelligent rich girl (who for some reason falls for you) is pure phart.

And then there are entries who are just filling space. They are there.

Thats when you realize that a blog is a bog. It is a place where you wrap up the scraps of your crap and where wit becomes shit. Verses become curses and every story gets gory. And having stabbed your heart with wretched phart, blogs leave you to bleed and weed.

That is exactly how blogs fill space. Nothing to write whatsoever about. Where's the journalism or the creativity? Where the hell is all the grammar we learnt in high school? Don't content, coherence and delivery mean anything to us anymore? What on Earth are we (s)hitting on? I think if you stop blogging, you'd just be helping me.

Funny Bone

I could yell my lungs out. The event is over and so I can screw it. Perfect.

Now, let me narrate to you something that happened about four years ago..

I had qualified for La Persona (conducted by Loyola School Trivandrum) finals. Unaware of the event requirements, I landed up on this stage in a navy-blue white (Kendriya Vidyalaya school uniform) salwar kameez, with my hair tightly tied in two plaits with (red) ribbons dangling from them.

The other contestents were well.. more prepared. I was asked to ramp walk. I simply had no idea how that was to be done. So I just walked on the ramp and smiled and waved at an audience I knew wanted to boo me down. Multiple rounds of pain followed.

At the end of it, I felt just as good as I had before. (Only) One thing hasn't changed in four years. My I-dont-give-a-damn-what-you-think attitude. But still :P :D

The organizer of that entire fest was a certain guy who was the then head boy of Loyola School.

And Today he was one of my six finalists in Funny Bone.
Aaah revenge!! ;)

Ther's bliss in knowing that I dont have to feel shit in my pants anymore inviting judges who are well.. funny.