G

Chennai - Mumbai.

End

262
Psychedelic playing, sitting outside, nicotine, the yard long wing.

I look at CB/PR

No more.

Conversation

Me: What do you think of a PhD?

Sis: No

Me: What??

Sis: I don't want to study for so long

Me: Why?

Sis: I'm acutely conscious of my mortality.

And she's in 11th Std.

JEE

Hardly did I think in 2004, that four years hence I shall be weeding out my troubles with my friends on the morning of JEE. Nice.

Yeah

Date : 07.04.08
Time: 2:45 AM

Restart

Cleaned my room. Desktop.
Archived all the unread blogs in Google reader.
Stacked up a set of books.

A new beginning. More frequent blogging from now on, fellows! :-)
Long time since I've written anything that's made me feel good.

Two more months in IITM! :-(
This place is the best thing that has happened to me in life.

Right now, Fiber spinning. Over and out.

Ya.

Officially done.
Trust is a liability, isn't it.
Fuck it.

How many times, how many times have I realized.

Fucking learn. Learn.

Ya.

Tough times. I need to work to save my degree. Apart from what I've lost already.
I get this feeling that I'm a lone warrior, fighting the world.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah

What a day!

KV got Caltech Fellowship!
And T Mani put intern 100kms from Amsterdam!

Shhtrrrrrrong boys!!

Of puns

The South African cartoonist Zapiro apparently depicted a recent cartoon showing "George Bush's response to the Bird Flu - Bombing Turkey and the Canary Isles" :-)

And my sister's Social Board exam is coming up. In frustration she says "This is the most exasperating chapter I've ever read in history". Indeed.

Of hoardings and advertising

I was thinking of this yesterday. It seems an idea worth trying out - for fun - after talking to Caesar.

A few advertising hoardings you see daily on the roads - have "Contact 98843..." written on them. The purpose is obviously simple - The contact number is that of the owner of the hoarding space. You call that number, pay the rent for a fixed period of time, and use the hoarding to put up whatever Ad you want.

Now, what if I decide to do this: I call up the guy, pay him the rent for (say) three months and get the permission to put up anything I want. I decide to retain the "Contact 98843..." on it, but change ONE digit in the number. For three months, people would call the number only to reach nowhere. After three months, when the owner actually puts his own number back, people wouldn't notice the difference and they'd stop calling. He would lose a lot of business, right?

How does it sound? :-)

Hmmm..

Some sorta curse - I'm never loved as much as I love.
Aside, BTP fight starts.

Post

A smart, well dressed man was sitting in the bar sipping Vodka after a long day at work.
She came along and sat next to him. They started talking. She was bloody hot. She asked him if he was single. He smiled, took a shot of Vodka and stretched her hand towards him. He took out a pen and wrote down a telephone number on her palm.

She winked at him, and he could see anticipation and happiness in her eyes.
He got out of the seat, told her 'That's my girlfriend's number', and walked off.

Poetry

Poetry. I despise it. I do like some of it, but mostly, NO. I don't mean to sound mean (talk of poetry) in any of this, but reading poetry almost makes me feel my head getting heavier with Iron (III) Hydroxide. I'd ask a personal favor to anyone doing a psychology PhD or something - Please do a dissertation involving understanding a poet's (modern/medieval doesn't matter) mind. I would really like to know what the fuck goes on in their minds.

Less ironically sounding, metaphorical sense makes the most sense to me. Actually, that's the only thing which makes sense. Anything else => Iron(III) Hydroxide.

Poetry, they say, can be on any topic (especially after Renaissance when poets apparently showed the middle finger to the conservative old fellows, and started writing poems about everything). The world, human feelings, nature, life, well, alright, a whole list of things. I find it hard to think which amongst these is the worst. But my guess would be, um, I don't know.

Well, I accept I'm incapable of understanding poetry, but still, I don't get the point. How can these fellows (Note that Fellows has 'Fe' = Iron) write lines that make no sense? Oh, I get the point, you poetry lovers, it does make sense, but not to me right? Yes. I get it I get it. But I'm sorry. I can't smile at you and clap at you when you ask me to understand how beautiful it is when a stone talks to you or a bark of a tree signifies circles of life or when a snake tells you how not to go on a straight path and other such nonsense.

Some songs have wonderful lyrics, again, mostly metaphorical. I have no problems when poems or lines make sense. It's only when they talk of the obvious, or force you to see the beauty in stuff like what I just mentioned above, it's pissing off.

I was irrationally angry the other day when I suggested to KV, that we fill up two columns with pluses and minuses respectively, of poets to this world. I couldn't find a plus, but filled in 'Consume food' in the minuses.

Give me prose any day.

This post is a result of my frustration of having to go through some poetry of late.

Uncertainty

Is everywhere, isn't it?

:-)

Told my dad I drink. He asked me to be in control and be safe :-)
This is brilliant, I say!

Babba's status message

May the M dv/dt be with you

It does

It feels good to be back.

Pics

This Pulitzer prize (2006) winning photograph shows two students of Mechanical Engineering at IIT Madras in one of the classes. The expression of helplessness on one student's face and the yawn on the other's shocked the entire world and humanity.

This is another Pulitzer Prize winning photograph that shows one student of Mechanical Engineering at IIT Madras collapse to a natural state of sleep in his classroom. The expression on the student's face and his desire to hug something (the back rest) portraying his inner suppressed desires, shocked the world.

Hmm

If there's one thing IIT teaches you, which nothing else does, probably - It's stretching your mind - stretching the capacity of your mind to get fucked. You get fucked - You try to recuperate - You get fucked again. You get no time. Things hit you hard. You learn to smile, and come out.