Misunderstandings

Ever find yourself in a sticky situation whereby you're standing with a group of people and you make a comment directed at someone but another individual in close vicinity over-hears it and mistakenly assumes that it was intended for him or her?
Or even worse, ever discovered that it would be rather difficult if not impossible to clear that misunderstanding because of one reason if not another?
And as the icing on the cake, ever wondered if the misunderstanding would become reason enough for you to perceive a substantial amount of threat from the misunderstander?

Well, I found myself in a situation that could be quite described by.... well, the description of the not-so-hypothetical state-of-affairs as given above.

Roughly two days ago, I happened to meet up with some friends at a location towards the south of Delhi as one, whom I shall call DJ, was scheduled to return to college the next day. As it would happen, I met with DJ and Medha in the afore-not-mentioned location (top secret as it was) and having spent some time in one Cafe Coffee Day (where we did not order anything) we decided to drop in at DJ's cousin's house in the neighbourhood outside of which I would have the unique opportunity of parking my car, that I had left only 15 minutes ago in the paid-parking-lot of the complex; and win a meet and greet with her cousin's dog that she loved so.
And so I paid the paid-parking-lot-attendant for hosting my car for a period of 15 minutes (which I wasn't too upset about since I paid him with a very tattered 10-rupee-note) and we departed towards the house. As DJ insisted on having a go at driving my car (which in reality is my mother's since I don't get a car of my own for a 2 month vacation) and, taking a lengthy detour so that she could drive a reasonable amount, she got us safe and sound at our destination.

After an initial meet and greet with her cousin and family, she introduced us to the fine Dalmatian dog, named Shadow. Intriguingly, the dog took an instant liking to Medha but wasn't quite so friendly towards me. Having completed one round of cordial conversation, we slipped into another on dogs and began to share our own experiences of raising dogs.
Having shared my anecdote of Dalmatian-for-a-week, the spotlight fell on Medha who confessed (proudly) of owning a fine German Shepard.
In cognition of my dislike for German Shepards and other massive dogs alike, I expressed my disapproval of possessing dogs that are a threat to society and promptly turned towards Medha and, in a rejecting tone, uttered "Bad! Bad! Bad!"

Meanwhile, Shadow had been slinking around the room, quite pointlessly in fact, and had pretty much ignored or failed to comprehend our entire conversation, interesting though it should have been to him. This did not, however, stop him from overhearing my last comment to Medha, which he quite obviously considered a comment directed at him and rebutted with a growl and snarl, baring his full teeth at me.
Needless to say, I was astounded and felt a wee bit threatened, wondering how I could resolve his misconception. To no avail.

Blue-Moon June

I return yet again to share with you a glorious experience I had last night.
But before I come to that, I shuttle back to the evening of June the 7th. That evening, I boarded a Jet Airways flight from Bangalore with my sister (who, on a side-note, managed to talk the ground-staff into allowing us 24 kgs of excess baggage at no charge) bound for home, which awaited us in New Delhi.
The flight, much to my disappointment, fell strongly short of my expectations. A ridiculous amount of turbulence (that I really can't blame them for) and a most unsatisfying dinner (that I certainly can) didn't quite treat us with the Jet experience. I suppose, in a convoluted way, we were reimbursing them for our excess baggage, though unfortunately at the cost of all the other passengers as well. Their bad.
And then, two hours and a half onwards, we stepped off the aircraft.

As we did so (the stepping off) I was greeted by a blast of warm air. Warm? It was excruciatingly HOT! I turned around to step back on to the air-craft and request the captain to promptly return to a destination where my fundamental-right-to-freedom-of-life-free-of-ridiculously-horrid-climate was not violated, but the moving crowd pushed me down the aero-stairs. I was choice-less.

During the three days that followed, I made myself home before either the air-conditioner blast or vertically under the fan, snapping at any individual that so much as dared to ask me to move so much an inch. When asked to perform any chores, I'd adopt an expression of utter shock and retaliate with my standard response of "In this HEAT!?!"
I'd become a cosseted one, over-indulged by my college.

But then on my fourth day here, magic occurred! It wasn't so hot any more! Scanty clouds camouflaged the grey smoke-ladened sky and I resolved that iron could not be smelted in open-air any longer. I thanked the weather gods and normal life began to return.
On the 8th day, another surprise was in store. It began to RAIN! And ever since, I would be woken every morning by the pitter-patter or raindrops on the balcony and the miniature asbestos roof.
Delhi just became a tad more inviting.

Last night undoubtedly took the cake. It happened such that we were returning from the international airport where my aunt had landed at 2 am from HongKong. Having received her and dropped her off at her place, we made our way homewards. As it so happened, my father developed a certain desire to sink his teeth into Club Sandwich. As it happens, not many eateries in the city are equipped to entertain such cravings at 4 am in the morning. Thus, we headed for the nearest 24-hour-coffee-shop-equipped-hotel, taking a detour through the ridge.
As we sped down an empty road, the windows rolled down, I popped out a hand, making waves in the rushing air. I was startled by a frosty nip. That, my father said, was one of the many gifts of the forests that fenced us, and the temperature outside wouldn't be in excess of 25.
Delhi is indeed a city like no other, with flora that few other metropolitans could boast of. As we sped down the stretch on that evening of June, it gave us an experience that was enchantingly.... December.

A lasting impact

Oh al right, agreed! It isn't polite to ignore those few individuals that visit your world. I cannot ignore you.

I haven't many humorous anecdotes to share, thus if you were in search for them, flutter away. Though I'm not exactly forcing myself to blog at present, I am making an effort.

The thing is, when you live in a hostel room, all that exists between one wall and another comprises 2 beds, 2 cupboards, 2 study tables (one of which is very messy, i.e., mine) and other little bits. The centrepiece is a wi-fi enabled lappietoppie. And when there is very little of other things to do on a lappietoppie, one logs on to Blogger and writes stuff and nonsense about one's tiresome modus vivendi. It's a very small world.
At home, all the things above reduce to one in measure along with a sister who hoards the internet connection at all hours of the day, thereby incapacitating Yours Truly to write to you all.
But today I have garnered the opportunity to acquiesce to your demands and shall comply.

As mentioned before, I have no outrageously uproarious events to relate, but a few less hilarious ones nonetheless.


1. The first occurred on my first day in Delhi. Scandalised by the weather conditions that I discovered upon stepping off the airplane, I vowed to discover an institution that would admit me during the day, allow me to loll about till evening when I could return home once the heat had subsided. Of course, the institution had to be severely air-conditioned.
One such inst. was the British Council Library. I discovered it as a viable option as it lay near the Metro track. Thus, I'd move from my air-conditioned house to an air-conditioned train, into an air-conditioned library, return to the air-conditioned train and back home when the weather was less exacerbating.
So I was returning from the library, with a brochure in my hand, walking towards the train when I chanced upon an old acquaintance from school ahead of me. This individual I had worked with in an event at school, and was not particularly fond of. I wouldn't have minded saying hello to him had he not been walking like a constipated chimpanzee, flirting aggressively with his companion.
As he was moving rather slow and I couldn't overtake him without being noticed, I crossed the road and began to approach the train from the other side.
And so I was trudging along when I happened to approach 3 gentlemen (approximately my age) who stood conveniently on my path. One looked right at me and I observed on his face, an expression of joy and jubilation, the sort one bears upon discovering an old friend.
"Dhruv!?!" he cried in joy. I smiled back, said hello and we spoke for 2-3 minutes, updating each other about where exactly it was that our lives had led us.
Eventually, I bade him goodbye, almost promising to meet him again. We didn't exchange numbers so I doubt he believed me.
As I walked away, I wondered if I had ever seen him before. His face was so refreshingly unfamiliar, I was truly puzzled. But since he managed to recognize me by name, I supposed he was not a total stranger.
Oh well, I suppose I touch people's lives such that many years after I have forgotten them, they still smile upon beholding my presence.

2. The second incident occurred two days ago. Having developed an interest in theatre over the past year, I agreed to attend a play with my father staged by the National School Of Drama. Though it was in hindi, I chose to risk it, and it was worth. The play titled Kafka - Ek Adhyay (meaning Kafka - A Chapter) was based on German writers Franz Kafka. The experience was entertaining owing to the German setting, costumes, short and awkward choreography and a brilliant portrayal of the lead actor's youngest sister Otla a lady whose name I don't quite recall. Her dialogue delivery and presence was so awe-inspiring that I was enamoured.
Caught in the enthusiasm of the experience, I was talked into attending another play 2 days later, an immensely popular musical titled "Ghansiram Kotwal." I'm sure the play lived upto all expectations. But owing to the Marathi-Hindi spoken for most of it, I did not understand a word.
I would've dismissed the 2 hours as wasted had it not been for a short moment that I shared.
It was any other dull scene, as incomprehensible as any other. On the stage were countless actors, one of whom was beloved Otla, who played minuscule parts in that drama, possibly owing to her inability to speak an archaic language. Having sung her lines, she stood in position, frozen. Possibly by chance, her gaze was directed towards me. Our eyes met. Mine were locked. And she smiled. A toothy smile.
Every time she appeared on stage after that, I observed her. She did not smile again.

Chapter 2

Hello Humans!
I present myself this evening at four minutes to midnight, not to share with you an uproarious tale, nor a horrific event but a dull rhetoric of who I am, what I want out of life and what I am up to these days.... except the bit about "Who I am" or "What I want out of life"

I am a ninteen year-ol....
Err, no wait.

Ah yes, I am presently in a position to wrap up with my end-semester examinations on the day after tomorrow, thereby earning one-fourth of my Engineering Degree.

Since the commencement of my exams, that I regarded with utmost gravity, I have completed reading "About A Boy" by Nick Hornby. The reason for this selection was that both the title and the author sounded resoundingly familiar to me, and I thus assumed that this title must have been a best-seller. My assumption was possibly incorrect but I, nonetheless, had a very good read.
I heard the book was adapted on the big screen, starring Hugh Grant, which annoys me because I feel that he's being type-casted. Thus, I hope never to end up watching the film.

Another title that I picked up yesterday was "The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Night-time" which you will notice was adapted on my previous blog title. That was because the title fit just fine.
The book is lovely. The narration is by a boy suffering from a form of autism. I wonder how the author (Mark Haddon) managed to interpret the thought process of an autistic.
If you have read the book, you will notice a slight resemblance between the style that the novel adopts and that of this blog entry. The effect is unintentional. It is simply a hangover, though hangovers usually don't occur till one is over with something and I've only completed half of the book.

I like TCIOTDITN because it leaves you with a good feeling. This is something Jayashree told me because I haven't finished the book yet.

I recently watched Amelie and The Color People and both of those movies left me with a good feeling, thus I know that I shall enjoy finishing this book.
Amelie is a brilliant film. I hope everyone gets to watch it in their lifetime. So is The Color Purple which is a controversial film directed by Steven Speilberg in 1985 starring Whoopie Goldberg and could be the most sensitive film he could have made.

That is all for now.
Good bye!

The Curious Incident of the....

It's the talk of the town! Everyone is raving about it!
Recently unveiled, it isn't really the first of its kind, but a brilliant emulation of its predecessor. Newly renovated with sparkling clean tiles and vivid colours, it's the all new Air Conditioned Library!
In the past 2 weeks, you've witnessed so many walk through those glass doors. Everyone is in awe of it. How long can you contain your curiosity? Not long! What is the experience truly like? You desire first-hand knowledge.

Thus, on one fine day, you take the endeavour. It's late evening and you enter. Someone's even courteous enough to hold the door open for you, even though you don't quite know him.

As you enter, people look up from their books. And they stare at you.
"How odd," you think to yourself. "I wish they wouldn't stare so!"
You wander a bit, hoping that they'll return to their work rather soon. But they don't. They continue to peer at you. It is almost as if they have forgotten all boundaries of social conduct. They aren't even making the effort to pretend that they aren't intruding on your privacy. They're openly gazing!

You move away from the gazing eyes, towards another end of the hall. As you walk, everyone looks up. Some even point directly at you and laugh!
"What's wrong with them?" you wonder. "Have they absolutely no civic sense whatsoever?"
Evidently not!


I am, meanwhile, sitting at the round table at one far end of the hall. The clock is approaching ten (or rather, my watch is approaching ten, but I'm quite sure the clock would be complying as well.") The hall shall close, as per schedule, at half past, thus I have no more than half an hour of study with me. The pressure is building, and I am concentrating harder.
Suddenly, I observe you from the corner of my eye. I look up. You've disappeared.
"Stop hallucinating!" I tell myself, but only softly, less people think I'm schizophrenic. "You have tons left to finish!"
I return to my book. Two seconds pass. Then I notice you, again from the corner of my eye. I jerk my head upwards. AHA! I saw you! I smile. You ignore my presence altogether. Customarily, I would be offended. But I take the higher ground and overlook your hostility. I rise from my seat and follow you silently. You aren't aware, for you have your back towards me. I slowly withdraw my phone from my pocket and activate the camera.
CLICK!
You did not notice. I follow further.
Click! CLICK!
How very oblivious you are!

You begin to proceed away, towards the main door, possibly offended with all the glaring eyes. En route, you pause. I'm stalking you. I pause too.
You lower your posterior and defecate on the clean floor.
Everyone is observing. Everybody laughs! You quickly finish up and are on the move again.

You wonder why we are all amused at your presence amongst us. So you're a dog! Big deal! Has no one ever witnessed a dog in the library?

The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night-Time in The Library. Indeed!

Breakfast At KC's

It was yet another handsome Sunday morning. The air was pleasantly cool, the crows were not cawing, and there was a Sunday-Morn Silence all around as the world would sleep till 10. Everything seemed to be at its usual, but for the trees outside my window. They were unerringly where I had left them the previous evening. Indeed, they hadn't moved an inch! What is most astonishing is that they don't appear to have budged ever since my earliest recollections of them. They simply remain where they are, all the time. Almost as if it is customary of them to remain put! Hmm.. Funny business.

As is not uncommon on Sunday mornings, both beautiful and dreadful ones, college was closed, which meant that the college canteen was shut leaving me with no choice but to seek alternative establishments to provide me my breakfast. One such establishment is called KC Canteen that is located roughly 127 steps away from my hostel gate. No, I haven't counted. It is an estimate (add or subtract a thousand). And that was precisely where I headed.

As most of the world is asleep at 9 AM on Sundays, I went unaccompanied. And for a fairly similar reason, I found that the canteen (hereafter referred to as KC) was not thronging with hungry college-goers as it usually is after 10.

Now a word or two about the canteen.... sorry, KC.... before we proceed. The capacity of KC does not exceed 30, with 4 people sharing a table (unless of course 6 people gracelessly force themselves onto one), thus if you visit alone, you are likely to have to share a table with a perfect stranger (and sometimes, a far-from-perfect one). During early and odd hours, however, low occupancy may allow you to afford a table-for-four all to yourself.

And that was the privilege that was bestowed upon me on that Sunday morning, for I was able to occupy the last unoccupied table in the canteen, with all others having an occupant or two.

The waiter appeared before me, with an expression of utter boredom on his visage. He always has an expression of boredom on his face, something that is nearly as constant as the position of the trees outside my window. Hmm.. Funny business.

I placed my order. He registered and left. Though I was not witness to the same and thus could never testify it before the court of law (with a clear conscience), my instincts told me that as he departed from before me, he continued to have an expression of utter boredom on his face. And that the trees still hadn't moved. Hmm.. Funny business.

So I sat there, waiting. The wait was not long, but in the course of the next minute, something apart from the ordinary happened.

The situation is such. Since I had no company at that ghastly hour on that Sunday morning and since there isn't anything particularly brilliant or attractive about the interiors of KC, I was gazing out the windows. As if it was meant to happen, my gaze fell upon a spectacle so cinematic that it unnerved me.

From a distance, I saw the advancement of nobody short of an adversary. Affectionately christened by me as Ess Row, you can read my tribute to him here.

Having experienced much more of his expertise in the field of English since I wrote that tribute, I take the opportunity to disclose more about this great dignitary with you at this point in time.

After attending one class of his, one pleads silently within, "Why?"

After attending 10 glorious lectures by him, one drops to his knees, clasps his hands together, looks up towards the heavens and screams in pain, "Why, god, why?"

After ending the fortieth, one loses faith in god.

Mercifully, no one has had to attend beyond 30.

As I was saying, I sat there and saw the enemy draw near. The effect was cinematic. He did not seem to be approaching the entrance to KC progressively, nor gliding, skipping or hopping towards it, for that matter. He was clearly charging. Gung-Ho! His figure was looming larger by the second and whatever remains of his hair to this day, was flying in the wind. How he enlivened that effect sans hi-tech equipment or cameras, I may perhaps never acertain. Though again I have no proof of the same since the window constrained my view, it appeared to me that he was riding a horse.

Now don't begin about the absurdity of owning horses in South India. I rode nothing short of a camel, with hump and all, not more than 2 kilometers away from KC less than a month ago, thus I do not find it incredible that Ess Row should find it too arduous a task to procure a horse and trot at full speed towards his breakfast.

To recapitulate thus far, on that Sunday morning, when the trees had not budged and the waiter at KC flaunted an expression of utter boredom on his face, Ess Row stormed in full spirit towards KC on a horse.

Needless to say I looked around me and panicked. No, I did not suddenly find myself in an army on a battlefield, soon to be attacked by Ess Row “The Indomitable”. What a did discover was that there remained not a single empty table in the canteen.

And tell me now, why should a person who can not find an empty table at KC, share one with a familiar face, be it a colleague or a defenceless student?

The reasoning may or may not be logical, but as it happened, I panicked.

Without sparing a thought, or even a fraction of it, I grabbed my belongings, rose like thunder, dove towards the adjacent table and collapsed onto the bench, opposite its formerly solitary occupant, and heaved a sigh of relief.

The unsuspecting bloke, on whose privacy I had unceremoniously intruded, seemed not to be cognizant of the English Professor that approached on a horse or anything out of the ordinary and thus found my behaviour most nonconforming. This was validated by the manner in which he glared at me, as if a hyena had materialised before him out of nothingness. To the best of my faculties, under the bizarre circumstances, I avoided his look.

Meanwhile, the waiter appeared with my order where I previously sat, and placed it before empty space. Noticing that he was serving food to hot air, that was unlikely to consume or pay for it, he raised an eyebrow to the best of his ability. As it dawned upon him that the empty space had not placed the order to begin with, he sought the entity that had.

Discovering me behind him, he placed the food where it belong and, with a slightly malformed expression of utter boredom on his face, departed.

My table companion glared at the apparating hyena, as it breakfasted on South Indian food.

Somewhere in the canteen, another unsuspecting and ill-fated bloke, discovering an unsolicited breakfast date imposed upon him, pleaded silently within himself, “Why?”

Today's weather forecast

Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable!

The climate of this town is utterly profane. Who, when, where and how authorised the mercury to soar to such extent and the humidity to haunt the life out of us? How can such terrible weather be permitted?

Call the police, summon the Union Government, appeal to the Supreme Court. There has been a serious violation of Human Rights! An entire civilisation is under threat! If that wasn’t horrid enough, I too am part of it!

Why is this grave act of torture upon innocent masses being overlooked? Why aren’t the media reporting the agony that we are being subjected to? Why has the parliament not convened to discuss measures of control? Why has this climate not been condemned by diplomats from the world over? If we debate abolition of institutions such as capital punishment that only plague individuals on moral grounds, is it not imperative to advocate a ban on weather conditions such as these? It is nothing short of top priority. Then WHY are the concerned authorities not taking initiatives?

To make it worse, clouds mock us all day. They think it is all very amusing to hang there in the sky, look grey and promising and then just leave.

What are clouds made of, I ask you? What is their most fundamental composition? What is it you say? Water, is it? Well, why don’t we see any of it?

Can one ever consume butter that wouldn’t make his cholesterol rise? Have you ever purchased an umbrella that drenches you?

Then how can clouds contain water and feign dryness? The very thought of it is preposterous. And lo behold, I am told that nothing can be done about it.

Why would anyone say such a horrid thing? Why would anyone steal from another person an inkling of hope, a drop of desire and a pinch of motivation to fight the injustices that exist around him?

Did the people of Geneva step back and watch as Hitler took over their nation and spread the wings of his autocratic strategies over the rest of the world? Did America sit silent as France attempted to steal from it the Statue of Liberty? Did Jesus’s apostles not file an FIR when the Hindus stole the Bhagvat Gita right from under them? (Kindly avoid correcting any awry contentions. I’m positively peeved.)

Then why oh why do we sit back as the climatic conditions jeer at us?

Outright blasphemy.

On Reservations in College and unfinished biscuits…

No, I plan not to preach either in favour or against an issue which has been debated not less than Sharukh Khan’s sexuality.

I speak of the reservation system followed in the Individual Study Hall (ISH) situated within the premises of my college Library. As people are many and seats are few (a commonplace peculiarity in this country), disciples of this establishment (the ISH) have a tendency to reserve for themselves a seat by leaving behind a bag or some books.

During exam-time, the practice catches steam, as does the anti-reservation movement, the clique of which takes the liberty of removing any belongings left behind in an attempt to reserve, in order to occupy that seat. Both the contrasting practices have worsened since the air-conditioning of the hall.

Not over an hour ago, an acquaintance who is a student of a sister-college, and is knee-deep in preparations for his ongoing sessional examinations, vacated a seat adjacent to mine. As our common friend is a strong anti-reservationist (not unlike myself), he removed from that seat all his belongings save for a packet of biscuits that I suppose he couldn’t find within himself to consume in entirety.

That packet of biscuits, in itself, found the capacity to brew quite an ordeal.

Through the first half hour, I observed many brainless gits who approached the table with the objective of occupying it, withdraw from the same on being confronted by the half-eaten packet of cookies that bore an ominous look. That was until one enterprising chap dared to brush the packet aside and occupy the seat. He began his (pretension of) study. Ten minutes elapsed.

A passing acquaintance (of his) happened to glance upon the packet that lay on his table. Her greed over-powered her principles. And before the average person could say “Boo!”….

*slow motion sequence begins*

Her arm extends towards the biscuits as she chirps in a deep yet mocking voice, “You’ll always be an unending supply of biscuits.”

The fellow, quick in his response yet abiding by the motion of the sequence, lets out a slow and painful moan “Nnnooo…”, thrusting his arm in order to impede hers as it extends towards the cookies, all the while bearing a look of sheer horror on his visage.

She withdraws her arm. The packet remains untouched. The fellow saves the day by preventing a most lethal grenade from being set off… err, or at least an untouched packet of biscuits from being touched.

*slow motion sequence ends*

“They’re not mine…. They were lying here from before” he laughed, cognisant of how embarrassing the incident could have been for his victim.

She blushed. First a light red, then a crimson followed by brown, purple and crimson again, all the while giggling in an attempt to camouflage her absolute humiliation.

The next 3 minutes elapse with him mocking at her naive exploit. She brushes off her taunts, but daren’t leave his side lest she give herself away and accede to his victory.

Eventually, he moves on to his theories on how the packet of biscuits could have found its way on that table, confirming every suspicion I had of his devotion towards his books through his last 15 minutes or so on that table. He concludes that it was someone’s innovative endeavour at reserving a seat.

The poor girl, his first victim, eventually retires to her seat and dissolves into deep meditation, seeking within herself a retaliation to his jibes.

More victims pass, some stopping for a biscuit, some not so greedy. To all unsuspecting twerps, he dishes out his theory on how some inventive boy could have attempted to save himself a seat using a packet of biscuits as the object of reservation. One wonders if this is how he passes his time here.

Finally, the first victim attains enlightenment. She slowly rises from her seat and trudges towards her victimiser with a look of utter triumph on her face, who has been joined by yet another passing friend.

He cajoles his first, lifting the packet and offering her a biscuit. She is unperturbed. She turns to the recent addition to the group and exclaims in a rehearsed tone, “It’s ironical how in the entire study hall, he chose the very seat that came with a packet of biscuits.”

He’s caught unaware and defends himself to no avail.

The packet of biscuits and I laugh, but neither too loudly.

She wins.

Of Ecology, Nomads And Innuendos

Why, just today I had made a sneaky attempt at luring my Electronics professor into an argument over how Hydel Power Plants were being erected at the cost of destruction of the entire ecology of a river and how human domination over Mother Nature wasn't a part of Lord's plan for us. Him being an ordinary selfish mortal of an engineering background wouldn't flinch beyond calling it 'a price to pay for development.' I would, au contraire, accuse him of being in alliance with 'A League Of Extraordinarily Apathetic Gentlemen' and proceed to enumerate one million and one ways that nature would revenge those that belonged to this Anti-Environmental Mafia. But initiating such a debate wouldn't be a cake-walk. And it was imminent for the success of my mission to find a way.
I thought I'd lure him with a plate of Cheeses. Only, I didn't carry my plate of cheeses to class that day. So I thought of an alternative approach. I would decoy him with a technical question. And right when he was least expectant of an outburst, I would present one. It would be no less than accusing him of mere scandal. And thus, I posed a cautiously well-framed question.


The cautiously well-framed question was 'put off' until he 'delved further into that area'. That "co-incidentally" did not happen.
Did he see right through my inquisition? Or did someone prompt him into dismissing me before I could lash my whip at him? A conspiracy, no doubt. But I was warded off.

Not disheartened, I looked ahead and eagerly anticipated my very first class of Environmental Sciences ever. Expectations were high. Aspirations unlimited. Finally, I was to be face to face with another being who would reciprocate my firm convictions against the advancement of technology at the cost of Ecological damage. If he were to suggest anything to the contrary, he would be failing at his duty, cheating himself and betraying those, few but loyal, that battled their own kind for the good of this planet and all that it harbours (besides us).
Needless to say, I was disappointed. The fellow knew no more about the environment than he did about Madonna's lipstick collection. Possibly, a lot less.
What he was good at, in fact, was Dramatics and elocution. The next 45 minutes, he spent reading off senseless statistics and meaningless numbers from the screen with such zest and sensation, one was convinced his classes had been Produced and Directed by either Alfred Hitchcock or Ekta Kapoor.
His elocution skills must have been marvellous for if none other, he had convinced at least himself of his supreme knowledge and expertise in his 'area of specialisation'.

His pupils did not feel deprived of reason to babble and chortle at him. He scarcely felt concious of himself but occasionally would ask us why we were roaring, put his hands dangerously close to his pelvis, raise them consequently (palms facing outwards) and ask "I'm okay na?", only sending us into another fit of sniggers.

He made constant references to what he had told us in 'yesterday's class.' On numerous occasions, I felt ever so tempted to correct him that we had necer had a class 'yesterday' to begin with. My inner wisdom prevented me from shattering his notions of lectures that had never taken place at all. And thank god too, for as it dawned upon me soon after, he had been all the while referring to a lecture he had delivered to us almost a year ago (three days to be precise) that I had missed.

I was only just about to curse him for being such a grave disappointment, a dimwitted fool and a bore that a rather explicit illustration of three men, unclad from head-to-toe holding up spears whilst exhibiting their genitalia appeared before us on the screen. Needless to say, some gasped, some one or two fainted while most, sooner or later, guffawed. As if that weren't enough, he too yelled "Yes! Yes! I wanted you all to see...."
(and passionately gesturing with his arms, mind and soul towards the innocent naked men on the screen, he approached the climax)
".... THIS is what we all were...."
(adopting a grand pose, holding up an imaginary spear of his own and thrusting his precious pelvis forward, boomed....)
"....HUNTERS!"

Our lungs collapsed in laughter.

Potpourri

I was at my cousin's place the other day, and we decided to order in for dinner.
In agreement with the more regional palatal preferences of the family, we decided it would be best to order some good old Mughlai.
While he placed the order, I took out some of my most precious time to flit through the take-away menu card of "Moghul Room", located conveniently in some part of Lajpat Nagar.

I certainly feel that that outlet deserves to be a significant landmark, for it is the very first "Mughlai" restaurant I have known to serve............. (drum-roll).............. Italian food.

Knowing that all and sundry wouldn't flock to 'Moghul Room' in hope for world-famous Italian delicacies, the chefs at that most spectacular diner decided to keep their offerings, under that certain category, limited.
However, the few listings under the alien section were most unheard of. It is my firm belief that those items were introduced there to either confuse us, or give us a jolly good laugh.
For indeed, as I looked at the first item under the Italian menu, I felt as if I'd seen a yeti.
The first item under 'Italian Dishes' read
"Chicken Tikka pasta...."
Yes, I know! Incredible! Quite enough enough to send a Mughlai-Chef to rehab. But wait! It doesn't end there.
Item One under "Italian Dishes" in its entirety read
"Chicken Tikka Pasta.... with Chinese topping."
Something tells me dish must have been the outcome of one huge disaster.

On New Year's and Astrology

Hello again! A happy new year to you all.

Once again, another year has ended and a mostly horrid one for me. The last few months, though, were certainly delightful and I hope that trend continues…. till my death.

However horrible, I can’t say the events of the year were unexpected.

I was reminded by my New Year’s date, if I may call her so, an old-time friend, 3 years to be specific (the friendship being 3 years old and not the person), of the events of last New Year’s eve.

Last year, I sat at home, pretending to study, awaiting my dreaded pre-board examinations with a preparation only marginally better than the neighbourhood dog’s.

A mind as distracted as mine would wander so, and I finally gave up the pretence, for after all, I was alone at home and when better to not have to pretend than in solitude.

And so, out of the blue, with a future as uncertain as new-born baby, I decided to pick cards, hoping to gain an insight into my future. As per the outcome, my worst fears were corroborated as a turbulent first half was on the cards, right up to that month of the year when the Central Board of Secondary Education updates its website, to some people’s joy, some others’ sorrow and, of course, to the indifference of a few. Further, I could expect a sea of changes in my life.

The accuracy of that reading, performed no more than half an hour after the commencement of 2006 till today renders me speechless. And it doesn’t end there.

Just then, I happened to receive a phone-call from my 3-year-old friend (then 2-year-old) who was subsequently acquainted with my rather peculiar hobby and fascinated by it too.

As I, upon request, picked cards for her, she was more than pleased with her gratifying forecast, which too, was precise in every way.

So did I repeat the exercise on the 31^st day of last month or the first of this? I’m afraid not, for the cards lie in an almirah parked in another part of the country altogether. Thus, I’m afraid I couldn’t initiate a small, funny tradition of my own.

I did, however, have pasta for my last meal of 2006 and first of 2007, and I’m hoping that sets the tone for my palatal preferences for the coming year(s).

On the astrological front, the paucity of my own cards was compensated by the reading published in the morning’s newspaper. Though I never believe in horoscopes printed in newspapers (for indeed how can one reading fall true for millions of people) if there has to be just one person for whom it may be true, there’s a ruddy good chance that as far as MPU’s reading for 2007 is concerned, I’m he. As my horoscope-obsessed mother read out my forecast for the year, I somehow knew it would come true. But will it? I suppose time will tell.

Once A Clown, Always A Clown

You Are Krusty the Clown

You were the class clown as a kid, and you still entertain people. From faking your own death to getting a wacky boob job, you'll do anything for a laugh. You will be remembered for: your face being everywhere, from cereal to home pregnancy tests Your life philosophy: "I heartily endorse this event or product."

The Simpsons Personality Test