KhonX

All aboard!

/urgu — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 09:56:47 +0000

Let me take you through a culinary tour of my life. We make three stops to admire the scenery and take pictures.

Gilly Billy was the nightmare of my initial years. He was the monster who appeared on trees, clinging from branches and sinisterly watching over me, every time I was fed by Amma. “Eat”, she would say, “Or Gilly Billy will get you! Look, he’s right over there, looking at you.” He was the last word to be uttered in a conversation involving food, my 5 year old self, my mother, and a general coughspluttering threatening to blow up into a bawling tantrum. After his mandatory cameo, I uncomplainingly gobbled down every handful of rice Amma stuffed into my mouth. Later, a relieved Amma used to make him go away using her superpowers.

During the extended howling nightmare that was Plus Two, I had tuitions at insane hours, like for example, 5 am. Most of the days I would breakfast in some hotel near school, but on other days my father would wake up along with me (he would wake me up, in fact) and wrap my breakfast: Bread and Jam wrapped in butter paper for the road, or Idlis inundated with mulagai podi. Sitting on the steps near the water cooler, I used to flinch every time I bit into those things, either sweet enough to make you go stark raving mad, or spicy to the point of causing instant combustion. But I still feel very thankful that he woke up every other day and went through the torture of wrapping all those idlis and stuff, they destroyed most of the shreds of sleep that remained at around 830 am.

Scrolling further down the timeline to the here and now of things. At college, my constant refrain at the Mess table is “Oh, no! Not this depraved half cooked Aloo crap again…” : A more tangible, very real and edible monster has taken Gilly Billy’s place. I miss the tall tumbler of dahi with sugar mixed in it that would be waiting for me to come from school, refridgerating. I miss Venkadesha Bhavan’s peerless Poori Masal.

Perpendicular Bisector

/urgu — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 11:28:34 +0000

You know, it is always a wise idea to shut up when you aren’t sure of how effectively you can put forward your ideas to a crowd whose ideas are, well, bad to begin with. Which is what I’m doing nowadays. Especially when the crowd comprises wiser and more intelligent Fulbright scholars, well-versed in Design etiquettes and possessing just more than sufficient knowledge to hit nirvana. Make no mistake, even if the suggestions coming from their side might seem like much constipated horse excreta to you, you are chickenshit. A blind man in a deafdumb world (whatever that means).

//This first paragraph is meant to drip with biting sarcasm to certain people if they happen to read this piece and ‘get it’.

Then it hit me, after all these days. Perpendicular Bisector.

That one-issue edifice of hundred percent success. Tushar, Kevin, Joshua, Madu (was he there? Not sure.) and me. Seditious, irrevent essays written by Greek letter-adopting pseudonyms. Printed ‘on the sly’ in Shijo sir’s lab, and posted in notice boards when the coast was relatively clear. I was Qwerty Subramaniam, Tushar was Mudd i guess, and somebody was Firefly. Looking back, we were supposed to get our asses kicked by Princi, yet absolutely no action or inquiry went into the incident. I personally sniggered and derived much satisfaction whenever anybody stood by the board and said, “Whoever is doing this must be punished. How can they do this without any approval whatsoever, etc. etc.” I remember Sony madam and Elizabeth madam standing there, fuming. Sadly, we failed to capitalise on the sensation it created, and never quite came together to cook up a new issue.

Ah, the minimalist Glory of it.

The Elusive One

/urgu — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 04:01:37 +0000

Nothing in the world has irritated me to the point of exasperation, and cost me very considerable sums of money than the Pen. I estimate that at least a few hundreds of pens might have been used and dumped during the course of my school life. I have this fascination for fountain pens. They are elite, and belong to the very upper echelons of pendom, as opposed to dotpens, which are the working class. They have a very aristocratic stance, brought on by the shape of the nib. The real reason for my liking is that I like sophistication. I enjoy being able to control various attributes like the rate of ink flow, thickness of the writing, the efforts to maintain optimum efficiency notwithstanding.

It’s extremely hard finding that truly awesome pen. By awesome I mean ergonomics, the proper ink flow and thickness of the writing. While in school, i marvelled at how other people all had ink pens matching the above reqs, while my Hero and Parker weakly oozed pale blue.

I still do, even today. I just found out, after two solid hours of experimenting, that the new one i bought for 67 rupees just won’t work. I give up.

Of rushes and highs

/urgu — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 03:07:09 +0000

It’s been quite some time and a big fat journey from that point in spacetime, in the past, when there used to be English exams. In the school library, under the supervision of the peerless DP. When i write about those exams, i can’t help feeling this incredible rush. There was always a creative writing section, and i did this one question last. It always gave me a high, as i began writing a story. I would read the question, look at other regions of the paper, waiting a few seconds for the rush to take effect. Soon a tableau freezeframe picture, or a fragment of action, like you cut out a length of reel from the movie, would “appear”. I grabbed that loose end, swung it this way and that, and did shit. Now, I’m thinking, ‘If only I had seen the Good Movies back then…”

Now, I’m through with quite a sizeable fraction of IMDB’s top 250 list. Recently I discovered this awesome senior at college, who was totally into Foreign Language films. I got initiated with this spectacular, magnificent film: The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain. If there ever was a movie that was made as a poem, this is it. The girl looks like Alizee (Awooga!!) I’ve fallen in love with the French language and the director’s maniacal obsession with detail in this film. Emboldened, i ventured to deeper material, Rashomon, from the master Kurosowa himself. Poetry in motion again. God bless the chap who invented subtitles.

I’m having a digital library on my mind. Rather, I’m forced to think about a 500 GB external wala due to this phenomenon called limited space. All of 240 GB worth of movies and songs. The songs I will retain on the box, the movies I hope to push to the external. So here’s a list of all the movies I saw this winter:

For A Few Dollars More [1965]
The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain [2001]
Subramaniapuram [2008]
Top Gun [1986]
Yes Man [2008]
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb [1964]
Rashomon [1950]
Gran Torino [2008]
The Conversation [1974]
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid [1969]
Eeram [2009]
Pasanga [2009]
The Apartment [1960]

When i get back, I’m starting on the cult movies’ collection, beginning with something suggested by Tushar, and Kamal Hassan’s Satya and others I’ll pick up on the way.

There is this rather awesome experience I get right after watching a good movie. I like to call it the post-movie Fuckaliya. During the last semester I developed this religious devotion towards the act of watching a good movie (more on what i think is “good” later). So, as soon as the movie ends, I let the credits roll, the background score swelling, and revel in the post-movie Fuckaliya, which is nothing but repeating garbled words like, the one used to describe this thing, and generally getting high off the awesomeness and brilliance of the movie. Try not killing the credits reel the next time you watch a movie, you’ll love it.

Major Tweenage

/urgu — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 18:48:51 +0000

Maths exams have always been a pain. It’s never as much about the portions as it is the feeling of deflation that sets in as the answers are discussed. Back in school, every single Math exam was the same story. I never scored more than 90 or 92 for Chacko sir’s puttu-as-shit papers. Hell, the only time i failed for an exam was for Lakshmi madam’s fucked up Math paper in the tenth. It would be like, a beaming glowing “Aliya, ipravashyam valya kozhappamillarnu”, quickly turning into a frustrated irritated “Fuck aliya, mairu silly mistake, che!” Add to that the fact that then I was this redneck “No to copying” dude, and things turn sour. To atone for those sins, i turned coat in college, and bowed to the needs of the situation. Exams nowadays are one big gamble of portions and in situ improvisation, which naturally sweetens success, but punishes underperformance. Today was no exception.

Today was of singular importance to me, the last Maths exam of my Life. Come to think of it, this is like the first subject anybody studies, and is quite significant that it has ceased to exist as a subject for me. I mean, finally! It’s about fucking time. Third semester Maths exam. I’ll just say this much about it: God heard the panicky maniacal frantic cries of a disoriented soul and hearkened to his rescue. But the necessary detritus of every clean swipe, stubbornly remains: I dropped a ’2′ mid-answer, and duly performed other such spin-offs of the old Fuckaliya. But I guess I can bump the grade in Maths to B+. Which is actually a far shot, in fact. So I is the happy Though i have this extremely farzi subject (statistics) next sem, at least i dont have to study it as Maths.

I’m happy also because today was my birthday, the last day as a teen. I was overwhelmed by the torrent of scraps and wall graffiti that I received from friends all over. It felt really nice to acknowledge each of them, typing personalized ‘Thank you, man ‘ messages, some 100 of them. It was really worth it, beautiful. I took like 15-16 phone calls from all my folks, the highest in a day for me till date. I really thank all of my buddies and friends who contacted me, THANK YOU PPL. You really made my day, it felt really nice to suck up all that warmth and sunshine, truly.

Getting down to It

/urgu — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 18:57:40 +0000

I’ve been in awe of WordPress for a long time, even this template, ever since i started blogging. I’ve been switching back and forth from WordPress and Blogger. I’ve now completely switched to WordPress, in anticipation of upgrading to custom CSS in the future, and more importantly, for this reason: I’m starting to go serious on blogging. After doing the rounds in minimal designs, first in WordPress (that was way back in 2006) to Blogger when i learnt that Blogger offered complete freedom in template editing and stuff. But now, i’ve decided to put the focus on my blogging content rather than the design itself. The inspiration to finally make the paradigm shift came from this website. No Feedjit or the Cumulus. It’s just the post, from now on. I am retaining the Twitter feed, the Archives, and the Search button. Adios, Blogger. Was nice flirting with you.

Post Script: I make this move in very trying circumstances. I’ve got my exams beginning on Saturday, three days from now. Most of the creativity in me gets manifested during exam time: I finally joined Twitter in July this year on the eve of my Maths end sem exam. And now, this move to WordPress. This time around, my Hindu sun sign (Nakshatram) seems to be “falling” on my birthday. The stars seem to be favouring me for the first time. Hm…

Winterbath and associated et cetera

/urgu — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 13:40:00 +0000

The honourable men calling the shots at my place provide no funds for setting up geysers in bathrooms. As a result, taking a bath now is tantamount to merciless, homicidal self-flagellation. This is so because:

1. You gotta have a heating rod. Semester thodangumbo medichillel pinne kaashu marikkan paadu pedum. Who buys a heating rod in the late summer? So here I am, without one, mine having being stolen by faithful borrowers.

2. Even if you have a rod, you gotta have the time to stick it in the bucket, propped up on a piece of wood placed on a diameter.

3. Pinne ee bucket of water, a good 1.5 kg, athinem chumannu ponam, bathroomilekku.

4. Murphy annan’s rule: Let’s say you do pull up the straps and go through all the above bullcrap and get the bucket of hot water to the bathroom. There, right beside the door will be another red bucket, reserving a place for the retard with glasses who got up a fraction of a minute before you did. I mean, who gets up before 8 in winter, goddamit…

5. Let’s take this hypothetical situation further. On a day, when you do get to the tap, the thin envelope of warmth which clung to your body all this while is completely corroded in seconds by the nasty ["rheumy"] air, exposing you to the unforgiving, cruel cold. With no other choice, you stare at the steam rising from the bucket, and sigh deeply. Grab a mugful and let the oohh-s0fuckinggood blast of warmth energize your whole body. That would feel completely nice, but in 2 seconds the rate of cooling goes bonkers and things would start to go weird. Then onwards is this frantic madness of trying to keep warm and get clean at the same time. It’s when you towel yourself is when you go insane with the cold.

Once you’ve taken the bath everything’s all right. Slightly shivering from the jarring experience, you make your way back home, back to dirt and grime. But to repeat this whole circus routine on a daily basis just might turn me into Hannibal by the time the sem ends.

Swashbuckling hipsters, these men

/urgu — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 16:24:00 +0000

These IAS guys are so just freaking awesome. To say nothing of the people who clear the exams and interview in their very first attempt. Though the naysayers and detractors of aspirants might contort the whole picture into one of puppet and puppeteer, it is quite obvious what the “upsides” (complete understatement of ubercool kickass Godlike explosively fuckawesome) of the job are. It is generally known that the interview board is composed of the best known fodu merciless personalities who are (or seemingly are) stalwarts in more than one field.

I was talking to this friend about the IAS exam and IAS ppl in general. He shared some awe-inspiring anecdotes about the interview thing with me. He told me quite a few questions that were asked to aspirants, and the answers that were given, of which I attempt to reproduce a few. Some questions that were asked to aspirants and the answers:

1) This was asked to a person who was working as doctor: Being a doctor is one of the most noble services that one can render to humanity. What did you see in the IAS profession that could possibly be greater than that?

A: A doctor can only cure disease-infected patients. If I do become an IAS officer I can take steps to eradicate the cause of those diseases entirely.

2) This was asked to a B.Sc Physics or B.Tech fellow, i donno which: Of all the laws of nature you have studied, can you tell me one law that can possibly be applied to the profession you seek?

A. (Reply comes within 2 seconds, it seems) Newton’s Third Law.

The rest of the questions are currently unavailable due to a variant of this extremely irritating phenomenon. But hell, those answer-givers are surely an asset to our nation. The spontaneity of those answers, the dedication and passion – those people truly become the personifications of those elusive intangible entities.

Some of the IAS ppl i really admire: Malayattoor Ramakrishnan (wrote the finest, most awesomest short stories in Malayalam, resigned over some issue, and wrote books. Was a great boozer. \m/), J. Radhakrishnan (took timely steps in Nagappattinam district during Tsunami), Raju Narayanaswamy, Alphonse Kannanthanam, T.N. Seshan, and many more.

Unabused Power. The power to politely tell politicians who are flouting the restrictions imposed by the Election Commission to quit fucking around and obey the goddamn rules just like any other self respecting bastard. The power to make a difference. The privelege to be talked about as truly having some of the biggest balls in the country. Ye hota hai asli aukat. I salute these men, may their tribe increase. Jai Hind.

Jerry

/urgu — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 15:20:00 +0000

Seems like it is Breeding Season. All the goats, and the stray dogs are dingolphying around and making small goats and adorable puppies that cause near-accidents on the road on a daily basis. Even the rats in my room are at it, as I discovered this evening.

I finally met the progeny of the heroes I’ve been tweeting about for a couple of days. Unfortunately for him, his mother had passed away a few hours ago. I discovered her small carcass lying by the side of the unused air cooler. He had no idea about his mother’s demise, he being too young to understand death and fear. So he just scampered out of the room next to mine, via under the door, and just sat there. I was on a call, and saw something move and go still. I soon discovered him sitting right there, unmoving. Oh, he was really cute.

Curious, i prodded him with my finger. He gave a little jump, and faced away. When i poked him twice more, he got pissed off and quickly scampered under my door and hid himself between Prashant’s bag and trunk. It wasn’t very good hiding, because to hide you gotta keep moving. This guy just stood there, posing while i adjusted the lighting with an Emergency lamp. Cute little fella, ain’t he?

I decided to give him a chase. After about five minutes of dragging bags around and sweeping him from this corner to that, I gave him one thwack with the broom, and he went sliding out of the room. He decided to run for it. I easily caught him by his little brown tail. He reluctantly posed upside down for the group photo.

Later I sent him flying a few metres, far into the bushes where he belonged.

Reverse Pedagogical woes

/urgu — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 11:50:00 +0000

It’s been quite a long time since school, and I have absolutely no idea how I used to study stuff back then.

I pushed off on my own in the 8th standard, my mother absolving herself of anything to do with my studies with the crucial 7th standard Annual Exams. Initially I faltered, of course, but I quickly adapted and survived. I actually used to highlight sentences in the History textbook and study daily. Whew, and my folks cut the cable connection that year. Broadband didn’t come till after the Engg. exams, ditto for the loong-overdue system upgrade. Windows 98 was still running till the 12th std, and i had to make do with Dial-up internet.

Right now, with the worst, entirely fucked up timetable of the whole world, I am faced with as little time for stuff as possible. The laptop makes things worse. Whole chapters stare back at me with the most “:|”-est xpression, not unentirely like Thurman. My friend misplaced my All-in-One notebook, contaning all my notes, products of an idle mind and some good mechanical autopiloting while fighting sleep. Fighting down occasional paranoia and trying not to look down, I gingerly mount the portions, praying that the new rudraksham around my neck do me some supernatural favour during the exams. This is hardly studying, and it’s absurd that after 2 years of this bullshit facade of copying and faking results in practical exams, I suddenly become an Electrical Engineer.

Hakuna Matata… Yup, none whatsoevah.