Bunking may cause Cancer*

Yeah, it's a statistically proven fact well documented by a very esteemed and responsible news channel, India News. (Keeping aside the fact that, it has also once reported, with accurate astronomical evidence, obviously, that 'Hell' is actually a planet between Mars and Jupiter; but come on, telescopes with dirty lenses are to blame.)

So that night, exactly at 23:41:05 hrs IST (GMT+5.5), I over-ambitiously set the alarm at 5:45 am, after searching that rarely-used app for about half-an-hour in the phone, switched off the lights and then flew and fell on the bed strewn with all the clothes I would wear the following month. It was then that a rascal knocked at my door and shrieked, "Night Mess!" An hour, a Rs.35-debt and a sandwich later, I was back in my room and wondered whether going to an incomprehensible class the following morning was worth getting into rare (and sometimes cool) psychological disorders triggered by sleep-deprivation.

I had always suspected that alarms were crafted with the art of black-magic to be used as a tool to torture the mankind by waking them up from their sweet slumber at the oddest times possible. Yeah, my phone was damn punctual in its sadism and 'alarmed' me sarcastically.

Half-an-hour (or was it an hour-and-a-half?) later...

Here I was, after one month of educational hibernation, stepping into the lecture theater. I don't know what was so brutal in the way the professor glared at me, that he started resembling a 'Trespassers will be prosecuted' board. I ignored the sudden creepy silence, the burning stare of the students and wondered what had gone wrong and checked if I had my pants on. Or perhaps, it was just due to me being bag-less and interrupting the class, by being 15 minutes late. I quickly walked to the farthest corner possible and dissolved in the seat with utmost silence.

There were so many symbols and alphabets on the board that if Dan Brown would see it, he would get enough material to write 7 different sequels to The Da Vinci Code. But no! The professor was actually teaching Thermodynamics, which had now elevated to such a high level that if a NASA scientist would plan on landing a rover on its face, he would first systematically calculate all the transitions, trajectories, tangents and finally, backed by sufficient scientific proof, conclude- "Abey, lite ley"

After sometime (which was 10 seconds), I checked if I had dozed off, but the AC had taken care of my lack of sleep, by being OFF and letting the sweat pour from every pore. No, the professor wasn't tired at all and felt reluctant on leaving before he completed the 50 precious minutes of his lecture.

Anyways, I drifted back into my daydreams, and imagined an octopus riding a dragon, flying across the theater, gobbling up all the nerds and spitting spectacles everywhere and waving an eight-handed 'Hi' to me. And I pretty much deserved this friendly gesture as I had always been a die-hard fan of Oswald.

(And this vision just got my blog a U/A certificate from Pogo for disturbingly portraying its cartoon in a surrealistic imagery.)

But, I have to admit that, however hard you may try to ignore, the topics being taught in the class always leave an impression on your imagination. Like that time, when the prof was teaching about "French Revolution", and I was imagining a conversation between The Eiffel Tower and The Leaning Tower of Pisa (after contemplating Paris Hilton, of course)

E.T. - "Hey, L.ToP, I am straight. How about you?"
L.ToP- *hell-bent on not responding*
E.T.-  "coz I heard you have some strange inclinations!"

Or when the Maths prof was trying to prove the controversial equation- '1 2 ka 4, 4 2 ka 1' (strategically incorporated in the Anil Kapoor song, 'My name is Lakhan') by the method of Contradiction, and then adjusting his tie screamed- "This is gonna be Legen...wait for it...dre's equation!" Or was it just another day-dream? You will never know.

And have you met one of those students infected by this miserable disease of perpetually making notes of what all the teacher does? They don't even bother looking at the teacher, as their heads are eternally pinned to the notes. Take this excerpt from the notes of one of my nerdy friends, for example-                                                                                                                                

"...so I was stressing the importance of Entropy which is a major issue in running a machine *coughs*  Because it lays the foundation of Second Law. Hey, wake him up man! *pauses* And these laws are to be followed for energy to be profitably transformed. Why is he still sleeping? Hey! Good Morning to you too! Get out. *sends me out of class*..."

Yeah, Profs love eye-contact! So better give them some.

Now let's get back to the Thermodynamics class. (That kept trying to keep up to its name by continuously frying my brains.) The digital clock now indicated that I had to keep my delicate mental-balance for a one hour long minute more. It almost felt like watching an atom-bomb ticking its countdown, only that this bomb would explode, spraying chocolate and Miami beaches in all directions. I closed my eyes as sweat trickled down my face and the theme 'Rise' from TDKR played in the background. And finally, the miracle happened. The clock struck independence and I came out feeling like the hero from the 'Shawshank Redemption' after he prison-breaks. There was confetti falling from the sky, people exchanged hugs and handshakes with moist eyes and trumpets merrily farted. At last, I was liberated....


Oh wait! What was this post about?


*This post was actually written in the last semester but has been posted now as I couldn't find sufficient time  to mock Quark owing to my excessive sleeping sickness. My apologies.
   

On Air Again

"...and then Wilbur was all like, 'Dude, did you get the stuff? Let's get high bro' and then it all began. But bringing the ladies to serve was my idea. But I still don't understand why he was so shocked when I brought spanners, screw-drivers and wood to the place.." -Orville Wright in an interview.

So, after lying jobless at home for almost a month, I had a dramatic change of mind and returned back to BITS. And now I lie jobless here. It was Jet Konnect that helped me in reaching this holy abode of 40 inch LEDs and yeah, education, of course.

It was my FFE (fifth flight experience) and I'll recount some facts about this hyped mode of transport.
The most important part of a plane is the air-hostess. I say 'part' because they are definitely clones/droids/transformers and definitely can't be considered Homo sapiens. These are the reasons-
(a) Smile is their only expression. They will smile the hell out of you and keep on smiling even after you kill yourself of Paranoid Schizophrenia.
(b) Their accent is American; the American being the Terminator; which is due to their vocal-cords having been replaced by the Automated Voice Response System that you hear in the Customer Service phone calls.      
(c) There is a thin line between make-up and plastic surgery. And unfortunately they are playing Kabaddi across that thin line.

But despite all these reports from various conspiracy-theorists it has been proved that they are humans too. And below all those layers of cosmetics and plastic smiles lies a delicate heart; which wants you to buy that exorbitantly costly coffee worth Rs.60

At the beginning of the journey, you are explained the number of ways in which you might fail in completing the journey. They tell you what to do in case the plane lands on water, on a volcano, on Mars and all the other places in the universe except the airport where you initially planned to reach, before involuntarily registering into Space-Tourism. But none pays much attention for the obvious reason of not being Saif Ali Khan from 'Cocktail'. But it certainly hurt the sentiments of an old woman sitting beside me who at last growled, 'Kuchh toh shubh-shubh bol kalmuhi!'

And then starts playing low volume music with pianos, saxophones and violin, which seems classy and elite at first but after few minutes you feel like asking the hostess, 'Do you have Honey Singh? The non YoYo one?'

The window seat is amazing though. But only the first time. Because only once can you feel excited and elated on watching towns looking as tiny as your CGPA and the land looking like Abstract Modern Art, which doesn't make any sense unless you are thoroughly stoned. And in case of the clouds surrounding your window, these are the respective reactions-
1st time you watch a cloud: Oh! The divine froth materialized by the holy endeavors of His hands that made the flowing rivers, the rising waves and the growing seed. I bow to Thine supremacy. Alas! My eyes took so long to realize this magnanimous beauty of such celestial nature and heavenly intensity. Pardon me for such a brutal sin Lord. Amen.
2nd time you watch: Yeah, it's very lovely and pretty and white. And I am an agnostic actually. What are your views on the world mythologies?
3rd time: What's the time? I don't think this plane is even moving. Isn't this tasteless sandwich I just ate complementary?
4th: What's this irritating white thing I see all the time? Did some bird shit on my window?

Meanwhile the air inside the plane keeps on entering and leaving your ears without any rhyme or rhythm finally giving you a slight headache. Just like a CDC lecture basically. Simultaneously, the air-hostesses tempt you with various products, which you should profoundly avoid unless you want to land bankrupt. Because the rates are certainly sky-high. (Now I had to use that, didn't I?)

After some staring and boring moments, we finally land and are thanked by the crew for choosing their airlines, or in other terms, clicking at their name which was placed topmost in Yatra.com  for being the cheapest airlines in that route and are bid goodbye with the same tormenting smile.

But airports always make me nostalgic, as the large foreign population there reminds me of those childhood-days when I used to shriek 'Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!' whenever I saw a hairy white man. Now I have turned a full-fledged Pastafarian and believe only in the Flying Spaghetti Monster, so it's no more a problem.

And so, I end narrating my experience with a noise-making flying-box that frequently roars above the campus teaching us a very valuable lesson of life- 'Brrrrrrrrrrshhhhhh......'






 

   

   

Aata Majhi Satakli

Yes. That's precisely what 'Epidural Hematoma' is called in Marathi.

In case you don't know what EDH means, it's what happens just inside your skull when it falls in love with a hard thing and then falls on it with the speed of light. And I am talking about it as a boy I knew had it, who two days later in half-forgetfulness discovered he was myself. Wait... *Brainfart*

So, it all began after... Well, I don't remember much of it, except the MedC, two other hospitals, strangers poking my veins, friends making guest-appearances, ambulances and making sense of the annoying urine-bag that stalked me everywhere. But the one thing I surely know is, how and why I fell is still a matter of medical mystery. So let's silently blame the cause of my fall on alien abduction and experimentation.

Reportedly, the three weirdest things that I did in the inactivity of my consciousness were:
(a) Trying to talk some sense into a Punjabi friend. That too in Telugu.
(b) Banging my injured head against the CT Scan machine thinking that the doctors were sealing me off.
(c) Explaining a fellow neurological patient that we don't call a barmaid 'Chemical Engineer' in BITS Goa
But then, it all felt justified after I came to know that I had once replied 'Ammeter Rheostat' on being asked 'How are you feeling?' by a doctor.

But the 'Blunder of the Year' award should certainly go to the SMRC hospital which planned on conducting an unnecessary neurological surgery on my brain. And the thing with an unnecessary neurological surgery is, it's even worse than passive smoking. Because both are harmful to health, but passive smoking at least has the decency of being FREE.

But in all these odds, I must admit, it was the all-comforting company of my friends in the Goa Medical College that kept me going, with their highly encouraging comments like, 'You look very smart in your CT Scan' and 'You are all right. See that patient. Is that brown thing his brain?'

Though the highlight was, acknowledging me regarding the free services provided by the GMC including the glucose and saline drips, in these words, 'Abey ek aur bottle ghusane bol. Free ka hai!' And obviously my hungry wrists obliged.

Yes, the days were very strange as was my face, with hair so irritatingly fuzzy that even my comb went- 'lolwut' So, facially I looked worse than Joker from TDK and physically I was worse than Bruce Wayne from TDKR. But of course, the Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham moment happened when my parents entered the scene and hugged me, as opposed to my expectations, in which I imagined them to break in 'Holy Smokes! Our son is special now!' slow-motion scene.

Then I was shifted to the MedC, which is the best place that one can get in BITS because the AC actually works there and your routine is something like- Sleep. Eat. Sleep. Eat. Shit. Constipation? Sleep again then.
Moving on to the menu. It too is quite exotic, with fascinating options like- Warm Khichdi, Cold Khichdi, Warm Khichdi being cooled and Die hungry.

On the flip side, you have nurses attending you the whole day. Let's leave aside the fact though, that the most killer pick-up line you can manage is only the- 'No mam. I didn't vomit today *innocent smile* ' But then you are supposed to be 'patient', aren't you? (Though I sincerely regret not using the line, 'I fell for you', anytime.)

But speeches are where mothers are. And thus, I became a victim of the vast maternal oratory in which every sentence ended with- '... and that's why you fell down' Well, she accused events ranging from the Portuguese influence on Goan culture to my low CGPA for my fall and I being left with no options of debate or discussion, continued with my silent slumber.

The doctor then wrote me off for a month of hibernation at home, with a hearty request for a haircut, with belief in the saying that one should have a good wrapping at least, if the gift is bad. And thus, I now rest at home with two hours of computer-time a day, officially bunking classes. Now, when I come to think of all of it philosophically, I feel that it's just a nature's mysterious way of saving me from the tortures of ERP, this semester.

The whole last week came with a moral for me- that you should always have good number of calories in diet and good friends by your side, because they will be the ones saving you, when you fall. And yes my friends did save me. And so did Dr Raghu sir, my warden sirs and my dear hostel-assistant sir.

An ending advice- Don't forget to take care of that huge chunk of meat in your head because, believe me, it can ache in a hundred different ways and subtly show who's the boss, if it wants to.

Signing out!










    

The Vacation Cancer

Do you feel hungry and bored all the time? Do you want to learn new things but still continue in the inertia of 'velaness'? Do you miss the campus but on further contemplation find out that it's just the Oreo-shake that's making you nostalgic? Do you wake up at 2:00 am to eat and have cold-coffee only to find people staring oddly at you? Does your family make you feel uncomfortable by interrogating you about the sensex-ual curves of your CGPA? Do you reluctantly bath daily under parental and societal pressure?

Yes. You have been diagnosed of the vacation-cancer.

When I entered my home I was greeted with 347 different versions of the line, 'Kitna patla ho gaya hai!' and since then, have been continuously stuffed with every edible thing available in the house like a Thanksgiving turkey. My relatives commented that the 'educational burden' might be the reason for my supposed weight-loss and almost killed me of guilt. I have countless times narrated my weekly-4-course-mess-menu in different houses at different gatherings on different occasions for different reasons. And believe me, the menu really sounds interesting when described in the right tone with the right gestures.

The cold in Chhattisgarh is biting like a rabid dog. (Yeah, I live there and contrary to popular opinion, am not a Tribal or a Naxalite.) #Bonus Chhattisgarh Fact: People here do wear clothes and sweaters.

In other news, those mischievous Mayans turned out to be legendary trolls and their calendar has been nominated for the 'Best Practical Joke Cracked Before Christ' award. 'Aaj Tak' and 'India News' together made a record of being proved wrong 10001 times. And thus apocalypse has been indefinitely postponed without further notice.

As it miraculously happens every year, my birthday this time too, coincided with the winter vacations. And I feel lucky for having it out-of-campus for the intense fear of the brutal ceremony of throwing the B'day Boy in air and kicking his ribs till he can count all the vertebral bones individually by the pain each one causes. I always wonder why such an evil ritual has such a cute name- 'Birthday Bumps', which should be actually called something like- 'Banging the bladder out of that blockhead till he turns black and blue'.

This tradition also gives much scope for revenge. Take this dialogue for example-
B'day Boy (mid-air with a shoe penetrating into his back)- Do you know that guy who just stabbed me in my chest and said 'Happy Bithday Bro' ?
Friend (yes, it is his shoe)- No. But you once told me that you got a mark more than him in Thermo in the 1st sem

But I surely missed that chocolate cake that my friends would affectionately buy and then dramatically forget that mouth is the hole anatomically assigned for food intake, and end up smearing the cake all over my face.

I have successfully aged beyond my teenage and have already started giving you-undisciplined-arrogant teenagers-look to the younger people. I also have with great maturity switched my loyalties from Dexter, the cartoon-scientist to Dexter, the serial-killer. I am now capable of solving critical problems of life like, 'Shahi or Night-mess?' and have also, with great mental labor, figured out that I am not supposed to write- 'Nothing Much :P' when FB asks me 'What's going on, Suprabhat?' instead of asking, 'What's on your mind?' But yet, I sometimes feel that I still am just a sweet innocent kid deep inside (who laughs at vulgar jokes)

Moving on, there have been other misfortunes happening in the society. Yes, I am talking about that Delhi incident that is splashed all over the news, where a guy confessed that he thought R.I.P. written on the graves actually meant 'Raping In Paradise'. To cut the long story short, we, sadly, have not been respecting Darwin much, lately.

But before I break into a melodramatic moral speech, let me cut-short with the message- 'Enjoy your Holidays', or as the CS guys say: learn C++, C#, Java, Python, CSS, XML, HTML, ASP, Django, Javascript......

F******K!

Have you read that paper they give you at the end of the classes nowadays with jokes scribbled all over it?
If not, you better take a look (which you eventually will) because this is the most hilarious thing I have seen in the campus, after the CSA-election agendas of course.

Yeah! You got it! Give yourself a hi-fi! (Even if that's weird.) I am talking about the "Feedback" forms. But I am one of the rare ones who have been trusted with the deeply buried secret of what they are going to do with those poor papers. These manuscripts, carrying explosive truths, will be shredded into microscopic pieces, then rotten by lustful and sadistic bacteria till they turn into bio-gas, which will be finally sealed off mercilessly in a cylinder and blasted to blue flames to roast a chicken in a smoldering oven in our cafeteria.

Or I have been watching too many animes lately.

But seriously who cares? I mean, the administration. The nerds would be merry even if Wall-E were teaching. (And I'm sorry for that inappropriate reference because Wall-E is way more expressive, entertaining and enthusiastic than half of my teachers, but then, it thinks about garbage all the time!) And the rest of the students would anyway attend all the classes. Provided the teacher distributes doughnuts, drinks and droids at the end of each discussion.

Now, for the sake of those who didn't get to see the form; it consists of 18 one-liners that are provided with 6 circles each, to rate the humor-quotient, ranging from NA to 5. And for all who want to pictorially depict your affection and respect for the instructor, there is a blank frame provided at the end where you can draw your instructor sitting on a unicorn, riding over rainbows over the B-Dome, and drawing clouds and thunder with chalk. Or you can just write a classy Yo-mama joke. And for all the obvious reasons one can find in this universe, you are not asked to write your identity.

Now, here are some questions, in random order, I would like to highlight-

Q.) Lectures are interactive, questions are encouraged and doubts are effectively clarified.
A.) Absolutely yes. Like the time I asked my Maths Prof how to solve the partial differential equation, involving spatial dimensions and time, governing the free undamped oscillations of an elastic beam, clamped at one end. And he was all like, "Oh boy! My five-year old son can solve it using separation-of-variables method!" Or perhaps he was simply referring to his mathematically enhanced genes which even have the chromosomes looking like the variables 'x' and 'y'.

Q.) Instructor communicates effectively. (consider grammar, clarity and audibility)
A.) Firstly, I didn't know that these many things are to be 'considered' while speaking as the only concern, we below-poverty-line-in-grammar people have while we speak, is making every sentence sound cool. Like when my friend asked me, "Hey bro! You wanna hit mess dude bucks shit yo?"

Q.) Instructor uses presentation tools (blackboard, slides, models where applicable) effectively.
A.) *thinking about FTV*

Q.) Lectures are interesting and engaging, arousing curiosity in me to learn advanced topics.
A.) Excuse me Mam.... Mam, where is the "I laughed so hard I probably will never be constipated again" option?

Q) Instructor is enthusiastic and original in his/her presentation and problem solving approach.
A) Enthusiastic? Yes, like I am, about my compre-exams. Original? Yes, like I am, in my open-book exams.

Q.) % of classes attended by you.
A.) I didn't count but I swear it's around 100.

Q.) Difficulty level of the questions asked in the evaluation components is commensurate with what is taught in the class.
A.) LOL! ROFLMAO! What's 'commensurate' ?

Q.) I look upon the instructor, as a capable counselor with regard to academic, career and personal matters.
A.) I get nightmares of doing stand-up comedy in the Placement Office, while the company people laugh hysterically. Oh wait! I am actually reading my CG card to them. (No. I wouldn't like to share this with my Prof.)

Q.) The instructor's overall professional conduct is worthy of emulation.
A.) Well such an instructor is like Kasab's hanging. Most of us didn't see it.

Q.) Evaluation is fair and transparent.
A.) Yeah, totally. In fact '0' is the most transparent numeral ever invented!

There are many other questions but obviously I have no clue about those, as I failed to attend many classes due to the time-taking psychology-project I am working on, that involves analyzing the contradictions to the Aristotelian logic displayed in the trailer of "Khiladi 786" and making a detailed report on, why killing the movie's story-writer, music-composer, actor and singer, Himesh Reshammiya, would get Obama a second and more deserving Nobel Peace Prize.

On a totally unrelated note, I would also like to add that I deeply respect and honor this noble profession of teaching. Because teaching is like a miniature version of Big-Boss: being in a closed room surrounded by a bunch of arrogant idiots; assault and murder isn't allowed; and there is some bigger ass sitting somewhere, continuously supervising you. So, it really requires a lot of patience and determination to teach us dumb people, constantly fighting the strong urge to hack and kill. Hence respect teachers and pay attention in the classes and be serious and silent while the class is being taught. If you don't want to end up dead in some gutter, that is.

And yes, fill the Feedback Form seriously. It's fun!       

The Whole E-Matrimony

The big things in life are free.
Just like my fake account in Jeevansathi.com

So, one day my friend barged into my room and said, "I am sufficiently tired of being 'friends' with total strangers and now is the time to quit screwing around in FB and do something thought-provoking, something real, something more mature." And then we created my fake profile. But, I don't want to give free publicity to this match-fixing site so, me being a chemical engineer, let's call it A1sathi.com.

I am very proud to mention that my profile has got 89 views, which is like 89 times the number of views my blog has got. And, this matrimonial alter-ego of mine, named 'Supramanyam', has got a BE Chemical degree (yeah, I never lie about my roots) and an ME in I.S. (Information Systems) from Stanford. But, I can bet on the cheesy looking couple on the website (that look so glad, as if the husband owns a Kingfisher villa and the wife owns a make-up box, the size of the villa) that ladies are going crazy just over the I.S. part.

Anyhow, it's quite obvious, isn't it; because of the love people have for the things starting with the letter 'I' (subconscious egocentrism, maybe).  Some justifying examples here are- I.I.T, I.I.M, I.T, I.A.S, I.Q, IMAX, I-series-Intel-processors, I-whatever-shit-Apple-makes, I-pill... oops, that came out wrong (no, that isn't a tagline, perverts!)

And, I did one more extraordinarily clever thing; that is, didn't upload my photo. Now, that doesn't mean I am bat-shit-ugly, but, why not let their imaginations run wild! Especially when in this age of obesity, imagination is the only thing that can venture running. I also filled out various other details like my salary, hobbies, caste, creed, dimensions etc with slight exaggeration, as the final output is a person, who looks as big as Big-B, is a thinner and richer version of Lord Kuber, indulges in philosophical stuff like reading Bible, Gita, Koran etc and also preaches that these books essentially say the same thing- we suck!

Now, this one particular day was the turning point in my life, when my profile got its first hit and I got a mail saying, "XYZ, who is ethnically-blah-blah-blah, is interested in you." I was so overwhelmed that I melted into tears and sobbed with ecstasy, because, the last time the humanity seemed interested in me was when I got a game-request of 'Ninja or Nun' on Facebook.

So, I started reading the profiles of various didis and aunties. (Yes, I do respect women even when I am stalking their matrimonial profiles)The search-tool for profiles in this website is quite similar to Google. Now, I am not saying this because, when I typed "girl who acts like a girl", it replied with "Do you mean a Southie chick?" but because, the lesser the page number, the better the search-results.

Let me explain: the age of the females in the profiles gradually increases from 25 to eternity as you go from page 1 to 100. And I always have this weird vision that if I ever dare to, as much as, click on the 100th page, a shivering and wrinkled hand will reach me from the laptop screen and I'll hear a shaking voice saying, "B...b..beta mere Karan-Arjun nahin aaye beta! Now, I want a new f..f.....family beta!" And yeah, that's very creepy.

Some profiles have been written by the fathers, some by the daughters (I mean, the profile-owners), and some have been co-written. The profiles in the last category always have incredibly smooth transitions to avoid confusion and misunderstanding.                                          

An example, ".....My daughter is a respected, highly educated, good natured and well-mannered girl who is, by a rare celestial coincidence, also very beautiful. She has been brought up in a very good cultural background and with high moral values. I can also cook 5 types of pasta and 11 types of pizza and regularly hit gym to be in perfect shape, which isn't round, LOL. I also am very broadminded as I never care about the cheap comments my colleagues pass at me for having simultaneous love-affairs with my boss, who commands the call-center and my driver, who carries me to the call-center. I also....."                                          

See? You just can't detect that there were two authors to this literary piece.

And then there are profiles that have girls whose qualities-list consists of playing piano, violin, mrudangam, cello, nadaswaram and some 50 other instruments. So, basically in this case, I don't marry. I become the manager of an alternative Carnatic rock band. Now, imagine a daily household conversation-

Me- Honey! I am home. What's for dinner tonight?
She- Raga Hamsadhwani
Me- *speechless, with flute in the background*
She- Now the tabla won't play itself, will it, dear?

And then the scene cuts to the music-room where I am frantically playing Tabla with hunger-fits.

But sometimes I start feeling guilty and sorry; my conscience gets on my nerves, for committing this cheap act of not creating a fake profile featuring a woman, too. Then I would also have an overview of the male profiles in the website and things would be more fun. But it's okay. Supramanyam is managing quite well.

Now, I, being an engineer, have always respected multiple choices even when I had no idea what each of those choices meant; just like this website scenario, where an array of women check out a matrix of men and get interested in each other, quite dramatically. But in these times, when, even the faces that we see outside are masked with hypocrisy and insincerity, how can we believe in a profile pic and description on a random website which could have been created by some weirdo. (Like my friend, for example.) But then, it all boils down to a matter of choice and chance.

And who knows? Supramanyam might eventually land up with a 'sanskari stree' (value-added woman).
*The post ends with a Shehnai melody*

Disc- Jockey, Rupa, whatever

Life is a bunch of weird and forgettable experiences. And I had a specially weird one recently.                      

It's called DJ Nite.

DJ Nite  /ˈdēˌjā,nīt/
Noun : A modernistic cultural program led by a person, standing on a high podium with a torture weapon
           called 'turntable', who uses it to repeatedly and mercilessly assault on the fragile eardrums of victims
           who have fallen prey to the tyrannies of electronic music, and calls himself/herself DJ

If you have attended these earlier, you might have spotted an overwhelmingly awkward person staring cynically at the rest of the swaying humanity around and simultaneously doubting the reason of his existence there. Well, that's me.

So, this DJ Nite, (Yes, it's Nite, not Night, because Nite is cooler as it looks 75% like Lite) I am talking about, was so jam-packed with zombies swinging in simple-harmonic motion, that my lungs had to extract O2  from CO2  to avoid asphyxiation. (On a historical note, Hitler's concentration camps were nothing but only-Jews-get-the-passes DJ Nites, conducted in ill-ventilated halls.)

The crowds here are a pervert's paradise, because, the delight of a pervert joyously making a way through the throng, is comparable only to the ecstasy of a child who is lost in a chocolate-cloud, with Pokemons and Doraemon circling him, in Noddy's car, driven by Harry Potter.                                                                              

And this is also a problem for the righteous souls because this high density audience here, may lead to a person catching AIDS, merely by trying to keep his head from fusing into the neighbor's armpits.

Now, coming to the music- I have always, since infancy, fantasized about hearing a robot rape a piano, tuned to high bass in a loudspeaker. It seems, they have now given a name to it. Skrillex. It's almost an aural holocaust, hearing the same tune being played over and over again until your auditory neurons, thankfully, break the loop and you end up deaf. In fact, amputating and stitching together totally unrelated songs seemed more justified to me after hearing this insanity called 'Electronic Dance Music'.

Anyways, to camouflage myself in this musical apocalypse, I desperately tried to dance and ended up looking like a polio patient showing his moves, after being overly inspired by watching Step Up 3D, three times. Then, I slowly disappeared from the place displaying my amateurish ninja-skills and later poured coolants in my ear to dissolve the atrocities faced by it before.

And finally tried my last chance at luck to regain sanity by listening to Coke Studio.