Fail Attempt

   Of course, I should have realized like ages ago, that I was simply trying too hard. The levels of pretentiousness a person can get away with on facebook and in the real world are way, way different. It's okay to execute horribly distorted, cropped and very provocative statements punctuated with periods instead of commas like "Roxanne. Fail." or "Lame. Disgusting." and escape with it on fb. Does not happen in the real world, my friend.
   I had just seen Shaitan (A mucky story about messed up tweens) and was simply stuck blind by it's 'badassness'. I loved the movie so much, that for a few days, I was into the 'profound' and 'deep' thoughts it tried to provoke and the mirror it held up to society. I kept on harping about it (much to my sidie's frustration) about how it was a cult movie and how Bollywood had suddenly grown up. The point was, I got too carried away and did not realize that movie was supposed to be watched with a pinch of salt and not scrutinized, simply because it was something that was not intended to be mulled over. In any case, I badly wanted to tell my friends at Chennai and Trichy about the film, and look cool about it. I sent an sms, "Shaitan. Win." (Read Soul of Wit below)
  I repeat, I wanted to look cool by being all internet jargonish about it. We all do.
   The advantage with facebook is that if one does not understand a particular, provoking wall post, one can simply ctrlC, ctrlV the same onto a new tab and let Google do the explaining. It's not the same with cellphones. It was simply stupid of me to hope for any sane person with a Cerebrum to understand the bloody sms.
   Well, the end result was that I got a taste of my own medicine. The replies were as brief, as cold and as cool as the jab, ranging from "What?" and "Hmm?" to "K" and "Kk".
   Friends, they keep you on Earth...

Carnival of Rust

  Went to the Pilani Mela about a week back. We usually take a few juniors along, juniors who have been hitherto cribbing about missing city life. I did.
   But first, about the annual Mela. Located about a mile away from the campus and earmarked by that huge Shivji statue beside it, are the grounds which play host to this very 'vibrant' and 'colorful' (hmm...) fair which happens once a year. As one enters the place, one is greeted by graying ( and rather grubby) Mickey Mouse heads bobbing in the air, part of a huge slide made of inflated rubber for small kids, manufactured with the sole aim of making fun of people of short stature.
Hey Pavan, I think you can are allowed on that slide. You're short enough.
   After Pavan bleghed his ass off, we all proceeded to the best ride of the lot, the break dance. The whole of last year, 'brak dance' terrified the living daylights out of me. Now with the correct spelling and a fresh coat of paint (Actually, no.) the ride still looked puke-addictive. Now I'm no chicken, but there is a limit to the number of centrifugal vector additions my extremely motion-sickness prone body could take. Apart from the tilted axis of the whole base, the seats are allowed to swivel around at blinding speeds, leaving you gasping for breath and clutching your ponch. The juniors took it well, some girls going even twice. Oh, the emasculation of it.
   Then, there's the "Mauth Ki Khuan", literally translating to Well of Death. As the Pilani DJ(?) puts it, they have 16 year old professionals who are not afraid of death, riding a motorbike and a Maruti 800 round and round the creaking walls of the 'well' as we stood in awe from above.  
   Speaking of creaking, I would like to mention that most of the amusement rides here were probably built for G. D. Birla a hundred years back, and the management decided to trust in god to keep the rusting, crumbling structures from total implosion. One would mistake the Mela for the sets of Final Destination 5.
  But the most beautiful part of the damn Mela is not the rides or the shops or the multitude of a myriad collection of shops and sweets and bangles. All about the experience you know.
Profoundness in 3... 2... 1...
   I walked in, 18, cribbing about this village and how it's got absolutely nothing to offer. I turned a kid, 7,  on seeing the rides and how much more fun they were, with friends.Then there's the motley assortment of people from other nearby villages. Old men in Dhotis and wearing Rajasthani Turbans, their wives ambling behind them, slightly servile in attitude, young (local) girls in Churidhars with their brothers jumping about, excited just to be there, married women shopping for their households, young coots in low waist jeans. They were all very happy, with this. They didn't need the consecrated walls of concrete and steel to keep them content.
 Happiness is relative. You just have to set your zero low enough.

Politics

  The existence of this annual debate held in the auditorium for the candidates contesting for Prez and Gen-Sec to present their points and to 'reach out' to the junta has always held my serious reservations. If you can't speak English coherently, you lose, even if you have a brilliant manifesto. Me being fiercely non-political, I went to the Audi Ragging session yesterday to watch some ass whooping by the Election Council. The blunders committed by the EC notwithstanding, I managed to catch a few laughs. Usual Chom vs. Gult politics only.
   Forget home, where people are idiots. The writer has always held the strongest and proudest of views that the Tamil community has always shied away from politics and didn't give a shit about who was being elected at BITS. Strength lies in numbers and numbers isn't exactly one of my state's strong points here. Yesterday though, weakened that opinion. My friend the Sudhan, suddenly appointed himself campaign manager for the female gen-sec candidate and begged us to cheer for her, just because he was 'in' Hindi Drama Club, which she was a member of. He was so charged up during the debate that he forgot to have dinner, leaving me flabbergasted. If there's one thing I've learned about him, it's that he never misses a meal, even if he's not hungry, as he "might lose energy."
I will write about that another day. Politics does weird things to people.   

Excerpts of Independence

First things first. An apology to all ju's who felt dissed. I should have probably written something anti-Semitic. It seems a lot 'cooler' to do that and draws less flak anyway. (Kidding, I love Gates and Zuckerberg)

Another Independence Day. Another parade missed. Another good lunch expected. Another Holiday.
I decided to do something different this time.The newspaper arrived. I had changed to The Hindu from Times of India this sem because it was the more sober of the two and I felt cool about being part of the intelligentsia who read The Hindu.

It was a bit too sober this time. In an article titled "A Fractured Freedom",

"... And yet - in vast stretches of antique teeming land - darkness, uunfreedoms and despair persist. On farm lands, sweat shops, brick kilns and mines, men, women and children are compelled to toil for dirt wages...Artisans, weavers... in penury....Caste... Countless more (freedom struggles) to be won... "

Was damn depressed dude. Was even more depressed by the fact that a few days later, like all other news, I would forget about it. So I went an read an Aussie Indian ex-batch-mate's blog (?).

"...market-based economy and extensive foreign direct investments have propelled India’s standing to fourth in the world in terms of Purchasing Power Parity as stated by the International Monetary Fund. Our government has deployed a variety of measures to encourage economic growth from with by lowering tariffs, import duties and dropped tax rates..." 


Sometimes, I just don't get them pseudo-economist bloggers.
   Just so that I don't look like an idiot in front of the reader, I did understand everything written and was actually delighted to read it and felt damn proud to be a true blooded Hindustani. Then I had a brilliant lunch at the mess (Like a BITsian), prepared by the poor devils who work harder than anyone else on holidays.


To more than anyone else, Happy Independence Day, Mess Folks.


PS: There was a blog about them juniors before this. My dad made me remove it.