I had no idea why Albert, my new research assistant, had come up with such absurd a solution to so simple a problem which I had presented before him. Just the other day, I was discussing with him stuff related to the constancy of the speed of light in various frames. Something which I infer to be true, of course contrary to the general belief. I've always been uncomfortable with the status quo of time being constant irrespective of the newtonian reference frame it is in. Even though Physicists in general might consider this idea to be totally looney, there is this "something is wrong somewhere" feeling which has been bugging me for a long time now.
Unable to bear the confusion and restlessness any more, I called up Albert up to my office that night, after finally formulating a much simpler solution and, more importantly, a correct solution to the "relativity problem," as I called it, than what he had earlier come up with. Albert was one of the most promising guys under me, always enthusiastic to learn something new, and never afraid to think unconventionally. Needless to mention, he never considered me to be a lunatic.
"Albert! Good to see you up here! Please take your seat."
"Sir, why did you call me up at this point of time at night? Anything really important?"
"Albert, the solution you gave me, it was incorrect, and rather clumsy, to be honest."
Not actually being aware of my to-the-point talks, Albert looked a bit offended at my comment.
"Well sir, I thought I'd rather understood the problem very well, and I couldn't find a flaw in my solution, though I admit it was somewhat complicated and lengthy."
"The only flaw in it was that it was incorrect. And you made me strain a lot over the problem because you made it unnecessarily difficult. Look here, the velocity transformation equation you've used to convert the velocity from one inertial frame to another, doesn't actually take into consideration the simple result: If you take a speed much lesser than the speed of light in vacuum, this equation should give way to the classical velocity transformation equation, for it has been verified by experiments. The simple fact that it didn't, was enough for me to conclude that you solution was incorrect."
Albert pondered over that equation, and finally agreed to it's incorrectness.
"But sir, this might surely be a small mistake, and can be rectified isn't it?"
"It can't, sadly, because you've used the same equation to derive loads of other equations in your solution. In short, it is useless."
"Then you surely can give me a better solution, sir? Have you come up with it?"
"Yes I have, Albert, and that's why I called you up here now. I derived these equations mathematically, using just the basic two postulates as my defining laws. I feel that this solution is much simpler and, actually the correct one."
Albert went through the solution intensely. After a lot of cogitation he replied:
"Perfect, sir! Do you have any idea that this could create history, and that the very basics of newtonian mechanics will be directly challenged? I'm not sure that this would be accepted without a lot of ruckus amongst the Physicists and scientists in general. You must be prepared for replies to loads of questions, sir, I must warn you. This isn't going to be easy at all. Are you sure you have a strong basis for your claim?"
"I have, Albert, and for the betterment of science in general, it is no good that this theory should be confined within these four walls. I will send all related papers to Princeton, and other copies to other big universities. We can call it the 'New Theory of Relativity.'"
"Yes, the 'New Theory of Relativity', by Albert Einstein!"
"What? What did you just say, Albert?"
"Shut up, you retarded fool. What on earth did you think? I was working on this stupid problem under a stupid Indian just to sit out and make merry of his fame? hahahaha...this is not going to be the case, my dear sir! I, I will be famous this time. This will be MY theory of Relativity, and I will be the most famous Physicist in this world."
"Surely, Albert, this is most outrageous. Have you gone out of your mind? I don't think you would dare to make this speech if you were sane."
"I am completely normal, you bastard. You do not deserve to be famous. What are you? A rude know-it-all who thinks that he can make anyone work under him and obey his orders even if he behaves with them like they're nobodys? I am a Physicist too, and your monopoly over Physics research is going to end, you Paki rat. YOU are going to end!"
He took out his revolver.
"Albert? What are you doing? Please, NO! Albert, stop! Don't be so selfish...I was not doing all this to become famous, I just wanted to contribute my bit to Science, and Physics. Please, Albert, put down that revolver. I will mention your name, and all the work that you have.........."
"I will listen to no more of your non-sense, you nincompoop."
BANG! BANG!
"Take that! And that!"
"No! No! Spare my life! Noooooo!"
"Abe chutiye 'spare my life...' uth ja, 9 baj gaye. Physics ka tutorial hai. Tabse saale neend mein bake ja raha hai. Pi li thi kya raat ko?"
"Heh? What? Albert?"
"Albert tera baap behnchod. Aankh kholke dekh. Main bhi late ho gaya aaj. Pichli tute bhi tune bunk maari thi, ye wali chale ja nahin to XX lagegi. Abhi uth, brush muh mein daal, aur tute chal. Paagal ho gaya hai saale."
Eh?!?!
~Nuts.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
One Man's Land
Into the annals of perpetual complexity did I go,
Illuminated, but, by the succinctness of the incessant curvature,
Of the ever-static, ever-necessary, portrait of anthropology,
Shaped like a double-bow, inviting its victims,
To crush down on it's variable double-flapped terrace.
It started with the very genesis of the human race,
Something so irrevocable, persisting through millenniums,
Surfaces did change, but the course remained the same,
Never was there an ambiguity, never, an iota of shame,
'Coz the cycle of life, hung on, on that very entity!
As into the annals of perpetual complexity did I go,
Yet again, the drowse withstanding,
It rested at the far end, my eventual destiny,
The three lesser brothers, the no-contact ones,
Paving the way, for they'd already been taken...
By those lesser mortals, fear impinged on their brain,
Of breaking down, lest they miss their common tryst.
My tirade never helped, 'twas a battle of equals,
What with the final weapon in my hand, the left one?
I was left helpless, gaping, the last one standing.
So into the annals of perpetual complexity did I go,
Filled with those innumerable regrets, of not waking up,
Soon enough to be able to get in, the Indian Style loos.
Yes, my friends, with serious reservations,
That was the day, I had to use the 'Commode.'
~And I have a Scilab assignment to upload in the next few hours.
~Needless to mention I haven't done a *shit* 'bout it.
~Goddamn.
Illuminated, but, by the succinctness of the incessant curvature,
Of the ever-static, ever-necessary, portrait of anthropology,
Shaped like a double-bow, inviting its victims,
To crush down on it's variable double-flapped terrace.
It started with the very genesis of the human race,
Something so irrevocable, persisting through millenniums,
Surfaces did change, but the course remained the same,
Never was there an ambiguity, never, an iota of shame,
'Coz the cycle of life, hung on, on that very entity!
As into the annals of perpetual complexity did I go,
Yet again, the drowse withstanding,
It rested at the far end, my eventual destiny,
The three lesser brothers, the no-contact ones,
Paving the way, for they'd already been taken...
By those lesser mortals, fear impinged on their brain,
Of breaking down, lest they miss their common tryst.
My tirade never helped, 'twas a battle of equals,
What with the final weapon in my hand, the left one?
I was left helpless, gaping, the last one standing.
So into the annals of perpetual complexity did I go,
Filled with those innumerable regrets, of not waking up,
Soon enough to be able to get in, the Indian Style loos.
Yes, my friends, with serious reservations,
That was the day, I had to use the 'Commode.'
~And I have a Scilab assignment to upload in the next few hours.
~Needless to mention I haven't done a *shit* 'bout it.
~Goddamn.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Quod Erat Demonstrandum \m/
Ek Aankhodekhi Report:
Q.E.D. is the new upcoming death metal\m/ (read thrash, doom, black and blue, death, killer, motherfucking hell, screw you bitch, you're dead if you don't scream your voice-box out) band doing the rounds in the recent underground death metal\m/ scene. This band, like no other band before, takes the death metal\m/ scene to a new height altogether.
In the attempt for a new Guinness record for the highest decibel reached in growling during a death metal\m/ track, this new band broke all previous records, growling for a record four minutes at above hundred and fifty decibels. Five completely sane human beings, who were standing just besides the mega-speakers (after this activity I wonder if you can actually consider them as completely sane) lost their hearing ability, and with that their nonchalant interest in death metal\m/, for ever. As reported by their band manager, Q.E.D. was actually saddened after this news was confirmed, because they had their initial aim of deafening at least ten (so called) sane human beings to make their Guinness record more satisfying and distinct.
The inside story, as I got to know later, was that the only thing Q.E.D. wanted was to reach the top position at the LIVEWIRE\m/ competition in Mood Indigo 2013, the annual cultural festival of IIT-Bombay, which just doesn't look like coming to an end, ever. During my investigation, I also got to know a lot of curious information which was, until now, hidden from the general public. For an example, did you know that more than half of the audience watching the LIVEWIRE\m/ competition (including samples like me), didn't understand the head or tail of whatever crap the Q.E.D. vocalists were ricocheting, but they still were tapping their feet and banging their heads as if they were die-hard 'DEATH METAL\m/ FANATICS' since the day of their arrival on this planet?
Considering the sutta-fanatic judges, who found Mach-3 too expensive to buy, I was sure that Q.E.D. would reach the top of the LIVEWIRE\m/ concert, and so they did. Hypnotizing each and every member of the audience, Q.E.D. finally showed that they were not to be taken lightly in the international Death Metal\m/ Scene. Junta! Get ready for Q.E.D. We're here, and we're GROOOOOOWWWWLLLIINGGGG!
Now for some interesting facts, which will get you goosebumps. Here are the COMPLETE LYRICS of the latest Q.E.D. track, for which there have been two reported suicides already. The poor guys couldn't control their anticipation and excitement and hung themselves to death. Really poor guys.
okay, so back to the lyrics, here they are:
AWWWWWOWWWW GRRROOOOWLLLLIINNGGGGGG WE AREEEE!
AWWWWWOWWWW STILL GRRROWWWLLLINGGGG WE AREEEE!
WHO THE FUCK GIVES A DAMN 'BOUT THE LYRICS!
WE DON'T UNDERSTAND A RAT'S ASS OURSELVESSS!
GROWWWWLLLL GROWWWWWLLLL IT'S FUN TO BE AMONGST SUCH MORONNSSS!
GGGRRRRROOOWWLLLL GROOOOOWLLLL AND GROWLLLL AND WE CANNN SWEAAARRR AT YOU AND NO ONE GETSS A THINGGG!!!
DUMBFUCKS WE'VE BEEN REPEATING THE SAME STANZA FOR THE LAST FIVE MINUTES!
BWAAAAHAHAHAHAAAA THIS IS AWESOMEEEE!
I hope you found it orgasmic. For further updates on the godmaxxx Q.E.D., keep being an asshole and a DEATH-METAL-FANATIC \m/! There's no 'and/or' here.
GRRROOOWWWLLL!!
~ Eleven minutes (if you get the pun, you're awesome) is all that it took. And now I have a job.
~ And yeah, a very Happy New Year, for all those losers who think, yet again, that this year's gonna be the best ever. Take care.
~Oh and how could I forget?
DEATH METAL \m/ FTW!!
And now for the BESTTT PARRRTTT!!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Somewhere You Belong
I believe not that you don't exist,
Though they perpetually say so.
They say it ain't possible, for you to be perfect.
But then you're so perfect, in those occult dreams of mine.
And I have them each time, and you're there, just the same.
You make me feel so great, it ain't possible to explain.
It maybe just your aura, or it is just your speech.
You're ever so beautiful, more from the inside than out.
I feel drunk, doped, insane, yet serene,
You just need to be there, just need to smile.
There's that childish innocence etched into you,
But you're as mature as any other being.
When you speak, planets cease to revolve,
Time stops, and there's nothing but your voice,
Echoing through thin air, enchanting everyone alive...
I know that you exist, for all that is so real.
I know you're no angel, I don't believe in angels.
You're a mortal, born out of your mother's womb,
As any other being, but you're ever so unique,
There's none like you, coz you are impeccable.
Yes, you are, and you'll come out of those dreams,
And kiss me so tender, there won't be night or day.
What would be is just me, you, and those butterflies,
Fluttering around and flapping their wings,
And creating typhoons in a far-flung universe...
~ 27th of December, 2009. 5:10 AM to 5:24 AM.
Fourteen minutes of joblessness.
Forty eight hours of sleeplessness.
Though they perpetually say so.
They say it ain't possible, for you to be perfect.
But then you're so perfect, in those occult dreams of mine.
And I have them each time, and you're there, just the same.
You make me feel so great, it ain't possible to explain.
It maybe just your aura, or it is just your speech.
You're ever so beautiful, more from the inside than out.
I feel drunk, doped, insane, yet serene,
You just need to be there, just need to smile.
There's that childish innocence etched into you,
But you're as mature as any other being.
When you speak, planets cease to revolve,
Time stops, and there's nothing but your voice,
Echoing through thin air, enchanting everyone alive...
I know that you exist, for all that is so real.
I know you're no angel, I don't believe in angels.
You're a mortal, born out of your mother's womb,
As any other being, but you're ever so unique,
There's none like you, coz you are impeccable.
Yes, you are, and you'll come out of those dreams,
And kiss me so tender, there won't be night or day.
What would be is just me, you, and those butterflies,
Fluttering around and flapping their wings,
And creating typhoons in a far-flung universe...
~ 27th of December, 2009. 5:10 AM to 5:24 AM.
Fourteen minutes of joblessness.
Forty eight hours of sleeplessness.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Me, and not Them
I see, I analyze, I decide, I conclude.
About me, about others, my life, their lives. I've never really liked myself, never much hated too. But life for me, at any point, has never been a complete bed of roses
I segregate this part of me into a portion I call a 'Psychological mumbo-jumbo.' Comes like, once a week or something. But it does come, and so it has come.
I fear analyzing myself, even though I love it. It gives me infinite possibilites to think, and my brain loves activity. An activity which I know will mostly end up in a result, which might be correct or otherwise.
I fear it because I know that somewhere down in those dark galleries lives a me I don't want to be. A me of lies, deceit, hatred and fear. A me who is obssesed with myself, my ideals, my decisions. I've wronged many and many have wronged me. I fear going through everything all over again. It hurts me, and I cry. Doesn't mean that I'll shed tears, I've learned how to cry without shedding tears. But I cry nevertheless.
I am stupidly emotional. I have always been like this. There is no reason for it. I hate this part of myself. I feel I'm not 'man' enough. Who on earth cries when he sees Gandhi walking semi-naked through the streets of Dandi? Who cries when he sees Ganguly hitting an awesomely elegant century and silencing all his critics? Hell! who cries when a new-born puppy snuggles up with his mother to cut out the cold? I do, because it doesn't stop at just that for me. I think about it further. I relate it to the past, something which did affect me once. And I cry, and this is a ritual. I'm not saying that I love it. I hate being different. From the inside, I hate being different. I'd rather be normal, with all those normal means of fun one has, without those infinite fixations. Without worrying much about the world. Ignorance is certainly a bliss.
I do not like being alone. But I have to. Because I can't be with someone who can't make me feel good. There's no point. That's the problem with me. I search for "points." Someone rightly said, "You're so mechanical, Anupam!" I can't agree more with her. If I can't get my "points" by doing something I don't do it. I am that pathetic perfectionist you watched in sci-fi movies. I even search for perfection in imperfection. It's terrible.
Have you ever experienced strong spasms within yourself? Have you ever found that one shoulder missing from your vicinity, the shoulder which always exists in your dreams, to support you? There is a beginning to happiness, but there is no end to sorrow. Those are the times when you feel that you're the biggest loser ever. And you justify yourself being that. Your mechanical brain tells you that you're a loser, and you can't defy your mechanical brain just because it has given you your "points" to prove that you are a loser. You hang your head low, grounded by failure. There is a faint light at the end of the tunnel and you don't have the speed to reach it before it vanishes.
I know that I think too much for an eighteen year old boy. There's going to be no positive out of it. There is never a positive out of sorrow, whatever they might say in those proverbs. I've seen it, I've experienced it. You just need to learn to be happy. Just mug up ways to be happy, and apply them. There's no concept here, no logic, no mechanical "points." You don't need to be an IITian to be happy. I'm still applying those ways. And they're not my darling "points." I'm happy, but I've lost this battle with myself. I can only try hard and save my identity, because I know it makes me me, and not them.
I'm still me.
About me, about others, my life, their lives. I've never really liked myself, never much hated too. But life for me, at any point, has never been a complete bed of roses
I segregate this part of me into a portion I call a 'Psychological mumbo-jumbo.' Comes like, once a week or something. But it does come, and so it has come.
I fear analyzing myself, even though I love it. It gives me infinite possibilites to think, and my brain loves activity. An activity which I know will mostly end up in a result, which might be correct or otherwise.
I fear it because I know that somewhere down in those dark galleries lives a me I don't want to be. A me of lies, deceit, hatred and fear. A me who is obssesed with myself, my ideals, my decisions. I've wronged many and many have wronged me. I fear going through everything all over again. It hurts me, and I cry. Doesn't mean that I'll shed tears, I've learned how to cry without shedding tears. But I cry nevertheless.
I am stupidly emotional. I have always been like this. There is no reason for it. I hate this part of myself. I feel I'm not 'man' enough. Who on earth cries when he sees Gandhi walking semi-naked through the streets of Dandi? Who cries when he sees Ganguly hitting an awesomely elegant century and silencing all his critics? Hell! who cries when a new-born puppy snuggles up with his mother to cut out the cold? I do, because it doesn't stop at just that for me. I think about it further. I relate it to the past, something which did affect me once. And I cry, and this is a ritual. I'm not saying that I love it. I hate being different. From the inside, I hate being different. I'd rather be normal, with all those normal means of fun one has, without those infinite fixations. Without worrying much about the world. Ignorance is certainly a bliss.
I do not like being alone. But I have to. Because I can't be with someone who can't make me feel good. There's no point. That's the problem with me. I search for "points." Someone rightly said, "You're so mechanical, Anupam!" I can't agree more with her. If I can't get my "points" by doing something I don't do it. I am that pathetic perfectionist you watched in sci-fi movies. I even search for perfection in imperfection. It's terrible.
Have you ever experienced strong spasms within yourself? Have you ever found that one shoulder missing from your vicinity, the shoulder which always exists in your dreams, to support you? There is a beginning to happiness, but there is no end to sorrow. Those are the times when you feel that you're the biggest loser ever. And you justify yourself being that. Your mechanical brain tells you that you're a loser, and you can't defy your mechanical brain just because it has given you your "points" to prove that you are a loser. You hang your head low, grounded by failure. There is a faint light at the end of the tunnel and you don't have the speed to reach it before it vanishes.
I know that I think too much for an eighteen year old boy. There's going to be no positive out of it. There is never a positive out of sorrow, whatever they might say in those proverbs. I've seen it, I've experienced it. You just need to learn to be happy. Just mug up ways to be happy, and apply them. There's no concept here, no logic, no mechanical "points." You don't need to be an IITian to be happy. I'm still applying those ways. And they're not my darling "points." I'm happy, but I've lost this battle with myself. I can only try hard and save my identity, because I know it makes me me, and not them.
I'm still me.
Friday, December 11, 2009
The Three Mistakes of My Day
It all started when, after one full week of looking like a bonobo, I finally decided to shave off my beard and be a human once again. For a change. At times, not having a girlfriend makes you care shit about your appearance. Don't know if it was the effect of being horrified by an eight-feet long poisonous snake early in the morning languishing outside my room, which might have shot my mind somewhere. Who can forget Himanshu's petrified cries of "Abey! Saanp hai wing mein! Aath feet lamba! Jaldi aa! Jaldi aa!", waking me up from a meagre two and a half hours of mosquito-ridden sleep.
Anyway, I lazied off to the basin area with my shaving kit. I didn't put on a tee and just hoped Arpan won't hop out of his room with his "Hey, sexy!" remarks and that coquettish smile. Thankfully Arpan was busy staring at the pics of his self-proclaimed "queen of the campus." Frankly speaking I didn't find her even close to being the queen of anything. Except maybe the queen of not having, ahem, some elementary things.
Then came the first mistake of the day, which was not looking at your effing watch when you have one at a distance of 28.5 cm from your eyes. The 8:30 A.M. MA-105 lecture was, of course, supposed to be bunked that day, because apparently UK's nonchalant cries of "Green! Stoke! Divergence! Attendance! Sudesh (yeah right)!" were not something one would love to start one's day with. Except of course, some dickheads for whom not sitting on the first row was as good as not attending the class itself. I mean, c'mon, you know math and all, okay, you were in the IMO camp, excellent. But why the heck should you use so many "Yeah! YEAH! yEAH! and yEAh!"s in your speech for no apparent reason other than shooting some random bull? Bloody Ghatis (no offense meant, believe me or not). You know English, but why show off? So MUCH? Dumbfucks.
Yeah so, coming back to the basin area (I'm suddenly reminded of 8th standard Geography here. Strange), I finally cared to stare at my watch, and it was 10:25! Goddamn hell! Sunoj's CH-103 lecture at 10:30!! Couldn't miss it that day at any cost. I'd already missed the last lecture and had to attend this one, because Sunoj's uploaded slides contained absolutely nothing of importance. I mean, who on earth wanted to know how to draw arrows from one compound to the other for chrissake? "Arrows are one of the most important things in Organic Chemistry", declared professor R.B. Sunoj, one fine morning. Yeah, definitely. That's what is most important. Rat's ass.
And I so wanted to shave properly that day, I swear! But then, "Life's not always fair, my child," I echoed those pravachans of Deepak Phatak in my ears and finished shaving in a record three and a half minutes. And cut myself under the lower lip. Putting as much of my lower lip inside my mouth as possible I palpitated back to the room. I checked for Himanshu et al in the nearby rooms, and they were all gone. Bloody bastards, I have got one sadist bunch of batch-mates with me, I tell you. Couldn't at least one of them wait for poor me? Screw 'em all.
I put on the only set of washed clothes I still had remaining and any random deodorant I could lay my hands on. Yes, I do sweat a lot. As always, no rickshaw or bus when you need one. Having a bicycle in IITB is a waste anyway, the place is so hilly that you'll have to pull your cycle half the time, rather than the other way round. Finally I reached the lecture theatre, tired and panting. And it was at that very moment timed 10:53 A.M. that I committed the second mistake of the day, entering LT through the front door when the back door would have been a lot less attention seeking. I entered to be welcomed with a guffaw and chants of "aa gaye hero! aa gaye! aa gaye!" by those lifeless rascals who just en-cashed on any goddamn opportunity to create a ruckus during the lecture. And then came, as expected, Sunoj with his uber-pathetic attempts to sarcasm, "Welcome! Welcome to CH-103! Look at the clock, my boy, there. Only thirty minutes late. Now that's not a big deal. Sit, sit. Enjoy yourself. I don't give marks for attendance anyway." I was about to defend myself and correct him by reminding that I was twenty five, not thirty minutes late. But some good sense warned me from doing so. I fumbled on the first empty seat I could lay my ass on, flustered to perfection. There went the next thirty minutes of my attention as well. I could as well have bunked the lecture and slept pretty, minus the embarrassment. Fuck.
Coming back to the hostel, lunch was pathetic. Monday lunches. I skipped, coz I didn't have an appetite for the canteen stuff either. And then I entered room no. 290. Arpan's laptop fortunately wasn't busy with Karthik sitting crooked and staring at the screen for no apparent reason whatsoever, which is the usual case, and I started doing some random shit online. And then at 4:55 there came Ketava Mehta's call, which reminded me of the third mistake of the day, not sleeping even when you're dead sleepy and doing random bull on the internet instead. Monseigneur Ketava reminded me of the NSO swimming endurance test, which was to start in another FREAKING HALF AN HOUR, and which involved swimming continuously for one hour, without stopping anywhere. The only problem with me was that I had hardly slept the entire night, plus I'd wasted the afternoon doing, as I mentioned earlier, some random shit online, without sleeping for a second, and that I felt I would be DEAD if anyone made me swim for fifteen minutes. One freaking hour. I was so dead.
Seven thirty and I was back after the endurance test, swimming a decent 1.6 kms without a single stop. And I was alive. Just that I felt like a complete lunatic. The same feeling one would have after gulping down two quarters of neat Smirnoff. And I was hungry. And sleepy. Actually, dead hungry and dead sleepy. Being more of the sleeping kind, I just fell on my bed. Damn! I actually fell on Patil, who was already sleeping there, on MY bed under MY bedsheet. I just hoped he didn't mind much. You're in for some serious problems if your roomie suspects that you have a thing for him. Anyway, I remember shooting him some bull as an explanation towards my strange behaviour, and pleading him to sleep somewhere else. He agreed immediately, and I slept my heart out. Patil is a nice roomie. A really nice roomie.
Anyway, I lazied off to the basin area with my shaving kit. I didn't put on a tee and just hoped Arpan won't hop out of his room with his "Hey, sexy!" remarks and that coquettish smile. Thankfully Arpan was busy staring at the pics of his self-proclaimed "queen of the campus." Frankly speaking I didn't find her even close to being the queen of anything. Except maybe the queen of not having, ahem, some elementary things.
Then came the first mistake of the day, which was not looking at your effing watch when you have one at a distance of 28.5 cm from your eyes. The 8:30 A.M. MA-105 lecture was, of course, supposed to be bunked that day, because apparently UK's nonchalant cries of "Green! Stoke! Divergence! Attendance! Sudesh (yeah right)!" were not something one would love to start one's day with. Except of course, some dickheads for whom not sitting on the first row was as good as not attending the class itself. I mean, c'mon, you know math and all, okay, you were in the IMO camp, excellent. But why the heck should you use so many "Yeah! YEAH! yEAH! and yEAh!"s in your speech for no apparent reason other than shooting some random bull? Bloody Ghatis (no offense meant, believe me or not). You know English, but why show off? So MUCH? Dumbfucks.
Yeah so, coming back to the basin area (I'm suddenly reminded of 8th standard Geography here. Strange), I finally cared to stare at my watch, and it was 10:25! Goddamn hell! Sunoj's CH-103 lecture at 10:30!! Couldn't miss it that day at any cost. I'd already missed the last lecture and had to attend this one, because Sunoj's uploaded slides contained absolutely nothing of importance. I mean, who on earth wanted to know how to draw arrows from one compound to the other for chrissake? "Arrows are one of the most important things in Organic Chemistry", declared professor R.B. Sunoj, one fine morning. Yeah, definitely. That's what is most important. Rat's ass.
And I so wanted to shave properly that day, I swear! But then, "Life's not always fair, my child," I echoed those pravachans of Deepak Phatak in my ears and finished shaving in a record three and a half minutes. And cut myself under the lower lip. Putting as much of my lower lip inside my mouth as possible I palpitated back to the room. I checked for Himanshu et al in the nearby rooms, and they were all gone. Bloody bastards, I have got one sadist bunch of batch-mates with me, I tell you. Couldn't at least one of them wait for poor me? Screw 'em all.
I put on the only set of washed clothes I still had remaining and any random deodorant I could lay my hands on. Yes, I do sweat a lot. As always, no rickshaw or bus when you need one. Having a bicycle in IITB is a waste anyway, the place is so hilly that you'll have to pull your cycle half the time, rather than the other way round. Finally I reached the lecture theatre, tired and panting. And it was at that very moment timed 10:53 A.M. that I committed the second mistake of the day, entering LT through the front door when the back door would have been a lot less attention seeking. I entered to be welcomed with a guffaw and chants of "aa gaye hero! aa gaye! aa gaye!" by those lifeless rascals who just en-cashed on any goddamn opportunity to create a ruckus during the lecture. And then came, as expected, Sunoj with his uber-pathetic attempts to sarcasm, "Welcome! Welcome to CH-103! Look at the clock, my boy, there. Only thirty minutes late. Now that's not a big deal. Sit, sit. Enjoy yourself. I don't give marks for attendance anyway." I was about to defend myself and correct him by reminding that I was twenty five, not thirty minutes late. But some good sense warned me from doing so. I fumbled on the first empty seat I could lay my ass on, flustered to perfection. There went the next thirty minutes of my attention as well. I could as well have bunked the lecture and slept pretty, minus the embarrassment. Fuck.
Coming back to the hostel, lunch was pathetic. Monday lunches. I skipped, coz I didn't have an appetite for the canteen stuff either. And then I entered room no. 290. Arpan's laptop fortunately wasn't busy with Karthik sitting crooked and staring at the screen for no apparent reason whatsoever, which is the usual case, and I started doing some random shit online. And then at 4:55 there came Ketava Mehta's call, which reminded me of the third mistake of the day, not sleeping even when you're dead sleepy and doing random bull on the internet instead. Monseigneur Ketava reminded me of the NSO swimming endurance test, which was to start in another FREAKING HALF AN HOUR, and which involved swimming continuously for one hour, without stopping anywhere. The only problem with me was that I had hardly slept the entire night, plus I'd wasted the afternoon doing, as I mentioned earlier, some random shit online, without sleeping for a second, and that I felt I would be DEAD if anyone made me swim for fifteen minutes. One freaking hour. I was so dead.
Seven thirty and I was back after the endurance test, swimming a decent 1.6 kms without a single stop. And I was alive. Just that I felt like a complete lunatic. The same feeling one would have after gulping down two quarters of neat Smirnoff. And I was hungry. And sleepy. Actually, dead hungry and dead sleepy. Being more of the sleeping kind, I just fell on my bed. Damn! I actually fell on Patil, who was already sleeping there, on MY bed under MY bedsheet. I just hoped he didn't mind much. You're in for some serious problems if your roomie suspects that you have a thing for him. Anyway, I remember shooting him some bull as an explanation towards my strange behaviour, and pleading him to sleep somewhere else. He agreed immediately, and I slept my heart out. Patil is a nice roomie. A really nice roomie.
Épée!
Who be he? Who be he?
He takes our breath away!
Who be he? Who be he?
I have nothing to say!
The mystery man, our saviour,
He set all of us free...
Oh no! He is...oh yeah, he is...
The onliest Épée!
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