27 April, 2008

An old intention

Ever since Vader's Memoirs on blogger, I had it in mind to create a tribute to some other popular scion of the Dark Side.

I have. Voldemort. Not that I'm a die-hard Potter fan (eeek). But readership, alas, is an issue. An Sauron is not at all empathising material while keeping a straight face.

Translation still goes on at Macbeth's soliloquy. Quenya has an amazing flow. Oh, and I've my AIEEE today. Heh.

25 April, 2008

On the beautiful 'whatevers'

The IIT-JEE didn't go too well, actually. So the doors of the premier technical institute in this country has shut its doors on my face with a rather resounding clang. Ah, well! Whatever.

There is hope in the other exams. Let us see. Dropping a year for another crack at IIT is not my cup of tea. Cannot afford to lose a year really - speed is of the essence if I am to steer myself along the course I've charted out tentatively.

Things in India are veering back into the bad old days. In colonial times, most of the landed gentry of Bengal (and elsewhere certainly, but I wouldn't have first-hand accounts of those) sent their scions to England to study. Out of the country at any rate.
A throwback of that in modern times. Those who can are already in USA after the SATs - out of these squalid things. The cutthroat competition (for even not-so-highly-prized qualifications), the favoritism rampant everywhere, the ominously exponential growth of a non-core industry, if there's a boom that's booming for too long people, there gonna be a crunch that'll be the Big Crunch . . . hard times in other words.
Not that's its Utopia there, I know. But hey! When you're in a uni where, say, the LCD was patented (KSU), or the first IC chip created . . . Like the difference in laid-back Kolkata and the relatively supersonic rush in Mumbai for example. Yeah, economy falling and everything - but it's still got a long way to go.

Me? Nope, all this is mainly other ppl' s rantings I have compiled. :P
When my dad floated the tender of SAT to me, it was way too late. Less than 6 months to prepare. Again, I'd rather do the grad from here (finger to competition!) and then search for greener pastures. Better to leave a green pasture for greener ones, not a barren desert I'm fleeing like a refugee.

Now back to some maths.....

23 April, 2008

On lengths and breadths

For sure, I generally do not help out unless coerced by some external Force am always there to lend a helping hand.
It feels rather great, like a mental pat on the back for my do-good tendencies (whose extent is quite rudimentary).

Hey, look, I ain't all that bad after all. Butch Cassidy the lot of 'em! Raindrops keep fallin' on my head, they keep bloody fallin' on my head. Which is not too bad in this ruddy furnace.
(yes, I might require a psychiatrist with a pitchfork)

No, a pair of delectably long legs did not catalyse my actions!

18 April, 2008

Them evenings

Sometimes, I do believe I have to compile a magnum opus on Evening.

Took a break from Maths. These days the winds blow in lusty gusts out of the darkened East. Flirting with the fire-fettered steeds of dusk, fraught with the fiery gaze of the Eye sinking into the West. Eyes burn lucent in the shade and everything seems to be more quintessentially itself. A lamp is more a lamp, a tree more a tree. Perhaps because the darkened shadows outline it in prominence. Minds too soar with sudden limpid clarity, borne upon the untamed gusts.

The sheer magnitude of the winds seem to make everything so . . . trifling.

And then again, gnawing at my very being - that nameless, undefined longing. A yearning for something forever just beyond my questing grasp. Maybe to soar into the Untrammeled with the lawless gusts, traversing aeons, light-years and lifetimes in a flicker of thought. Beyond the wicket-fences of safe homes, the golden necklaces of over-bridge lights, name, fame and the meaningless trappings that encumber our precious lives. 'Cept for the sky, there are no fences facin'.
To paint again as I did (oh, so very long ago!) with my flying form as brush and the cosmos for my canvas. To bring forth the music in my mind upon the strings of the Deep.

A conch-shell is blowing in some devout household. The lamps of the Eventide are lit, little flickers of human faith.
My rooms are dark.

I find myself staring vacantly into the space where the sun was. How swiftly the shroud falls upon the dying day. How do I explain something that loses it's profundity in explanation?
Sometime ago, I must've started quoting aloud, for I hear the words whispered in my suddenly hoarse voice,

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud . . .

16 April, 2008

On charity

To me it's just earning brownie points on the stairway to heaven. Period.

You give some loose change to a beggar - isn't there a sense of satisfaction at having done something for your unfortunate fellow creature, a feeling that 'yes! I am a good human being.' So is the deed done for the fellow creature, or also for the main course of boosting morality?
Outside a temple you see bhokti-godo-godo (brimming over with piety) people scattering money like crumbs. The look of pure gratitude on the recipients' faces, the respectful whispers of "See the young so-and-so....the scion of such-and-such family....such a kind soul, so generous, so magnanimous..."
Surely that's a visa to Seventh Heaven, Cloud 9 right?

Every time there is any interaction with a class-C employee/menial workers . . . goodness, such politeness. Such effete etiquette. For what joy? - that little voice applauding the deeds that leads to the unalloyed joy the man/lady may feel at being 'treated as an equal'. A balloon of self-righteous joy at doing the 'right thing'.

Ludicrous. Either we do it for the sake of the recipient, or not at all. True, in all effect there is no difference but there is. If receiving the gratitude is somewhere in out thoughts then Lord! I refuse to believe that however generous a deed will mean a thing.

11 April, 2008

On my doorstep

The problem is continuity. It is easy to begin (yeah, awesome discovery, that) and ego-boostingly satisfying to end. The middle part is where the problem lies. Between the "Let's do this, people!" and the "This is it! We did it!"

Especially difficult it is to prepare thoroughly if my copy of Ubuntu 7.10 appears on my doorstep. Aargh, how'll I ever restrain myself? Oh, bebother it all! I'm off to some OS installation ppl. IIT is old enough to fend for itself, for Eru's sake.

07 April, 2008

RIP Judah Ben-Hur

He was a beloved icon for generations of movie-goers, references to his most memorable performance are everywhere.

I remember Agni and myself making Ben-Hur+Messala faces and quaffing our water-bottles like they showed with goblets in the film. Ah well! ARC's school days. L'Finis. Heh.

Battling Alzheimer's, Judah's chariot race is over, Moses vanishing into a dramatic skyline. Recalling some of his not-so-well-known performances - as Michelangelo in Agony and Ecstasy, Major Dundee and the unforgettable Khartoum. Embodied the typical style of that era - the larger-than-life extravaganza of a Cecil B. de Mille epic blockbuster, the over-the-top personae and eminently quotable one-liners.

My memory's on overdrive it seems! Long ago in Std. 6. Wren and Martin's Grammar. The teacher calls out a sentence: "And the entire Sinai trembled dash the voice of God."
A skinny bespectacled boy let out a spontaneous rumble of what he thought God to be - a mighty booming + loads of yellow light coming out of a cave. To my joy that same divine echo was taken up by another boy, a few seats away.

The Rameses of the class banished us forthwith for our bass disruptions. However, that triggered my long and eventful association with one Aparajit Basu - known by many names: Darth Basu, The Imperial One, Lord Valion, Celethor Stormcrow Valalinde, .... et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Here's to Charlton Heston in all his avatars which defined my (and many others') psychotic childhood persona.

Sneh! I'm reminiscing at the drop of a pin these days. Maybe it's the aftermath of graduating.

"Looking back on childhood years,
Even unhappiness acquires a certain glow...

05 April, 2008

Doting on dotards

Did I ever mention my distaste for using collective nouns with respect to humans. There's a most disagreeable aftertaste after conforming to the norms expected of one in any such conglomerations - graced by such terms as meeting, party, soirée, pow-wow and what have you!

The food was passable. I didn't manage to have a jalebi before the alumni meeting started. It was memorable due to the following factors redeeming it's exquisite engendering of boredom:
  1. The fact that some people can approach the approximate dimensions of a well-fed walrus. With a paunch even at the back of the neck for goodness' sake...
  2. That Jesuits have truly commendable ways of dozing off, even if they are sitting on the podium. The heads loll backwards.
  3. It is a sign of propah upbringing to pronounce one's mother tongue with immense effort, akin to constipation.
  4. Sometimes, just sometimes people spoke sense. And it made sense to help out less fortunate folks (in the process showing off your unparalleled magnanimity - but that's like a tax-benefit I guess)

04 April, 2008

And she returns

Lashing out over the multi-storied building as if with a vengeance. The whip-strokes of an enraged mistress who returns to find her castle in flames. She lashes in a frenzy, and I can no longer see the Science City domes or Sunny Towers from my window. The stokes are like a blurred watercolor - not individual shafts. I hear hear the deep-throated rumblings of her wrath.
But the City is a willing self-sadist, embracing the outpouring wrath with open arms and bared flesh. The ecstasy when the pleasure is so keen that it borders on agony. Dousing the smoldering residue of summer heat.
On my secluded balcony I couldn't resist getting drenched to the skin. I'm dry now, and huddled before the console. Hair standing up like antennae. The streets will be awash with unspeakable dirt, I know. Somewhere, people's homes (the luxury of a single tarpaulin on the pavement) are being washed away.

But it is raining, and raining. Cats and dogs and elephants and whales. And I am ecstatic. That is all that matters. Oh yes, the fact that I'm blogging too!

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