One of the top 3 things i hate doing is WRITING. I prefer the egyptian heiroglyphs, thank you. However it is positioned at # 3 with Drafting and Model making grabbing the top honors. I also hate several other things which i am unable to pinpoint.
I like dozing on the couch, with the TV and the stereo simultaneously in blare-mode, one eye on a Wodehouse, another on the telly..and preferably the comforting crunch of a cookie resonating in my ears.
Sadly, Roorkee is no couch-potato's den. Cruel, piercing sunrays wake you up to another day of drudgery. You shunt from one place to another, in vain hope of a yielding prof cancelling his class..only to troop out of his class four hours later, using the T-pulley for support..
BeWigged sets us off to survey the godamned Roorkeescape in the blazing sun. The Wobbly Man shakes his head with calculated disdain, when we enter the class at 9:01- one minute past the official time. And the best part: We are not spared the gospel knowledge of Quantum either. Add to it the interesting angle of crackpot despots teaching us how not to build a house. A stint here, and the Taliban would renounce their weapons and take up knitting.
Agreed. Cookiecrunching and tvstereotwotiming are luxuries beyond the realms of non-royalty. I mean you are supposed to slug it, if you want to turn into a Steve Jobs. On the other hand, NO, slugging is a purely personal choice. You don't slug for The BigWig or the Crackpot Despots at the beck of their bloody fingers. As a principle, i am anti-rebellion because you can always shut up and bear it. But my principle is already straining under the first of the 42.
Cribbing, they say, is a hypochondriac's first stage. But think ye, where would Pink Floyd and RHCP be without a little cribbing.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mountain Do's
Finally, Blogger.com catches me in a contemplative mood. I have always wanted to write a post that would fire up the waterworks in the reader's eyes. And so it is today, that I give up jackassary, demon worship and relentless pursuit of arbitness in search of higher emotions- beginning with contemplation on the delicate aspects of life. Starting with Food.
You don't want to read this if you want to preserve your body fluids. Drool, mostly.
WATCH OUT trip, Sunday the 26th: At the crack of dawn we trooped out of the Bhawan even as the first rays prepared to start their 8 minute journey to earth. Deprived of morning coffee and breakfast, I was desperately low. This led me to consume a certain super-saturated sugar solution, sold as Coffee by the Marketing Division of Bus-T In Mussorie, someone comfortingly remarked, we would get awesome food. For it was to Mussorie where the 17 early-rising WONA folk decided to head to.
The coffee sloshed in my innards merrily as our bus twirled and pirouetted across the mountain roads. Everyone responded rather differently to the ballerina moves of the bus. Some nodded off, some like me stuck their necks out and drunk in the beautiful view ( with the steadfast gaze of a pigeon), some turned green with sickness.
A final grand jete and the bus threw us out. Into Mussourie, the land of breathtaking views.
Mussourie is a lovely hill station dotted with confectionery shops, expresso machines and ice-cream parlours. It understands the growing appetite of its tourists very well and as you walk up the Mall Road from the Bus Stop, the density of eating joints grows in delightful numbers. Anyone with the fatal Chocolate Deficiency Disease will find instant cure in this heavenly abode.
The smell of roasted coffee beans, bittersweet chocolate and of rum-raisin whiffs fight for space up your olfactory machinery as you walk by. Shepherding us was our Great CheerMan, who seemed immune to the intoxicating caffeine-scented air. Immune and impatient.
Ah, caffeine...
[Citation Needed]
The historic goat-herd beat the Zero-inventing Indian Nerd to the Greatest Discovery, when he stumbled upon the magic coffee bean. Lore has it that his goats went for a change of diet and grazed on some unknown herb. The goatherd went bonkers when he saw the herb transform his usually lazy goats into active, lithe and frollicky creatures.. So he went and sold his goats, pocketed the capital and started his own chain of expresso shop, which we all today know as Costa Coffee.
Every calorie of the chocolate binge was required when we took a detour from the plain path and took the primate-friendly path, negotiating precarious footholds, slippery gravel and itch-causing plants. Successful in getting ourselves lost, we also stumbled upon some ruins. Of course, death lurked in every move we made but what better place was there to die than this untramelled sliver of the mountains. Poignant yet timeless, deserted yet alive, Steep yet inviting.
I was still thinking about the very awesome trek or whatever it was, when we returning back. People again walked coldly past the choc shops, the famous Cheese Omelette shack and the expresso shops.
Such a cold attitude towards food comes handy in Roorkee though, especially towards the blistery chap at Happinezz or the Waste Reusal Dept of the Mess. WHEN will the entrepreneur within us open the patisserie we need? When will Italian Dining at Roorkee stop meaning Cheese Pizza at Prakash? On this quavering note, the post draws to its end. Burpbye.
You don't want to read this if you want to preserve your body fluids. Drool, mostly.
WATCH OUT trip, Sunday the 26th: At the crack of dawn we trooped out of the Bhawan even as the first rays prepared to start their 8 minute journey to earth. Deprived of morning coffee and breakfast, I was desperately low. This led me to consume a certain super-saturated sugar solution, sold as Coffee by the Marketing Division of Bus-T In Mussorie, someone comfortingly remarked, we would get awesome food. For it was to Mussorie where the 17 early-rising WONA folk decided to head to.
The coffee sloshed in my innards merrily as our bus twirled and pirouetted across the mountain roads. Everyone responded rather differently to the ballerina moves of the bus. Some nodded off, some like me stuck their necks out and drunk in the beautiful view ( with the steadfast gaze of a pigeon), some turned green with sickness.
A final grand jete and the bus threw us out. Into Mussourie, the land of breathtaking views.
Mussourie is a lovely hill station dotted with confectionery shops, expresso machines and ice-cream parlours. It understands the growing appetite of its tourists very well and as you walk up the Mall Road from the Bus Stop, the density of eating joints grows in delightful numbers. Anyone with the fatal Chocolate Deficiency Disease will find instant cure in this heavenly abode.
The smell of roasted coffee beans, bittersweet chocolate and of rum-raisin whiffs fight for space up your olfactory machinery as you walk by. Shepherding us was our Great CheerMan, who seemed immune to the intoxicating caffeine-scented air. Immune and impatient.
Ah, caffeine...
[Citation Needed]
The historic goat-herd beat the Zero-inventing Indian Nerd to the Greatest Discovery, when he stumbled upon the magic coffee bean. Lore has it that his goats went for a change of diet and grazed on some unknown herb. The goatherd went bonkers when he saw the herb transform his usually lazy goats into active, lithe and frollicky creatures.. So he went and sold his goats, pocketed the capital and started his own chain of expresso shop, which we all today know as Costa Coffee.
Every calorie of the chocolate binge was required when we took a detour from the plain path and took the primate-friendly path, negotiating precarious footholds, slippery gravel and itch-causing plants. Successful in getting ourselves lost, we also stumbled upon some ruins. Of course, death lurked in every move we made but what better place was there to die than this untramelled sliver of the mountains. Poignant yet timeless, deserted yet alive, Steep yet inviting.
I was still thinking about the very awesome trek or whatever it was, when we returning back. People again walked coldly past the choc shops, the famous Cheese Omelette shack and the expresso shops.
Such a cold attitude towards food comes handy in Roorkee though, especially towards the blistery chap at Happinezz or the Waste Reusal Dept of the Mess. WHEN will the entrepreneur within us open the patisserie we need? When will Italian Dining at Roorkee stop meaning Cheese Pizza at Prakash? On this quavering note, the post draws to its end. Burpbye.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
BLOG OF SMALL THINGS
PROLOGUE
"With the lights out , its less dangerous ,
here we are now ,entertain us"
called out the Lizard on the south -facing wall to the Lizard on the east- facing wall.
All this in ultrasound frequencies but enough to wake up the tuna coloured semi-corpse from her sleep.
Its been a week Of Eggs, Bones( broken) and Cramp-ets. One still doesn't get whether the insti is pro-sports or not. On one hand they make us guzzle calories with the air of the doting grandma and then switch roles with the pop-eyed, stuffy Grandfather and make us sit for eighteen TSs and nine end-sems. Speaking of pop-eyed and stuffy, he has done it again. Any event of potential joie de vivre continues to get culled at the altar of the One Who Must Not Be Smelled- Monsieur Swine Flu, all thanks to the Pignacious One.
But still hols are hols, and rollicky they must be according to PG's First Law of Strife, Unihearse and Nothing. With the first signs of autumn creeping into the air, and skies turning bluer than usual and the clock taking its own sweet time to tick,numbing pains easily dissolve into endless hours of slumber.
It was from such an endless slumber that the semi-corpse woke up. In stark contrast to her tuna-like greyness, the lizards were green.
Corpse turned white as death as a lizard expertly rolled out its tongue, caught a passing fly and rolled it back.
Burped. (in ultrasound)
Corpse shrieked (very audibly)
The whole room was wall-papered with lizards. Some were shy, some the romantic types, some had forked tails..they waltzed, jumped, hip-hopped..and because with every species, happiness is intrinsically linked with the presence of plentiful food, there were gazillions of insects too.
One insect decided to take refugee in Corpse's ear-folds, another decided to fish for food in her blood-streams. A malicious mosquito dived into her nose. Corpse yelled in terror and then spat out a fly that had entered her mouth.
The Lizard with the Forked Tail saw this. It gave a snarl and suddenly it looked very like Papa Dinosuar, as it lashed out its tail angrily.
With mean intent, it crept down the South Wall to the floor...
across...
Its big, black eyes never left Corpse as it drew a deep breath and launched itself into the air, straight for Corpse...
SHOWDOWN
General Lee grabbed the blood-bottling fly in one limb, the ear-wig in the other and banged their heads into one another. All in less than a nanosecond. Its tongue caught the phlegmflea and crushed it.
Victory! cried out all the admiring lizards on the walls. In ultrasound, ofcourse. Some of the albino-lizards turned green with envy, which was exactly what they had always wanted, so in the end everyone loved General Lee.
In every scene of Good Versus Evil you always have the sulking, stupid dumbass and here Corpse played that part. She turned blue with fright, as Lee did a victory flip. Purple, as he turned to her with beseeching eyes. Dead, as his mates flocked besides him for the victory march.
Which was when P.G Woodhearses(Fine Makers Of Oak/Plastic/Composite hearses, we help you carry back your beloved dead in style) were commisioned for a mass supply. Which is how we know the details of the above story.
cast
Corpse - Me
Lizard on East-facing wall - Some Lizard
he - Sonofabutcher
credits
Music score - What do you care, most of it was in ultrasound?
Director of Action - Quentin Tarantula
Fitness Advisor - The Cricket
"With the lights out , its less dangerous ,
here we are now ,entertain us"
called out the Lizard on the south -facing wall to the Lizard on the east- facing wall.
All this in ultrasound frequencies but enough to wake up the tuna coloured semi-corpse from her sleep.
Its been a week Of Eggs, Bones( broken) and Cramp-ets. One still doesn't get whether the insti is pro-sports or not. On one hand they make us guzzle calories with the air of the doting grandma and then switch roles with the pop-eyed, stuffy Grandfather and make us sit for eighteen TSs and nine end-sems. Speaking of pop-eyed and stuffy, he has done it again. Any event of potential joie de vivre continues to get culled at the altar of the One Who Must Not Be Smelled- Monsieur Swine Flu, all thanks to the Pignacious One.
But still hols are hols, and rollicky they must be according to PG's First Law of Strife, Unihearse and Nothing. With the first signs of autumn creeping into the air, and skies turning bluer than usual and the clock taking its own sweet time to tick,numbing pains easily dissolve into endless hours of slumber.
It was from such an endless slumber that the semi-corpse woke up. In stark contrast to her tuna-like greyness, the lizards were green.
Corpse turned white as death as a lizard expertly rolled out its tongue, caught a passing fly and rolled it back.
Burped. (in ultrasound)
Corpse shrieked (very audibly)
The whole room was wall-papered with lizards. Some were shy, some the romantic types, some had forked tails..they waltzed, jumped, hip-hopped..and because with every species, happiness is intrinsically linked with the presence of plentiful food, there were gazillions of insects too.
One insect decided to take refugee in Corpse's ear-folds, another decided to fish for food in her blood-streams. A malicious mosquito dived into her nose. Corpse yelled in terror and then spat out a fly that had entered her mouth.
The Lizard with the Forked Tail saw this. It gave a snarl and suddenly it looked very like Papa Dinosuar, as it lashed out its tail angrily.
With mean intent, it crept down the South Wall to the floor...
across...
Its big, black eyes never left Corpse as it drew a deep breath and launched itself into the air, straight for Corpse...
SHOWDOWN
General Lee grabbed the blood-bottling fly in one limb, the ear-wig in the other and banged their heads into one another. All in less than a nanosecond. Its tongue caught the phlegmflea and crushed it.
Victory! cried out all the admiring lizards on the walls. In ultrasound, ofcourse. Some of the albino-lizards turned green with envy, which was exactly what they had always wanted, so in the end everyone loved General Lee.
In every scene of Good Versus Evil you always have the sulking, stupid dumbass and here Corpse played that part. She turned blue with fright, as Lee did a victory flip. Purple, as he turned to her with beseeching eyes. Dead, as his mates flocked besides him for the victory march.
Which was when P.G Woodhearses(Fine Makers Of Oak/Plastic/Composite hearses, we help you carry back your beloved dead in style) were commisioned for a mass supply. Which is how we know the details of the above story.
cast
Corpse - Me
Lizard on East-facing wall - Some Lizard
he - Sonofabutcher
credits
Music score - What do you care, most of it was in ultrasound?
Director of Action - Quentin Tarantula
Fitness Advisor - The Cricket
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
My Experiments with the Tooth / Toothpost And Flaws
Toothache is one of the most hard-to-locate pains in the world. Its not like the ear-ache that can be instantly put to ease with a simple toss of your head. Or the muscle ache that can be only rectified by the very pleasurable task of nodding off.
People never document it but the most ABOMINABLE pain in the whole wild world HAS to be the smarting of the skin-between-the fingernail. You fall prey to it when you wildly hack off some of your precious dermal layer while trimming the nails.
But of toothache, the less said the better (and yet, i dedicate to it a whole post). Its not as vicious and lashing as the skin-between-the-fingernails excruciation. Its not as biting as the ear-ache.
But the Common Toothache can make man live his horrendous most nightmares.
HOW THE COMMON TOOTHACHE COMES ABOUT TO BE
You manifest your hog-likeness in the most obvious of ways, and stuff in one-two many morsels. Your long-suffering belly bears it subservently enough and patiently takes the food in, the mucosa never failing, the colon never refusing...
And you!
Champion Chomper, Gluttonous Gnasher, Monstrous Mincer Of All times merely look around with a self-satisfied air, wipe the sweat off and tackle Level II- the post-meal meal.
That's when the first tremors begin to rock your jaws.
THE TOOTH-QUAKE
The jowl has atlast weakened. The WhizDumb Tooth gives a dangerous creak.
Zooming into the dark cavern of your mouth, one can imagine what the scene must look like. The incisors would be putting up a brave front. The canines would be swinging ominously, reminescent of the buckling chandelier seen in desi horror-movie climaxes.
The grinders would be lying like fallen soldiers, battered and beaten.
To this scene of penultimate doom, you lend the spooky background score as you ruthlessly command the lone fighters to march to the beats of chomp-chomp.
TOOTHSDAY
Toothquake scales up to 9.0 Richter teethtonic hell. You yell, desperate to make the pain stop, and unable to locate the epicenter. You call up the GERMINATOR for help.
THE DEATHLY HOLLOWS
And the rest is all a rather insalubrious matter between you, the dentist, the three deadly hollows that riddle your teeth.
Which brings us to the end of another post that helps Woodhearse buy some time before the dreaded permanent burial.
People never document it but the most ABOMINABLE pain in the whole wild world HAS to be the smarting of the skin-between-the fingernail. You fall prey to it when you wildly hack off some of your precious dermal layer while trimming the nails.
But of toothache, the less said the better (and yet, i dedicate to it a whole post). Its not as vicious and lashing as the skin-between-the-fingernails excruciation. Its not as biting as the ear-ache.
But the Common Toothache can make man live his horrendous most nightmares.
HOW THE COMMON TOOTHACHE COMES ABOUT TO BE
You manifest your hog-likeness in the most obvious of ways, and stuff in one-two many morsels. Your long-suffering belly bears it subservently enough and patiently takes the food in, the mucosa never failing, the colon never refusing...
And you!
Champion Chomper, Gluttonous Gnasher, Monstrous Mincer Of All times merely look around with a self-satisfied air, wipe the sweat off and tackle Level II- the post-meal meal.
That's when the first tremors begin to rock your jaws.
THE TOOTH-QUAKE
The jowl has atlast weakened. The WhizDumb Tooth gives a dangerous creak.
Zooming into the dark cavern of your mouth, one can imagine what the scene must look like. The incisors would be putting up a brave front. The canines would be swinging ominously, reminescent of the buckling chandelier seen in desi horror-movie climaxes.
The grinders would be lying like fallen soldiers, battered and beaten.
To this scene of penultimate doom, you lend the spooky background score as you ruthlessly command the lone fighters to march to the beats of chomp-chomp.
TOOTHSDAY
Toothquake scales up to 9.0 Richter teethtonic hell. You yell, desperate to make the pain stop, and unable to locate the epicenter. You call up the GERMINATOR for help.
THE DEATHLY HOLLOWS
And the rest is all a rather insalubrious matter between you, the dentist, the three deadly hollows that riddle your teeth.
Which brings us to the end of another post that helps Woodhearse buy some time before the dreaded permanent burial.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
when you (can) say nothing at all...
Bypassing any romantic implications the title may have and coming straight to the point, it's getting difficult to brush your teeth in peace and solace.
I am not even talking about the no-show of Coriolis Effect in the collecting ,stagnant waters . Right. Ewww.
Barely awake, I float off to the Confluence of Brushing People and wiggle between million elbows to subject my teeth to the second half of the morning maxim, that is, SHINE. When a certain over-chatty conspirator decides to make the most out of the assembled crowd and hold an early morning Election Poll right there. The poll question that I have to apparently answer is
" Who are you voting for".
I am (literally) foaming and frothing at the mouth and thus rendered speechless, preventing me from giving a fitting reply ( Batman, in this case), and E.C has to back off, disappointed .
Meanwhile I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Tooth Fairies, for early morning Poli-themed conversations are super-bugging.
Poli is not even a welcome topic in the afternoon, evening or night for that matter.
There are other times when one might be speech-deprived.
One is when people breaks stupidity records and coolly and confidently state the fact that a swine is undoubtedly, a type of an insect.
Or when the Prof who looks EXACTLY like a lion tamer ( complete with chinese mafiaesque moustaches and metaphoric whip- weird assignments ) ends every sentence of his with a HA-HA-HA. The HA-HA-HA is not any staid HA-HA-HA; it starts at B-flat 2, slides off into F2 before fading dramatically into silence. Tears, yes, tears stream down as you are bent triple from the task of not being able to ROFL properly.
But it is unexpected news like FOUR STRAIGHT HOLIDAYS which makes the thorax stutter with emotion and manage only a poor WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE in response, that takes the cake for the awesomest speechless moments of the past few days.
I am not even talking about the no-show of Coriolis Effect in the collecting ,stagnant waters . Right. Ewww.
Barely awake, I float off to the Confluence of Brushing People and wiggle between million elbows to subject my teeth to the second half of the morning maxim, that is, SHINE. When a certain over-chatty conspirator decides to make the most out of the assembled crowd and hold an early morning Election Poll right there. The poll question that I have to apparently answer is
" Who are you voting for".
I am (literally) foaming and frothing at the mouth and thus rendered speechless, preventing me from giving a fitting reply ( Batman, in this case), and E.C has to back off, disappointed .
Meanwhile I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Tooth Fairies, for early morning Poli-themed conversations are super-bugging.
Poli is not even a welcome topic in the afternoon, evening or night for that matter.
There are other times when one might be speech-deprived.
One is when people breaks stupidity records and coolly and confidently state the fact that a swine is undoubtedly, a type of an insect.
Or when the Prof who looks EXACTLY like a lion tamer ( complete with chinese mafiaesque moustaches and metaphoric whip- weird assignments ) ends every sentence of his with a HA-HA-HA. The HA-HA-HA is not any staid HA-HA-HA; it starts at B-flat 2, slides off into F2 before fading dramatically into silence. Tears, yes, tears stream down as you are bent triple from the task of not being able to ROFL properly.
But it is unexpected news like FOUR STRAIGHT HOLIDAYS which makes the thorax stutter with emotion and manage only a poor WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE in response, that takes the cake for the awesomest speechless moments of the past few days.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Sixty Minutes
This was the hour that elapsed between 6 am to 7 am (on my birthday) that I shall never, never recover from. It started with The Troublemaker dragging me unceremoniously to the LBS grounds. Barely awake, my poor brain was addled by a string of sweeping statements- discoursed with the air of Aristotle by ofcourse, the Troublemaker.
'We will go back at sharp 7 am.'
'It is so hot.'
'Damn, it sooo very hot.'
'I am hungry.'
Each statement hit me like a vicious bullet. I feebly tried to plug my ears, but the sonic boom was unrelenting. When the killer of the lot- 'Let us take a round of LBS' hit home, I felt my heartbeat shift to a lower gear.
Well, if you would have sent for the doctor then ,I am sure he would have given up the case as one for the 'I'm Still Alive' series. The poignant point was that I would be slipping into my hearse on my very birthday. Agreed -my biographer would have it easier to put down my age as a Perfect Twenty -but it still seemed unfair to me.
I was dying, but I was to come out of it alive
The interesting part comes HERE. . This would be one of those Near-Death experiences for I had slipped into the transient space from where the Dead depart to either heaven or hell.
I had technically zoned out, but I knew I wasn't dead and somehow I wasn't worrying about it anymore. A beautiful song was playing in the background and it was a long time before I snapped away from the music and looked around. I was in the middle of a passage.
It was then that I felt Uplifted. The meaning to Life, The Universe and Everything became clear...the music ebbed away and the passage turned dark even as a blurry symbol appeared at the end of the passage. The suspense rose to a crescendo as the image sharpened and a number glowed in the dark.
42!
Taking cue, a pacy soundtrack began to play and then an imperciptible swish of curtains...and I felt myself thrown out of the passage, hurtling faster and faster, unconscious...
...and then found myself lying on the ground ...I was alive. I had survived.
The Troublemaker insists all this is BULLSHIT and that I had merely fallen down as a result of the kick-in-my-shins she had just administered to me. I maintain my version of the story, feeling a little smug for I, and only I possess the Answer.
P.S.: It was FB that named P.S as The Troublemaker and though not unopposed to the general meaning it suggests, I beg pardon. Besides its ALL a joke.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The End Draws Closer
P.G's WoodHearse ( established since 1989) is sad to announce that Summer-break '09 has booked a hearse for itself. Undertakers from IITR have announced the day of its death- 22nd of this month.
Not since the demise of Sirius Black have I found myself so completely choked and cut up. Needless to say, its an early, cruel death for these upstanding HolyDays, and allow me a last hearty sob into my kerchief before I read out the funeral speech.
* Background music: Another Brick In the Wall By Pink Floyd*
I am P.G. and I would like to say a few words in memory of The HolyDays.
A whole glorious summer of wallowing in laziness has passed, and it is with surprise that I note that we all made it through, despite the scorching sun, the unyielding rains and The Hangover.
Looking back, the HolyDays fit into the general scheme of 'life is one grand, sweet song'. One could be lazy. One could be greedy. One could loll forever, atleast till one's spine suffered permanent damage.
My brief but beautiful relation with the HolyDays took me to the most breath-taking heights of Joblessness. It was this vast space of time which let me sit for hours appreciating the singular beauty of an earthworm trying to crawl out of the earth after the first showers.
It seems so unbelievably far-away- the day when Shendi ( Agent XAGR8) and I held up Monginis, snubbed a w.h.i.t.e. and snuck off to KFC for reinforcements, ( missing Agent Blonde and Agent BroomSTUCK sorely) and met the Chinese gunman Chu-ha .
This is all I can manage to say, because at the moment, grief has rendered my thorax dysfunctional.
One more week and the green and lush Roorkee will pop back into sight and life will screech out its answer to the meaning of Architecture, Second Year and First Sem : 42.
Not since the demise of Sirius Black have I found myself so completely choked and cut up. Needless to say, its an early, cruel death for these upstanding HolyDays, and allow me a last hearty sob into my kerchief before I read out the funeral speech.
* Background music: Another Brick In the Wall By Pink Floyd*
I am P.G. and I would like to say a few words in memory of The HolyDays.
A whole glorious summer of wallowing in laziness has passed, and it is with surprise that I note that we all made it through, despite the scorching sun, the unyielding rains and The Hangover.
Looking back, the HolyDays fit into the general scheme of 'life is one grand, sweet song'. One could be lazy. One could be greedy. One could loll forever, atleast till one's spine suffered permanent damage.
My brief but beautiful relation with the HolyDays took me to the most breath-taking heights of Joblessness. It was this vast space of time which let me sit for hours appreciating the singular beauty of an earthworm trying to crawl out of the earth after the first showers.
It seems so unbelievably far-away- the day when Shendi ( Agent XAGR8) and I held up Monginis, snubbed a w.h.i.t.e. and snuck off to KFC for reinforcements, ( missing Agent Blonde and Agent BroomSTUCK sorely) and met the Chinese gunman Chu-ha .
This is all I can manage to say, because at the moment, grief has rendered my thorax dysfunctional.
One more week and the green and lush Roorkee will pop back into sight and life will screech out its answer to the meaning of Architecture, Second Year and First Sem : 42.
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