Saturday, January 31, 2009

The Pug Shall Kill Itself.

Mom's Vodafone Bill.
Yes, my friends, that's Rs. -47.18. FYI, phone bills run sub-zero.
The maternal specie lives in a world of it's own. As is evident, our laws of economics, physics and mathematics DO NOT apply.

I actually liked the lil' doggie.

Monday, January 26, 2009

In The Gist Of Things...

If it isn't clear enough by now... there's something very very wrong with me.
*Evil laughter* x 10

Reference for the aforementioned trespassers :
Point mouse-click-read-stare-scream.

P.S. And then people wonder why I scare myself sometimes.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Band-Aid Covers The Bullet Hole.

Does it make sense to have faith? When time and time again, life conspires to smack you right where it hurts most.

Promises are made to be broken. It's compromises that last a lifetime.

The years turn us cynical.. and as soon as we start to see the futility of hope, we teach ourselves to do without it. We turn ourselves into cold, insentient robots and learn to live without expectations.
We do every damn thing possible to avoid disappointment, even if it means always expecting the very worst from people and circumstances. We shut ourselves off from the world. But when faced with a yearning strong enough, we begin to question ourselves. We begin to question our view of the world.. and we realize that even if we abstain from expecting, we cannot strangulate our hopes.

Hope. The second of the fatal four-letter words. Against all reason, against all odds and against all rationale.. we hope. We throw caution to the winds, take the plunge, and put ourselves out there again. Hoping.. that we were wrong. And wishing, for things to fall into place.
Such is the sheer stupidity of optimism.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

I plagiarize myself : Reduced, Reused, Recycled.

I once chanced upon a very interesting blogpost, written by one of *my favorite people in the world, and set out to comment. Once I was through dealing with the torrent of emotions I could not contain, let out in free flow, I realized that I had in effect, attempted to take over the blog by posting a verbiage of text nearly double of what the post itself contained. However, fully aware of the fact that this is my kingdom and I am the self-appointed king, I will yell out to mankind yet again and force it to hear me out.

* Dear Mindfreak, you are most welcome to retaliate and take over mine. :)

A question pertaining to the nature and necessity of logic/rationality/realism in the growth of a human as an individual. Also, the rationality v/s convenience hypothesis.

It is oft propounded that the realization of one’s concepts is a journey. But a life defined in non-absolutes isn’t exactly a very satisfying thought, is it?
Ignorance, like all other bitter pleasures, has a massive price tagged along that not many can afford. Despite the fact that the other extreme involves a risk much greater. That’s the problem with extremes, and that’s what ails the few who refuse to settle for anything but the extreme.

When faced with the proverbial fork in the road (especially in times and terms of moral dilemma),it is our innate tendency to take both ways at once. The middle path may be CONVENIENT. But it is not ABSOLUTE .Hence, not satisfying.

Perception, with its possible (/probable) discrepancies may not be absolute in the true sense. But conversely, there is no such thing as selective rationality (or in other terms, a convenient one).

If you say that rationality IS convenience, then you have, in effect, altered the definition of either of those two terms.
Let me elucidate with a very basic analogy:
An A is an A. Each one of us is capable of convincing ourselves it’s a C, to fit into our equation. THAT is convenience. Or either way, one at the cost of the other.
But what is the “right” thing to do..?
Let’s make it bigger: What defines the “right” thing to do?
Let’s go crazy with it: Is there a “right” thing to do?

I may not have the complete answer to the questions raised, but I refuse to let go of the belief that someday, I will define an all-encompassing absolute. It’s not just that I won’t. It’s that I can’t give up the quest. Call it a necessary hope.

Life.. On A Chess Board.

I went shopping again. And before I proceed, I assure you that this post has as much in common with chick-lit as Sarojini Nagar has to do with Jean Paul Gaultier i.e. very little. So, coming back to:
I went shopping. And again came to terms with exactly how anti-chrome I am.
All I see is Black and White. And I cannot start to express my disgust for the pink jeans-clad Disney Channel generation. In my opinion, Hilary Duff and Miley Cyrus(I think that's her name) have collectively done more damage to the world's youth than the entire "sex, drugs and rock n' roll" scene put together.

Anyhow, after pacing diligently up and down dozens of aisles in half a dozen different stores in three different malls, I happily walked home in unabated glory with bagfuls of a small treasure in black, white, black-and-white, white-and-black, and gray apparel! As I sat and allowed my obsessive compulsive disposition to take over and designate my newly acquired acquisitions in my majorly black, black-painted wardrobe in a dark corner of my thoroughly gray room, it struck me. A long forgotten comment ringing in my ear, nearly a year after a friend of mine, who will henceforth be referred to only as Dobre (pronounced Dobe-ray, and don't forget to roll the "r". ;) passed under a spate of absolutely inconsequential circumstances.
"Your life has long been reduced to an especially morose equivalent of a chess-board." (Or something that was decidedly to that effect in Hindi.)

He was right. It is all black and white for me. All or nothing. A life defined in extremes. There is never any room for anything else.
The truth of the matter is, that anyone who has tasted completeness, or dreamed of it, is condemned to settle for nothing but the absolute. Mediocrity and vagueness do not satisfy me. Every action has to have intensity, every thought has to have passion, every result has to be flawless, every intent has to be rational, and every move has to have precision. And I believe that rose-tinted glasses are only to blur things, for those who cannot handle the true sharpness of the real picture.

What interests me here is how my philosophical insights and work ethics tend to trancend my aesthetic preferences. A curious mingling of art and science.

Note to self : The human mind works in strange ways. As I have suspected since the first time I saw kids my age running around in their underwear, pretending to be Superman. Ahh... my very first moment of misanthropy and enlightenment, when I first identified my existential crisis. Muahahaha... *evil laughter*

A Disconnected Inference.

Love is to hate what matter is to energy.
Both can be inter converted, neither can be destroyed.

Warning : A little of one creates a hell lot of the other. Proceed with caution. The intermediate mixture is highly flammable.
It seems getting a life isn't as easy as I thought. And I didn' begin with. *sighs* *yawns* *goes off to sleep*

Your darkest secret is:
You accidentally went back in time and killed a dodo bird

Take this quiz at

The a sad bedtime companion.

Don't get me wrong. I, most definitely, am ludicrously dependent on the world wide web for my day-to-day functioning. (This may be detoured into a discussion about how I Google-d and Wikipedia-ed my way into "being smart", or at least becoming capable of "pwning" a fair number of smart people, hence earning the very coveted title of a *pompous know-it-all smart-ass with a god complex*. But instinct tells me to save it for a more pronounced wave of sadism, to do justice to it.)
But here I am, at 1 A.M. on the 18th day of 2009, with nothing more than half a packet of chips, a half-knit scarf and a fully-hated book of Advanced Engineering Mathematics to make my night more interesting. And if that sounds bleak, just wait for what's coming next.

After about 10 minutes of clicking, surfing, wincing and reiterating about a dozen times, I land up at something called "Blogthings", and here's what it treats me to :

What does your height say about you?
*Eh... That I'm tall?

What kind of Pancakes are you?
*Apparently, I'm Chocolate Chip.

What circus act should you perform?
*I should walk on stilts.

Do you use the internet like a man or a woman?
*Seriously? !!! Why exactly would I answer 10 questions to be told whether I surf porn or spy on people?
Note: That makes me wonder if the permutations and combinations of the two could be a field of research. Anyhow.....

This goes on to make a painfully long list.

Note to self : Get a life. Hmmmph!

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Bad poetry - Volume 1.


Me and my boots, went out walking today,
We talked and we walked, along old ways.
The further we went, the closer we got,
To that old tree, around that old block.

Miles we went, and the miles went by,
To go on forever, I wanted to try.
The wind was cold, the sun was warm,
That old bent road, had its charm.

It led to that place, that old old house,
Where the old old lady, fed her old white mouse.
I walked past the park, where I used to play,
With friends I knew once... but not today.

I walked along that lake, where the water is always blue,
Where I sat for hours, when worries were few.
The birds that knew me, I saw ahead,
The ones I used to read to, but they always fled.

That same old place, with the same old tree,
That same old lake, and that same old me.
Yet something was different, something was new,
And I looked at my boots..I wish they knew.

If beginnings had no ends...

I start.

I, my evil self, hereby give to myself a chronicle archiving the meanderings of my break-failed train-of-thought. It is with great boredom and a caffeine overdose in tow, that I have finally convinced myself to write for no reason in particular..or in general, for that matter. In honor and great appreciation of nothingness, for the flawless and thoroughly inconsequential thing that it is, I dedicate my neurotic ramblings, disjunctive/conjunctive syllogisms and a fair number of insomniac hours to this particular morsel of cyberspace.

So, dear paranoid androids, co-barbarians ,aliens from the planet Betelgeuse and cerebrally-functional humans, you are all cordially invited to surf around in high tide.The rest will be tracked, hunted and duly shot down with Xanthic Re-Structron Destabilized Zenon Emitters.
All comments, applause, trust funds, death-threats and bazookas will be welcomed.