Llama's Carpet

You spiked my arm
But you missed the vein
Now its all gone
But the scars remain

~ Mark Knopfler

Mirror Mirror

Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Who's the Darkest of Them All?

Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Shall I leave my Friends alone
Hidden in a Twilight Hall?

Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Shall we dare the Dragon?

Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Gone is the Wisdom of a Thousand Years
How shall We leave the Lost Road?

Insanity said Coldly:
Be aware the Storm gets closer.
And the Story Ends.

... I'm lost in a R. R.'s fantasy world of wars and wolfs. Time to spread your little wings and fly away. Fly away, far away!

Blood Sugar

Tiny Rebel Moments

Today I submitted my exam paper to Prof. Cauchy, the famous mathematician.

No, he doesn't really teach us - he's French. He is also dead.

The punchline being ofcourse that in the exam answer sheet, where it said "Name of Professor" instead of writing Prof. Koshy, a Mallu marketeer (and a God-level prof), I wrote in big, bold letters, "Prof. Cauchy".

Yesterday, our paper was to "Prof. M.S. Sriram". Feeling adventerous, I swished my pen twice, deftly converted the S's to dollars and wrote "Prof. M.$. $riram" instead. It fits perfectly - he teaches us Accounting! :-D

Back in college I was a rebel. I grew my hair and I jumped out of classrooms via the windows. I scandalized teachers and back in IIT I was a "rebel" too - I took pride in *zero* studies and I generally pretended to admire Ernesto Che Guevara and I also sneaked my car (with Cake music (Frequent car-ers will know what I mean)) out late at night when my parents were asleep.

But no more. In this new college of mine, jumping out of windows is a long way off - decorum demands that I don't even sneeze the wrong way. That's why there's such joy in the little things - a word here, a pun there.

Reports lined with Douglassey phrases and a paragraph in the middle written in Shakespearean English. Vandalism of Profs names in exams. Just little things. But they mark my existence more than all the 23-page assignments that I write.

Today

Today is Friday. It started at a second past midnight.

At a second to midnight, I was on Page 4. At a second past midnight I was still on Page 4. Two hours past midnight and I had moved on to Page 5.

The report didn't seem never-ending. Worse: It seemed never-progressing. Statistical analysis, Function Words, Neural Networks and Madhavan's demented-man laugh floated in and out my conciousness. Excel 2007 focused and blurred as I rubbed my weary eyes.

Four hours past midnight and I fall asleep. Drop asleep would be more accurate. Precisely on the Delete key.

Six hours past midnight. I discover my folly. If it weren't for the miracle of Command-Z, I'd have been strung and quartered by my group already.

Eight and a half hours past midnight. I run to class. There is a surprise marketing quiz. Ouch that hurts.

Twelve hours past midnight. Twelve hours to midnight. I skip class and continue writing the report.

Ten hours to midnight. Page Nineteen. She calls and says that there's a surprise Financial Markets quiz. The light at the end of your tunnel is just a freight train coming your way.

Eight hours to midnight. The report has now grown to 23 pages. Let It Be, Let It Be, Let It Be Let It Be. If there must be an answer, Let It Be. ... And it's off with the Report's Head. SHIT. What SHIT? Well you've heard of JIT? Just In Time. This is all SomeHow In Time.

Seven hours to midnight. My group is proud of me. They treat me to my first meal of the day. Thanks guys.

Six hours to midnight. Mahindra War Room Presentation. Quite spiffy actually.

Three hours to midnight. I run out of dinner leaving a poor soul stranded. Sorry. I had to attend the Mathematical Finance Lecture.

One hour to midnight. The first mail check of the day. The first free minute of the week. The first blog post of the month.

Two minutes to midnight. I like that song.

One second to midnight. It's Saturday now. Time to prepare for today's classes.

Contri Dinner

Have you ever heard of "going dutch"? It's when everyone pays for their own share of dinner as opposed to the traditional "man pays" approach. That ofcourse, is the traditional meaning of "going dutch". In our reference frames, it has more to do with Tetrahydrocannabinol.

Anyhow, you see I've always harboured plans of complete and total world domination. I know "complete and total" is a little redundant, but complete world domination just isin't enough for the likes of me. To this end, I have cultivated a friends-circle of like minded Evil villians for two reasons: One, to learn of new and improved techniques of evilness and two, so I know who all to backstab when I *finally* do take over the world.

Once, in a brilliant spurt of enthu, rarely observed in sloths, Godwani (friend from aforementioned evil circle) contemplated that we should have a blog where we can discuss our plans of world domination, and also coffee. Hence, Contri Dinner was born. With 4 posts in 4 years, this was clearly the highest priority in our lives. Rest assured, the blog lay dormant, like a mango-seed in a desert, waiting for the day that someone has pity on it and puts it out of its misery eats it (all puns intended).

But now that we're in Ahmedabad at the same time, with no option but to mug away to glory, we've decided (actually, I've decided and I'll beat 'gid with a stick till he agrees) to bring the blog back to life. Ofcourse, the blog has come to life before. 3 times to be precise. Lets hope that this time it doesn't lapse back into one of those unconcious thingies, for I would be too embarassed by this and I might have to climb into a little black corner of the web and refuse to ever come out.

Anyhow, have a read. The first post is http://contridinner.blogspot.com/2006/03/food-or-something-like-that.html and the latest one can be found at http://contridinner.blogspot.com/. Add it to your Google Readers, or whatever you use. And do post comments too. We'll be back with enough random bullshit in the coming days.

Any donations towards our effors of total and complete world domination are highly appreciated.

Kung Fubu Panda

(by KP and Jose)

The rotund warrior settled into his chair with the silky smooth precision of a crab, his substantial behind settling into the soft padding material displacing it so that it snuck up the nether-region between the cheeks and there it stayed. Stayed atleast, till he shifted for more comfort.

Few dared approach him lest they be blinded by the rays os SHEER OSSOMNESS that emanated so freely from him.

The Rotund Warrior then took a bite from his sandwich , picked up the phone and used his fearsome voice
to sell stuff.

Dreamsatwork presents: Kung-Fubu Panda as he should have been :)

(Statutory Warning: Bad Photoshopping Ahead - proceed at your own risk:)

Blackjack

Here I sit
Alone by a balcony
Spent by the Summer Day
Watching clouds in the Starry Night
E'er forming shapes

Here I sit
Alone in a filthy room
My weekly dreary Ceremony
Watching silent raindrops
Forming patterns on the Desert Floor

Here I sit
Lit only by a screen
A bat for flying company
Don't fly into the fan you'll die
Idiot.

Here I sit
On a yellow ledge
Before the new day dawns
Wondering why I write these
Twenty One words everynight.

Phobia

Children are victims. Parents fill kids' consciousness with their own irrational fears and doubts. Some are religious nut-jobs while others scream at the mere sight of a spider. Hence, children are victims of their parent's credulity.

I am extraordinarily lucky: My father does not fear snakes and I don't pay any heed to those measly spiders as they skitter past, they being afraid lest I wield my rolled newspaper like a club. Neither do I suffer from a fear of a large number of mythical and supposedly dangerous scaled creatures.

However, even so, I was not spared. I was indoctrinated with the strict loathing and fear of just one thing: Shopping.

Indeed, my father is the epitome of the anti-shopper. Bring him into a shop, or near a shop, or indeed in the vicinity of shoppers, and he goes off like an overzealous burglar alarm! In his humble opinion, shoppers can go f*ck themselves. Scum-of-the-earth, villains and other colourful descriptions follow in quick succession.

With a role model as this, how could I resist? Thus, I came to dislike shopping as well.

Strangely though, even though it's taken a while, I realise I actually don't mind shopping. Don't get me wrong - I'm not in the "Shopping is a recreational activity" kind of zone, but I'm cool with a "If I need a shirt I don't mind going and looking around" kinda thing.

But ofcourse, like first-geneation atheist children, it takes a while for the scars to heal. So, dear friends, If I ever fall asleep standing whilst you "check out" clothes, please note that I should not be blamed: It was the few days my dad went shopping that are responsible here.

Now I'm Free... Free Falling!

Yes I know that this blog hasn't been updated in a while. It has to do with the fact that I don't have free time anymore.

But enough with the excuses. I wanted to post this set of pics for a while now... Pics of SKYDIVING! :-D

Not surprisingly, my mom was adamantly refusing to let us (my bro and me) skydive. So when I saw a poster which read: "Skydiving: Because your mother told you not to!", I just had to click it :-D

And yeah. Skydiving is like the most awesome thing in the world. First they strap you on nice and tight to a harness and take you up to about 10,000 feet. And then they open the door! Wow the rush as you see the ground, all tiny now, with the wind in your face. It's awesome. And then you realize, "Frack, I'm about to jump out of an airplane at 10,000 feet!!!!" - The most awesome feeling *ever*!

When you jump out, it's cray! You're all tumbling and you see the sun, the plane, the horizon, the sun, the ground, the plane and you're turning and rotating and falling and it's a total overload!

Then comes the freefall! For almost 30 seconds! Falling at a terminal velocity of 220 Kmph!!! Scream your heart out! And then the parachute deploys and the final graceful fall gently to the ground like a feather.